The Little Things

Posted on Thu Sep 10th, 2026 @ 4:36pm by Wanderer Brielle Anders

2,385 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Wandering About
Location: Brielle's Farm – Southern Wisconsin
Timeline: August 18, 2010

The first thing Brielle noticed was the silence. Not complete silence. The farm was never truly silent. Chickens scratched and clucked in the yard. Goats complained from their paddock whenever they decided breakfast was running late. Somewhere near the barn, Toby was engaged in a one-sided argument with a squirrel that had made the tactical decision to remain safely in an oak tree. From the farmhouse came the faint sound of Leah crying. That had become another part of the farm's morning soundtrack over the last couple of days. Usually the baby only fussed for a minute or two before Carmen soothed her, and this morning was no different. By the time Brielle climbed another rung of the hayloft ladder, the crying had faded into the occasional unhappy grumble. No. The farm wasn't silent. There was just...Less.

Brielle stopped halfway through tossing fresh hay down into the goat pens. She rested the pitchfork against the timber rail and listened. The highway. That was it. The highway ran beyond the northern ridgeline, far enough away that they couldn't see it from the farmhouse, but close enough that its presence had become part of the background noise of the valley. Usually there was a steady procession of truck. Freight heading toward Madison. Farm deliveries. Cars. Occasionally the deeper rumble of something heavy enough that the sound carried all the way across the fields. From the top of the hayloft, Brielle could normally hear engines several times a minute. This morning she'd heard two. She stood very still. Nothing.

"Huh."

"What?" Sebastian's voice came from below.

Brielle looked down. He was wrestling another small bale toward the feeder with considerably more determination than technique."Nothing."

"You said 'huh.'"

"I was thinking."

Sebastian pushed the bale into position. "About what?"

Brielle listened once more. Still nothing from the highway. "The traffic."

Sebastian tilted his head as though he could somehow hear better that way. "What traffic?"

"Exactly."

He shrugged. "Maybe everyone stayed home." Maybe.

Brielle smiled. "Come on. Let's finish these." There were chores to do. And a quiet highway wasn't exactly an emergency.

By the time they returned to the farmhouse, Carmen was sitting at the kitchen table with Leah propped against her shoulder. The baby had apparently decided sleep was unacceptable. Carmen looked as though she disagreed. Her hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes.

"Morning," Brielle said.

Carmen gave her a tired smile. "Apparently we've been awake since five."

Leah made a tiny noise against her shoulder. "She seems happy about it."

"She's thrilled."

Brielle washed her hands at the sink. "You could have gone back to bed."

"I tried." Carmen glanced toward the baby. "Someone had other plans." Leah responded with a small burp. Sebastian laughed. Carmen stared at her daughter. "Thank you."

Miranda appeared from somewhere beneath the kitchen table. "Can I hold her?"

Carmen smiled. "When I've finished feeding her."

"I can feed her."

"Maybe later."

Miranda accepted that compromise and immediately began explaining something extremely important about one of her chickens. Brielle leaned against the counter and watched them. Carmen and Leah had only been at the farm for two days. Already, somehow, the house felt different. A little more crowded. A little noisier. There were bottles drying beside the sink and folded baby blankets on the back of one of the chairs. A makeshift crib occupied the spare bedroom, and Brielle had discovered that Toby considered it his personal responsibility to investigate every sound Leah made. It wasn't inconvenient. It was simply another adjustment. Another person who needed feeding. Another person who needed somewhere safe to sleep. Brielle understood that better than most. She reached for the list she'd written the previous evening. "I'm heading out."

Carmen looked up. "Into town?"

"Couple of stops. Walter first, then feed store. I want Evelyn to look at the goats' vaccination records while I'm there."

"I can come."

Brielle glanced at Leah. "You don't have to."

"I know."

Carmen adjusted the baby against her shoulder. "I'd like to get out." There was something in the way she said it that Brielle understood. Three nights living in a car. Two days hiding away on an unfamiliar farm. Carmen needed to see that the world outside the gate still existed.

"All right." Brielle nodded. "Get her things."

Carmen smiled. "I'll be ready in ten."

Brielle looked at the mountain of baby supplies that seemed necessary for even a short trip. "Twenty."

Carmen laughed "Probably."

==

The empty milk cans rattled softly in the back of the pickup as Brielle drove towards the Miller farm. Carmen sat beside her with Leah secured in the back, while Sebastian and Miranda had stayed home after extracting a promise that Brielle would bring something back from town. The road seemed quieter too. Brielle passed one car. Then nothing for almost ten minutes. Carmen noticed. "Is it normally this empty?"

