No Bologna

Jan took the last large box off the horse trailer they borrowed for the move and brought it into the kitchen. She sighed heavily. Done.

“Megan? Greta? You guys finished up yet?” she called out.

“Not yet, Mom,” Megan replied, “Greta’s still sorting out her dolly clothes.”

“All right, well hurry up, I’m about to start lunch.” She pulled out some sliced cheese and bologna along with a loaf of bread.

“No bologna!” Greta called out. Jan sighed. Greta was a picky eater, a trait she had inherited from her own eating habits. Cheese and mayo it is, she told herself.

“Trey, honey?” No answer. “Trey?”

“He went out exploring,” Megan stated, entering the room. “He said he’d be back for lunch.”

“Is he unpacked already?” Jan responded.

“Nope.”

“Megan, I wanted to make sure we were all done before your father got home,” Jan pushed.

“He doesn’t have much stuff, Mom,” Megan answered. “Besides, you know how he is.”

“Still, that’s no excuse.”

“Do you want me to go find him?”

“No,” Jan affirmed. “I’ll go find him. You just pulled lunch duty.” She handed the butter knife to her daughter and walked through the living room to the back door. “No bologna on G’s sandwich, kay?”

“I know,” Megan sighed.

Jan stepped out into a brisk autumn wind and immediately regretted not grabbing her coat. Bundling her arms up, she crossed the back yard towards a thick wooded area directly behind their new home. Of course this is where he is, she thought. Jan made her way through the woods about twenty yards.

“Trey?” she called out, “Lunch!” She walked a good while longer and crossed a small trickle winding through the earth catching sight of him. Hans was lining a pile of sticks and branches up beside a long stone wall. “I told you not to come out here alone, Trey. We’re making lunch.”

“I found a perfect spot for a fort,” Trey replied, running up to her, sticks in hand.

“After lunch,” she declared, “and after you finish unpacking your room.”

“Aw, Mom,” he whined.

“Get inside! It’s too cold out here for you to be running around without a scarf and a jacket.”

“Mom!”
“Move!” He scampered off toward the house.  Jan glanced back at the stone wall and the formidable house beyond. A stately three-story home stood atop a small hill, no signs of life or upkeep. She shivered – partly from the cold, partly from the creepiness of this weird house – and headed home.

By the time Jan caught up with Trey, he was already munching on bologna and cheese. Megan and G sat at the table, each with a nose in a book. Megan was elbow deep in Animal Farm, while Greta contemplated which cutout patterns would look best on her paper dolls. “I wish you wouldn’t read that stuff, Meg.”

“What stuff?”

“That garbage,” Jan stated, gesturing to her book.

“It’s not garbage,” Meg insisted. “It’s a story about animals, how harmful can that be?” Ever since she got caught branching off from Jane Austen, her mother tried to keep track of what the girl read. As vigilant as she was, Jan was still not even aware that Meg secretly had torn ravenously through Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Poe, Beckett, Steinbeck, Bradbury, Verne, Wells, and even Lovecraft. She would have had kittens.

“You girls finish up yet?” she asked.

“I’m finished,” Megan offered. “G’s still got some clothes to go through.”

“That’s last thing I got to do,” Greta mumbled, mouth full of cheese and bread.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Honey,” Jan pleaded.

“G, you gotta see this place I found for a fort,” Trey blurted. “It’s neato.”

“Hans,” Jan ordered, “you are not allowed to show your sister anything until you finish unpacking your room, and that’s final.”

“But it’s really cool --”

“--I don’t want to hear another word about it until you are done unpacking, is that clear?”

“Okay,” Trey conceded.

Jan unloaded a dozen pots and pans from the box she brought in earlier, opening random cupboards to determine in which one they would go. “Is there enough room for both of you in that room?” Jan asked Megan.

“Should be,” she agreed, munching on some celery. “This place is bigger than Topeka.” Megan showed G a dress and stocking combination with a flowery hat.

“What do you think?”

“Not bad, maybe with the green hat?”

“Well, the house might be bigger, but this town is most definitely not,” Jan muttered.

“You think we could check out the library after lunch?” Megan asked.

“We meaning who?” Jan queried.

“Me and G.”

“G and I,” corrected Jan.

“Greta and I.”

“As long as your room’s all squared away, I don’t see anything wrong with taking a trip to the library,” she decided, adding, “if you can find one in this town.”

“That’s not fair!” Trey burst out.

“Hans Rupert!” Jan demanded. “You did your exploring, now let the girls do theirs.” Jan placed a beat-up tea kettle on the back burner of a brand new electric stove, feeling that a good portion of her used and abused cookware looked out of place in this clean slate of a home. Trey stood up in defiance.

“Then I’m gonna go unpack right now,” he declared.

“Finish your lunch,” instructed Jan. He crammed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and busily chewed. “Hon, don’t do that, you’ll choke.” He rinsed down the last bit with the last few swallows of milk in his glass. He stood in defiance.

“Now can I go?”

“You know—,” she started, changing her mind mid-thought. “Fine. Go on. Let me know if you need any help.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” he pouted. “I can do it by myself.”

“Refrain from anger and forsake wrath, Trey,” Jan offered.

“Do not fret, it tends only to evil,” Greta added, finishing the verse.

“Very good, Greta,” Jan encouraged. “Do you remember what verse?”

“Psalms 37, verse 8.”

“That’s my girl.” Jan reached up in a top cupboard and grabbed an Oreo, giving it to Greta.