Cramped Quarters
When I returned for dinner everything was ‘in order’ except my Mother’s temper.
“How can we live like this?” she exclaimed, as soon as Father had thanked He Who Is for our food.
She had a point. We were accustomed to living in a cave, a cave which my Father had dug himself. We had a common room which served as living room, kitchen, and the bedroom for my parents. Each of us children had a room to ourselves, into which we were expected to retire at bedtime--and in which we were expected to remain until called in the morning. Here we had one tent, with a small ‘porch’ off the front of it, and room inside of it for a pile of our stuff (now neatly arranged) and enough floor space for each of our individual beds.
For painfully shy Dwarf women, this was an impossible situation. She and Gertrude had arranged a series of curtains, which pretended to divide the various sections. But it was very much of a pretence.
And, unlike our caves at home, the thin walls of the tent would keep out none, or almost none, of the noises from outside. Every passerby, every noise from the walls, every argument from nearby tents, we would hear--and vice versa.
“My Wife, what we must do, we will do,” said my Father, expressing what we all knew.
The living arrangements didn’t bother me at all. Compared to living with the Fisherboys, this was lonely isolation. If I had been allowed, I would have spent another night on board ship.
Somehow Mother survived that night. I don’t know how much sleep she got. Even Gertrude looked tired, which was unfortunate.
“I found out last night where our wagon is,” Father said. “This tent will form the cover, so the boys and I will take it and work on that. I will send Heinrich back when he learns where the wagon is, and he will direct you there. Pack quickly; I think we are planning to leave before noon.”
Greg and Meical were waiting for me outside our tent. It was obvious they had been listening and they volunteered to help. We soon had our wagon set up and all our goods moved. Mother had stayed behind packing, and came only with the last load. It was good that she hadn’t known who this ‘nice young Farmer boy’ was or she probably wouldn’t have felt comfortable giving him load after load to take to the wagon.
We did indeed start just before noon. I barely had time, with all of the bustle, to say goodbye to Greg, including sending greetings to his parents as well, before we were off. I was surprised to find that Meical planned to go, too. I hadn’t thought about it, even though he had said he had turned Farmer just for the trip.
No one had been able to bring over draft animals, so we had to pull the wagons ourselves. Dwarves are strong, and good on their feet, but I could see why Meical and Seamus had said that they changed into Farmer form for walking on the plains. Farmers were taller than Fishermen, which made the pulling easier, and they could work all day without fatigue, unlike Elves who tired easily. We Dwarves usually worked, some at one thing and then some at another, with frequent breaks for stories, etc. Pulling a wagon all day without stopping was difficult work.
The whole time we were pulling the wagons a troop of Horsemen was patrolling around us. The huge beasts that lived on the plains had been driven far from the road, but no one was taking any chances on one having slipped past the lines and that it would come charging into our camp.
We all pulled. Father would arrange us so that we balanced each other out. We took turns, so that each could walk for a while between pulls. By the end of the day though, we hadn’t gotten all that far, and we were very tired. Several of the Farmer families had even lent us and other Dwarf families one of their young lads as the day went on. We were far too tired to refuse. The Trolls held their own against the Farmers. Only the Marshmen had a harder time than we did, both because of their webbed feet and because they would not have their women in public.
One advantage of that, however, was that those same women cooked for the entire party. I am not sure how they managed it, first in the wagon and then in a little fence made with blankets, but they produced enough food to feed everyone, and had it ready soon after we stopped. Everyone was so tired that night that my Mother didn’t even complain about the accommodations, although sleeping in the wagon was even less private than the tent.
It was late the next day when we pulled onto a hill and saw the next castle, our destination. We would not be staying in the castle; there wasn’t room. We pulled our wagons up along side of it and made our usual camp. I hadn’t gotten to see Meical at all so far on the trip, which was disappointing.
Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!
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Von also writes as ‘Arthur Yeomans’. Under that name he writes children’s, YA, and adult fiction from a Christian perspective. His books include:
The Bobtails meet the Preacher’s Kid
and
Arthur also has a substack, and a website.
Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,
Von
Links
Island People
Island People is a young adult fantasy book centring on a young prince. The book starts with his kidnapping and follows his adventures as he not only escapes from his kidnapper but gains critical allies and friends.
The entire book is scheduled on Substack, and there are several sequels. This is a book I wrote years ago, so it is in a bit of a rough form. Critiques and comments are more than welcome, they are requested.