October 14, 2010
Shane's rarely alone these days, and today isn't really an exception. The older children are all next door, putting together a separate coop and enclosed pen for the trio of turkeys Merle and Morgan rescued yesterday. As much as they all like the idea of free range poultry, hawks in the area have taken notice of the growing numbers of chickens next door.
He is down at the smokehouse he built based on plans Sophia found in one of her pilfered library books. It's a little more high tech than the ancestral ones seen in books and movies, but Shane thinks they'll be better off for it. The main addition he made is the outdoor kitchen, which is why he built everything above the highest flood line.
Today it's him and Andre, because Michonne is busy running the big pressure canner and the toddler wanted to go outside. He's playing in the sandbox nearby, happily trundling small dump trucks and other construction toys around the sand. It's Andre who alerts him to someone approaching, because he leaves the sandbox to wrap one small arm around Shane's left knee.
"Michonne indicated you might be willing to walk me through the process," Eastman says as he gets within earshot.
"Of smoking meats or cleaning fish?" Shane doesn't pause in his filet work, finishing another fish and dropping it into the brine mixture in the big stainless steel pot.
"Both, although I suspect I've missed several steps with the catfish."
Shane chuckles. "Yeah, they're already naked and headless." When he and Sophia did the run around the trotlines this morning, she helped him skin and behead the fish, leaving the filleting for later. "Aren't you a vegetarian?"
"For my personal dietary needs, yes, but I don't feel the need to impose that philosophy on others. Nutritionally, I'm not sure I would recommend it in our world of limited resources for the children."
"Still developing brains and bodies need protein, right?"
"Yes. And it is not like any of the animals here are living in substandard accommodations. So long as no one tries to eat Tabitha, I'm good."
Shane laughs, dropping another filet into the brine. "I don't see goat going on the menu soon, especially not a milk goat who provides a daily alternative to becoming barbeque."
"What is the process here? I understand the basics of the smokehouse, but the outdoor kitchen baffles me a bit."
"According to the books we have, the safest way of preserving meat is brining and then cold smoking. The brined meat has to be kept cool, thus the refrigerator as part of the process. I figured as long as we have electricity, we might as well take the extra step."
He added a separate system of extra solar panels from an RV place they scavenged before the Claimers made him wary of taking the children out and added to the number of children. These panels power only the outdoor kitchen.
"How long do they brine in the refrigerator?" Eastman looks at the industrial sized appliance curiously. It was appropriated from a local restaurant. The big double door stainless steel freezerless appliance does look out of place.
"Just about four hours for the fish. The hams vary, depending on what it's from. Pork is about a month, but venison is about two weeks. Brine varies a bit."
Eastman steps closer, peering into the pot sitting on the burner already turned off. "You aren't cooking the fish?"
"Nope. You boil the water to dissolve the salt and sugar, then cut the heat."
"I see peppercorns and something green." Eastman takes a deep breath, making a face when the fish smell overwhelms the more delicate spice he's trying to identify.
"Oregano. Several sprigs from Sophia's garden, an ounce of whole peppercorns, a cup of sugar, and two cups of salt per gallon of water. Brines several pounds of fish."
"You're preparing a lot more food than will fit in the freezers."
They have four freezers now, not counting the one attached to the house fridge. All of them are on raised platforms below the house's stilts, although only the original is enclosed. That's another project eventually. One day at a time.
"We can't rely on getting food from anywhere else, and Georgia winters are notoriously unpredictable. The manufactured canned goods won't last forever. And honestly, I would be really sad to see ham and bacon gone for good."
"You have bacon? I didn't see pigs when I helped with the animals."
"Only in the process of curing. I've been thinning a sounder of feral pigs that's set up on the other side of the lake. They don't have any real predators as adults, so that sounder may get unmanageable running unchecked."
"They aren't preyed upon by the walkers?"
Shane finishes the last filet before replying. "You've never seen feral hogs if you think human teeth are any weapon against them. The damned things would eat walkers, not the other way around."
"Wouldn't that make eating the meat problematic?"
"Pigs have always been garbage disposals, eating pretty much whatever holds still long enough. I doubt we're in any more danger from any walkers they digest than any other traces of the walkers in our environment."
