Make Yourself a Part of Us
Chapter Notes
If it isn't obvious already, the more I write this Lena/Sam, the more I love them!
Oh, and cheeky Lena is a DELIGHT!
Alex's POV
Lunch is a sloppy mess of chicken and veg leftovers to spoon over a scoops of a baked bread
stuffing that Nia has worked apple chunks into. Somehow, impossibly, it not only works, but
makes a sweet, savory, sage-heavy delicious mess. Kara has none-too-discretely scooted close to
Lena and they're whispering and giggling over a notepad as though they've known one another
forever. It's cute.
So as lunch starts to wrap up, I have to tease them.
"I can hear you two already getting into your bird-brained gig again." My amusement that Lena
looks as sheepish as Kara is real. "Tell you what. You finish that up and get a shopping list
finalized. And Kara, when you finish that, can you hit the others up for their lists? It's going to be a
long day away from the farm tomorrow and I'd like to maximize our time."
"Sure thing!"
"Great I'll be out at the hoop houses with…" I pause when I notice the girls are asking Sam if they
can go hang out with Monica at her cabin for awhile. Sam is happy to send them off with a smile.
"Okay, I guess it's just me and Sam then?"
"Sure," Sam agrees cheerfully and I can't quite figure out what Lena's smile means. It looks like
carnal interest, possibly even echoed in Sam, but they're clearly so into each other. So, yeah. I'm a
little confused. I'm mean, sure, Lena was a constant stream of sassy flirtation in the video
comments, but so are a lot of people! I've never taken any of it seriously.
Now my brain has wandered off again and I've lingered here like an idiot long enough to amuse
them. Sigh.
"You sure you're up for shoveling out five months worth of chicken litter?"
Sam just grins like a wolf.
"If I can scrub a New York toilet, I can manage chicken shit."
Lena's laugh sends us on our way.
Rather than deal with gates, I just strike out alongside the road and call a greeting to the curious
ostriches where they pace us. The trio of hens has settled down without the big male and are almost
personable. As we get closer to our destination, Sam admires, "oh! You guys got the plastic on. It
looks good."
"It does, right? The only problem is that it shows how ratty the others are!"
Both tractors are still out at the quartet of hoop houses as we'd used them to help pull the new
plastic over the hoops earlier today.
"I'll get another sheet of plastic ordered," I say conversationally to my companion. "For the south
side of the coop. That way the chickens will have a whole lot of space to roam around in. And you
and the fam can see how it's done."
"Or jump in?"
I like Sam, she seems very easygoing and up for about anything.
"Exactly! In the meantime, here comes the rain, but we have an enormous umbrella waiting for
us."
Under the new plastic it is dry and growing noisy with the patter of rain. Nia is already there,
tossing bit and pieces left over from our greenhouse efforts into the bucket of the Deere. "Lucy
went to get another straw bale and will be back."
They've already dragged in the food/water/shelter infrastructure for the clucky inhabitants, so only
two major jobs are left for this project. I get Sam into the discarded dust mask and goggles Kara
had been wearing earlier, strap on my own, and we get to work.
The giant round bales I had only barely seen in a few quaint photos are indeed huge. And
dangerously heavy. The machines that compact the long hay or straw strands into wheels like a roll
of tape pack them tight and pulling them apart is a challenge. We got one half unrolled earlier, and
with much laughter, me, Nia and Sam manage to turn the thing around and shove it back down the
way it came to unspool the straw.
Lucy returns with the Kubota and another bale impaled on the vicious tines of the hay spear, sets it
down and uses the machine to shove the thing over with a dull thud. It takes a few straps and some
rope to get the bale turned and the outside layer picked open so it can be laboriously rolled by all
four of us. Then it's catching our breath before raking out what feels like acres of straw.
Impressively, Sam lasts for nearly the whole project, but she'll be feeling it tomorrow. It's hilarious
to watch her collapse to sprawl out in the fresh straw and just lie there. While Lucy drives off to get
some of the pile of clean hay salvaged from the picky camelids, I poke Sam in the foot.
"You gonna live, tough guy?"
"Fuck you, Danvers," she says mildly and I chuckle. "You people are nuts, you know that, right?"
"A little, yeah. But you have to admit you've never had eggs so tasty."
"Fiiiiiiiine."
