What She Left Behind

Posted on Fri Oct 2nd, 2026 @ 1:26pm by Wanderer Brielle Anders

5,224 words; about a 26 minute read

Mission: Wandering About
Location: Brielle's Farm – Southern Wisconsin
Timeline: September 4, 2010

Brielle had buried Margaret Reed two days ago. She had washed the blood from the front gate. She had scrubbed the shovel. She had cleaned the rifle. She had even washed the clothes she'd been wearing, although she'd stood at the washing machine for several minutes before finally putting them inside because part of her had wanted to throw them away. None of it had helped. Margaret was still there. Not physically. Brielle knew that. Margaret lay beneath the old maple now, in a grave deeper than Brielle had thought she would ever have to dig, with a simple marker because there hadn't been time—or heart—for anything better. But every time Brielle looked toward the gate, she saw the faded cardigan. She saw Margaret stumbling against the fence. She saw the first shot hit her chest. And she saw Margaret keep coming. Then she remembered the second shot. Brielle closed her eyes. "Mum?"

Sebastian's voice pulled her back. Brielle opened her eyes and realised she had been standing at the kitchen counter holding the same coffee mug for several minutes. Sebastian sat at the table with a pencil in his hand and an open workbook in front of him. At eight years old, he had become far too good at recognizing when his mother was pretending everything was fine. "What?" Brielle asked.

Sebastian studied her carefully. "You were doing the staring thing."

From the other side of the table, Miranda looked up from the picture she was colouring. "Mum does that lots now," the five-year-old announced.

Brielle gave her daughter a look. "Thank you, Miranda."

"You're welcome."

Carmen laughed softly from beside Leah's portable seat. The five-month-old was kicking enthusiastically beneath the little blanket covering her legs, entirely unconcerned with the collapse of civilisation around her. One tiny fist had captured the corner of Carmen's shirt and seemed determined never to release it. Carmen gently freed the fabric from Leah's fingers. "She's right," Carmen said, looking across at Brielle. "You do."

"Everyone in this house is very observant this morning."

Toby lay beneath the kitchen table, his head resting on his paws. Midnight occupied the windowsill and appeared to regard the entire conversation as beneath him. Brielle took a drink of coffee. It had gone cold. Of course it had. The radio on the counter crackled. Brielle's attention immediately shifted toward it. A moment later Walter's voice came through. "Brielle? You there?"

She crossed the kitchen quickly and picked up the handset. "I'm here."

"Morning." Walter sounded normal. Brielle was beginning to understand how precious normal sounded. "Morning." There was a brief pause.

Then Walter asked, "You sleep?"

Brielle leaned one hip against the counter. "Some."

"That's not what I asked."

"It is the answer you're getting." Walter gave a quiet grunt over the radio. "Elsie says you're stubborn."

From somewhere farther away from Walter's radio, Elsie's voice could be heard clearly. "I said she's as stubborn as you!"

Walter's reply came slightly muffled. "Nobody asked you."

"And yet you keep getting my opinion."

Despite herself, Brielle smiled. Then it faded. "Walter."

His tone changed immediately. "Yeah?"

"I want to go to Margaret's." Silence followed. Carmen looked over. Sebastian stopped writing. Even Miranda seemed to understand that something had changed. Walter didn't answer immediately. When he finally did, his voice was quieter.

"Why?"

Brielle looked through the kitchen window toward the distant road. "I need to know what happened."

"We know what happened."

"No. We know what happened when she reached my gate." Brielle tightened her grip around the radio. "We don't know what happened before that." Walter remained silent. Brielle continued. "She was alone. Something happened to her. She got bitten somehow, or exposed somehow, and then she ended up here." She swallowed. "I want to know why."

Walter exhaled over the radio. "Knowing won't change it."

"No." Brielle looked toward Sebastian and Miranda. "But I still need to know." Another pause.

Then Walter said, "I'll be there in forty minutes."

Brielle frowned. "Walter—"

"Don't start."

"I can go myself."

"And I can fly to Milwaukee by flapping my arms."

"Walter."

"Forty minutes."

There was another muffled exchange at the other end. Then Elsie's voice came clearly through the radio. "Take the livestock trailer." Walter sounded confused. "Why am I taking the livestock trailer?" "Because Margaret has animals, Walter."

There was silence. Brielle straightened. She had forgotten. Not completely. But somehow Margaret's animals hadn't entered her mind when she'd been thinking about the house.

Elsie continued, her voice sharper now. "Three cats. Two dogs. Chickens. And those sheep of hers." Walter muttered something. Elsie apparently heard him. "No, they cannot simply look after themselves indefinitely." Brielle stared at the radio.

"How many chickens?"

"Ten, last I knew," Elsie answered. "And two sheep."

