The Last Train Home

Chapter Twenty-Three

Barbara was none too happy with me when she saw the plaster on my hand and even less so when she saw the cut itself.

She insisted on changing the plaster to a white bandage which she said would stop any dirt getting into it, but I just thought it to be a hassle. I had to take the bandage off to take a bath and I thought a plaster would be fine since it was only a cut and not like I almost sliced my hand off. Jonathan tried to talk her out of it, agreeing with me that there was no reason to be melodramatic, but Barbara wasn't having any of it. At all.

"The plaster won't stay on for very long, it was already coming off and it's an awful way to keep germs out," Barbara had said in defence of her outlandish plan.

"A bandage is a little on the dramatic side, Barb. It looks like the poor girl has done something worse than cut it."

"It's only for a few days, just to stop it getting infected. That's the last thing we want."

With that, the conversation and disagreement came to an abrupt end. Even if it would only be for a few days, it felt rather stupid to be walking around with a bandage on my hand when I just had a cut across the back of it. Still, there was to be no changing her mind and I ended up wearing it for a total of two entire days. It could have been longer, but if it had I would have staged a mutiny.

In that time, I had been forbidden from going to the Thompson's farm to work on the sign. Barbara decided it would be too risky to go back with such an open wound on my hand, especially if there would be dust and other things flying around the room. With Christmas getting a little too close for comfort, and with a lot of work to do until the sign would be finished, not having the opportunity to work on it didn't help. I didn't have time to pause.

The pause did offer Jonathan plenty of time to as many questions as possible to try and uncover just what I had been doing. He turned out to be a very impatient man who liked to know everything someone did if it happened to involve him in some way. When I told them that I would be spending most of my time in the Thompson workshop, he had started asking all kinds of different questions and escaping up there every day gave me a bit of respite. Two days away from the project meant he could ask as many questions as he wanted.

"I don't understand how you can do so much around the farm and not get hurt but go off to the Thompson farm and come back with a cut. What exactly are you doing up there?" Jonathan asked over supper.

"I'm not telling."

"Don't you think we deserve to know?"

"As I said, it was a carpentry issue. You don't need to know the specifics."

He groaned. "Not fair."

"Just give it up, Jonathan. Sybil doesn't have to tell you what she's doing up at the Thompson farm and there is probably a good reason why she is keeping it from you. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

"But when is soon?"

Barbara sighed. "You're like a child.

Jonathan laughed and winked at me, shovelling a forkful of peas into his mouth but managing to spill a majority of them all over the table. I looked away and distracted myself by cutting up my chicken so I wouldn't laugh and spray food across the table or over Barbara. At least the topic of what I had been doing up at the Thompson workshop had finally been dropped - there were only so many excuses or lies I could come up with before I got confused.

After supper, I helped Barbara with the dishes per my evening chore requirements before Jonathan and I settled down on the sofa for my late night reading lesson. In the few weeks, we had been doing it, I hadn't felt that much of a shift in my reading ability and struggled just as much then as I ever had before. I couldn't help but feel like we were wasting our time, but Jonathan persisted.