Through the broad, forest vales, linked by narrow trade roads just wide enough for trailers and carriages, were the rolling farmlands of Myrken Wood. In the spring, the wild bluebells made the unsettled valleys into oceans of flower; in the summer, after long hours of hard, honest labor, some of the East End farmers and their children gathered at Shadow Pond, where the trees bowed over to shield their sunburnt brows from the far-reaching rays of a scorching sun; there was joyous harvest in the fall, a celebration in Myrkentown with bright banners and songs that would not have been quite so delightful if not for the copious ale; the winters always promised a shining, white Yule.
At least that's how it used to be,thought Buzz Aberdeen one late evening on the front porch of his thatch, half-timbered farm house. He looked out over Merryfield Farm, knowing that anyone who passed on the far road could pick out what home they were passing with ease. None of his neighbours had blue gables. They'd built onto the house over the years, mainly because Granny Faine never died; she was creeping toothlessly over the one hundred year mark, not only too stubborn to pass on - but also too stubborn to pack up and move. She was the only thing that had kept them, Buzz thought, from following the Bates' example. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.
Still, there was no denying the rightful truth: things had gotten worse. They were lucky to have a farm at all in these harsh times, what with the fires, the attacks, the drought, the bugs. There was a lot of grumbling amongst the neighbours when the curfew started, but there was not a peep from Merryfield. Sometimes he could see the patrol passing late at night, and he knew that if his wife Ola were awake, she'd have said a quick prayer for the brave soldiers.
Buzz glanced over at the empty rocker. In warmer climes, Ola would have sat outside while knitting woolen stockings by lantern and starlight; there was earlier and easier sleep in the winter, though, and he almost envied her. But these were broad stretches of land, dotted with woods and expansive fields; a man would be a fool to think that the patrol could be everywhere at once, and Buzz Aberdeen may not have been a lot of things...
... but he was paranoid.
There were farmhands for the livestock during the day, but at night he was the only man on Merryfield Farm. Most of the neighbours had many children to help out on their farms - but after losing their first born son to the bloody flux, Ola and Buzz were left with little Gertie. "She's not so little anymore." He couldn't remember how many times Ola had reminded him, and sometimes he wondered if she wasn't the stronger of the two. Still, a man with three women and a farm to look after in a place like Myrken Wood, was a man who'd lost a lot of hair. The only thing that kept him sane came once a week, when the whole family, including Granny Faine, took the cart into town for Father Eine's miracle plays at the chapel.
Buzz stared out at his land; it looked peaceful now, thinly carpeted by snow. The fence gate was closed at the end of the lane, and he couldn't see any life on the dark road beyond. Pepper, Gertie's spotted pup, was huddled up under the porch. The lumberjack of a man turned and went inside at last, bolting shut the door.
