William Rosewood's Arc

Chapter 11 of 20

The roof was done, but the stack stood low and bare. William stood by it in the gray morning and did the count in his head again. So many pigs. So many days until the thaw. The straw would not reach. He had traded warmth for hunger, and now the hunger would come for the herd. Lose the pigs, and there was no meat, no trade, nothing to carry his family to spring. Eddie came out first, blowing on his hands. Tommy followed, quiet, watching his brother the way he always did. William looked at his sons. He would not lie to them. "The feed won't last," he said. "Not with the cold." Eddie did not soften it. "Then some of them starve," he said. "Or all of them." Tommy studied the ground. "How much are we short?" "Weeks," William said. "Maybe more." Eddie walked to the old oak at the yard's edge. The tree stood twisted and huge, its branches bare now. He crouched under it and pushed at the frost-hard leaves with his boot. Then he stopped. He reached down and came up with a fistful of acorns. "Look," he said. He held them out. "They're everywhere under here. The whole ground's thick with them." William took one and turned it. "Pigs eat mast," he said slowly. "They'll root for these all day." "The squirrels haven't cleared half," Eddie said. "And there's more oaks along the wall." Tommy knelt and swept the leaves back with both hands. Under them the ground was brown with fallen acorns, piled deep where the wind had gathered them. "We gather these," he said, "and dry them, we stretch the feed. Maybe far enough." William felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little. It was not certain. But it was work, and work he understood. They gathered all day. William hauled the sack. Eddie and Tommy crawled under the oak on their knees, filling their shirts, dumping the acorns into a growing mound near the sty. The pile rose, brown and glossy, heaped like a small hill. By afternoon the boys' hands were raw and their fingers stung with cold. They did not stop. William found two more oaks along the far wall and stripped the ground beneath them clean. At dusk the mound stood tall. William filled the trough with a first measure, and the pigs came fast, snouts down, crunching the shells. They ate greedily and did not stop. He watched them and knew. This would carry the herd. The pigs would live to spring. He looked at Eddie, kneeling by the pile, sorting the last handful. The boy had found it. The boy always found it. William opened his mouth. The words were right there, plain and true. "You did well," he said. It was not all of it. But it was more than he had ever said. Eddie went still. Then he nodded and looked back at the acorns, and William saw him fighting a smile.