"No."

"Maybe it's just the time of day."

"Maybe."

Neither woman said anything more. Walter Miller was already outside when they arrived.He stood near the barn, one hand resting against the side of his pickup. Even from a distance, Brielle could tell something was wrong. He looked... Tired. Not ordinary farm-work tired. Walter normally looked as though he'd been awake since dawn and considered that entirely reasonable. Today there were dark circles beneath his eyes. "Morning," Brielle called.

"Mornin'." He accepted the milk cans with a distracted nod.

His gaze briefly settled on Carmen and Leah. "Morning, Carmen."

"Morning."

Walter gave Leah a little smile. "And morning to you too, young lady." Leah stared back at him with complete suspicion. Walter chuckled. "Fair enough."

Brielle watched him carry one of the cans towards the shed. "You alright?"

Walter scratched at the back of his neck. "Didn't sleep much."

"No?"

"Listening to the radio."

Brielle raised an eyebrow. "The weather?"

Walter shook his head. "News."

That got her attention. "You actually listen to the news?"

Walter laughed. "Usually only when they're talking about crop prices."

Carmen shifted closer. "So what was it?"

Walter's humour faded. "Some sort of sickness."

"Where?" Brielle asked.

"They said Georgia."

Brielle frowned. Georgia. That might as well have been another country from here."What sort of sickness?"

Walter shrugged. "Reports don't seem to agree. Fever. Confusion. Violence in some cases."

Carmen's hand instinctively moved toward Leah.

Walter noticed. "Long way from Wisconsin."

Brielle nodded. "Long way." The words should have been reassuring. For some reason they weren't.

Walter picked up the second milk can. "Probably nothing."

"Probably," Brielle agreed. Nobody mentioned it again.

==

The feed store wasn't as busy as usual. That was the second thing Brielle noticed. Normally there were several pickups outside and somebody was always loading feed, fencing supplies or seed. Today there were only two vehicles. Tom Alvarez was unloading pallets by himself. He looked up as Brielle approached. "Morning."
"Where's your help?"

Tom sighed. "Delivery's late."

"Again?"

"Third time this month." He kicked the edge of one of the empty pallets. "They're blaming fuel shortages."

Brielle frowned. "Already?"

"So they say." Tom wiped his hands against his jeans. "Half the shipment that was supposed to come in yesterday never left the depot."

"What about livestock feed?"

"I've got enough." He paused.

"For everyone this week."

Brielle caught the distinction. "This week."

Tom nodded. "I just don't know about next month."

Carmen had come up behind Brielle carrying Leah. "Are things really that bad?"

Tom looked at the baby and seemed to reconsider his answer. "Probably just distribution problems." Brielle glanced toward him. He gave her the smallest shrug. He didn't believe that any more than she did.

Brielle looked toward the stacked feed bags. "I'll take my normal order." Then she reconsidered. "And two extra."

Tom didn't comment. "Good idea."

Preparedness wasn't panic. That was something Brielle had learned long ago. You didn't have to believe the world was ending to make sure your children could eat if something went wrong.

==

Their next stop was the veterinary clinic. The little building smelled faintly of disinfectant, animals and the particular combination of medicines Brielle associated with every vet's office she'd ever entered. The waiting room was empty. That was unusual too. "Evelyn?"

"Back here."

A moment later Evelyn Shaw appeared through the doorway leading into the treatment rooms. She was in her late fifties, practical and capable, with the easy confidence of someone who had spent decades handling frightened animals and even more frightened owners. Today, however, she looked exhausted. Reading glasses sat low on her nose and several sheets of paperwork were tucked beneath one arm.

She glanced at Brielle. Then Carmen. Then the baby. "Well. That's not a goat."

Carmen looked down at Leah. "We're fairly sure."

Evelyn's mouth twitched. "Good. Because my pediatrics license is about thirty years out of date."

Brielle laughed. "This is Carmen. And Leah."

"Evelyn Shaw."

Carmen smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

Evelyn peered at Leah. The baby stared back. "She's got good lungs."

"You've heard her?"

"Whole car park probably has."

Carmen laughed. It was good to hear. Brielle placed the vaccination records on the counter. "I wanted you to check these."

Evelyn reached for them. "Everything alright?"

"With the goats? Yes."

"I meant generally."

Brielle looked at her. "You look exhausted."

Evelyn removed her glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I've had three emergency calls cancelled."

"Cancelled?"

"They couldn't get here."

"Vehicles?"

Evelyn nodded. "Fuel."

Carmen frowned "That's the second time we've heard that today."

