The Cabin on The Blue Ch. 02

"Sounds ghastly," John said, smirking with sarcasm.

Rachel stuck out her tongue at him. God, he was hot. "There was food and water, we had a roof over our heads. There were even clothes in the closets. The house was crowded with all of us, but that just meant it was warm. The place was gorgeous too. But then-" She groaned, shaking her head. "There was this one dinner. We'd been there for a little while, and we were settling in, getting comfortable." Rachel used her arm to push her hair out of her face and looked at him. "This particular dinner was one of the better ones I was able to make on the road that wasn't some sort of stew. I was really excited about it. Seafood as the main dish, of course. And chard and kale." She snapped her fingers. "We also found a patch of cucumbers - there were a bunch of old fat ones on the vine. So I cooked them up. I had all the right herbs right there and everything. The kids helped me serve the meal, and everyone was surprised that cucumbers could be cooked. " She simpered. "Other than Beth, everyone thought I was just a good cook. That was the night that I told everyone else about my history with the culinary arts. And someone said we should make up a big fish feast." She paused for a long moment, and John took advantage of the break to refill their mugs with hot water.

"And then?" John prodded gently, pushing her tea within her reach.

"Some of us thought that we should be careful and keep rationing. The others said that we had been 'starving'" - here, Rachel made air quotes, rolling her eyes - "and that we ought to treat ourselves. Elias was the ringleader of that whole mess." She shook her head, disgusted. "No one was starving. Things were tight, sure, but we worked together to find food. There were always squirrels, rabbits, quail. We made it a point not to stray too far from a water source without finding another, so we had access to fish and sometimes ducks, geese...turtles. Not to mention cattails and mushrooms. Wild herbs too. Like my dad used to say, the world is full of food if you know where to look. Things weren't as hearty as I would have liked but we had enough to eat, and no one was starving." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, it wasn't the first time we had discussed it... but everyone was much more intense than usual that night. We wound up going back and forth about it for days. Elias even suggested that if we felt so strongly about it then we ought to leave - and the rest of his group agreed with him! I stopped cooking for the others, then."

John furrowed his brow. "How does that work, when everyone's living in the same space? It sounds awkward. Awkward beyond belief."

"I thought it was less awkward than having people I thought were my friends talking shit to my face." Rachel paused, a flash of anger crossing her features. She shook her head and exhaled. "Anyway, it was like caravan road rules again, the hardcore kind." John tilted his head at her, his face creased in confusion. "We traveled in big groups, for the safety of numbers, but we were usually just a group of strangers. It would be like....taking a bus somewhere, Before. You're all passengers traveling together, but when the bus stops for breaks everyone's responsible for procuring their own snacks and things. We would share a fire for efficiency, but everyone was responsible for their own food." Rachel took another sip of tea, then returned to working on the dough. "Although, some groups I travelled with did potlucks for dinner, and everyone had to put something into the pot, so to speak. Canned this, wild or fresh-caught that, found the other - if it could be cooked it went into the stew." She paused in thought. "But the caravans were always heading to a destination, usually to meet up with their people. We didn't have people or a place, so we were explorers. We liked the way that sounded better than 'vagabonds'. But it took a while before we started doing things like that as a group. It was important to know that everyone was going to contribute. But it worked out. Most of us could hunt or fish or forage-"

"Most of you?" John stared at her. "You mean there were people in your group who didn't know how to find their own food?"

