Clara sighed helplessly and headed into the kitchen to start a fire for boiling water.
She added two more sticks of firewood into the stove to build up a strong flame. While waiting for the water to boil, she stepped out into the courtyard and picked up a wooden rake, spreading the piled-up grain back out evenly.
The blazing sun in late July was still harsh. The ground that had been damp moments ago was now completely dry. The grain needed to be spread quickly to sun-dry again—otherwise, it really would spoil.
As the rake passed near the four siblings, they all took a step back in unison. They didn't leave but just stood there watching Clara, unsure what to do.
"Go back inside and change out of your wet clothes. Once the water's ready, clean yourselves up, and drink a bowl of ginger soup to prevent a cold," Clara instructed, pointing toward the children's room and waving for them to hurry.
Chad was crying with snot and tears streaming down his face. Clara clicked her tongue twice and told Adam to help him blow his nose first.
"Mom, you're not mad?" Deb asked in a small voice.
Clara shrugged. "It's not like you did it on purpose. Why would I be angry? Given the time you had, you did quite well. Now go change—if you really get sick, that's when I'll be mad!"
Getting sick meant medicine, and medicine cost money—far more than the grain in the yard.
The four kids looked at each other, let out a long breath of relief, and headed inside to change.
Truthfully, not much grain had gotten wet—just the outermost layer. The inside hadn't soaked through. Once spread out and left under the sun all afternoon, it would dry just fine.
The grain in the backyard had been harvested earlier and was still in good condition. Clara dumped it out again to dry. Looking at the yard brimming with grain, she wiped a bead of water—maybe sweat, maybe rain—from her forehead, feeling firsthand just how tough farming was.
It really was a gamble with the weather. Hoping for perfect conditions throughout the season was wishful thinking.
She had actually sensed a weather change earlier but had been up in the mountains quarrying stones and couldn't make it back in time.
Sudden downpours came with no pattern—only a few minutes' notice before they struck—so they couldn't be prepared for in advance.
At the end of the day, it came down to not having a rain tarp.
Next year, she would need to prepare several rolls of sun-drying mats—woven bamboo ones—two by five meters, three by eight, in various sizes. They'd be handy for drying things like chilies and vegetables too.
Due to her lack of farming experience, Clara hadn't even thought of these things before.
"Auntie."
Adam had already changed and quietly walked up behind her, guilt written all over his face.
"The rain came too fast. We couldn't gather the grain in time, and it got wet."
Clara leaned the rake against the wall, walked over, and patted his shoulder. "It's fine. Only a little got wet. One afternoon of sun and it'll be dry again. You all just need to turn it regularly. I've got to head back soon."
Without her, the quarry team would make little progress.
Before, they had just taken a few stones and hadn't realized how tough the mountain rock was. Now the quantity needed had surged, and without explosives, it was hard to break the rock manually.
Luckily, she had extraordinary strength and could drive a spike at a fixed point to split the stone—a task no one else on the team could manage. She'd need to rush back soon.
The water had boiled. Clara smiled to relieve Adam's burdened heart, scooped out water for them to wipe down, then poured some into a ceramic pot, sliced fresh ginger into it, and let it boil.
Each of the five—her included—got a bowl of ginger soup to ward off chills.
But Chad had already caught a bit of a cold. Two streams of mucus dribbled endlessly from his nose, and he had to sniffle often.
Clara called him over and touched his forehead—no fever. He could recover on his own.
She told the kids to behave at home and headed off again.
At the quarry, she stayed busy until sunset before leading her crew back. Everyone returned to their homes.
Passing by the watermill, Clara popped in to take a look. Everything was in order, and the money box had been taken home by Ben.
As she walked toward home, the aroma of freshly cooked rice drifted over from a distance. She took a deep breath, and her stomach rumbled—heavy labor made her hungry fast.
"Mom!"
Deb's cheerful voice rang out from up the hill. The little girl ran down to meet her the moment she saw her.
"Mom, the grain's all dry now! Granny Wang came by again today. Second Brother picked up two eggs. Big Brother is cooking veggie and egg soup—we're about to eat!"
"Mom, are you tired? Was the work hard? Are you going back tomorrow?"
The little girl tilted her head up, her big watery eyes sparkling as she chattered away like a bird.
The Old Yeller plodded along behind them. Clara couldn't resist the short legs beside her—she scooped Deb up and kissed her cheek.
The little one immediately buried her face in Clara's neck and gently nuzzled her like a kitten.
When Clara wasn't looking, she snuck a kiss on her cheek, then covered her face with her small hands, peeking through her fingers to catch her reaction.
Seeing Clara smile, she lowered her hands and giggled.
"Mom," Deb called out softly.
"Mhm," Clara responded.
"Mom~"
"Hm?" Clara looked down in confusion. The little girl just smiled at her with adoration and seriously declared, "Deb loves Mom the most!"
Clara's heart melted, and she playfully asked, "Really? Am I your number one favorite?"
Deb nodded fiercely. "Yes! Deb loves Mom the most—number one in the whole world!"
Clara smiled, bumping her forehead against Deb's. "You little flatterer."
"Then I'm Mom's little flatterer!" Deb wrapped her arms around Clara's neck, proudly swaying her head.
Mother and daughter returned home laughing. The grain had all been collected into bamboo baskets and placed under the eaves and on the open ground.
The full baskets were too heavy for the kids to move, so they'd filled them up and left them. Clara would move them inside later, then bring them back out in the morning to dry again.
Some of the front yard grain had gotten wet, so she set that aside to dry again tomorrow. After that, it could all go into storage.
Dinner was quite decent—white rice with veggie and egg soup and braised pork ribs.
Clara couldn't help but praise Adam's cooking. "You can already handle complex dishes like braised ribs—Adam, that's impressive!"
Adam blushed. "I learned it from Grandma and Second Aunt."
In other words, the masters deserved credit.
Clara waved that off. "No, no. It's your own effort that made it taste this good. Don't sell yourself short—you've got talent."
Unlike her, who had no patience for complicated cooking—just preparing ingredients took forever, and cleaning up afterward was a hassle.
"Adam," she said while chewing a rib, "a man who can cook is a hot commodity in the marriage market. I have no worries about you finding a wife in the future."
"Cough! Cough!"
Adam choked on his rice, startled by his stepmother's blunt declaration, and started coughing so hard his eyes teared up.
Clara shot him a disapproving look, but her mind drifted to Logan.
A fifteen-year-old—roughly equivalent to a junior high student in modern terms—and yet Martha was already busy arranging a match for him.
From the looks of it, she intended to have it settled before year-end and hold the wedding next year.
Based on that timeline, her Adam, now nine, would be up in six years.
"Too early," Clara muttered to herself. She looked at Adam and shook her head. Eighteen at the earliest, then talk about marriage.
Adam felt a sudden chill under her gaze—
Small. Pitiful. Helpless.
(End of Chapter)
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