New Life

Posted on Fri Aug 28th, 2026 @ 3:38pm by Wanderer Brielle Anders

2,183 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Wandering About
Location: ***Brielle's Farm – Southern Wisconsin***
Timeline: Backdated post- Prior to fall

***Brielle's Farm – Southern Wisconsin***

The rhythmic thud of the axe carried across the yard. A moment later came the sharper *crack* of seasoned wood splitting cleanly apart, one half tumbling from the chopping block and landing in the grass. Sebastian straightened and stared down at his handiwork with obvious satisfaction. It was hot enough that the dark hair around his forehead had become damp with sweat, and there was a streak of dirt along one cheek that Brielle was reasonably certain hadn't been there when they'd come outside that morning. He pushed his sleeve across his forehead, succeeding mostly in spreading the dirt around, before looking over at her. "I think I'm getting better." Brielle leaned against the length of timber she'd been carrying and regarded the two neat halves at his feet. "You are," she agreed. The pride that flashed across his face made her smile, but she kept her voice serious as she carried another piece over and set it upright on the chopping block.

"Just don't rush it. Accuracy before strength." Sebastian nodded solemnly. At eight years old, he approached certain jobs with the seriousness of a man three times his age. He repositioned his feet the way she'd shown him, adjusted his grip on the axe and stared intently at the log. Brielle resisted the urge to correct him. He needed to learn. More importantly, he needed to know that she trusted him to learn. The axe came down. *Crack.*

The log split almost perfectly down the centre. Sebastian immediately looked at her. There it was. That unmistakable expression of a little boy trying very hard not to ask whether his mother had seen what he'd just done. Brielle's mouth curved into a smile. "You'll be better than me before long."

His grin widened instantly. "I will?"

"If you keep practising." That seemed more than enough encouragement. Sebastian retrieved the fallen pieces and added them carefully to the growing stack. Brielle watched him for another second before turning her attention across the yard. Miranda was sitting cross-legged in the grass near the chicken run, surrounded by an assortment of feathers, clucking and apparent poultry-related drama. Every single chicken, according to Miranda, had a name. Brielle had made a genuine effort to remember them. She'd failed.

"No, Daisy," Miranda scolded gently, pointing a tiny finger at one particularly adventurous hen. "You have to let Buttercup have a turn." The hen showed no obvious remorse. Brielle narrowed her eyes at the birds. She wasn't entirely certain whether the offending chicken was Daisy or Buttercup. Possibly neither. Toby wasn't helping. The golden retriever wandered happily amongst the flock, tail sweeping enthusiastically from side to side. Every so often he stopped to inspect a chicken before continuing his patrol, apparently convinced that Brielle had appointed him personally responsible for keeping the entire operation organised.

One hen fluttered indignantly out of his way. Toby looked delighted. From the porch railing, Midnight watched everything with considerably less enthusiasm. The black cat had stretched himself along the timber in a patch of shade, paws tucked beneath him, his yellow-green eyes following dog, chickens and children with the quiet judgement only cats seemed capable of.

Brielle rested a hand on her hip. This was her life now. Children. Animals. Chores. The house behind her. Fields beyond the yard, shimmering beneath the July sun. It was... Peaceful. The thought still felt strange. She'd spent so much of her life waiting for something to happen that genuine quiet could leave her uneasy. Sometimes a cupboard door closed too hard and her shoulders tightened before she could stop them. Sometimes footsteps in another room made her pause and listen. And sometimes, when the house became especially quiet at night, she found herself waiting for a raised voice. For someone to tell her she'd done something wrong. For anger. For punishment. For rules she hadn't realised she'd broken. None came.
There was only the rustle of leaves as the summer breeze moved through the oak trees. The lazy clucking of Miranda's chickens. The occasional metallic sound of Sebastian's axe.
Somewhere farther across the property, one of the goats let out an indignant bleat. Another answered. Brielle glanced toward the pasture. "Yes, I know," she muttered. "You're starving."

They weren't. The goats had apparently decided that being able to see the bottom of a feed bucket constituted neglect. Another demanding bleat floated across the yard. Brielle smiled.
She could live with those sounds. She could get used to this. Maybe, eventually, she could even stop waiting for someone to take it away.

---

By lunchtime, the kitchen windows had been pushed wide open to catch whatever breeze they could. The house smelled of fresh bread and vegetable soup, with the faint earthy scent of the farm drifting through the screens. Brielle moved between the stove and the table while Miranda very carefully carried bowls across the kitchen one at a time.

"Two hands," Brielle reminded her.

"I've got it."

"I know. Two hands anyway." Miranda obediently wrapped both hands around the next bowl. Sebastian was already sitting at the table, looking tired, hungry and enormously pleased with himself.

"I chopped a lot."

"You did."

"More than yesterday."

"Probably."

He considered this. "I think I chopped enough to earn another piece of bread." Brielle turned from the counter and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you?"

Sebastian nodded. "Definitely."

"How convenient."

"I worked hard."

"So did I."

He hesitated. "You can have another piece too."

Brielle laughed. "You've become quite the negotiator."

"I learned from you." The words stopped her. Not because Sebastian seemed to notice anything unusual about them. He had already turned his attention towards the loaf cooling on the counter. But Brielle remained still for a moment. *I learned from you.*

There had been a time when the thought of her children learning from her would have frightened her. She'd spent years being told she couldn't make decisions properly. That she couldn't be trusted. That someone else knew what was best. Now there was an eight-year-old sitting at *her* table telling her that he learned from *her*. She crossed the small distance between them and ruffled his hair. Sebastian ducked away, laughing. "I hope you learn the good things." He looked up at her as if the answer were obvious. "I do."

Brielle swallowed. "Good." Then she reached for the bread knife before either child noticed that their mother had suddenly become suspiciously interested in slicing bread. Sebastian got his extra piece.

