7. Soren

Chapter seven

Soren

N othing is going right this day. I knew it when I woke up and found my brother Aaron pacing in my kitchen.

"The cerulean blue dye didn't come out right. It's gray-green. We can't market dull green; no one wants that. They want bright, vibrant blue."

I roll my eyes at him. Aaron is the most sociable and dramatic of us. "We have a full load of wool coming in tomorrow. We will use green dye for that and formulate a new color for silk and cotton. It's not the end of the world."

"Then you have obviously not looked outside today," he says under his breath as if to keep me from the information.

I walk over to the window, throwing the embroidered curtains out of the way. The sky is an angry gray with churning clouds that roll over the mountainside like a pot piqued to boil over.

"Shit," I say under my breath, clenching my jaw.

Today is not the day for rain. Much needs to be done before fall arrives. We're in the last month of summer.

Aaron comes to my side, staring blankly into the sky, roiling with angry clouds.

"I'd better get a move on; Mom has another order for me to pick up and deliver,"Arron says, green gaze fixated on the sky.

"Why don't you wait until after this storm passes? If you're caught in the rain, you might damage the fabrics," I say, knowing it will keep him in today. Nothing annoys Aaron more than losing a product.

He sighs heavily, looking in my direction. "You're right; I'll leave tomorrow." He rubs his hands together as if he has finished a task. I scoff at the gesture and roll my eyes.

After Aaron leaves, I make my way to the barns. The oncoming weather is already making the air heavy, exaggerating the smell of our sweetgrass and mint fields.

There is so much to accomplish today.

Shoring up the textiles is first on the list. I don't want to be the sibling responsible for losing thousands of coins to water damage. I'd never hear the end of it.

The storage barns are blissfully dry so far. I pace the space, inspecting the dyed textiles and raw fabrics. Everything looks dry, so I take that minor victory.

The rain beats on the thatched roof, and I peer out the double barn doors. Water is already building puddles in the heavily saturated soil.

Despite being midday, the sky has turned to chalk—gray, making the vibrant green grasses stand out starkly against the ominous clouds.

A gust of wind knocks into the barn like a puff of giant's breath, shaking tools from their holdings and really pissing off a few chickens.

I need to get out of here. Out of this weather. It's doing me no good. I shore up what I can, taking measures to ensure everything of value will survive the onslaught of weather.

The metal handles leading outside are cold and slick from condensation. Just breathe, Soren; all days can ' t be good days, I think to myself, gripping the handles and bracing myself for the torrent outside.

The rain whips at my face and barrels into the barn with force. It takes more effort than I would like to admit getting the barn doors latched and locked.

Nothing about this day is going to be easy. I step inside my warm cottage, water pooling at my feet. And streaming down my hair and face in rivulets

My shoulders drop, and I run a hand over my face. Finally accepting the terms this day has dulled out, I shuck off all my clothes and leave them at the entrance—another mess I'll have to take care of.

Carelessly, I walk through the house in just my underclothes. My brown mop of hair clings to my face and shoulders, but my skin greedily soaks in the warmth from the fire blazing in the hearth.

My little home is lit with golden, crackling light that casts comforting shadows onto the hardwood floors. This place is my true sanctuary, built by my two hands and injected with my love, sweat, and blood.

With a large, chaotic family like mine, having a quiet space is the only way to maintain my sanity.

I stand in the living room for a long spell, letting the heat from the flames lick away the rest of the moisture coating my skin. Sounds from the storm outside rush past windows. Tree branches scrape, and rain falls in torrents, both beating at the glass windows like spirits come to claim a blood debt.

What a fucking waste. I already feel defeated despite being halfway through the day. Passing my bedroom on the way to take a hot bath, I look longingly at my bedding, still rumpled from this morning. I could go back to sleep, couldn't I? Forget today happened; start fresh in the morning.

The thought is tempting, but I tamp it down. Instead, I prioritize the pleasure of a fragrant bath, a hearty bowl of stew, and indulging in a good book by the fire.

An insistent crowing shakes me out of my sleep. Rain still beats on the window, but morning's pale light fills the room, dim, its brightness tamped down by the gray clouds overhead.

