Jeremiah
****Part Two****
“Brat!” my mother exclaimed, throwing a dirty rag in my direction. I dodged it and it fell to the floor like with a light thud. “You know I don’t like ya coming home so late. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She clutched at her chest. “What took ya so long?”
I grinned and took a seat at the table. “Me and Jesse…”
“Jesse and I!” Rebecca Colly, Jesse’s mother, corrected from her room. “Hush now child,” she said softer. She was cooing her six month old daughter, Hattie.
The thing about my house was that it wasn’t just my house. It belonged to my family, along with the Colly family. As we were growing up, it hadn’t really fazed us, but as grown boys, it’s a little cramped.
Anna, my sister, and James, Jesse’s little brother, were out in the yard playing around Jesse as he chopped firewood. You could hear their innocent laughter from a mile away, which paused right before you heard the clunk of the metal hatchet hitting the wood, then picking right back up again.
There were two bedrooms and a kitchen that we made into a dinning room, kitchen and a den. In one bedroom sleeps my parents and Jesse’s parents, along with Anna and Hattie, Jesse’s six month old baby sister.. Jesse, James, and I sleep in the other room.
My mother and Mrs. Colly had discussed renting out my bedroom to another family and move the three of us into the kitchen. Things are still undecided.
“Jesse and I,” I corrected, loud enough for Mrs. Colly to hear. “Were told that we couldn’t leave until all of the looms were built. And we didn’t.”
My mother’s hard expression softened. “Well, your supper’s cold.”
She flung a brown bowl towards me on the table. I grimaced at its contents. “What is it?” I asked, picking up the matching brown spoon. I turned the spoon over, letting the pasty substance drop back into the bowl with a disturbing ‘plop.’
My mother didn’t turn to me as she said, “food,” in a stern voice.
“You sure?” I asked, unconvinced.
“Are you sure!” Mrs. Colly yelled again. Mrs. Colly had been a tutor for some of the local children. Before the mill was built, children had the time to be taught. However, the mill was built and all the children, including Anna and James, were either put to work or sent to the mines.
I rolled my eyes and shoveled the dark red paste into my mouth. “Tastes like chicken, eh?” my mother said sarcastically. Chicken and turkey were a rare thing to find on our table. That type of meat was considered the ‘rich man’s food.’ It was a rare delicacy to even have duck for a meal.
Jesse burst in the door, firewood in hand, as I was finishing up my last bite. After eyeing my bowl, he threw down the wood next to the fireplace and sat with me at the table, hands expecting. Without missing a beat, my mother threw a bowl of slop in front of him, just as she did with me.
“What is this?” he asked, moving the bowl and watching the slop slowly crawl around.
“It’s slop,” I said nudging his arm. “Tastes just like chicken,” I lied. My mother smirked as she wiped a pan with the dirty rag.
My mother was a stay at home loomer before the mill was built, making clothing for her family and the Collys. However, the mill was built and prices for food and rent went up. She was forced to take a job at the factory or we were going to lose our home. It was a really low blow to my father.
Our fathers, like most men in the town, worked at the mines. They work day and night; they are in tunnels, they cant tell the difference between night and day. My father and Mr. Colly take shifts coming home. One week, Mr. Colly comes home Saturday evening then goes back early Monday morning. The next week, it is my father’s turn to take a break. However, to pay the bills, my father skips his breaks and continuously works three weeks straight. My mother sits by the window in her rocking chair on those weeks, crying and waiting for my father to walk down the road to her. She was usually disappointed.
“Well, if ya don’t like it, don’t eat it!” my mother exclaimed, snapping back to reality.
Jesse was pinching the bridge of his nose and stuffing the spoon in his mouth. “No,” he said in a nasally tone. “I’ll eat it.” He let go of his nose and stuffed the rest of the slop in his mouth and turned away from my mother.
“Jeremiah, be a dear,” Mrs. Colly said, entering the kitchen. “Put some of that wood on the fire. I don’t want Hattie catching any illness.” As if on cue, Hattie started crying from within her room.
I quickly jumped up and picked a few logs that seemed like they would easily burn, and placed them on the fire. I watched the flames dance as I thought about having a baby of my own someday. And I dreamt of having a beautiful wife to cradle that baby in a rocking chair that I would have built during the harsh winter nights.
“We need to come home early tomorrow,” I finally said to Jesse, breaking a haunting silence. “We need more wood or we won’t make it through winter.”
It was early fall, not yet September. I had worries about what the winter would bring us that year. The winter before, we lost five townsfolk to disease, seven more with weak hearts. Luckily, it had skipped over our home.
Jesse nodded, understanding my fear. We were the men of the house when our fathers were away. It was our duty to take care of the woman and children not matter what it took.
“This job is teaching you how to take care of your own family,” my father once said to me. “It is the only job that matters.” Not that my work at the mill wasn’t important, it was just one small part of the bigger picture.
Remembering this brought me back to Lizzie Lamport. I had never thought that I’d have to take care of woman that I loved so dear. I had to provide for her and take care of her, just as my father does. It was something I was sure willing to do.
Grammar - I had a couple of nitpicks, but nothing major that disrupted the flow of the writing...If you really want me to cover those, just PM me or something...I didn't think it was too important! 
So, what exactly does his house look like? Is it run-down? Or is mansion-like? Is it spacious or ate they cramped? This could also hint to how poor or rich they are. This, in turn, could lead to some excellent characterization. Anywayz, what do the characters look like? Is the mother's face lined? Who's the youngest? With Mrs. Colly, is she haggard with age? Or is she sprightly? Was she beautiful? Is she still? Hint at the ages of the characters a bit as well. You tell us that Hattie is