We hang out in a surprisingly easy quiet. After feeling like such a disaster yesterday, the peace is
welcome.
The hay is simply dumped in a big heap, and I wave Sam away from reaching for her rake. "Naw,
you're good. Half the fun for the little dinosaurs is scratching the pile down looking for nibblies."
"Oh, Okay. Can't say I'm sorry we're done then."
"You are welcome to merely supervise the final step."
"What's left?"
"We have to keep them in and the worst of the cold out."
The tractor reappears then, with the sidewall dangling from the raised bucket, Nia steadying the
thing. At fifteen feet wide and nearly as tall, the plastic and wood is a giant kite with a set of
double doors in the middle of it. A few screws and a couple trips up a ladder and the wall is back in
place, buttoning the new coop up.
There's been a clip-mount and camera set up on the innermost wall for all of our labors, but Brainy
shows up to get more dramatic footage of the finale. So I ham it up. Swanning over to the door
leading to the central coop, I throw up my hands dramatically and supervillain-cackle, "release the
cluckens!"
Throwing open the door doesn't exactly flood the place with evil chickens, but they do start
straggling in.
"Come my evil minions, foul deeds await!"
"Fowl. That's cute," Sam deadpans and Nia snickers.
"Oh, I see how it is," I mock rage and don't fight the smile, pointing melodramatically at the new
girl. "You have visited my evil lair to mock!"
Sam just smirks and looks sarcastically contrite. "Oh dear, you've figured out my evil counterstrategy."
I don't hesitate to join in on Nia's laughter and Sam looks pleased with herself.
It's still raining out, actually even harder than we started, so I shoo at Sam. "You go take a nice,
long, hot bath. You're going to be sore as hell later. The rest of you, let's get the other hoops
stripped while we can."
While Sam hobbles off into the rain, the rest of us get back to work. As happens far too often in
this new life, a seemingly simple task complicates fast, or at least takes far longer than anticipated.
This time it's the tattered plastic that is our complication. It's huge and unwieldy and heavy, but
mostly it's just trying to deal with it in the now-steady rain. We debate on dropping the task, but
we're soaked anyway, and the stuff blowing around could be dangerous. So we pull it down, slice it
into manageable pieces, stack it under the tractor bucket to keep it still and bundle it when it gets to
the point of being difficult to deal with.
"We'll lay it out in the low barn later to dry and see what's salvageable," I say as we loop some wire
around the third bundle. "It feels wrong to throw away so much plastic and-"
Movement and the sound of an engine big enough to be heard over the rain pauses my rambling.
"Because of course the damn firewood is going to show up in the pouring rain."
Sure enough, there's a truck pulling down the main lane towards the village. And it's no small
truck either, but a full-sized semi and trailer. Whoo boy… maybe I really did order too much…
"We'll finish up," Lucy interrupts my thoughts. "And I'll bring over the first stack of pallets."
Nodding, I trot out to the road to meet the delivery. After a quick consult with the driver, he's
backing up to swing the trailer down the split in the road that wraps around the back of Marty's six
acres. While he gets himself turned around, I zip a message off to the group chat for all hands on
deck. I don't know how much wood is in that trailer, but I have a feeling it's going to be a lot.
Unfortunately, the rig is too big to send over to the low barn, so the load is going to have to be
dumped on the road.
Another thing we've had to get good at is compromise and problem-solving on the fly!
Like a flock of birds in Carhartt plumage, we gather at the road to watch the semi back up to near
the barn and the driver hops out to fiddle at the rear doors.
It's a lot of wood. I mean a lot of wood. The damn thing is nearly full, split wodd slithering out to
pile at the back of the trailer from the force of gravity.
"Did you overdo it?" Kara asks tentatively as the driver presses buttons on a controller and the
whole damn load starts to move on some sort of hidden conveyor. Brainy and Kara, camera in tow,
immediately go to bother the guy while I stand back with Nia, Carol and Maria to watch the slow
avalanche of split logs. When the pile can't pile anymore, the driver pulls the truck up, trailing a
valley of firewood and piling another mountain and then another. Soon, the forty-ish foot trailer
has deposited a mountain range of wood on our gravel and I'm signing for it. Brainy shoots a bit of
the conveyor belt that is the floor of the trailer while the driver kicks a few stuck logs out and
closes up his rig.