"I suppose. I think I remember reading about some controversy about farmers feeding pigs infected meat to build immunity to disease, so the science is behind it."
Shane puts the lid on the bucket containing the bones to drop off on the compost they're developing off-property and washes his hands. "Hey, Andre? Want to go back to the sandbox while I finish up."
The toddler eyes Eastman for a minute before giving Shane's leg a hug and returning to the sandbox.
"If you want to open the fridge, I need to put this inside." Shane puts the lid on the pot and lifts it. The boiled water has cooled while Shane worked on the fish.
The older man opens one of the doors, stepping back for Shane to slide the pot inside the fridge. He looks over what is already inside, multiple hams set to eventually go into the smokehouse.
"I recall Little House on the Prairie used an old dead tree to smoke meat. This is more involved."
"Perhaps, but none of us want to see if we can survive botulism without a hospital."
Shane eases the concrete slab of the firebox back. It's a small structure built of firebrick that will eventually hold the fire. "Cold smoking needs to be done below seventy degrees, so it isn't something we would do year round here. Build the fire here, and the metal piping allows it to cool before it reaches the actual smokehouse."
He slides the slab back in place, leading Eastman to the smokehouse itself. The base is raised, more firebrick, topped by a cedar structure that made Merle smirk and make a smartass remark about outhouses until Sophia said he wasn't allowed any bacon. Opening the door, he motions to the grate in the floor.
"We can close the flue between the smokehouse and firebox and make it double as a hot smoker for something we want to eat right away. That's why there's a second fire pit below the smokehouse."
Shane watches as Eastman inspects the wooden dowel racks and dowels installed to hang meat and the top, and the racks below repurposed from old grills that Shane will use for bacon and fish. "Quite smart to plan ahead for year round use."
"Sophia's idea, really. She's determined to figure out every possible old skill we might revive."
Eastman looks thoughtful as he steps back, seeming to look up at the chimney, which is a twin to the one that goes with the wood stove now installed in the house's living room.
"You and Michonne have both mentioned concerns about all of the children that you wanted my input on, as a trained psychiatrist. While children are outside my normal realm of practice, I am fine with that task except for one hiccup."
"What would that be?" While they don't know Eastman, any insight into how the children are recovering and adapting is a valuable one. He's just not comfortable with the man's former profession, considering his own sins.
"In order for me to truly work with children, they have to trust me." The man's smile is meant to be reassuring, Shane supposes. "But none of those kids will even consider trusting me until you do."
Shane frowns, trying to think of how he's made the children wary of Eastman's input.
"Even the littlest one feels your discomfort with me here. Think of how Andre fled his play to cling to you when I approached."
Looking over to Andre, Shane can see that the boy is still keeping a wary eye on Eastman.
"You're saying if I don't set the example, they aren't going to talk to you."
Eastman nods, that serene expression Shane associates with the mental health profession settling on his face. "I spoke to Michonne about my concerns, and she and I had an enlightening conversation about her own unease. She suggested you have some past issues that make you equally reluctant to be psychoanalyzed."
Shane can't control the flinch, even though he doubts Michonne shared details. "Michonne is an innocent compared to what I've done."
The psychiatrist looks around the idyllic compound they've built here. "Perhaps you have made mistakes, Shane, but from the looks of your family here, I would say you're atoning in a healthier way than I did for mine. How about we take a seat, and I tell you what led me to be hiding in a cabin in the woods, alone, during the apocalypse?"
Shane unfolds a couple of camp chairs from the overhang next to the smokehouse that stores the wood intended for its use. If Eastman is willing to get personal first, Shane is willing to listen.
By the time the man finishes his tale, Shane is tense and shaking, which Andre is alert to. He has a lapful of cuddly three-year-old, who raises his head to glare at Eastman occasionally. Shane ought to send him back to his mother, but Andre resisted the idea and only calmed when Shane stopped.
"The reality of our world is that it is easy to let humanity slide in favor of survival. That ability is probably why you aren't actually insane, you know."
"It sure felt like I was for a while." Shane sighs, soothing Andre.
"And what cleared your mind?"
"Sophia. I was the only adult she had to rely on for a while."
