The Ravens Of Falkenau & Other Stories - Plot & Excerpts
That was what had happened this year. The flood had been bad, so bad that even her father, who owned a piece of bottomland, had shaken his head and muttered prayers. Further up, where they lived, the flood had not come at all. The fields that should have been deep in life-giving water baked in the sun. And so they had carried water in jars, backbreaking work in the summer heat, she and Neshi. They had planted only one field, and watered it twice a day by hand, making the trip down to the river over and over again, pouring the water out on the soil and watching in run into cracks that should not be there. There were sprouts. There were some that grew, no matter how poor the soil. There were some that grew even with nothing to nourish them but the water from the bucket. Some sprouts survived. There would be some wheat, too little, but some. By the river, her father had melons, and if every few days someone came by on chance, bringing a few vegetables, it was not charity. One of her brothers just happened to be passing by and thought he'd bring a few cucumbers.
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