Sadima

"You'll do barn chores?" Papa's voice was flat, heavy with weariness.
Micah nodded, eating with one hand, holding a wad of Sadima's nightshirt in the other. She was sitting astride his light leg, watching him chew his square of hard brown bread. At least she had stopped crying. There was precious little food left, and they were all hungry. He ruffled her wispy red hair.
"You sure?" His father asked sharply, rolling up his pallet.
Micah nodded again. "I will," he said, around a mouthful of bread. "She'll nap soon." Sadima patted his chest and reached towards the bread. Micah tore off a bit for her to chew.
Papa stood at the door. "Don't let her drop that. Turn that last round of cheese in the spring house and make sure it doesn't mould, or we won't make it to planting time." Micah said nothing. Papa rarely strung that many words together, and grim as they were, it was better than silence - or the flares of anger he had so often now. Micah heard the door squeak, then bang closed. He listened to the unevenness in his father's step as he left, crossing the planked porch. Papa had twisted his left knee plowing last year and had been laid up all summer.
Micah had tried, but the harvest had been thin - he'd managed planting by wearing a sling his father had stitched, carrying Sadima along with him. This year she was too old, too heavy, and she wriggled like a fish when she wanted down. Planting the house garden, they had tried weaving a cage of willow wands, lining it with blankets. Sadima had screamed and wept, and neither of them could stand to leave her in it. Mattie Han had wanted to help. Papa was too proud to accept anything from his neighbors. None of them had known he was hurt until the summer was nearly gone. He had forbidden Micah to tell anyone.
Micah touched his sister's cheek and watched a smile spread across her little face. She was thin. They needed a good year. He waited until the sound of the cart and the hoofbeats of the cart horse had faded to silence. "I will make you a bargain," he said, looking into Sadima's eyes. She smiled and put two fingers in her mouth. He gently pulled them out and tried to look very serious. "You can come to the barn with me if you play quietly in the hayrick and let me get the stalls cleaned."
Sadima's whole face lit with joy. She swayed back and forth on his hip. Micah grinned at her and felt his throat tighten. She was in many ways, a miniature of their mother. She got joyously silly over the smallest things - a glimpse of a red-tailed wren flying over the house, the scent of clover blooms. Maybe, when she was older, she would clear off and plant their mother's abandoned flower beds. Micah inhaled the scent of his sister's hair, wishing he could take her outside more often. He was supposed to leave her in the house this morning and every morning, locking her in what had been his parents bedroom. It was fixed up for Sadima now, carpeted with blankets, her rag dolls in a low bin. The bedstand was gone, bed and bedding burned to ashes, the drawers full of tools and bits of twine and wire. Papa slept in the sitting room on a pallet on the floor.
The room was big without the bed and dresser in it. If Micah was in there with Sadima, she would crawl around happily, pulling herself to a standing position on the doll box. But she cried hard when he went out and closed the door. Her sobs tore at Micah's heart.
"Let's go then," he said, adding his plate to the rest of the dirty dishes in the wash basin. He'd clean up later - Sadima would nap mid morning. "Don't tell papa," he warned her, smiling. She talked all the way to the barn, using the musical not-yet-words that meant she was delightful and grateful to be coming along. He could feel her tiny hands as she patted at his shoulder, then gripped the folds of his tunic when he started down the slope to the barn. Micah walked slowly, letting his sister absorb the cool morning air, the colour of the sky, the rustling of the willow leaves when songbirds moved to the branches. When he pushed the slide bar back with one hand and went inside the barn, Sadima made a little sound of glee. Micah stepped onto the lowest rail of the empty stall so he could lift her high over the vertical slats of the cart horse's hayrick, then lower her gently into the feedbox. She laughed and sat down happily. Micah gave her a pile of cracked corn to play with, then started milking.
There were three goats, all nannies. He milked Dunny first. Her sweet, creamy milk they kept for the household to drink and make their own cheese. She was at the scant end of her cycle now, it was time to breed her again. Tock and Lolly's milk went into a different bucket. Papa sold it to Mr Hod. His wife clambered, salted, and pressed the cheese that half the folks in Ferne ate. The Hods paid on the nose, in struck coppers. Milk money would buy barley seed come spring.
Micah looked at his sister. First she swept the grain into a pile with her hands, then patted it, smiling. He heard her singing to herself, her voice high, sweet and tuneless. When he glanced at her again, she was sucking at the corn. She made a face, turning to look at him, her cheeks puckered. Micah laughed and she smiled.
By the time Micah was on the third goat, Sadima was dropping bits of corn through the slats of the hayrick, one by one, giggling when they landed on the stall floor below. He poured Mrs Hod's share of the milk into a cloth-covered cooling tin, then hoisted the bucket of Dunny's milk to carry to the house. Sadima was still absorbed in her game, laughing at the growing pile of corn on the stall floor. Micah walked past her slowly; then, when she didn't look up, he hurried out the barn door and started up the path to the house. He would just pour the milk into the cooling jars on the sideboard and run back to the barn. Sadima couldn't get out of the hayrick, and she wouldn't have time to get restless and cry.
Micah walked fast, holding the bucket out to one side, careful not to slosh the milk, slowly only when he got to the porch steps. In the kitchen, he set the jars into the basin of cold creek water, then poured the milk with grace of long practice. He grabbed a piece of bread for Sadima to chew on while he finished the chores, then slammed out of the house and ran down the hill. When he came back through the barn door, he saw that his sister hadn't moved. She was still sitting down, and he could hear her happy voice. Micah exhaled and smiled as he walked towards her. He had to talk to papa, convince him that she needed to . . . .
Micah stared. There was a rat perched on Sadima's shoulder. She was babbling a stream of baby words as it leaned forward, it's snout nearly touching her mouth. It could probably smell the corn on her breath, Micah though. He stood uncertainly. It might run if he startled it, but he would have to go through the stall gate, then reach through the slats to shoo it. Sadima might stand up suddenly and startle it first . . . And rat bites often got infected and left scars. What if it hurt her eyes? Horrified, Micah watched the rat stand on its hind feet and place its paws on Sadima's ear, the light touch tickling her into laughter. If she tried to shove it away, if she grabbed it and squeezed . . .
Micah took three quick steps and vaulted the stall gate, whirling around to face the hayrick - and then could only stand stock-still again. The rat was rubbing its cheek against his sister's. Sadima reached up with one hand and touched the rat's fur. It responded by coming back onto all fours and ducking its head beneath her fingers. Then it looked past Sadima at him.
Micah stared. It was sick or something - no rat ever acted like this. He glanced around, spotting a stall rake outside the gate, just in reach. Sadima turned and stared at him. Her eyes narrowed, then went wide. Her face flushed as she began to cry. The rat touched her cheek with its forepaws, then turned and jumped to the stall floor. Micah lunged for the rake. He swung it upward, over the stall gate, and killed the rat before it could run any farther. Sadima screamed. Micah jerked back round to look at her, terrified that she had hurt herself somehow, or that the rat had bitten her in that last instant. But she was staring at him. Her face was contorted, angry. Her hands were tiny fists. Micah reached to lift her out of the hayrick, and for an instant, her body was rigid. Then she dissolved into tears and pressed against his chest for protection as she always had. He held her close and told her, over and over, all the way back to the house, that he would never let any harm come to her.