Francis woke up when he heard neighing and hushing from the garden below his window. He checked his watch - it showed 3 in the morning - and rubbed his neck, sore from sleeping against the window frame. He went for the door but stopped when he heard the sound of creaking steps on the stairs. A short while later his door opened. "Arthùr," Francis whispered, and looked at his friend, seeming ever so weary and broken. "Hey, sorry to bother you this late," the Brit replied and continued to stand in the doorway with no intention of entering the room. "Not at all. You alright?" "Yeah," Arthur lied. "Listen, I was thinking we should leave tomorrow after plowing the fields. I forgot Bosey had an appointment with the vet and the doctor's times are so hard to come by." Francis nodded, even though he knew what his friend was telling him was an obvious lie, but he dared not question him about his father. The Brit wished him goodnight and turned to leave but was stopped by his friend. "Arthùr, you know if there's anything you need or want to talk about, I'll be here," he said, and looked at the drooping figure ready to close the door. "I know," Arthur only replied, and went to his room. With a heavy sigh, Francis closed the window and went to bed, even though he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep that night.
The mood at the breakfast table would have been dreadful weren't for the twins and Scottie. They had been out when the situation had occurred last night and had no idea why their parents were acting frigid towards each other or why Arthur was more quiet than usual. After Joseph had finished his meal, he retorted that he would get the tractor and start plowing the fields while the boys finish up. "I expect to see you all ready with your bags in at least 10 minutes so you could get started with the first one," he said and then turned to his wife: "You'll be in charge of the vegetable fields, Scottie will help you along." "I know I am in charge of those, they are my fields," Margaret snapped back and continued washing the dishes. The old man only grunted and left the house.
"Geez, what's going on around here," William muttered once he, Wallace, Arthur and Francis were near the grain storage. "No idea," his twin brother answered, and took a large brown backpack-like piece of clothing made of potato sacks. "It sucks that the mechanics of throwing seeds around is broken on the tractor… Well, we'll take the barley while you two start spreading wheat around," Wallace said as he started to shovel a lot of seeds to the sack. "Well, you heard him," Arthur said to Francis, and went to another crate. Some while later they all were walking up and down the furrows, throwing little grains along they took from the holes in the heavy backpacks they carried. "At least it's easier than the potatoes we did yesterday," Francis said, trying to strike up a conversation with his friend. Arthur only nodded and continued to stomp on the seeds. "You know, when I'm feeling low, I like to think and talk about my thoughts of a better future. Do you have any dreams, Arthùr?" the Frenchman didn't give up. The Brit looked at the clear skies and thought to himself for a minute. "A few, but they're... silly," he finally answered, smiling to himself. "I doubt that," Francis said, happy to hear his friend talk again. "I think the simplest dream I have is... I just want someone to kiss my forehead and tell me how lucky they are to have someone like me," Arthur said wryly, throwing the seeds around. "That's sweet. The simplest I have is kind of like yours, though," Francis smiled and rushed to his friend's side. "One day I'm going to wake up, roll over on my side and kiss the love of my life good morning," he said. Arthur looked at him and smiled, happy to hear someone else also had such simple dreams. "It's funny how a few words from someone can make you feel a million times better," he quietly said, words no louder than a whisper, having forgotten for a while what his father had warned him about. Francis looked at him, a warm smile on his face and a tingle in his heart, for such a little sentence caused such happiness to them both, and he was sure he really was in love with the Brit.
Five hours later they had finished with all the crops since the children from a neighboring village came to help them in the hopes of getting some of Margaret's delicious caramelized apples (which they did get, of course). After lunch they went to dig a new drench to the watering system the Kirkland boys had built a long time ago in order to water the plants on the fields without having to run back and forth to the well. First they set up a small dam to the entrance they had dug to the river in order to stop the water from flowing while they repaired the ditch. Digging and cleaning up the huge drain was hard work, but luckily the young men spent too much time on bickering and teasing each other to remind themselves of that. After a while though, William suddenly sprung up and looked at Arthur with a grin. "You know, Artie, what this reminds me of?" he asked, the others interested in what he had meant. "A song of yours, the one you did with Rush, remember? You had a lot of fun playing your guitar for them," he laughed, Arthur grinding his teeth; he had never liked talking of things that were, even when they were nice memories. "Don't you dare, Will!" he grabbed his brother by the collar and started shaking him, but he couldn't stay angry for long since William's laughter was contagious. Defying the Brit, he opened his mouth and sang:
"I get up at seven, yeah,
and I go to work at nine.
I got no time for livin',
yes, I'm working all the time.
It seems to me
I could live my life
a lot better than I think I am.
I guess that's why they call me,
they call me the workin' man.
They call me the workin' man,
I guess that's what I am."
Arthur just threw him to the mud and continued to shovel, the others laughing at William. "Why did ye' stop playin', tho'? Ye' even made such a big show o' changin' yer identity 'n' shit and then ye just threw it all away. Ye actually were good at playin' the guitar, eejit," Allistor asked his brother after some while. "I got tired of it," Arthur simply replied. "And he still plays," Francis added as if passing by and threw some rocks out of the bottom of the drench. "Only occasionally," the Brit ended the conversation. Some while later they released the dam and water flowed through the drench, the watering system completely functional again.
Francis came down the stairs and threw his bag next to the door; Arthur was nowhere in sight. "He's probably on the bench," said Margaret who brought a basket filled with buns and small pies. "Something for the road," she said while handing it to the Frenchman. He thanked her and left for the hill. She had been right and soon he was sitting beside the Brit. "You sure you want to go?" Francis asked and glimpsed at Arthur, looking at the sky. He nodded, staying silent. "I've never liked staying here for too long," he answered and added, having remembered his lie: "Plus Bosey has the vet." "Of course," his friend smiled and they sat there for a while until Arthur stood up, stretching. "We should get going, it's already 7 o'clock," he sighed, and gave a long look to Francis, the other one cocking a brow while wondering what was going on in the Brit's head. Suddenly Arthur threw a pair of keys to him and left to climb the hill. "You can drive," he called to him. With a smile, Francis followed him.