The Bewitching Hour

✧ chapter seven: farm boy

Lance used to read about people waking to the crows of roosters in storybooks. To other people, it seems like a folksy trope. Something used to set a quaint scene. For the McClains, it's a reality in some sense— the roosters do signal the start of each day, but Lance is usually awake before they can greet the new morn, because the dawn itself is what wakes him. He instinctively crawls out of bed shortly before the sun rises and spends most of his early minutes fumbling around in the half-dark. The distant crow of a rooster is a signal that he should get a move on.

He doesn't have any trouble getting up so early. His body is accustomed to it— he has more trouble staying awake late into the evenings. He often does so anyway, but he seems to function with less sleep than others. His own restless mind is likely responsible. Maybe he's never truly asleep.

It's going to be a long day, Lance knows, but he's looking forward to this one. He does breathing exercises as he washes up and gets dressed. He opts to grab his straw hat, as he knows the sun will likely be relentless, and dons a pair of thick overalls with a sturdy set of gloves shoved into the pockets, as he knows the day's work will likely get messy.

Breakfast, as is so often the case, is prepared by grandma. Dad's mom. And as is so often the case, Lance does not have much time to sit down to eat, and most of his siblings have yet to wake, and his parents are already working. The kitchen is empty of anyone but grandma. Lance thanks her and kisses her head before he grabs food that he can eat as he moves and runs outside, his stomach growling in protest at his inability to sit down for a bowl of oats. The sun is just beginning to peek around the horizon. The roosters are restless. Then, just like that, it is morning. The sun always seems to rise so quickly when you're looking at it. Lance was right to think of bringing his hat— already, it's so bright he's nearly blinded by it.

Lance scarfs down sausage links, bacon strips, and a handful of fresh berries as he jogs a bit lazily down the dirt path between fields. Uncle Roberto and grandpa wave to him from their places kneeling in the dirt. The springtime is all about leafy greens, and carrots and peas and radishes. The wheat, too, is maturing nicely and should be ready for harvesting soon. Veronica is hard at work tending to mom's latest bounty of daffodils as she waits for Rachel to join her there. It's a tapestry of bright, clean colors. Looking at it, one would never know that the farm hasn't seen proper rain in well over a month.

Lance's work, for the most part, isn't found in the fields. He helps when he must— usually with the harvests— but his main responsibility lies beyond them, in the collection of fences and barns on the hill. Lance can see his brother's wife, Lisa, with her hair tied back in a checkered handkerchief as she feeds the chickens. He doesn't have time to get her attention or wave to her before Luis butts in, irritated.

"Get a move on, will you?" Luis calls. His arms are crossed and he shakes his head. Lance can see his mouth moving. He's probably muttering something under his breath about Lance's laziness. As usual, Lance pretends he can't see Luis' open disapproval and picks up his pace until he is nearly sprinting up the grassy slope. Even the sprint isn't good enough for Luis, though. Even when his legs can't possibly carry him any faster and most of the village still sleeps. Sometimes Lance wonders why he even tries.

Lance isn't in any hurry to see Luis, or to cave to his demands. What he's eager to do is see his mother. He doesn't get to spend a lot of personal time with her anymore. She's always with his sisters, the three of them working together on the flowers, assembling bouquets in bundles of tissue paper and ribbon and carefully pruning the sprawling bushes and shrubs (mostly lilacs this time of year), and Lance spends what little free time he has exploring and meeting up with his friends. It's not often that he has her largely to himself for a day's work, but today is a special sort of day.