"Well, yeah. All of us were from the city; there were a few people who had never even been camping before. But they were willing to learn. Besides, anyone could gather firewood and collect water, and that freed the rest of us up to do more skilled tasks. We left with packages of pasta, beans, and rice, cans of this and that. At first we scavenged, and found food in abandoned areas. People had fled after the riots and fighting and never came back. Pantries and closets, full of left behind things." She used her arm to push a few wisps of hair from her face. "We didn't have anyone like you when we first started out. I was good at fishing, and cooking, but I certainly wasn't an expert at getting my own food. My mom had had always kept a household garden, so I knew a lot of those sorts of plants, but I only knew how to identify a few edible things in the wild, as least in the beginning. Jasper knew how to hunt and find mushrooms we could eat, but he was worthless for fishing; all Lyla knew how to do was filter and boil water, and that was from a book she had read. After a few weeks on the road she was the best firemaker we had." She chuckled. "Beth didn't know how to do anything at first, at least nothing practical. But she was beautiful, and gregarious, and great at organizing people. Beth was our problem solver and she made us efficient." A nostalgic look flashed across her face. "My point is, it was good for all of us to work together. We needed each other. When we first started out, I was the de facto cook of the group; when we joined up with other groups, I always volunteered for cooking duty, and once they realized I was consistently amazing, that pretty much became my job. If we were in a big enough group, I'd have assistants. I was hot shit." She curtseyed at him and John couldn't help but to smile at her. "Anyway, I think they'd forgotten how bland and dry things were when Jan and Bescha were handling things. And everyday after that, things were getting more and more tense. It all came to a head when Elias killed Rocky."

He blinked at her. "Beg pardon?"

Rachel laughed. "Yeah, I know. Oran - the six year old I mentioned - had taken to feeding the koi. He'd collect insects, grubs, whatever, bring them to the pond, and the fish would eat right out of his hand. He'd sing to them and everything. Oran had a favorite, this big orange and white one that he named Rocky. One morning we woke to the smell of grilling fish... And Elias was standing over the fire pit with this smug... jeer on his face." Rachel sighed, closing her eyes. "It was chaos. Oran was crying, Elias started talking shit about the kid, calling him weak for getting attached to a fish. So of course, Oran's father - Bryan - punched him. Repeatedly." Rachel frowned. "Not that he didn't deserve it, but...Elias had been off ever since his wife had left him and gone off with a different group. He'd been pretty much insufferable." She shrugged. "He was spoiling for a fight, so Bryan gave him one. Anyway, we left."

His brow knitted. "Empty handed?" John asked.

"Fuck no," Rachel swore, scoffing. "We netted up a bucket of fish and cleared half the garden in the night when we snuck out." She laughed. "Oh, and a huge crop of puffball mushrooms that Emma had found that morning nearby. But we did leave them a note and let them know where they could find the few we'd left them."

"Wait," John interjected. "Can we backtrack a bit? The troublemaker - his wife just left him? In the middle of all this?"

"Yeah. It was fucking brutal, honestly." Rachel paused, gathering her thoughts and John gazed at her with interest. "The caravan we had been traveling with was heading back to this little commune. Or maybe it was more like a cult. I got a lot of culty vibes from the place. Anyway, we had kids and babies, so they let us stay for a few days. We worked for our food while we were there and for some supplies for the road. And then we were at the gates, about to leave, Thraisa suddenly told us that she wasn't coming. It was a surprise, but the sort that you could see coming if you weren't completely oblivious, you know? Elias, though, he was shocked speechless. And embarrassed, I suppose."

"I'll bet," John replied. "That's one hell of a break up. He didn't get to plead his case or-"

"I'm sure that was the point, John," Rachel said dryly. "She was sick of arguing and being condescended to. He'd had plenty of chances, trust me." She shook her head, her face intense and her brow furrowed. "It was hard to feel bad for him. Elias was an ass and Thraisa deserved better. And then the world went to shit and she found her opportunity to escape." She looked up at him and her expression changed. "Dinner," Rachel said, snapping her fingers. "I have a few ideas to finish up the ham and venison in the fridge. And I think I'd like to cook up this one today." She tapped the Long Pie pumpkin she'd selected, and John nodded amiably.

As usual, her storytelling had put in him in a good, if introspective mood. Sharing details about her past was intimate for both of them, and John appreciated her opening up to him. And with regards to dinner, it was much more information than she was usually willing to give up. It wasn't as if he could complain - all he had to do was appear in the kitchen relatively clean, and a hot, delicious meal would be served to him by a beautiful, smiling woman. Rachel was an excellent cook and had been happy and insistent about taking the task on.

Besides, he was still digesting all of the things she had just shared with him.

