See Me by Wendy Higgins Page B

tanning hides for the leather. In fact, I’d better be off. My partner is cranky when I’m late.”
    He stood and inclined his head to the four of us, lingering longest on me, before walking in the direction of the big building. I watched him go, noting his long limbs and thin frame. It was hard to believe he was fifty-years-old and his body still had some filling-out to do. I turned my attention back to my breakfast, which was as delicious as it looked.
    “Well, he can certainly be polite when he wants to,” Mom noted, sipping her hot tea.
    “What kind of trouble will you girls get into today?” Dad asked. Cassidy and I thought about it.
    “I’d like to meet some of the women,” I said. “Maybe take a walk around the area or something.”
    “Yeah, your mother and I will probably explore the land, too. I might have a look in the shoe factory later. See if I can make myself useful while I’m here.”
    “It’s the Shoe House, Dad,” Cass corrected him. “You have to use their lingo.”
    “Ah, yes. Shoe House.”
    “And Robyn says they’re anti-women over there,” Cass warned him.
    Our parents looked at me, interested.
    “Yeah, I went by yesterday and they seemed a little spooked to see a girl inside.”
    Dad laughed. “Feminine wiles would distract the boys from work.”
    “Nah,” Mom said. “Harmless superstitions, is all. Don’t get your feelings hurt.”
    After breakfast, Cassidy and I set off for the kitchens. I felt shy when we got there. I’d always been somewhat intimidated by other females, feeling like I wasn’t girly enough and I couldn’t catch on to the passive-aggressive subtleties many girls lived by. I’d always gotten along better with boys. In general they were simpler to understand, although McKale was giving me a run for my money.
    Six women hunched over shallow barrels scrubbing dishes and pans. They had an assembly line going. The oldest woman with a head full of short, curly gray hair held out a soapy hand for our dishes without looking at us.
    “We can wash them,” I told her, feeling bad.
    “Och, just give ‘em to me.” She snatched them from my hand and began scrubbing with zeal.
    Leilah and the other young girl were at the rinsing station, dunking sudsy dishes into the clean water.
    “Here.” Leilah tipped her chin toward a stack of towels. “You can dry.”
    Cassidy and I went over and grabbed towels, drying and stacking. Those ladies moved fast and we worked quickly to keep up, fumbling a little and making Leilah and her friend giggle. I decided I might write an ode to the awesomeness of electric dishwashers and indoor plumbing.
    “This is my friend, Rachelle.” Leilah’s friend had curly dark hair that she pulled back in a bonnet.
    “Do you two room together?” I asked them, wiping my damp forehead with my arm.
    “Aye. Most of us wee women live together except the ones currently bound.”
    “How old are you, Leilah? Sorry, not trying to be nosy. I’m just curious.”
    “Not at all. I’m one-o-nine. Rachelle here’s the babe of the women. She’s only ninety-eight.”
    We finished up the dishes and the four of us girls left the hot kitchen. It was warm outside, but at least there was a breeze and occasional clouds.
    Leilah and Rachelle took us through the village, into a part we hadn’t been yet. We ended up in a fenced farm area with partitioned spaces for goats, pigs, and chickens. The girls scooped feed from a barrel to feed the animals. I watched them work, noting every detail in hopes of eventually “making myself useful” like Dad had mentioned. They walked us through their morning chores, mostly caring for the animals. I could deal with farm animals way easier than something like, oh, let’s say, dumping the chamber pots. Blech.
    When they were finally done they led us to a nearby patch of soft clover where we all sat.
    “What do ye think of our McKale?” Leilah asked.
    I was so glad she made the first move.
    “I like him,” I told her.