"So no grandmother to help out," Shari sighed. "And somebody has to have a girl talk with Cally."
"Assuming you can find her," Papa O'Neal said. "I haven't seen her all morning. I've heard her; she's using her drill-sergeant voice on your kids. But I haven't seen her at all. We're usually up around dawn, but she was up even earlier and out the door before I got up."
"I thought you were getting up and slaughtering the fatted pig this morning," Shari said with a smile. The eggs and bacon had been wonderful and she had more of an appetite than yesterday.
"I did," O'Neal said, grinning. "And it's on the barbeque, slow roasting even as we speak. And Cally normally would have been right there with me. But not this morning; she hasn't gotten within fifty yards of me this morning."
He paused and rubbed his chin then looked at the ceiling in puzzlement.
"She hasn't been within fifty yards of me all morning," he repeated thoughfully.
"I wonder what she's done wrong," Shari said with a grin.
* * *
"You have to tell him," Shannon said. "You can't go on hiding all the rest of your life."
"I can too," Cally answered. She forked another load of hay over into the stall with more vehemence than it actually needed. "I can hide as long as I have to, put it that way."
The barn was huge and quite old. The original structure dated to just after the War of Northern Aggression, as Papa O'Neal called it. There were several horse stalls, an area for milking and a large hay loft. Along one wall several hay rolls had been stacked. Leaning against them was an odd rifle with a large, flat drum on top of it. Cally never left the house unarmed.
"It's a natural thing," Shannon argued. The ten-year-old slipped off the hay round and picked up a chunk of clay on the floor of the barn. She waited just a moment until the mouse stuck its head out of the hole again and pitched the clay at it. The chunk shattered on the wall above the hole and the mouse disappeared. "You have a right to live your own life!"
"Sure, tell that to Granpa," Cally said with a pout.
"Tell what to Granpa?"
Cally froze and stuck the pitchfork into the hay without turning around. "Nothing."
"Shari and I were just wondering where you'd been all morning," Papa O'Neal said from behind her. "I notice you've got all your chores done. But you somehow managed to get them all done without coming within a mile of me."
"Uh, huh." Cally looked around, but short of actively fleeing by climbing up into the hay loft and then, all things being equal, probably having to climb out the side of the barn through a window, there was no way to escape. And sooner or later she'd have to turn around. She knew she was caught fair and square. She thought briefly of either turning around and shooting her way out or, alternatively, jumping out the window and going to Oregon to live with Granma. But she doubted she could get the drop on the old man. And as for living with Granma, the commune depended on the local military for protection; they'd take her guns away. Blow that.
Shannon, the fink, had actually made an escape. Bolted. What a jerk.
Finally she sighed and turned around.
* * *
Papa O'Neal took one look and pulled out his pouch of Red Man. He extracted about half the pouch, laboriously worked it into a ball just a bit under the size of a baseball and then stuffed it into his left cheek. Then he put the pouch away. The whole time he had been looking at Cally's face.
"Granddaughter," he said, his voice slightly muffled, "what happened to your eyes?"
"Don't you start, Granpa," Cally said dangerously.
"I mean, you look like a raccoon . . ."
"I think she was going for the Britney Spears look," Shari said delicately. "But . . . that density doesn't really . . . suit you, dear."
"I mean, if you go into town, they're gonna arrest me for beating you," Papa O'Neal continued. "I mean, your eyes are all black and blue!"
"Just because you know NOTHING about fashion . . . !" Cally said.
"Oh, fashion is it . . . ?"
"Uh, whoa, whoa!" Shari said, holding up her hands. "Let's all calm down here. I suspect that everyone in this barn, except me, but probably including the horse, is armed."
Papa O'Neal started to say something and she laid her hand over his mouth.
"You wanted me, us, to talk to Cally about 'girl stuff.' Right?"
"Yes," O'Neal said, pulling the hand away. "But I was talking about . . . hygiene and . . ."
"How to make guys complete doofuses?" Cally asked. "I already know those things."
Shari slapped her hand over his mouth again and he pulled it back.
"Look, I'm her grandfather!" he argued. "Don't I get to say anything?"
"No," Shari answered. "You don't."
"Arrrr!" O'Neal said, throwing up his arms. "This is what I hate about having women around. Okay! Okay! Fine. I'm wrong! Just one thing." He pointed at Cally and shook his finger. "Makeup. Okay. I can handle makeup. Makeup is even good. But no raccoon eyes!"
"Okay," Shari said gently, turning him towards the barn door. "Why don't you go check on the pig and Cally and I will have a little talk."
"Fine, fine," he muttered. "Go ahead. Clue her in on how to make a guy insanely angry without even opening her mouth. Put her through girl academy . . . Fine . . ." He continued to mutter as he stalked out of the barn.
Cally looked at Shari and smiled happily. "You seem to be getting along."
"Yes, we are," Shari admitted. "Whereas you don't seem to be getting along with him at all."
"Oh, we're okay," Cally said, sitting on the hay. "I just spent so many years being his perfect little warrior child and now . . . I don't know. I'm tired of the farm, I'll tell you that. And I'm tired of being treated like a child."
"Well, get used to that continuing for a while," Shari said. "Both of those things. Unless something very unpleasant happens. Because you're only thirteen and that means you're going to be in parental control for five more years. And, yeah, they'll wear. And, yeah, you'll want to find any way out from time to time. And if you want a really stupid one you can find some cute jackass with a hot car and a nice butt and have a passel of kids and find yourself out in the cold at thirty with mouths to feed."
Cally pulled at a strand of hair and examined it minutely. "Wasn't exactly where I was going with that."
"That's what you say now," Shari nodded. "And in about two years you'll be in town talking to one of those nice young soldiers with the wide shoulders. Trust me. You will. You won't be able to help yourself. And I have to admit that if you're doing that with, as your grandfather so delicately put it, 'raccoon eyes,' your chances of ending up holding somebody like Amber a year later is really high."
Cally sighed and shook her head. "I was talking with Wendy and Elgars last night and we didn't have any makeup, but Wendy was telling me a few things. So I got up real early this morning and . . ."
"Tried it," Shari said. "Totally normal. Not a bit of problem. Want to go inside and try it again? This time with some help?"
"Oh, could we?" Cally asked. "I know I look goofy. I just don't know how to fix it. And I love what you did with whatever you used!"