Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

“I capitulate. You can take almost anything now. Beds, of course. Utensils. Your pick of the canned goods. Matches, ammunition, guns. Make a list, I’ll help you move.”

Duke colored under his tan. “Dad, a few things are up there already.”

“So? Did you think I would be pinchpenny?”

“Uh . . . I don’t mean the past few days. I moved some things up the first days we were here. You see . . . well, you and I had that row-and then you made me rationing officer. That gave me the idea, and for a week or more I always left here loaded, leaving when no one was watching.”

“Stealing.”

“I didn’t figure it so. I never took as much ‘as one-sixth of anything . . . and just stuff I would have to have in a pinch. Matches. Ammo. That rifle you couldn’t find. One blanket. A knife. A little food. Some candles. You see. . . well, look at it from my side. There was always the chance that I would get you sore and either have to fight-one of us killed is the way you put it-or run and not be able to stop for anything. I decided not to fight. So I made preparations. But I didn’t steal it; you said I could have it. Say the word and I’ll fetch it all back.”

Hugh Farnham peeled a callus, then looked up. “One man’s stealing is another man’s survival, I suppose. Just one thing- Duke, in that food you took: Were there any cans of milk?”

“Not one. Dad, don’t you think, if there had been, I would have beaten all records getting up there and back when Karen died?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I asked.”

“I was sorry I hadn’t snitched a few cans; then they wouldn’t have been used up.”

“The baby didn’t last out the milk we had, Duke. All right, it calls for quick surgery-but don’t forget that you can come back, any time. Duke, women sometimes get unreasonable at about your mother’s age . . . then get over it and are nice old ladies. Maybe we’ll have the family together again. I hope we’ll see you occasionally. You’re~ welcome to all the vegetables you can eat, of course.”

“I was going to mention that. I can’t farm up there. Suppose I still hunt for all of us.. . and when I bring in a load of meat I take away a load of green stuff?”

His father smiled. “We have reinstituted commerce. And we can supply you with pottery and there’s no need to do your own tanning. Duke, I suggest you sort out what you want, and tomorrow you and I and Joe will start packing it to your cave. Be lavish. Just one thing-”

“What?”

“The books are mine! Anything you want to look up, you’ll have to come here. This is not a circulating library.”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it. You can have my razor, you can have my best knife. But snitch one book and I’ll skin you alive and bind that book in human skin. There are limits. All right, I’ll tell Joe, and get Barbara out of the house and we’ll stay away until dark. Good luck, and tell Grace no hard feelings. There are, but tell her that. But I’m not too groused. It takes two to create a heaven . . . but hell can be accomplished by one. I can’t say that I’ve been happy lately and Grace may be smarter than we think.”

“That’s a polite way of telling us to go to hell, Dad.”

“Possibly.”

“Whatever you mean, the same to you. It was no accident that I moved away from home as soon as I could.”

“Touché! Well, get on with it.” His father turned and walked away.

Joe made no comment. He simply said that he had better get on with the irrigating. Barbara said nothing until they were alone.

Hugh took a picnic lunch-chunks of corn pone, some strings of jerky, two tomatoes, plus a canteen of water. He fetched a rifle and a blanket. They went up the hill above the grave and picked the shade of a detached tree. Hugh noticed fresh flowers on the grave and wondered if Barbara had been trudging up there. The climb was difficult for her; they had taken it very slowly. Or had Grace been doing it? It seemed still less likely. Then he thought of the obvious: Joe.