Out on the open ground, Clara was tightly clung to by two of the little ones, one on each side.
The five of them huddled together, watching the small house before them as gusts of wind whipped up the thatched roof, making it look like the whole structure might collapse at any moment.
They waited. And waited.
Finally, the wind died down.
Somehow, that fragile-looking house was still standing.
But as Clara looked at the tufts of straw scattered across the ground, and the nearly bare frame of a roof—little more than wooden beams and a few pathetic patches of thatch—she didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.
The house had survived, technically. But repairing that roof would cost a small fortune.
She checked the pouch at her waist—forty copper coins. That was all she had left.
Clara could only look up at the sky and sigh—Was the universe out to ruin her?
The four kids hadn't caught on to her inner turmoil. Seeing the house still standing, they squealed with joy. "Auntie Clara, the house is okay!"
Clara gave Ben a side glance. "You call this okay?"
Her tone was so dark it sent a shiver down Ben's spine. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth.
As dawn broke and the messy aftermath of the windstorm came into full view, Clara massaged her throbbing temples. She told the kids to stay put and quickly made her way toward the village.
She knocked on the door of the Liew family's old compound.
The Liew men had just finished planting the previous day and were planning to sleep in. At this hour, they were still fast asleep.
It was Second Sister-in-law Kate who got up to relieve herself. Hearing the knock, she opened the door and was startled to find Clara standing there, unsmiling, in the dim pre-dawn light. It nearly scared her out of her wits.
"W-What's the matter?" she asked cautiously, trying to calm herself.
Maybe it was the darkness, or something else—but every time she saw this new wife of Lester's, she couldn't help feeling unsettled.
Clara got straight to the point. "Second Sister-in-law, the wind last night blew off the roof of our house."
Kate froze. "There was wind?"
"A strong one," Clara replied firmly.
That jolted Kate to her senses. Her expression changed. "Is everyone alright?"
Clara nodded. "We're fine."
Only then did Kate breathe a sigh of relief. She hurried back inside to wake her husband.
The commotion soon woke Old Mr. Liew and Madam Zhang as well. They threw on some clothes and came out.
Kate pointed toward the door and said, "Father, Lester's roof was torn clean off!"
Old Mr. Liew was alarmed. Only after hearing that no one was hurt did he relax. He called for his three sons, grabbed the tools for roof repair, and headed straight for Lester's place.
Clara followed behind. Watching the four men rush over without hesitation, something warm cracked open in her long-frozen heart.
People in Willowridge County had all kinds of skills. For the Liew men, fixing a roof was hardly a challenge.
Seeing the empty, damaged rooftop, they didn't waste time asking questions and immediately got to work.
Logan Liew gathered any usable thatch from the ground. Brandon and his second brother dashed off toward the riverbank to cut more straw.
Old Mr. Liew returned with a ladder, climbed up, and began relaying and securing the new thatch as it was tossed up.
By noon, the roof had been fully repaired and reinforced, with heavy stones pinned at the corners to prevent another blow-off.
Clara was deeply grateful. She cooked all the brown rice she had bought the day before into porridge and made the four men stay for lunch.
Old Mr. Liew drank the thick porridge quietly. As he glanced over at Clara and the kids squatting by the hearth eating roasted taro, he looked like he wanted to say something—but in the end, he held back, set down his empty bowl, and prepared to leave.
Just before heading out, he couldn't help but offer one last piece of advice. "You'd best get those two acres planted soon. Looks like rain's coming in a day or two."
Clara nodded and saw them off a few steps before returning. She called for Adam, picked up a hoe and a jar of wheat seeds, and headed with him toward the two-acre plot on the far side of the hill.
Ben stayed home to look after the twins, Chad and Deb.
Though everyone in the village was familiar and their house was at the edge of town—unlikely to attract kidnappers—Clara wasn't about to leave two four-year-olds home alone.
She felt confident. After all, she'd read the farming guide she got from Madam Zhang. How hard could planting be, really?
She found out fast.
The two acres had already been tilled once by Lester. All she had to do was dig holes, toss in the seeds, and cover them up.
Simple, right?
Wrong.
She worked from mid-afternoon till sundown—and had only planted one-tenth of a single acre.
Clara stared in disbelief at the vast stretch of unplanted land still in front of her. Was she hallucinating?
How had she spent all afternoon working like a dog, only to finish this much?
Worse yet, she could feel her recently recovered body starting to give out.
She looked over at Adam, who sat on the edge of the field, his face flushed red from the sun. Their eyes met, and the shared look of despair said it all.
The weather was a nightmare—cold in the morning and evening, scorching at midday. Their plot was tucked into a remote mountain hollow, and bugs swarmed constantly around their heads.
Clara had come unprepared, using her jacket to wrap her head and face, leaving only her eyes exposed.
Even so, her and Adam's ankles and feet were covered in itchy mosquito bites. They dared not scratch them for fear of breaking the skin—miserable beyond words.
Even though the land had been plowed, roots and stones still poked up regularly. Each one had to be pulled before planting could continue.
Their straw sandals were caked with mud, making each step feel like a slog through wet cement.
Farming was a monotonous grind—dig, plant, cover, repeat. Dozens, hundreds of times.
Clara had started strong, wielding the hoe like a warrior. She even struck sparks against a stone.
But as the repetitions piled up, the hoe grew heavier and heavier. Even someone as strong as Clara felt her arms go numb with fatigue.
Bending down, standing up, bending again… After hundreds of these cycles, her back screamed in protest.
Wrapped in cloth, face flushed, sweat dripping—every step was agony.
Only sheer stubbornness kept her going until sundown.
She had assumed that after all that hard work, most of the field would be done.
To find only a tiny corner completed? Devastating.
Adam couldn't hold back anymore and scratched one of his swollen mosquito bites, sweat pouring down his face. His pitiful expression made Clara feel like she was running an illegal child labor camp.
The thought of repeating this torture tomorrow nearly made her want to fling herself back to the apocalypse.
She'd rather fight off zombies and become compost for mutant plants than set foot in that field again!
Thinking of the Liew men—out before dawn, back after dusk, managing over a hundred acres—Clara suddenly felt deep admiration and awe.
The sun was nearly gone. Strange bird calls echoed from the hills. Adam stood up nervously, glancing at her. "Auntie Clara, it's getting dark."
Clara was too worn out to speak. She just waved a hand, and the two trudged home under the moonlight.
Back at the hearth, gnawing on the taro roasted by Ben and Chad, Clara came to a silent conclusion:
She needed to head into the mountains.
Because one thing was now crystal clear—
Farming? Not in this lifetime.
(End of Chapter)