The Harvest’s Weight.
Mila woke early. Cold air filled their small house. The floor was dirt. A thin blanket covered her. Her stomach felt empty. It always did now.
Her mother, Agnes, moved by the fire. Smoke went up to the hole in the roof. Agnes made a little gruel. It was thin, like water with oats. Mila sat on a stool. She took her bowl. She ate slowly. Every bite was important.
Outside, the sun was just rising. It painted the sky orange. But the colors did not make Mila happy. The fields were brown, not gold. The wheat was short. There was not much grain this year.
“Papa will be back soon,” Agnes said. Her voice was quiet. She looked at Mila. “We must be strong.”
Mila nodded. Her father, Brandt, worked hard. He worked from light to dark. But the land gave little. The summer was too dry. The rain did not come enough.
Later, Mila helped Agnes. They cleaned their small home. It was one room. A table, two stools, a bed of straw. Simple things. But they were their things.
Then, a sound came. Hooves on the dirt road. Heavy. Many horses. Mila stopped. Her heart beat fast. Agnes stopped too. She looked out the small window.
“They are here,” Agnes whispered.
Mila knew who “they” were. The Lord’s men. They came for the tithe. They came for the King’s tax. They took a part of everything. Even when there was nothing to take.
Brandt walked in. His face was tired. He had a small sack. “They are at the Miller’s house,” he said. He looked at Agnes. “They took his best flour.”
The hooves came closer. The sounds of men talking, loud voices. Then, they stopped outside their house. A shadow fell over the doorway.
A big man stood there. He had a metal helmet. His face was hard. He wore a leather tunic. “Brandt, the Lord needs his share,” he said. His voice was deep. This was Sergeant Grout.
Brandt stepped forward. “Sergeant Grout, the harvest is bad. We have little. My family is hungry.”
Sergeant Grout looked at the small room. He looked at Mila, then at Agnes. His eyes were cold. “The Lord’s need is great. King’s law is clear.” He pointed to a small wooden chest in the corner. “What is in there?”
Brandt did not want to open it. But he had to. He lifted the lid. Inside was a small amount of dried beans and some wheat. It was all they had saved for winter.
Sergeant Grout looked at it. He nodded to one of his men. The man took a large scoop. He took more than half of the wheat. He took some beans too. The sack became lighter. Mila watched. A tear came to her eye.
“This is not enough,” Sergeant Grout said. “Next month, you must give more.” He turned. He and his men rode away. The sounds grew softer.
Mila looked at the empty space in the chest. Her winter food was gone. Her stomach felt more empty now. Not just for food, but for hope.
Brandt put his arm around Agnes. Agnes held Mila close. “We will find a way,” Brandt said. His voice was low. “We always do.”
Mila leaned into her mother. She felt her father’s hand on her head. The sun was fully up now. It shone on their faces. They had little food. They had little hope for tomorrow. But they still had each other. And in the hard land, that was sometimes enough.
The End