"There's hardwood mixed in here," Lucy bellows over the noise of the departing semi. "Keep an
eye out on it and stack it separately. If it doesn't have bark like an evergreen, assume it's part of the
hardwood pile."
"Good lord, what did this cost?" Lena asks as we prepare for our task with gloves and losing some
layers beneath the near-waterproof Carhartt. Lucy's nonchalant answer makes the visiting beauty
blink.
"About two grand with delivery. We were planning on living off the logs we dropped over the
summer that have been stashed in the warehouses out back. Just use them however dry they were.
But why not take advantage of your nice donation and get good, dry stuff? We scrounged up
enough during the summer to get in five cords, but it's not nearly enough and relying on what we
cut that might not burn for shit was making me a nervous damn wreck. And it's all douglas fir,
which is decently good stuff, but the harder stuff burns slower and makes better coals. We survived
just fine on doug fir last winter, but we've expanded so much now."
"It's… a lot."
"I'd rather be overboard then come up short. We put our heads together and did some calculations,
estimating that the clubhouse alone will eat up at least five. Realistically more. The fire pit's
another one or two. Each house will use a couple, the Rambeaus easy double that as their place is
bigger, and Alex's shop. I think that's all of it."
"Wow. How much is a cord, anyway?"
I'm glad Lena asked, because I know the camera is recording the whole conversation. In fact,
rather than answer, Lucy just shoots said camera a significant look and Brainy sighs. "A cord is a
standard unit of measurement in the United States and Canada that equates to a neatly racked and
stowed volume of lumber of one hundred and twenty eight cubic feet; a cube four foot wide, four
foot tall and eight feet wide. There are a great deal of variation, of course, due to the nature of the
material, but that is the basic definition."
"And this," Lucy says and throws open to indicate the mountain range of fire wood, "is fifteen
cords."
With explanations made, we begin to stack. And stack. And stack! As per our research, the
firewood is layered first one way, then the other in rough columns with loose pieces filling the
spaces between. When the pallet is about five feet tall, a tarp gets tossed over and ratchet straps to
steady it for being picked up and tractored off to the low barn for storage. Then the tarp and straps
come back for the next load. After some fumbling around, laughter and banter, we get the rhythm
of the task. Split into two teams so we don't trip over one another, we make good progress into the
mountain range.
Despite the persistent rain and the chilly temps, I'm quickly stripped down to my t-shirt along with
about half the others. A mock competition of who can stack the most keeps us fired up, though we
willingly take a break when Maria calls for it. Lena has appeared with the three girls, all of them
huddled under umbrellas and with carafes in hand.
"If that's hot coffee, you really are an angel!" I call out as we flock over to the promise of
something hot to warm our bones. Lena grins as mugs are handed over to be filled with steamy
brew.
"Close. You'll have to suffice with a very fancy tea blend I love, lightly sweetened."
"Wow," Lucy exclaims in surprise. "This is really good, Lena. And I hate tea!"
Lena's smile widens in response and she hands me a cup. It smells of vanilla and earthier things. A
sip, then a longer draught does nothing to identify what makes this shit so tasty, but frankly, I don't
care. The tea is really too hot to just chug, but I do it anyway. Chuckling, Lena holds out her carafe
and I eagerly let her fill the mug again.
"Just a little thank you for all the hard work," she says softly as I tilt the mug back to sip at it again.
"And the show."
Yep. I choke.
Lena's POV
I take a childish glee in having gotten Alex to react like that. Revisiting our fantasies this morning
with Sam has had me riled up all day. The gun show is doing nothing to cool me off either. It's
impossible to take my eyes off Alex, drenched from head to toe, the t-shirt clinging wetly and those
muscled arms glistening. That adorable forelock straggles down between her eyes as she coughs up
the inhaled tea, waving off Kara's concern.
I like Kara, she's good company and her infectious enthusiasm has really driven my creativity with
this fun aviary project. I'm actually looking forward to getting a tool in my hands and building
something for the first time in my life.
Catching her breath, Alex sips and fiddles at her mug, reminding me for all the world like her
canine shadow; wanting attention but not assured enough to search it out. It's odd how… shy she is.
Then again, Sam and I have had to reel in shyer when we go fishing for some fun! Those are good
memories and I can feel some of that edge into my smile.
Oh Alex, you and those expressive eyes are like catnip!
