The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(24)

I often wondered if he’d ever outgrow his savage tenacity, but he never did.

His relentless need to work and tend and toil was a product of his past that was so ingrained even I couldn’t fix him.

I wish I could paint a better picture of how much I looked up to him.

How much I worshiped him.

How much I loved him even then.

He was everything to me, and his intelligence didn’t come from book smarts but life itself. He listened to its lessons, he excelled at its exams, and he gave me every piece of himself by sharing all that he knew.

He didn’t shelter me from things like other parents might have done.

He made me kill my first rabbit when I was two. He made me sew up his arm when he cut himself when I was three.

He treated me as capable and brave and bright, and that’s what I became because I never wanted to let him down because he would never let me down.

Simple as that.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN





REN



2004




WINTER CAME AND went.

The sun warmed frozen land and sprouted new growth.

The trees rustled in the warm breeze and beckoned me back into their depths, yet whenever I looked at Della, I didn’t have the heart to grab our already packed backpack and leave.

She’d sprouted over the past few winters from curious baby to independent person, and I didn’t want to deprive her of the chance to grow up in a place where a roof meant stability and walls offered solid sanctuary.

She had free roam of the house—safe from drowning in rivers or being mauled by wildlife. I didn’t need to watch her endlessly and enjoyed the freedom that gave me in return.

The veggies I planted in spring gave us enough variety to our diet that with regular hunting and a little patience, we didn’t need to risk ourselves by heading into towns and stealing.

Realistically, it would be stupid to leave.

For over three years, no one had bothered us. No one noticed or cared.

We were as invisible as we’d ever been, and I was determined to give Della a home…if only for a little while.

Our first summer at Polcart Farm, I’d focused on better equipping the house for the next winter. I’d repaired the leaks in the roof; I’d salvaged old drapes from a local dumpster and hauled things back that made a house a home.

A table and chairs.

China plates instead of plastic.

A few discarded toys with tangled-haired dolls and missing-piece puzzles.

And, one night, when I cut through the back streets of the town after sizing up how easy a local corner store would be to break into if we ever needed emergency supplies, I stumbled upon a TV.

The screen was cracked in one corner and the picture jiggled in the other, but when I first plugged it in, using sun and wind as our power source, and Della snuggled up next to me with joy spread all over her face, it was worth the back-breaking trek back home.

When winter hit the second time, we were more prepared with rations and warmth, but boredom was a problem neither of us knew how to face. I’d already spent the time creating flowing water thanks to redirecting well water with the aid of a stock pump. I’d plugged holes in walls and cleaned dirty appliances.

The house was well cared for and didn’t require much more.

I wished it did—if only to keep my brain from going stir crazy.

I wanted the chores of staying alive, of travelling, of learning a new place and circumstance. And if I couldn’t have that, I wanted farm animals to tend, upkeep to dally with, and general busyness that kept my mind from the past and firmly focused in the now.

As fields were slowly deleted with more and more snow, Della became naughty, exploring areas she shouldn’t, disobeying me, arguing with me, generally being a brat I wished I could toss out onto the frozen deck and teach her a lesson.

When she screamed in frustration because my lack of teaching failed her communication skills, I screamed right back. When she threw a corn on the cob at my face when I ordered her to finish every bite, I made her eat every kernel off the floor.

There were many things I permitted and indulged because she was my everything. My best friend, my little sister, my penance in real life. But if she ever wasted food…that was when my temper wouldn’t be mollified.

We might have it easy now. She might have had it easy in the farmhouse while I wasted away in the barn. But there was no separation between her and me now. We were stuck with each other, and soon, when the seasons thawed and Della was bigger, stronger, faster, we would leave this place.

This wasn’t a permanent solution.

And she had to know the value of things.

A TV wasn’t something to be protected because it was worthless away from electrical sockets and satellites. A mattress wasn’t special because it could never come with us when we ran.

But food? That was infinitely precious.

Our tent? That was priceless.

She might be young, but she was never too young to learn those lessons, and I gave her no leeway when it came to learning them.

She could cry all she wanted. She could hate me for days. We could fight until I stalked from the house and slept in the barn, but she would never win with me.

I was older.

I was in charge.

But I was also aware I was everything she had and wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything.