James found out what Mother meant a few days later when he came down for breakfast. As usual. he opened the door from the back stairs to the kitchen only a crack. He could remember barely a handful of times in his entire life when someone had dropped by before breakfast and each time Mother had managed to send Billy or Mark up to warn James to stay out of sight. But he always checked. Today he could see Dad and Billy and Mark at the table, and knew from the sound of frying bacon that Mother must be at the stove.

"Are the shades closed?" he called out softly.

Mother opened the door to the stairs. James started to step into the kitchen, but she immediately put out her arm to keep him back. She handed him a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon right there.

“James, honey? Can you eat sitting on the bottom steps there?”

“What?" James asked being baffled.

Mother looked beseechingly over her shoulder.

“Dad thinks—I mean, it’s not safe anymore to have you in the kitchen, you can still eat with us, and talk to us and all, but you'll be... over here."

She waved her hand toward the stairs behind James.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"But with the shades pulled—" James started.

“One of those workers asked me yesterday, ‘Hey, farmer, you got a Breeze maker in that house of yours to keep it cold in this summer?’” Dad said from the table.

He didn't even turn around. He didn't seem to want to look at James.

“We keep the shades pulled, hot day like today, people get suspicious. This way is safer. I'm sorry."

And then Dad did turn around and glance at James, once. James tried to keep from looking upset.

"So what'd you tell him?" Billy asked, as if the worker's question was only a matter of curiosity.

"Told him of course we don't have Breeze maker. Farming don't make nobody a millionaire and like hell we can afford an electric core to run them."

Dad took a long sip of coffee.

"Okay, James dear?" Mother questioned James.

"Yes," he mumbled.

He took the plate of eggs and bacon, but it didn't look good to him now. He knew every bite he ate would stick in his throat. He sat down on the step, out of sight of both the kitchen windows.

"We'll leave the door open," Mother said. She hovered over him, as if unwilling to return to the stove.

"This isn't too much different, is it?"

"Mother—" Dad said warningly.

Through the open windows, James could hear the rumble of several mechachines and carriages. The workers had arrived for the day, he knew from watching through the vent the past few days that the caravan of mechachines of different kinds he didn’t even knew of, came up the road like a parade. Carriages would also be present to peel off to the side and unload the nicer dressed men. The more rugged carriages pulled on in to the muddiest sections, and the people inside would scatter to the elephant carriages and other mechachines that had been left outside overnight. But the machachines barely had time to get cold, because the workers were there now from sunup to sundown. Someone was in a hurry for them to finish the project.

"James—I'm sorry," Mother said, and scurried back to the stove. She loaded a plate for herself, then sat down at the table, beside James’s usual spot. His chair wasn't even in the kitchen anymore.

For a while, James watched Dad, Mother, Billy, and Mark eating in silence, a complete family of four. Once, he cleared his throat, ready to protest again. You can't do this— it's not fair--- Then he choked back the words, unspoken. They were only trying to protect him. What could he do?

Resolutely, James stuck his fork in the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate and took a bite. He ate the whole plateful of food without tasting any of it.