---

The afternoon settled into the comfortable rhythm that Brielle was slowly learning belonged to farm life. There was always another job. Something needed feeding, repairing, carrying, cleaning, collecting or checking. She'd just begun considering whether she had enough daylight left to make some progress on the unfinished chicken run when the distant rumble of an engine drifted up the road. Brielle stopped. It happened before she consciously thought about it. Her head turned towards the driveway. Her shoulders tightened. Her eyes went immediately to the road. Old habits. Even now, she checked unfamiliar vehicles. For a heartbeat, there was that same irrational thought. *Utah.*

Someone had found her. Someone had come to take her back. She hated that the fear still existed. Hated that after all the miles she'd put between herself and her old life, part of her still believed it could simply appear at the end of her driveway. The vehicle rounded the bend.A faded blue Ford pickup. Wisconsin plates. Brielle released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. The truck slowed as it approached, tyres crunching over gravel. A small trailer followed behind it, stacked neatly with lengths of timber. Sebastian had noticed it now too.
"Who's that?"

"I don't know." Brielle wiped her palms against her jeans and walked towards the gate.

The pickup came to a stop. An older man climbed from the driver's side. He wore work clothes and boots that looked as though they'd seen years of mud, snow and farmyards. He removed his cap as he approached rather than simply walking through the gate.

That small gesture registered with Brielle. He waited. "Afternoon," he called, offering an easy smile. "Name's Walter Miller. Figured I'd finally come introduce myself."

Brielle kept one hand resting on the gate. "I'm Brielle."

Walter's gaze travelled briefly across the yard, taking in the stacked firewood, the children, chickens and the half-finished run. "Looks like you've been keeping busy."

Brielle glanced back at the property. "Trying."

Walter chuckled. "Word gets around out here. Folks say you've got the best goat cheese this side of Madison." That startled a laugh from her. "I don't know about that."

"My wife disagrees." He turned back towards the pickup and reached into the bed. When he returned, he was carrying a small wooden crate. The sweet smell reached Brielle before she could see what was inside. Peaches. Fresh ones. Walter held the crate towards her. "Fresh peaches."

Brielle stared at them. Then at him. "For... me?" "For your family." She didn't reach for them immediately. Walter seemed to notice. He didn't push the crate at her or look offended by the hesitation. Instead, his expression softened. "My Elsie says no one should move into the valley without someone welcoming them proper."

Something tightened unexpectedly in Brielle's chest. She looked down at the peaches. No conditions. No demand. No reminder of what she'd owe. Just a neighbour standing at her gate with a box of fruit because his wife thought the new family down the road should be welcomed.

"I don't..."

Walter waved away whatever she'd been about to say. "You'll repay us one day." The old anxiety stirred immediately. "I'd rather trade."

Walter studied her for perhaps half a second. If he found the response strange, he didn't say so. "All right."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Then next time you've got extra eggs, bring a dozen over." That was easier. Eggs for peaches. Something she could understand. Something balanced. Brielle finally accepted the crate. Walter nodded towards Sebastian and Miranda. "And bring those two with you. Elsie makes a blackberry pie that'll spoil them rotten."

That immediately attracted Miranda's attention. She'd wandered closer during the conversation and was now standing several feet away with a chicken tucked securely against her chest. "Do you have chickens too?" Walter looked down at her.

"Forty-three."

Miranda's eyes widened. "Forty-three?"

"Last time I counted."

The little girl gasped as though Walter had just announced that he owned a castle. "Mommy, he has *forty-three chickens*."

"I heard."

"Can we see them?"

Walter laughed. "You bring those eggs over sometime, and I'll introduce you."

Miranda looked at Brielle expectantly. Brielle found herself smiling. "We'll see." Which, judging by Miranda's delighted expression, had apparently been interpreted as an unconditional yes.

---

The old Ford eventually rumbled back down the gravel road, its little trailer bouncing gently behind it. Brielle remained at the gate. The crate of peaches rested against her hip.
She watched until the pickup disappeared around the bend. For several seconds, she didn't move. Sebastian came to stand beside her. "Are they our friends?"

Brielle looked down at him. Then she turned her gaze towards the valley. The late-afternoon sun stretched across rolling fields, turning the pasture grasses golden at their tips. Red barns stood amongst distant patches of green. Somewhere a tractor was moving slowly through a field, its engine barely audible from this far away.

Her farm sat among all of it. *Her farm.* For the first time since leaving Utah, something occurred to her with a clarity that almost hurt. Walter didn't know who she'd been.
Neither did Elsie. The people scattered across those neighbouring farms didn't know what had happened behind closed doors hundreds of miles away. They didn't know what she'd been told about herself. And they didn't care. Here, she wasn't someone's wife. She wasn't someone's daughter. She wasn't a woman expected to lower her eyes, keep quiet and obey.

Walter Miller had driven up to her gate and treated her as though there was nothing unusual about her owning this farm. As though she belonged here. As though she were simply...
...his neighbour. Brielle looked down at the peaches. Such a small thing. A wooden crate filled with fruit. Yet somehow it felt like something more. A beginning. A small smile crept across her face. "I think," she said quietly, "they just might be." Sebastian seemed satisfied with that answer. He headed back towards the house. Brielle lingered for another moment.

Toby came trotting up the drive to join her, tail wagging as he pushed his nose curiously towards the crate. "No." He sniffed again. "Toby." The dog looked up at her innocently. Brielle laughed and nudged him away with her knee. "Come on." She closed the gate behind her and followed her children towards the farmhouse. And for the first time in a very long while, when Brielle Anders thought about the future, it didn't seem quite so frightening. It looked like summer fields. It sounded like her children laughing. And, apparently, it tasted like peaches.

TBC

 

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