“This won’t do. No, this just won’t do,” Maria mumbles with a frown and leans down to pick up a large splinter poking out of the mossy ground.

The woman they call Widow Maria is a well-built farmer’s wife in her late forties. She would usually be milking her cows about now, but due to her farm's location, she was the first to discover the aftermath of last night’s storm. After finding her lights not working, she sent her oldest to ask the Thompsons for advice while running over with their milk. Imagine her surprise when, not twenty minutes later, Henrietta returned, milk pail in hand, to tell her of a ‘broken telephone pole’ just down the hill. After that it was a simple matter of sending the word around, her two daughters running to the Plug and back to tell their little community the news.

“What won’t do, Ma?” Henrietta asked her mother while trying to pull loose her own splinter.

“She means…” Gunhilda Thompson starts, and leans down to aid Henrietta while supporting her toddler’s neck with a hand, “...that we’ve only had this here powerline for five years.”

She grunts and the two of them pull the wood loose. Mrs. Thompson lets the kid have her prize and checks on little Theodor’s well-being. After confirming her son sits comfortably, tucked in the shawl tied over her neck and back, she finds a suitable rock and sits down.

“I mean… would a couple more years be too much to ask for?” Maria says in a sour tone, clearly not expecting an answer.

The four of them fall back into silence, their work only interrupted by brief outbursts of indecipherable noise from little Theodor. After extracting the most vicious, or most inconveniently placed, splinters in a pile the little group spots Birk Madsen on the road coming towards them. The miller has a box of tools under his arm and looks to have worked up a sweat.

The young Henrietta waves excitedly in Mr. Madsen’s direction. As he notices them in turn, the man waves back.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mr. Madsen says and wipes his forehead with an oily rag from his toolbox.

The rag leaves a brown smear across his forehead, making Henrietta chuckle and cover her mouth.

“Good afternoon, Birk,” Maria greets him, her mood brightening as she notices the miller's mischievous glint at her daughter's reaction.

Mr. Madsen gets down on one knee and looks at Henrietta, who smiles with childlike glee.

“And a very good day’ to you, Henny,” he says, returning her smirk, “Why are you laughing? Do I have something on my face?”. With that, he wipes his forehead again, leaving a second brown smear under the first. Seeing this, Henrietta loses her composure, and the girl howls with laughter into her mother's skirt.

His job done, Mr. Madsen gets back on his feet and meets the gaze of the two women.

Widow Maria looks to have gotten some of her daughter’s good spirit, but Gunnhilda Thompson is in no mood for jests.

“How nice of you to come,” Mrs. Thompson says, and gestures to the area past the road, just under the incline up to the Little King, “As you can see, the valley has seen better days.”

Mr. Madsen follows her gesture and sees that, indeed, the mess he noticed walking over is a little worse than he imagined. The ground between the road and where the mountain begins is riddled with bits of telephone pole, large and small. Where the pole once stood there’s now a rock the size of Mr. Madsen's outhouse resting in a muddy crater. The poor pole looks to have been shattered and launched in all directions, the biggest remaining piece having lodged itself next to a birch tree fifteen meters away.

Mr. Madsen scratches his newly shaven face and puts his toolbox down on the road, “This, I’m afraid, is a little beyond my abilities.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Mrs. Thompson, who looks to have reached that conclusion a long while ago, nods her head in sympathy, “Yes, we figured, but what to do about it now?”

“With the phone down someone’s gonna have to travel all the way to Brunvik to explain the situation,” Maria adds with a huff.

Mrs. Thompson nods in sullen agreement, “And that’s just to get the process started, remember how long it took them to get these poles up?”

“Oh, yes, they blocked the roads that entire summer.”

While the two women descend into squabbling about the ins and outs of construction work and the good old days before they got electrical lighting, Mr. Madsen notices two familiar forms jogging in their direction.

Mr. Madsen turns to greet the two new arrivals, “Nice to see you two again, and so soon.”

“Hello again, Mr. Madsen,” Hannah greets him with a smile, before sitting down on the road while taking in heavy breaths.

“We thought you might need some help…” Garms starts before looking over at the crater where the telephone pole used to stand proudly. “...but, that is…”

“A little above my abilities to fix,” Mr. Madsen finishes for him with an undeterred look.

Hannah and Garm look around the devastated thicket, taking note of the bits of formerly-a-pole jutting out at odd angles. The road seems to have been cleared. They look over to see little Henrietta drop another splinter on a pile of them. She beams with pride as she comes running over

“Hey, Garm! Hey, Hannah!” she smiles and takes Garm’s hand, then begins dragging him over to where her mother and Gunnhilda are observing them. “You come too, Hannah! We have cleaned all day, come see.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Garm says and lets the girl guide him to the pile.

He gives the two women a wave as they approach while Hannah saunters after them.

Widow Maria and Mrs. Thompson see the siblings coming up to them and return the wave.

“Good afternoon. What are the Helland kids doing around these parts?” Maria asks.

“We heard about the situation from Mr. Madsen and figured we’d come see for ourselves, maybe lend a hand,” Garm explains, not mentioning that the real reason he was so eager to help was to not be near the Helland farm for a bit.

“How thoughtful of you two,” Mrs. Thompson smiles, “as you can see we spent all morning clearing the road. Now that you’re here we’ll clear the rest in no time.”

Henrietta tugs on Garm's hand, “I helped!” and points at the wood they piled up in the ditch. “I did all of that…” she brags and looks up at her mom before finishing, “...almost alone.”

“That you did, sweety,” Maria says and gives her a reassuring nod, “but, it’s time for you to run and check on your sister.”

Henrietta gives her a sour look. She’s not done telling of her exploits yet and could do with some more praise.

“Can’t I stay a little longer? I’ll help out,” Henrietta begs and gives her mother the best doe-eyed stare she can muster.

Widow Maria, who looks to have developed an immunity to this, gives her a patient look in return. “I need you to go see if June’s been all right by herself. I’m coming home in just a bit to make dinner.”

Henrietta squirms for a second, then turns to do as her mother says.

As her oldest daughter runs back home, Widow Maria turns to the gathered crowd and says, “Alright, let’s get this done. Wouldn’t do to have this place look like a warzone once the experts get here.” She then stomps down into the swampy terrain and starts picking up scattered debris.

“Looks like we got a job to do after all.” Mr. Madsen says while smiling at Hannah and Garm. Before joining Maria he turns to Mrs. Thompson, “About informin’ them construction people over in Brunvik…”

Gunnhilda Thompson, who had sat down to feed Theodore, looks up and asks, “You’re thinking of traveling there yourself? You don’t have to do that, my husband and I will have to go in a couple of weeks anyway.”

“I know, I know, but I’m not takin’ a two-day carriage ride out of charity to my kind neighbors,” Mr. Madsen gives her a wink, “In two, maybe three days' time, I'm takin’ a large order of flour to Brunvik. I’ll get it done then, no problem.”

Before Mrs. Thompson can thank him, the heavy man hops into the mire and hobbles after Hannah and Garm who have gone to help Widow Maria clear the area. Gunnhilda stares after them and chuckles as she notices Hannah throw a glob of mud directly into the back of Garm’s head before leaping behind the miller's large frame. This disturbs Theodore out of his feeding and he lets out a low, “Geh,” before returning to his task. She stifles the next laugh as a grinning Garm frantically tries to make Mr. Madsen move out of the way of his own mud projectile.

Another misfortune has rammed their little community, but looking at the carefree display Mrs. Madsen can’t help but let the jovial atmosphere affect her as well. Sure, they have suffered a setback, but this is nothing they can’t handle.