Walter came back onto the radio. "Well. Apparently I'm bringing the trailer."

"Bring it," Brielle said.

Walter sighed. "Knew I shouldn't have answered the damned radio."

This time Brielle did smile. "Forty minutes."

"Forty minutes."

The radio clicked silent. Carmen was already looking at her. "You're bringing the animals here." It wasn't a question.

Brielle put the handset down. "Apparently." Carmen looked toward the window. Then she looked at Toby. Then Midnight. Then back at Brielle. "How many animals are we planning to collect before this is over?"

"I don't collect animals." Sebastian slowly raised his hand from the table. Brielle narrowed her eyes. "Don't." Sebastian lowered it. Miranda didn't bother raising hers.

"You collect people too."

Carmen covered her mouth, unsuccessfully hiding a laugh. Brielle stared at her daughter. "Finish your colouring."

Miranda returned obediently to the page. "Yes, Mum." There was a suspicious amount of satisfaction in her voice.
________________________________________

Walter arrived forty-three minutes later. Brielle knew because she checked. His truck came up the road towing the livestock trailer, while Elsie sat beside him in the passenger seat. Brielle stepped outside as they pulled through the gate. She frowned when she saw Elsie climb down. "I thought Walter was coming."

Elsie shut the truck door. "He was."

Walter climbed down from the driver's side and pointed across the hood at his wife. "She invited herself."

Elsie ignored him. "I knew Margaret better than either of you."

Walter looked at Brielle. "Forty-seven years."

Elsie corrected him immediately. "Forty-nine."

Walter frowned. "Was it?"

Elsie stared at him. Walter considered the wisdom of continuing. "Forty-nine years," he agreed.

"Good decision," Brielle murmured.

Walter pointed at her. "Don't encourage her."

Elsie walked past both of them. "Someone has to." Carmen came outside carrying Leah against her shoulder. Sebastian and Miranda followed, Toby trotting at their heels. Elsie stopped to kiss Leah's forehead before looking at Carmen. "You'll be alright here?"

Carmen nodded. "We'll be fine."

Brielle looked at Carmen more seriously. "Gate stays locked."

"I know."

"Nobody comes inside."

"I know."

"If Ben comes—"

"I know."

"If anything feels wrong—"

Carmen reached out and touched Brielle's arm. "I know."

Brielle stopped. Carmen's expression softened. "We'll be alright. Go."

Brielle nodded. Then Sebastian approached. "Are you going to Mrs Reed's house?"

Brielle crouched slightly so she wasn't towering over him. "Yes."

"Why?"

"To find out what happened."

Sebastian glanced toward the livestock trailer. "And get her animals?"

"If we can."

He thought about that. "Will they live here?"

"Probably."

Miranda appeared beside him. "Can I name the sheep?"

"No."

"But they need names."

"They probably already have names."

Miranda's eyes widened. "Oh." Apparently, this was excellent news.

"What are their names?"

"I don't know."

"Can you ask them?"

Walter coughed into his fist.

Brielle looked at him. His face was suspiciously neutral. "I'll investigate," Brielle promised her daughter. Miranda nodded seriously.

Brielle kissed both children, then straightened and looked toward the vehicles. “We should take mine too.”

Walter paused halfway to the driver's door. “Why?”

“Because if Margaret's animals are still alive, we're bringing them back. And if there's anything useful there, I don't want to make two trips.”

Elsie nodded immediately. “She's right.”

Walter looked from Brielle's pickup to the livestock trailer behind his truck. “You two agreeing this quickly makes me nervous.”

“Live with it,” Brielle said. A few minutes later, they pulled out through the gate in two vehicles. Brielle drove her pickup alone, rifle within easy reach beside her. Walter followed in his truck with Elsie in the passenger seat and the livestock trailer rattling behind them. Nobody mentioned how strange it felt to leave the farm.
________________________________________

Margaret Reed lived less than six miles away. Six miles had once been nothing. Now Walter drove as though every bend might contain something waiting for them. Brielle watched the road. Two abandoned vehicles sat outside a house they'd passed hundreds of times before. One had its driver's door hanging open. Nobody was visible. Farther along, something moved in a field. Walter slowed. It was a man. Or had been. He wandered between rows of late corn, moving without direction. Elsie watched him through the passenger window. "That's not anyone I know."

Walter kept driving. Nobody suggested stopping. The silence afterward lasted nearly a mile. Then Brielle saw Margaret's mailbox. REED.

Black letters against white paint. Walter turned onto the gravel drive. Before they reached the house, barking erupted. Two dogs came racing from behind the barn. Walter braked. “Well," he said quietly. "They're alive."