"And that's what keeps most people away from that edge, having those they love around them. Being needed and loved is a powerful psychological stabilizer, just as losing one's family can fracture the mind."
Shane finds himself repeating the tale he told Merle and Morgan. It's easier this time, with less feeling of being exposed to the world after a confession. He guesses it is because he's already told all this before.
The psychiatrist is quiet long enough for Shane to be concerned. Despite the man's own admission of killing a man in a rather horrific manner, the murderer was not an innocent. Not like Otis or Rick.
"There's no easy fix for what you experienced, Shane. I am no priest to grant absolution, and even those of faith rarely solve the issue in the confessional. But from what little I've witnessed here, you've laid the groundwork for a life that isn't dependent on Rick's family for your happiness."
"I could still lose Sophia, when her mama is found."
"I doubt there is any realistic scenario where that young lady will be willing to abandon you. The concern you should address is how to share her affections with her mother, should the woman survive and return. Perhaps in addition to those general psychology texts you've sampled, you might look for ones aimed at divorced parents."
"Even though Carol and I would never have that type of relationship?"
"I would venture that it would make it easier, because neither of you would have to overcome a failed personal relationship to co-parent Sophia."
Shane thinks on that and finally nods. "I guess that makes sense."
"It may never become an issue. Michonne suspects that Sophia thinks her mother didn't survive, because she lacked the skills to do so. The tricky part there is working with a child who mourned a parent, if the parent performs a Lazarus."
"Carl seemed to weather it well." At least as much as Shane was allowed to know. The boy's problems developed later, when his parents and Shane were embroiled in their sick triad.
"Every child will react differently. It will be something to monitor carefully." Eastman smiles down at the toddler in Shane's arm, now snoring softly. "What does Sophia think of your relationship with Michonne? She's the only one of the children whose place in your life predates Michonne's."
Shane's gaze snaps from Andre to Eastman. "What? Michonne and I are friends. Only friends."
"Are you absolutely certain of that? Sex isn't required for a relationship, especially not as early stage as the two of you are. Your interactions with each other indicate an ease and an interest in each other."
"I'm sure."
Although their conversation wraps with a plan for Shane to sit with each child and Eastman to help establish a rapport, the conversation about Michonne lingers beyond the reassurance about Sophia. His pensive mood draws a few concerned looks from the woman in question. She holds her peace until all the children are in bed, and Eastman and Andrea off to the camper for the night.
"You look like you could use this." Michonne passes him a warm mug, and a sip reveals it's heavily doctored with rum. She drinks from her own mug, leaning against him at the kitchen counter where he's just put away the dishes.
"Eastman thinks we're a couple." It comes out plainly, with no preamble.
"I could see where he might deduct that." She bumps her hip into his. "We're raising children together, we live in the same house, and I certainly flirt with you enough to give that impression."
Shane turns to stare at her. "We've been flirting?"
"Less we, more me." She smiles, mischief evident in her expression. "You tend to be as oblivious as the unaware best friend in a romcom."
"Oh." Shane blinks and settles for a drink of the hot cocoa to buy time to answer.
"It's not a commitment, Shane, just a series of hints that I would welcome your attention when you reach a point you feel able to give it."
She doesn't seem offended when he doesn't reply. Instead, she stays leaned almost against him at the counter while they finish their cocoa. He can feel the heat of her skin against his, and he realizes she touches him often. It's just drifted under the children's need for physical affection. Although come to think of it, even Morgan and Merle don't shy away from the occasional hand on a shoulder.
Shane lets her take his mug when it's empty, watching as she goes through the motions of washing the mugs and sauce pot. When she turns back to him, he manages a reply. "I'm not ready yet."
In the past, he's gotten over the rare woman who got under his skin by moving on to one who absolutely wouldn't have long-term appeal. It's the habit he followed by accepting the crude invitation Andrea issues in the car that day.
Michonne isn't someone he could ever think of like that, and there's not enough of him whole yet to consider what she deserves.
She smiles, reaching out to cup his face between her hands. It's warm and comforting, making him want to lean into the touch. He gives into the temptation for a few heartbeats.
"There's no deadline for you to be ready," she says softly.
The hug she gives him makes him feel for the first time that he might be one day.