To my left is the book I must have fallen asleep reading, and to my right is a plate with the shameful remnants of the pie I ate in bed last night. Some find comfort in drinking or smoking, but I find the lure of sweets the most attractive.

My siblings shamed me for years about the lengths I'd go to and the favors I would agree to if given a treat. I did more barn chores and dug more irrigation trenches than all combined.

Now, as an adult, I like to tease back. Their lack of motivation is why I'm now the biggest and the strongest.

Speaking of siblings, that oh-so-familiar crash of cabinets downstairs announces Aaron's presence again this morning. I groan back against the pillows. Can't I have one fucking morning of peace, just one?

The room is still dull, drained of color from the gray hue of the sky. It's less than motivating. The wooden stairs creak under my weight. I hear the clatter of pots and pans seize.

"Are you finally awake?" Aaron calls out from the kitchen.

I finish my descent without answering. I fear stating the obvious will fuel his sense of importance. He's boiling water for coffee and cracking eggs into a cast-iron skillet. As much as I hate being woken up, I do enjoy having breakfast made for me.

"You left your wet clothes by the door. I nearly broke a limb tripping over them," he says, focusing on the pan heating on high flame.

"Great, I'll keep that in mind for next time," I say, reaching over him to grab a mug. He huffs at me and pads an obscene amount of butter into the skillet.

"Will you be able to receive the delivery today in the rain?" He cracks the eggs into the scalding pan, filling the air with the scent of butter and spices.

"I've received deliveries in white-out snowstorms, Aaron. I can't imagine this will be any different." I'm five years older than him, and yet he treats me like a child. According to him, having a partner and a child on the way assigns you a different standing in the family. Let's negate my years of experience and flawless reputation in our business because I've chosen to remain alone. As if being content in your life without a partner makes you less than others. Well, fuck that.

"Why are you spending so much time here?" I prod, wanting to irritate him. "Irrie does not want you around her as much—maybe finding your company bothersome." He whips his head up and scowls at me. Oh shit, I was just ribbing him. I didn't think my words would strike true.

Of course, she wanted some time alone; anyone would. I remember my mother spending days alone before a new child was coming. My father always explained it to us as a quiet period so she could gather her thoughts and strength before a new baby came, a concept that always made sense to me.

"Hey." I reach out and place a firm grasp on his shoulder. "I'm just teasing you; you know this is normal and natural. She doesn't dislike you. She wants to be centered and ready for this new life, for my new niece." I smile at him.

"How can you be so sure it's a girl?"

"Our parents had fourteen children after me, and I've guessed correctly every time. If they didn't already call me ‘Sweets,' I would think my next nickname would be ‘Oracle.'" He only has time to shrug at me before we hear hooves clicking up the wet cobblestone delivery road.

"Fantastic!" I lovingly slap his back. "You can help me unload." He groans. "I have extra-treated leather in the closet. Let's get a move on. We don't want the product to stay out in the rain now, do we?"

"What about breakfast?" Aaron asks, like a child. The solution couldn't be simpler.

I walk over, grab the pan, and put it in the oven. Warm enough to keep breakfast from getting cold but cool enough it won't burn anything. "Does that satisfy you?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

The taunt in my voice is evident, but Aaron doesn't snap back. We quickly dress and head out into the deluge of rain. Patti has already parked by the main barn and is waiting for us to come and unlock the doors.

He pulls the large carriage into the expansive space without a hitch, despite being covered and nearly tall enough to scrape the entrance beams.

I let my hood fall back and smile widely at Patti. "Good to see you, old friend. Thanks for making the trip in the rain," I say as Patti hops down from his carriage .

"Well, it was this, or turn around and go home. I get more money this way." He gives me a wink. I've known Patti for years and consider him a friend.

"What do you have for me, old man?" I say, moving to the back of the wagon. He has a looped rain cover over the products so as not to get them wet. I fumble with a few leather ties before I whip the back flap open.

What in the spirits is this? A human woman, poised at the back entrance and wound up like a serpent, ready to strike.