One was a black-and-tan shepherd mix. The other was smaller, shaggy and mostly white beneath several days' worth of dirt. They stopped well short of the truck. The shepherd barked. The smaller dog joined in. Then the shepherd recognised Elsie.
Its entire posture changed. "Oh, sweetheart," Elsie whispered.

She opened the door. Brielle caught her arm. "Wait."

Elsie looked at her. "We don't know what's here."

The older woman looked as though she wanted to argue. Then she nodded. Walter shut off the engine. For several seconds, none of them moved. The dogs barked again. Somewhere behind the house, chickens clucked. A sheep bleated. Brielle opened her door. She stepped down with the rifle. Walter came around the truck carrying his shotgun. Elsie stayed behind them. The shepherd approached first. Its tail remained low, but it recognised Elsie. "Come here, Maggie," Elsie called softly.

The dog's tail moved. Brielle looked at her. "Maggie?"

Elsie stroked the dog's head when she finally reached them. "Margaret had a sense of humour." Walter looked at the dog.

"Naming your dog after yourself isn't humour."

"She said it prevented confusion."

"That creates confusion."

The smaller dog crept closer. Elsie crouched. "And that's Pip." Pip pressed immediately against her legs. Brielle watched the house. Front door closed. Curtains open. No broken windows. No obvious signs of violence outside. "Stay with the dogs," Brielle told Elsie. Elsie stood. "I'm coming inside."

"Elsie—"

"I knew her for forty-nine years." Brielle looked at Walter.

Walter shook his head. "You're wasting your time."

Elsie folded her arms.

Brielle sighed. "Behind us."

Elsie nodded. "Fine." They approached the house. Walter tried the front door. Unlocked. Brielle's stomach tightened. Walter pushed it open. Nothing. The smell reached them first. Not death. Something sour. Stale food. Old blood. And the closed-up smell of a house that had gone several days without its owner opening a window. Walter stepped inside. Brielle followed. The living room looked almost normal. A book lay face-down beside Margaret's chair. A mug sat on the side table. A blanket had fallen partly onto the floor. The television was dark. A battery radio sat beside it. Then Brielle saw the blood.
A smear along the hallway wall. Walter saw it too. "Stay here," he told Elsie.

"No."

"Elsie."

This time there was something in his voice that made her stop. Walter and Brielle followed the blood. It led into the kitchen. A chair had been overturned. Broken glass covered part of the floor. A dark stain marked the linoleum. Brielle crouched. There were bloody towels near the sink. A first-aid kit sat open. Bandages. Antiseptic. Scissors.
And blood. A lot of it. Brielle's eyes followed the trail. It led toward the back door.
She stood. "She was hurt here."

Walter nodded. Brielle picked up one of the discarded bandage wrappers. "She tried to treat it." On the kitchen table sat a notepad. The first few pages contained ordinary things. Groceries. Feed. Something about greenhouse tomatoes. Then the handwriting changed. Brielle lifted the pad. MAN AT DOOR Below it: hurt Then: bit me
And beneath that, written less steadily: fever The final line had been pressed so hard into the paper that the pen had almost torn through. GO TO BRIELLE? Brielle stopped breathing. Walter looked over her shoulder. Neither of them spoke.

Elsie entered the kitchen. She saw their faces. "What?"
Brielle couldn't answer. Walter gently took the notepad. Elsie read it. Her hand rose to her mouth. "Oh, Margaret." Brielle stared at those final three words. Go to Brielle?
Margaret had come to her. Maybe she'd still been Margaret when she'd left. Maybe she'd known she was sick. Maybe she'd been frightened. Maybe she'd wanted help. Maybe she'd simply known there were people at Brielle's farm. Or maybe whatever had risen after Margaret died had wandered until it found a fence. Brielle would never know.
Elsie touched her shoulder. "Brielle."

"I shot her."

Elsie's expression tightened. "She was already gone."

"I know."

"You saved your children."

"I know."

"Then don't turn what you had to do into something you did to Margaret." Brielle looked at her. Elsie's eyes were wet. "Margaret wasn't standing at your gate anymore."
She touched the notepad. "This woman was." Brielle swallowed. Then folded the page carefully. "We should take this." Elsie nodded.

"Yes."
________________________________________
The rest of the house was quiet. They found no body. No stranger. Whatever had attacked Margaret had either left or been driven away. The back door showed signs of a struggle. There was blood on the porch. Tracks had long since been ruined by weather and animals. They would never know who the injured man had been. But they knew enough. Margaret had opened her door to someone who needed help. He had bitten her. She had treated the wound. She had developed a fever. And eventually she had tried to reach Brielle. That was enough. Then came the animals. The two dogs were hungry but otherwise healthy. The three cats proved considerably more difficult. One orange tabby watched them suspiciously from the barn loft. A grey cat was eventually discovered beneath Margaret's bed. The third, a black-and-white female, appeared in the kitchen and loudly demanded food as though the apocalypse were entirely Margaret's fault. Elsie found their carriers in the mudroom. "Margaret took them to Evelyn every year," she explained while placing food inside the first carrier.

