A burden shared (Cumberland Saga)

The women baked bread in shifts. Craving conversation, they came early and stayed late so the kitchen and parlor were well populated with chattering women.

Amira, while not forgotten, faded into the background as the women caught up on the latest news. Stories of new nieces and nephews who were born far away from Copperhead Cove. Distant daughters and sisters with new boyfriends and husbands. Sons who were deployed and when they were expected back. Husbands who were between jobs. Recipes. Local news.

Sarah was leery of Amira when she came to Alice's at mid-morning. But Amira was not the bossy Blue-jay-at-the-bird-feeder at Alice's. Caught up in the ever-shifting conversation, Amira's presence soon drifted from Sarah's mind.

Amira mixed a bit of the sponge with soft, unleavened dough and then folded and pressed it down with the knuckles of her fists...and folded-and-pressed the dough again-and-again. Ten folds was a thousand. Twenty folds was a million. Fold-press. Fold-press. Fold-press until the dough was smooth, elastic and not sticky. Then she divided it, shaped it and popped into pans to rise.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Three loaves worth of bread at a time. It was a great way to channel anger and anxiety into something productive.

One item was foremost on all of the women’s minds: They all talked about the arrival of the hay and the old, cull cows from the dairy. The transition to growing pasture was going to be a neat trick. Would there be enough grass, soon enough? Then the questions were “How much milk will the old bossies give them? Will the calves be heifer calves or bulls? How will the ownership of the milking rights be allocated?” 

Amira realized that they would have to move the rock if they were going to truck the hay up to the plateau. She didn't need to badger Sig. She just needed to pay attention and jump on the opportunity when it happened.

The other issue that had the women buzzing was somebody named Constanze. Apparently, she was being “shunned” and contrary to every expectation she had not abandoned her house and garden plots.

That was extremely puzzling to the women. The charter required that whoever was assigned to the garden plots had to till them and at least keep the weeds down. They didn’t know how Constanze was going to do that without help or equipment or how Sig was going to deal with it if Constanze refused to move.

Amira’s ears perked up when she heard “house”. She had given the van-body in the hoop-house a quick peek and it wasn’t going to work. Nope. Not even close. That left her in a pickle.

The women’s conversation was rife with speculation. Because Constanze was being shunned by the religious group, it was forbidden that anybody simply ask her what her plans were. Hence the outlandish and whimsical speculation.

After the last few women left Alice’s kitchen, Alice asked Amira “Do you want to make some loaves?”

“I didn’t bring any flour” Amira said.

“That is OK. I can spare some” Alice assured her.

“If it is OK with you, I would like to make some leavened flat-bread using 100% whole-wheat” Amira informed her.

“Hmmm” Alice pondered. “They will be very heavy. Are you sure you don’t want to go 50:50 with white, bread-flour?”

“No. It has to be 100% whole-wheat. Walter is on a very restricted diet” Amira said.

And then Alice did something that caused Amira to totally lose her composure. She came over and stood in front of her. She reached out and picked up both of Amira's flour-covered hand in her own and said “Walter is a very sick man, isn’t he? Just let me know if there is ANYTHING I can do to help you.”

And Amira totally lost it. Her face crumpled and tears streamed out of her eyes. Tough Amira. Amira with the steel-backbone. Amira the warrior woman. Undone by a simple, kind gesture and a few words of empathy.

Alice let her cry.

After a few minutes, Amira was able to collect herself.

“Walter is very sick. The doctors give him five-years to live without treatment and maybe as many as fifteen years if they treat him aggressively” Amira said.

“If I may ask, what is wrong with him?” Alice asked. Amira could hear in her voice that she meant his illness, not his personality.

“There is something about his immune system. It randomly attacks his organs. It used to be his bowels but it has been attacking the walls of his blood vessels for the last five years” Amira told her.

Alice blinked her eyes. Congenital diseases were not unknown in small, isolated religious groups. Some members lived a very long time. Others seemed to die young. Only God knew who would be which.

“Why did you choose to not seek treatment?” Alice asked, carefully choosing her words so it didn’t seem like she was blaming anybody.

“Because there is a high risk of the treatment destroying his immune system, and then the only thing that would keep him alive would be a constant stream of antibiotics and antivirals” Amira said. “Been there. Done that. The side-effects suck.”

That is when Alice realized that Amira had brought Walter home to die. That put a totally different complexion on their situation.

Amira’s heart was much lighter as she walked back to Sarah’s house. She had one person she could trust. She had shared her burden. Oddly, in spite of the dire situation and the threadbare state of Copperhead Cove, things were looking up.