Evelyn looked between them. "Where else?"

"Feed delivery."

"Right."

She leaned back against the counter. "And people are acting..."

She stopped.

Brielle waited.

"...strange."

"How strange?"

"Short tempers."

Evelyn folded her arms. "Tired. Anxious. People calling about things they normally wouldn't worry about. Other people refusing to come in when they absolutely should."

"Because of the sickness?" Carmen asked.

Evelyn hesitated. "Maybe."

"So you've heard about it?"

"Everyone's heard about it." Evelyn gave a tired little smile. "Doesn't mean anyone knows what it is."

"Georgia," Brielle said.

"And further north now, depending on which report you believe."

That caught Brielle's attention. "How far north?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I wouldn't put much faith in rumours."

She looked at Leah. "Especially around little ears."

Carmen's arms tightened almost imperceptibly around her daughter.

Evelyn noticed. Her expression softened. "Look, people get nervous. Nervous people spread nonsense. Until someone tells me otherwise, I'm assuming this is another outbreak that'll make everybody panic for two weeks and then disappear from the news."

Brielle nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

"Usually is."But Evelyn didn't look particularly convinced. Neither was Brielle.

==
By late afternoon, they found themselves sitting in the queue at the petrol station. There were only four cars ahead of them. Yet everyone seemed impatient. A man near the counter was arguing loudly about the twenty-dollar purchase limit. Another insisted he'd already paid for fuel the previous day and was owed more. Someone behind Brielle muttered something about government rationing. Carmen looked through the windscreen. "Is there actually a shortage?"

"No idea."

"Everyone thinks there is."

"Sometimes that's enough."

The baby began fussing. Carmen twisted around immediately. "I know, sweetheart."

Brielle watched the argument near the counter. The attendant looked exhausted. Not angry. Not frightened. Simply worn down. When Brielle finally reached the pump, she filled the pickup. Then every approved fuel container she'd brought.

Carmen watched her. "Do you always carry that many?"

"Usually."

"Why?"

Brielle considered the question. Because she'd learned young that relying entirely on other people was dangerous. Because she'd spent years around a man who believed civilisation was perpetually five minutes from collapse. Because some habits remained useful even when the person who'd taught them to you wasn't. "Because I have children."

Carmen looked into the back where Leah had finally fallen asleep. "Fair enough."

Preparedness had become habit long before Brielle had ever owned the farm. Today she was glad of it.

==

That evening, the valley glowed beneath a crimson sunset. From the porch, everything looked exactly as it should. The goats had settled into their shelter. The chickens tucked themselves onto their perches, Miranda having personally checked that Daisy, Buttercup and several birds Brielle still couldn't reliably identify were where they belonged. Sebastian sat on the porch steps reading one of his library books.

Miranda was brushing Toby. The golden retriever endured the attention with the long-suffering expression of an animal who understood that resistance was futile.

"Not his ears," Brielle called.

"I'm not!"

Toby looked at Brielle. He clearly disagreed. A few feet away, Carmen sat in one of the porch chairs with Leah sleeping against her chest. The baby had one tiny fist curled into the fabric of Carmen's shirt. For the first time all day, Carmen looked relaxed. Brielle leaned against the porch railing with a mug of tea. Everything looked... Normal. Too normal. She thought about Walter. The radio. Georgia. Tom's missing delivery. Evelyn's cancelled calls. The fuel limit. People arguing over petrol.Small things. None of them meant anything on their own. Together... Brielle wasn't sure. Somewhere far away, a freight train sounded its lonely horn. The noise rolled across the valley. Brielle looked towards the distant tracks. Something bothered her. Then she realised. She hadn't heard one for almost a week. Carmen looked up.

"What?"

Brielle shook her head. "Nothing."

Inside the farmhouse, the radio murmured through the open kitchen window. "...CDC officials continue urging calm..." Brielle glanced towards it. Carmen did too. The announcer continued talking, but the words became indistinct beneath the sounds of the farm. Miranda laughed when Toby escaped her brush and bounded across the yard. Sebastian looked up from his book. Leah shifted in her sleep. The chickens murmured quietly in their coop. Brielle took another sip of tea. Whatever was happening... It wasn't here. Not here. Not in this valley. Not on her farm. And she intended to keep it that way. As darkness settled across the fields, Brielle sent the children inside. Carmen carried Leah upstairs. Sebastian checked the chicken coop. Brielle checked the barn one final time. Then the doors. The windows. The gate. Old habits. Useful habits. Finally she switched off the porch light. The farm disappeared into the warm Wisconsin night. Peaceful. Safe. For now.

TBC...

 

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