Rachel warmed some trout. She cut a third of the pumpkin into chunks and fried it for lunch, putting aside the rest of the raw squash for dinner. Sweet potato-pumpkin soup would be good, Rachel decided, looking over the options on the table. She would start a big pot as soon as they finished lunch. Cooking from scratch took a long time, which was another reason Rachel liked leftovers. The dish would take hours to prepare, but it would last them for days, during which time they would supplement it with meat or other things.

"Turkey would be good," John said suddenly, standing to clear the lunch table.

"Turkey...?" Rachel shifted in her chair, staring at him. Even fully dressed he was a treat. John's long-sleeved thermal shirt fit snugly, accentuating his hard upper body, and his jeans showed off his sculpted rear and muscular legs. She forced herself to focus on the topic at hand. "What do you mean?"

"Hunting," he replied, quickly washing the plates and utensils. "Haven't gone out with the rifle for a while. If I get a couple, we can have one fresh and cure the other. A nice salt and smoke." He dried his hands, then swooped down to kiss her before donning a warm jacket. "You wanna learn how to shoot?"

"Ha!" Rachel said smirking. "I already know how to shoot."

"Not one of these rifles, you don't," he winked at her.

John went back out after cleaning up, and reappeared while Rachel was working on dinner. His sleeves had been pushed back, his arms were wet, and he'd tossed his jacket over his shoulder. The sack on his other arm gave off the faint sounds of clinking glass.

"What happened?" Rachel asked. "You washed up at the pump, yeah?" She slid over to the woodstove, adding a few pinches of this and that to the cooking food.

"I know milady frowns at mud in the house," John grinned at her. "Remember when I said we wouldn't have any milk until spring? This flock is rather domesticated, so they've been breeding year round. Three of the ewes are still nursing." He grimaced. "They all had twins, but one of the lambs was lost to the wolves. Very sad, actually, but that did give the mother a surplus of milk. Anyway, I've been pasteurizing it." John set the burlap bag down on the table, withdrawing two glass bottles of milk, still covered in condensation. "I didn't want to say anything until I knew it was ready."

"Milk?" Rachel asked, delighted. She saw the bottles, but she could hardly believe it. Regular dairy - and the butter and cheese John had promised to teach her to make - come spring had sounded too good to be true. Hell, she was still getting used to being able to have an entire fresh egg every morning. "I've been using the canned and powdered stuff for so long I don't even know how to process this."

John inclined his head, attempting for modesty. The self-satisfied look that played its way across his handsome features subverted his efforts. "Can I help with anything?"

Well, that helped. "No, thanks," she replied, still smiling. "Everything is pretty much done."

He nodded, sniffing at the air. "Zucchini bread?"

"A small batch. I didn't want to use up too much sugar and other stuff. I used extra walnuts, though. You have a lot of walnuts." Rachel stirred a bit more pepper into the sauté of mushrooms and shallots, then turned the strips of smoked venison in their skillet. The woodstove was packed, but the thick, creamy soup would comprise the bulk of their meal.

"Yes, we do," he responded, and Rachel wondered if he noticed the difference in their phrasing. "Zucchini bread with extra walnut is my favorite kind." John studied her for a moment. She was moving somewhat stiffly. "Are you okay?"

"Mmmhmmm," Rachel nodded. As she eased herself into a chair, Rachel bit her tongue. "But perhaps you could grab the bread out, in a few minutes?" She was feeling a bit tender. It was to be expected, she thought, biting back a grin. John was breathtakingly well endowed, and they had been... quite active.

Dinner was pleasant, as usual. John enthused over her cooking, taking seconds of everything while she watched with satisfaction. Rachel was finishing up when John drummed his fingers on the table. "Coffee with milk? Not too strong - more like dessert coffee."

"That sounds amazing," Rachel said, wide-eyed. Sipping coffee with milk, she thought, unable to resist the chuckle of disbelief.

Afterward, John insisted on washing up the dishes, shooing Rachel out of the kitchen. "Go relax," he urged her.

She curled up on the couch with a book. Once he had finished he joined her, carrying a manual about caring for sheep and lambs that he wanted to review. There were a number of handwritten notes along the margins and other previously open spaces, and he nodded to himself regularly as he pored over the pages.

For a few minutes, at least.

Before she knew what was happening, he had snuggled up next to her, which was distracting enough. Then he was working a warm hand under her clothing.

