The Unplowed Sky by Jeanne Williams

Hallie marveled.
    â€œNot for long. Don’t have a lot of choice. Taters every meal, fried, smashed, or boiled. Plenty of meat and bread. Beans cooked till they’re juicy but still firm. Gravy that don’t have lumps. A pick of canned tomatoes, corn, peas, green beans, and fruit. Slaw, if I can get ahold of fresh cabbage, stewed dried apples or peaches or prunes. The boys ain’t fussy long as it tastes good, there’s plenty of it, and they get their pie or cake.”
    Hallie had been peeling potatoes so long that her fingers cramped. She wiggled them, wondered how many tons of potatoes she would peel that summer, and picked up the knife again.
    Rory didn’t give Hallie much chance to get cold feet. He disappeared after supper and returned as she was attacking the pots and pans. “Here you are.” He dropped faded overalls and a shirt on the bench and took the dish towel away from Shaft. The instant the cook untied his beard and sat down, Smoky draped herself beneath his beard, spanning shoulder to shoulder, and Jackie scrambled up to nestle where he could stroke the kitten.
    Just to see that was worth all the work Hallie had done that day, even if she hadn’t been paid in money. Watching her brother in tender delight, she became aware that Rory was gazing at her. Something had changed in his eyes, in his manner which usually radiated young, almost arrogant masculinity.
    â€œLooks like they’re in pig heaven, the three of them,” he said. “Hey, Shaft, I hope that beard of yours don’t give fleas to the cat.”
    â€œI’ll give ’em to you, young sprout, when I’m in a givin’ mood,” Shaft retorted, but he didn’t even open his eyes.
    â€œNow, Hallie,” said Rory, “the best way to start you on the engine is when we make a new set. So you watch when it’s time to bring morning and afternoon lunch. If the stacks are just about finished, put on your overalls, and I’ll show you how to haul the separator to the next set and back the engine to where we can belt up.”
    Hallie cringed. She’d had time to regret that, caught between the brothers, she had let herself be pressured into attempting to control that monster of steel and steam. “Rory—” she began faintly. “I—I don’t think—”
    â€œWell, look who’s got attached to the other end of a dish towel.” Garth filled the door. Even by lamplight, Hallie could see the sardonic curve of his mouth. “Before you start helping out with cookshack chores though, laddie, it would be a fine notion to give your engine a going-over.”
    Rory flushed to the roots of his curly, sweat-damp golden hair. “Baldy takes care of the flues and firebox.”
    â€œYou’re still in charge.”
    â€œDoesn’t seem much like it with you nosing around!”
    â€œI’m the one paying the mortgage!”
    The brothers’ eyes clashed. Rory glanced away first. “I was going to check everything over good in the morning.”
    â€œWhat if something took a long time to fix and made us late starting?”
    Rory swung around to confront Garth. “When it does— if it does—you can dock my share for what you’re out of pocket.”
    Garth’s tone grew more conciliatory. “No use having it happen in the first place, laddie. If—”
    â€œLaddie! When are you going to quit treating me like a kid?”
    â€œWhen you stop acting like one.” Garth held out a mineral-crusted rubber ring. “You must have noticed this hand-hole gasket was leaking.”
    â€œSure, but the boiler had to cool off. I was going to drain it in the morning.”
    â€œYou’d have to be up long before Baldy to drain the boiler, take out the hand-hole plugs, and clean the holes and plate, oil the bolt, cut a new gasket to fit just right, and fill the boiler again before time to start the