“Would have if the dogs didn’t keep them off,” Monty said.
“I need a garden dug,” Rose continued. “There’s plenty of time to plant corn, potatoes, beans, peas, squash, strawberries—”
“I hate squash,” Zac informed her.
“—tomatoes, and pumpkins. I’d also like some fruit, nuts, and berries if there are any trees around here. I can make jam.”
“We have berries along the creeks,” Monty said. “Pecan trees, too.”
“Zac and Tyler can help with that,” George said.
“I don’t see why I have to go berry hunting,” Tyler objected.
“What about meat?” Rose asked. “Do you buy it, grow it, or kill it yourselves?”
“Why don’t you stay home today?” Monty suggested to George. “That’ll give you plenty of time to discuss all the things she wants done.”
“You’re just trying to get out of doing it yourself,” George said.
“Sure he is,” Hen said, “but it’s a good suggestion anyway. We can’t get much done over the breakfast table. And we’re too tired at night.”
“Okay, but I mean to give you two all the worst chores.”
“Can’t,” Monty said with his most irresistible smile. “I can’t use an ax without cutting myself, and I can’t use a hammer without hitting my thumb.”
“You can milk the cow,” Zac suggested. “She don’t care how clumsy you are.”
Zac dived behind George when Monty made a grab for him.
“I’ll be expecting roast turkey tonight,” Monty reminded Rose as he and Hen got ready to leave. “I like it with stuffing and lots of gravy.”
“You’ll get what I can fix,” Rose informed him.
“See if you can find me some eggs,” she told Zac when he tried to leave with the twins.
“I don’t collect the eggs until near ’bout dinner,” he informed her.
“I used all the eggs I had for breakfast, and I need more for the stuffing. I have to start the turkeys early.”
“Those stupid old hens ain’t laid anything yet,” he protested.
“Haven’t,” George corrected him, “and you’ll never know until you look. Now get going.”
“When I get big, I ain’t never going to look for eggs,” he swore.
“I don’t blame you,” George commiserated. “Now I’m going to heat water to scald the turkeys. I want you back with those eggs before we finish plucking them.”
Pretending to look for the egg basket, Zac hung back after George left. “I’m going to New Orleans when I grow up,” he announced in a whisper, as though he were telling Rose an important secret.
“My father used to tell me it was the most beautiful city he’d ever visited,” she said. “If you want to help George pluck the turkeys, I’ll look for the eggs.”
“I’m the only one who knows where they hide their nests,” he said, not without an element of pride.
“I can learn.”
“A girl can’t go all those places. You’d get dirty.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes, you would. Girls hate dirt worse than anything.”
“I hope you won’t leave for New Orleans before I learn where all the nests are.”
“You done told George you wanted a chicken coop. All you’ll have to do is look inside.”
“I guess I forgot. You’d better get the eggs quick before I forget what I wanted them for.”
“You didn’t forget nothing,” Zac said. “You’re just trying to make me feel better about being little and having everybody tell me what to do. George does it, too.”
“I think that’s nice, don’t you?”
“I suppose so, but I don’t need no special looking after. I’m going to tell him to stop.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why?”
“Well, big brothers like to have somebody to take care of. You’d take away all his fun if you didn’t let him look after you.”
“Monty and Hen don’t do it. Neither does Jeff.”
“Of course not. Middle brothers are supposed to plague you. Your biggest brother protects you. It’s written in the big-brother book they give little boys when they’re born.”
“I didn’t get no book.”
“Little brothers don’t get one.”
“I think that’s rotten.”
“Girls don’t get one either.”
“I think that’s rotten, too.”
“So do I, but that’s how things are. Now I have to help George with the turkeys, so you’d better look for those eggs. I bet I’ll have the dressing ready before you get back.”