"John...I need a little break, John," Rachel said, her voice solemn.

He craned his neck, bemused, and moved to mark his page with his free hand. "Whatever you want, Rachel. I don't mind doing the dishes, or the cooking-"

"Oh," Rachel started. "That's that not what I meant." She glanced over at him, and her expression struck him like a slap.

He sat up. "Do you mean from - me?"

"No!" Rachel dropped her book onto the coffee table. "No, not from you, John. I-" Shut it, Rachel. She cleared her throat, shaking her head. "I just mean....like, a sex break. Just a little one. A few days." She gripped the edge of the couch. "I don't know, maybe a week?" John stared at her for so long she thought she might have said it in the wrong language. "...John?"

"A week? Seven entire days...?"

"I'm really sore, John." Rachel said with a slight grimace. "Honestly, my insides feel like they've been beaten up. We've been going at it like this for days now and I need a break."

John sighed. "Alright. You can have as much time as you need, of course."

She tilted her head to the side, staring at him. "You're telling me that you're not sore?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a touch. But being inside of you feels better than anything hurts."

Rachel stared at him, then shook her head. "God, it must be nice to be a man. It's a bit different on the receiving end."

"So I've heard," he replied dryly. She had held up remarkably well, John admitted to himself. He could be patient for a few days. He hoped.

Over the next few days, John was affectionate but restrained; he was free with kisses, but he disengaged from anything that threatened to ramp things up, including making out and full contact cuddling. It was disappointing, but she couldn't exactly fault him for being reserved.

They spent an entire day hunting and returned home with a young stag, dressed in the field. They were both happy to have a few hundred more pounds of meat to put into storage for the winter. John took it to the smokehouse to begin the process of curing, handing over a fresh cut of meat for Rachel to turn into dinner. "I could roast this with... sweet potatoes?" She asked experimentally. That would be fast and filling. They had sweet potato greens, too.

"If you say so," John responded at once. "I trust your cooking."

Rachel showered while the food cooked. It was already late, and she was eager to turn in for the night. She was exhausted from the day and looking forward to curling up beside John. Falling asleep on his chest with his arm around her was almost as good as spooning, she told herself. Rachel dressed in sleepwear - loose cotton drawstring pants and a long sleeved satiny nightshirt she had found.

"Greens," she muttered to herself, hurrying back to the kitchen. "And some sort of grain, maybe...."

Rachel had taken the time after dinner, while John did nighttime animal feeding and checks, to do all of the dishwashing, then moved onto the laundry. There were a number of items on the outside lines, including a set of bedding and more than one load of clothing. Some of the clothes were still wet, and those she hung near the large wood-burning stove from hooks, some on the ceiling, other on the wall. She stripped and remade the bed, using a set of pretty robin's egg blue sheets that she had unearthed while cleaning and organizing. Katie's, John had told her.

As though she hadn't been able to figure that out. John's sheets were all soft, plain cotton in neutral colors; these were luxurious and silky, the kind that your limbs could get luxuriously tangled in. I'm becoming positively spoiled, she thought, running her hands over the sleek sheets before topping them with a blanket and the down comforter. Not that they really needed the comforter. Between the stove and John's ever present heat, Rachel ran warm most nights. But John liked the bed to be made a certain way, and he was particular enough that he would rather do it himself if she did it differently. Next, she went to folding the sun dried items, enjoying the scent. John strode in, stripping down to shower.

Rachel's jaw dropped for a moment before she caught herself.

He was looking at the bed. "Thanks," he said. He paused to kiss her before heading into the bathroom.

Wow, she thought to herself, smoothing the covers. When did I become a fucking housewife? Rachel wondered.

When she heard the water shut off and the door to the bedroom open then close, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She would take at least half an hour, she thought, looking at the clock. It would take a while to finish folding, and then she would get some reading in.

By the time she had forced herself to finish reading another chapter of Permaculture and Homesteading: A Manual, nearly two hours had passed. The handbook was interesting and useful, but Rachel was rather distracted. She stood, looking towards the bedroom. There weren't any lights shining through the space under the bedroom door. It should be safe now, she thought, heading into the bathroom to prepare for bed.