Brigit, Age 5 After Ruth had moved in, Martin divided his time between the farm and tending to all the kinner. Yesterday, Floyd had hired another part-time worker to help in Martin’s absence. Martin hated to spend some of their profits on another worker, but he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Customers were coming to the farm, and if they were going to keep them, they needed to be treated well. That meant that they needed to do everything they could to provide them the customer service they were used to receiving. But it still pinched. He’d tried to help on the other end by doing some of the accounting and finances late into the night at the dining room table. That had turned out to be a mistake when Thomas had woken him up around midnight with the news that, he, too, had the chicken pox. His skin was flushed, he had a sizable blister on his side, and he was very concerned about correct protocol. Thomas, being Thomas, had stood in the hall for almost a half hour, debating whether to wake up Ruth—who was there to care for the sick children—or to wake up his father, because they were also supposed to treat Ruth like a guest, and one didn’t wake up guests in the middle of the night when one had the chicken pox.