"I… I should get back to it," she half stammers and steps away in time to crash right into her
cousin. Carol manages to keep them both on their feet, but is now wearing half the tea.
"The hot tub is after the work is done, Middle D," Carol says wryly and just shakes her head as she
walks away. "Disaster."
The very poster child of sheepish, Alex slinks after her, but not until after she shoves the mug at me
with all the delicacy of a live grenade. The slosh of cooling tea over my hands is worth it.
With their good deed done, the girls are ready to be done and I'm happy to send them off. As long
as Ruby is with Lily, I have few worries. They're good kids and there's no way that Maria and
Carol raised a bad kid in Monica! Another random benefit of boarding school is that my daughters
aren't around one another enough to get on one another's nerves much, and they've remained close
all these years.
As for me, there's no way in hell I'm missing any of this eye-candy.
I've never been required to do physical labor like this, so I've always found it fascinating. That not a
single member of this hardworking family is hard on the eyes doesn't hurt any. Even Brainy looks
butch grabbing and stacking the seemingly endless pile of logs. They work methodically, with
bursts of teasing and conversation and laughter all around. Over the drone of rain and the noise of
the animals, I don't catch all of it. Though Alex jumping as though scalded and making an entirely
undignified noise is unmistakable. Lucy quickly lashes out and stomps the ground nearby.
"Spider-phobe, you're in the wrong business," she teases and Alex just shakes herself out and
warily gets back to work.
Despite my tired feet from standing around, I remain engrossed, startling when Sam's voice is
suddenly near my ear.
"I see you're getting a show."
Happy to have her close again, I turn and snuggle up to cover us both with the umbrella and steal a
kiss from that familiar smile. She's dressed warmly, her chic raincoat standing out in the rural
setting.
"A most excellent show. Did you enjoy your soak?"
"Entirely," Sam groans with the remembered pleasure of her long bath. She's not usually one for
that sort of pampering, but she was completely exhausted and chilled earlier. Raising her voice,
Sam calls out, "hey, Nia? Can I steal you for a second?"
After they talk quietly for a moment, Nia looks surprised and eager and a little conflicted. Sam's
laugh rings out and Nia brightens, earning open arms to throw herself into. After a long hug, they
separate and a grinning Sam rejoins me.
"We're on dinner duty. Come join me when you get bored."
I linger for awhile as dusk arrives early with the help of the heavy clouds. Darkness is different
here, a feral blackness like how the world must have been before we humans learned fire and its
more civilized cousin, electricity. Frankly, it scares me. So, with a last look at the handsome work
crew -lingering on Alex- I head in to help my partner.
Thus far, the clubhouse is my favorite place on the farm. It's homey and classy and cozy, definitely
encouraging lingering and togetherness. There are already savory smells drawing me to the kitchen
where Sam is humming along to a playlist on her phone, hips swaying.
Why resist her? Wrapping my arms around her slender frame, I let my body echo the movements of
hers and rest my head against the base of her neck. For some time I stay there while Sam works at
the messy pile of flour and wet ingredients on the stone counter. I knew in a glance that she was
making pasta and that I could take advantage of her being stuck in one place for some time. In this
strange place, her familiarity is soothing.
The motions of kneading, rolling and chopping echo through her body to mine and my snuggle
time is coming to an end.
"Nia gave us free run of the place," Sam says as I take a deep breath and move away from her.
Turning, she leans against the counter, smile soft and loving. "This place is like a miniature
grocery store."
So, I find myself seated at the battered dining table with a pile of raw ingredients to break down
into useful sizes. Sam hums and fusses over a huge pot on the stove and putters around the kitchen
as she gets ideas. We agree that the locals won't be in until full dark, so we're in no hurry.
Though it's not the work team that comes in first, but the welcome voice of my daughter.
"That smells yummy!"
"It does!" Sam calls back as the girls and a new but familiar face join us.
I lean into Lily's fierce little hug, but keep hands and knife on the cutting board. "Did you have fun
with Monica, sweetie?"
"Uh huh! She's nice. An' look! Maggie walked us over here in the dark."
Sure enough, the new woman is Lucy's Maggie, that dimpled smile even more warm and lovely in
person. "Okay, you girls are good now. I'll go help the others out and come back for proper
introductions later?"
"Sounds good," I agree easily and let the babble of the girls and Sam flow over me.
