Conversational Breakfast

He woke to the sound of feet on the hardwood as Elizabeth came in, her eyes shining in the sunlight. Tristan, when he got up, must have pulled the shades. She was a tall and lithe figure, already accustomed to the work of a woman around a farm though she was barely thirteen years old. Her hands had the marks of needles in her thumbs, her hands rough from scrubbing dishes and repairing clothes. She was as much a mother to young Seamus as Rachel – and had a heavier hand when the whoopings came, too. However, she was also quick to point out his grand performances, help him when necessary and, best in the eyes of our young hero, give him little chocolates when no one else was looking. To say that she was Seamus' favorite sibling would not have been an overstatement of terms, though he got along well enough with everyone else outside of Tristan’s orbit.

"Hey you," she said. "Why are you sleeping so late, and why on the floor?"

"Oh, um… I helped get the eggs this morning," Seamus said as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "No one woke me back up."

"And the floor?"

He looked at her with a sideways glance, quickly thinking of what to say. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Tristan wouldn’t let him sleep in the bed for a week if he let Liz know what happened that morning. So he lied, quickly.
"I like the floor."

"That’s a load of crap and you know it. I can feel the chill now. The floor’s cold, Shame. Too cold to be liked."

"No, really. I like the floor. I get to sleep by myself here." This part was not untrue, as Seamus enjoyed being able to stretch out when he wanted to, without the obstruction of another body in his way, or the thought of being the recipient to an elbow, punch or kick in the middle of the night without the ability to retaliate.

"OK, suit yourself, but it’s time to get up. Like, right now."

"Alright." The boy got up and pulled his jeans to his waist, wiped his hair out from his face and let the thermal top he had been wearing to bed double as his day-shirt. Upon rising, he noticed the smell of eggs and bacon -- the usual welcome party in the morning. "Any pancakes?," he asked.

"Nope. Not this morning. Maybe tomorrow. It is your seventh birthday tomorrow after all, so I might be able to make that happen."

"I hope so." He smiled at her and, when she smiled back, knew that pancakes were inevitable and just 24 short hours away.

At the kitchen table, he shoveled the food down his throat, drinking the orange juice and water Liz provided for him, all the while gearing up for the afternoon hike. Though only six years old, he loved to walk in the wheat fields of Mr. Hanover, the neighbor about a mile away. He and Tristan would play hide and seek, utilizing the deadened and decrepit black oak tree in the center of the field as a reference point and home base. So long as they were in by sundown, no one questioned their whereabouts. The family knew that, should the boys be visible and boisterous, the chances of their scheming were much greater than if they were out and about, playing at manhood and dreaming like thieves.

"Plans today?," Elizabeth asked.

"MM-MM-MM," he grumbled and shrugged his shoulders in an 'I don't know' fashion, a mouth full of bacon and potatoes.

"You lie, little brother. You always have plans." He swallowed the hot food, took a big sip of the orange juice and wiped his mouth.

"I don’t know, really," he said. "The wheat field, I think. I hope it warms up."

"It should, once the sun breaks the clouds. Shouldn’t be too bad. You and Tristan, I guess."

"Yep."

"Be mindful of him, you hear?"

"What do you mean? He's my brother."

"Well, he’s trouble, that boy, and you know it. I’ll tan your hide the color of night if you get in trouble and you know that, too -- but I won’t want to. I know that boy makes you do things -- like the eggs this morning."

"I got no idea what you’re talking about. I gotta get. Thanks for breakfast, Lizzie. See you later." He dropped the napkin onto the table, pulled his jacket on in a flurry and was out the door. The screen banged behind him and Elizabeth was left standing alone in the little kitchen, a look of angry confirmation on her face.