Historical Fition Workshop - Story Start

Julia wipes the sweat off her brow with her left hand, holding the bucket between the cow’s legs steady with the other. She was really dying for a drink right now. She continued her milking, and Berta gently continued to chew on the grass in front of her. They didn’t own much in the way of cattle, just a couple of cows for milk, and two sheep for wool. A good thing, too, as the Germans only bothered to take things in large amounts. The neighbors just down the road had owned a large cow farm before the war; then the Germans came, and had taken them all, leaving them but a single cow. Julia wondered whether that had been out of mercy, or out of cruelty. The beast had been old and sickly, and they’d barely managed to even sell it. They’d moved to Amsterdam shortly after, and were now, presumably, staying with family there. In the city, she’d heard, there was at least some manner of controlled food supply. Ticket-offices, Markus had called them.

She cursed quietly as Betty took a step forward, almost knocking over the bucket while Julia was lost in thought. The poor cow hadn’t been giving any milk for the last minute or so she’d been busy.

Markus…. She sighed, and glanced around quickly to see if nobody was around. If Father had caught her swearing, he’d surely have slapped her on the cheek. She should know better than to take the Lord’s name in vain, and all that. She sighed again, and rose with her bucket to move on to the next cow. Markus had told her he believed God didn’t even exist. She’d thought him silly, but had marveled at his bravery to declare such a thing; she would be in for it if Father ever heard her saying such things!

She dismissed her thoughts of Markus, lest she never get her work done; dinner would be ready soon. But she couldn’t help but let her mind slip ever so often to the handsome, clever city boy while she finished up her chores.

Her mother had set the table outside, beneath the large apple tree, the evening light filtering through the leaves. “Ah Julia, excellent! You can help me carry the pans out!” A plump woman wearing a bright blue apron shouted from the doorway. Julia hurriedly cleaned her hands and face, shouting back: “Coming Mother, just a second!” She kissed her mother on the cheek, where the first lines of aging were starting to show, as she walked into the kitchen. Mother smiled gently, and then handed Julia a massive pan that almost threw her back out as she accepted it.

“Alright deary, there’s the potato’s! Don’t drop any now, or they’re going on your plate!”

Julia grinned. “Yeah mom, I got it.” Her mother winked, and pretended to chase her out waving a dough-roller. Julia couldn’t help laughing. Her mother was just the sweetest, and had moral difficulties swatting a fly.

“Oy, Jules, smellin’ good!” a young man, called as he rounded the corner. Bernard, her eldest brother, with skin a deep brown from long days of work outside and hair ragged and black as the night, was the first one in. Quickly after he was followed by two slightly shorter boys who looked a lot like their older brother, and even more like each other. Peter and Bob, the twins; both wore the usual grin that signified that someone had been the butt of their pranks again. They were followed by a man that was, in every sense of the word, huge. Father wore the expression of a man who had truly worked a long day’s work, and his impressive black mustache seemed to hang somewhat drearily. He flopped down in his large, oaken chair at the head of the table with a loud “Oomph!”, a sentiment that was ruefully repeated by his seat.

“Julia, it’s been a long day; bring your old man a large pint, if you please?”

“Yes Father, I’ll go fetch it right now.” Her obedient smile turned into a leer at the twins as they made faces at her. Why am I always the one who has to fetch father his drinks? Those two don’t look like they’ve worked very hard at all!

Still, she knew better than to protest, and made her way through the kitchen. She dodged her mother, who was carrying a large, steaming tray, as well as her two baby sisters, aged four and six, who were darting around her legs in the hallway. She put her back against the ancient bookcase that stood next to the stair leading to the second floor, and pushed with all her might; as usual, it wasn’t keen on budging. She groaned loudly, pushing even harder, and the bookcase finally gave way enough for her to access the dark, downward passageway behind it. She stood leaning against the shelf for a moment to catch her breath.

How is it this job always falls to the girl in the household?

She carefully made her way down into the hidden basement; her father knew that hiding food these days was dangerous, but for some reason he’d found it worth the risk. Mother had asked him about it once during dinner, tentatively, and he’d simply refused to answer, shrouding the table in silence for the rest of the meal and closing the subject indefinitely. All she knew for sure is that she was getting tired of being the one to grab his beers from down here. It wasn’t even because she had so much trouble actually getting in here, but rather because she really didn’t like being down in here. The place gave her the heebie-jeebies. She’d wondered whether it was because it was illegal, but eventually decided that couldn’t be the case; many of the best things these days were. As she thought this, a sly smile appeared on her face again, as her mind drifted towards Markus, easing her worries about the damp, pitch-black basement. She shook her head, as if to ward off the distraction, and rummaged through the contents of the shelves in search of bottle of beer.

By the time she got back, everyone else had been seated already; it had taken her even more effort to move the bookcase the second time.