While Sam and Ruby work on a bucket of soup, Lily helps me scrounge piles of sandwich fixings.
Using much of the table's real estate, we start building a sandwich mountain, Lily nattering on
about her fun day with Monica and Ruby. As darkness takes over the windows completely, we eat
from the bounty and still, the troops have yet to return. The girls move over to the couch to watch
tv while I help Sam clean up the prep dishes.
"Do you think we should-"
As though my question cued them, there is suddenly noise in the clubhouse, heavy steps and low
voices bringing the sodden warriors to roost.
"Soup?" Sam asks simply and I'm fairly sure it's Lucy that makes that suggestive whimper.
Rather than make them think, Sam simply grabs from the jumble of comically huge mugs she
found and starts rapidly filling and handing them over. I wrap a paper towel around a sandwich and
fill the other hand so they can start stuffing their faces before collapsing into chairs.
I know what appetites this crew has, but I really thought the mountain of sandwiches and the giant
pot of soup would be too much. But every one of them goes for seconds and a few have room for
thirds. Kara even polishes off the last few bites of Brainy's second sandwich.
It's the most quiet they've ever been, live or on video. Frankly, it's a little eerie.
Maggie gets up first, bodily lifting Lucy by her coat onto unsteady feet before wishing everyone
goodnight and walking her out the door. That's signal enough for everyone to groan and get to their
feet, trooping in their dishes and slumping out the doors. Only Alex and Maria remain.
"God, I want a bath," Alex whines and rubs rough hands over her face.
"Dishes first," Maria teases and Alex huffs out a small laugh.
"I wouldn't trust myself not to drown right now anyway."
I'm not the least bit surprised when Sam approaches them, leaning against the counter by the sink.
"We'll get it tonight."
"But…"
"Guys, you just moved a frickin' semi-truck worth of wood. I think we can volunteer to scrub a few
more dishes."
The sly grin that curls Sam's mouth is something I am very familiar with and my snerk of humor is
ready for her teasing comment.
"You look dangerous to the flatware right now. We've got it. We'll call it payment for the gun
show."
For a moment, I think the pair are going to object, but Maria breaks with a chuckle, straightening
up from the jumble of dishes in the sink. "Well, thanks for that; we appreciate it. Come on,
cousin."
I can't decipher the loaded look Alex lingers on us as she's basically marched out the door.
But I also can't forget it.
Cleanup only takes a few minutes to load the dishwasher. We've already taken care of the rest. As
it really is too early for us to call it a day, Sam and I are happy to snuggle into the couch with the
girls for a movie. It's been wonderful to spend so much time with my whole family, a proper
vacation without the usual Sunday deadline looming.
The clubhouse very much feels like a borrowed space without the noise and energy of the Rainbow
Haven Acres crew in it. They might have fallen into this somewhat randomly, and be learning as
they go, but they have inhabited their space completely. For all the appeal of the videos tracking
their journey, they barely scratch the surface. Knowing that intellectually and experiencing it
firsthand has been quite the education.
With that quiet pressing in, retreating to the RV after the movie is a silent agreement among us.
The night is chilly and deeply dark, something that still unnerves me. I don't know that I could ever
get used to it. Did Alex and the others feel this way? Do they still?
Unable to shake the unsettled feeling, I grab my laptop and retreat to the master bedroom to read
over my messages from Jess and see how things are holding up in our absence. It's a relief to see
that our professional lives don't miss us in the slightest.
"The fort holding up?" Sam queries quietly as she opens the lightweight door and slips in. "The
girls are doing their homework. How many parents don't even have to ask?"
"That's because we're amazing," I tease. "And the benefits of a good boarding school."
Sam sits beside me, just close enough that our thighs touch. Neither of us are a fan of big
distractions while we're in work mode and do our best to respect that. This time, I don't mind,
poking the computer towards Sam so I can stretch my legs out and lean back into the bed's
headboard.
"It's a relief, but disconcerting, that our lives don't even care that we're gone."
Sam curls herself up into an impossibly small shape in order to stay on her sliver of bed and plops
her head in my lap. "It's only been three days."
"And when have we ever been away for more than two?"
"Alright, you have a point. It doesn't feel like three days, does it?"
I let my little scoff answer, trailing fingers through her hair in mutual relaxation.