The Garden

It was always dreary where they were, though it did not stop the grass from being as green as it could be or the chickens from running about the farm. The gray, melancholy skies and rain were just perfect for these three English sisters. Their radiant brown skin caused them to seem to sort of glow as they worked on their small cottage just on the outskirts of London. It was a shame for those girls, both parents dying from small pox.Their brother, Luke Thortan, was recruited for the British military at the age thirteen, and has not returned for three years. The eldest of the girls, Olive Thortan, was nineteen and a dreary woman; the next was Lily Thortan, sixteen, quiet and shy; the youngest, Rosemary Thortan, was a bit of a trouble maker but only comes from youth, eleven years old neither her brother nor parents has she known so long as to miss them much.
Olive was the earliest to awake, this so she could watch the sky as the sun arose and the farm animals awaken. She usually made breakfast by using coffee, bread and fruit from the garden. Their parents were simple farmers, but acquired a nice bit of money that only Olive knew about and kept hidden, so as to avoid unnecessary visits to the shops. As Olive cut pieces of bread in the kitchen, there was a pair of bare feet in her peripheral vision.
“Rosemary,” she said without looking up, “how many time do I have to tell you to wear socks in the kitchen, the floor in somehow colder in here?”
“You’re not my mum, Olive,” she replied.
“I am fully aware that I did not give birth to you, Rose.” she answered, “Go back to bed, breakfast is not ready yet.”
“How come there are no men around to help us?” she asked, ignoring Olive’s statement.
She sighed, “Our parents are dead and they took our brother to go to war.”
“Who’s “they”?” she asked in the curious tone that only children contained.
“Britain.” Olive answered. “If you are going to stay, then at least give me some flour and lard to make scones with; this bread is no good.”
“Why don’t you wrap it in parchment?”
“Please, Rose, direct me to the parchment,” said Olive bitterly, “We don’t have any parchment. I need to go to the shops.”
Rose furrowed her eyebrows, “How come every time we go to the market, everyone looks at us funny?” At this, Olive gave a great sigh.
“People think we’re different. They think we’re…less important.”
“Is it because we live on a farm? Is it because I bathe with the pigs on occasion?”
“YOU BATHE WITH THE—,” she rubbed her eyes and laughed a little, “no, it’s not because you bathe with the pigs on occasion.”
“Then why?” Rose truly did not understand, and the same piece of the laughter from Olive was a rarity to her. Olive got down to Rosemary’s eye level and held her shoulders.
“What color is their skin, the people at the market?”
“Almost as pale as the clouds,”
“What color is our skin?”
“Brown,” Rose answered, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s why they look at us funny, that’s why we can’t shop in some stores.”
“Because of our skin,” Rose asked, horrified, “That’s ridiculous!”
Olive just nodded.

Lily was picking rosemary from the garden and Rosemary chased a hen while Olive was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a stew when it occurred to her that the potatoes where missing. She sighed and stepped outside, “Our potatoes are missing.”
Lily shrugged, “I don’t know where they are? I’m sure you have tried the pantry.”
“Yes, I have,” she said, a bit annoyed.
“Have you tried the goats’ hen?” Rosemary panted while still chasing the hen. Olive took a bit of stale bread from her apron and the hen was lured to it. Rosemary looked at her, “I almost had it.”
“Of course I haven’t tried the goats’ hen, it smells in there.”
“Quite right,” said Lily, “By the way, will you give my regards to the King and Queen?”
“What in the hell are going on about, Lily?”
“Well, Olive, you do live with the king and queen do you not? Goats’ hen smells, it smells everywhere, Olive, we live on a bloody farm.”
“I did not ask if we live on a fuckin’ farm, Lily, I asked where my fuckin’ potatoes so I can cook you fucks some dinner,” Lily turned from the garden, and Rosemary was silent, “I’m doin’ the best I can for you shits, and you want to get cheeky with me because I said the bloody goats’ hen sticks; it does, it bloody does stick! It does not make you better than me just because you can take the fuckin smell, I don’t see you lookin’ for them.”
“I’m sorry, Olive," she sighed,"I’m just fuckin tired of this…livin’ this way. Last night, I was thinking of offin’ myself,” she said, “I loathe it here, there are too many ghost in that house, and I smell of horse shit every day. We can’t keep livin’ like this, Olive. Sooner or later we’re gonna go mental, or run out of food, and we’re gonna have to either eat Rosemary or work in a brothel. And we would never eat Rosemary, would we?”
“Rubbish! Why don’t we eat Olive?!” Rosemary exclaimed, “Why do I have to be eaten?!”
“Because you’re smaller,” replied Lily mirroring her energy, “and Olive cooks for us.”
“Stop you’re fussin’!” Olive thought out loud, “We do have family in London: our Aunt and Uncle.”
“Are you sure they will take us?” asked the youngest, “Mummy and Daddy and Luke left us here.”
“Mummy and Daddy had no choice,” said Lily bitterly, “and neither did Luke.”
“Hush, now with talking like that.” Olive snapped, “If we’re to leave, we have to pack what little we have, this instant.”
“What of the animals?” asked Rose,"What will become of them?"
“They will be fine, farm animals don't need much taking care of actually, nature will handle it,” Lily answered. Olive did not protest against this answer: the younger sisters usually tend to the animals, while Olive looks after the house.
“We ought to leave now, if we are to make to London by sunset,” Olive went to pack food from the kitchen, “What a surprise it will be.”