Brielle glanced at her. "All three?"

"Margaret believed veterinary appointments should be suffered collectively."

Walter appeared in the doorway carrying a sack of chicken feed. "Dr Shaw once threatened to start charging her hazard pay."

Elsie smiled. "Margaret brought her jam afterward."

"Bribery."

"Apology."

"Bribery."

The orange cat eventually chose hunger over suspicion. The grey cat required Walter, Brielle, a blanket and several words Walter probably wouldn't have used in church.
The black-and-white cat simply walked into her carrier when Elsie asked.
Walter stared at it. "Of course you do." The cat stared back. Walter pointed at her. "I don't like you." The cat began washing a paw.

Elsie smiled. "Her name's Mabel."

"Of course it is."

The dogs were Maggie and Pip.

The sheep, they discovered, were Daisy and Clover.

Brielle couldn't help laughing when she found the names written on the board inside the small wool shed.

Walter looked over. "What?"

"My daughter is going to be delighted."
________________________________________
The shed revealed something else. Margaret hadn't simply kept sheep. She used their wool. A spinning wheel stood beneath a cloth near the back wall. Beside it were hand carders, baskets, shearing tools and neatly stored bundles of fleece. Several skeins of wool hung from wooden pegs. There were knitting needles. Crochet hooks. Patterns.
A basket containing half a knitted blanket. Brielle stood staring at it. Walter came up beside her. "Take the wheel."

Brielle turned. "I don't know how to spin wool."

"Neither do I."

"Then why are we taking it?"

Walter looked at the sheep outside. "Because Margaret did." Brielle waited. Walter gestured toward the equipment. "World isn't making much of anything anymore." His expression became serious. "We've spent our whole lives buying finished things. Clothes. Blankets. Tools. Food." He touched the spinning wheel. "We're going to have to start remembering how people made them."

Brielle looked at the wheel again. "What if none of us can?"

"Then we learn." Walter shrugged. "Or we eventually find somebody who can." He began lifting it carefully. "But leaving the damned thing here because we don't know how to use it would be stupid."

Brielle took the other side. "That's surprisingly sensible."

Walter gave her a wounded look. "I am frequently sensible."

"Name three times."

Walter considered that. "Help me with the wheel."
________________________________________
The greenhouse was worse. Not because anything terrible had happened there. Because nothing had. Tomatoes still ripened on vines. Peppers hung beneath green leaves. Herbs grew in organised trays. Late beans climbed their supports. A few strawberries remained. Margaret had been preparing seedlings and collecting seeds.
Life continued under glass as though Margaret might walk through the door at any moment. Elsie stood in the doorway. "She loved this place."

Brielle touched one of the tomato vines. "What can we take?"

"As much ripe produce as possible." Elsie moved immediately into practical mode.

"Anything close to ripe will finish at your place. Seeds. Trays. Pots. Tools. Fertiliser."

She examined the shelves. "Those herbs."

Walter looked around the greenhouse. "What about the plants?"

"We can't take a greenhouse, Walter."

"I know that." Elsie looked at him. Walter sighed. "I was asking."

They harvested what they could. Not everything. There wasn't time. And there wasn't room. But enough. Then they went to Margaret's cellar. Brielle stopped halfway down the stairs. Shelves. So many shelves. Jam. Preserves. Pickles. Canned tomatoes. Beans.
Sauces. Apple butter. Fruit. Boxes of empty jars. Sugar. Pectin. Lids. Rings. A preserving pan. Funnels. Jar lifters. Labels. Everything necessary not merely to eat what Margaret had made—but to keep making more. Elsie ran her fingers across a row of jars. "She always made too much."

Walter stood behind her. "You complained every year."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I said thirty-eight jars of strawberry jam was excessive."

Walter nodded. "Complaining."

Elsie picked up a jar. The handwritten label read: STRAWBERRY — JUNE 2010 She stared at it. Then she handed it to Brielle. Brielle held the jar. June. Three months ago.
Margaret had picked strawberries. Washed them. Cooked them with sugar. Sterilised the jar. Filled it. Sealed it. Written the label. Probably while listening to the radio. Probably thinking about winter. Probably assuming there would be another spring.

Brielle put the jar back. "I can't."

Walter looked at her. "Can't what?"

"Take all this."

Walter's face softened. "Brielle."

"It's hers."

"It was."

Brielle turned toward him. "That's not enough."

Walter nodded slowly. "No. Maybe it isn't."

He looked along the shelves. Then back at Brielle. "This isn't an abandoned house." Brielle said nothing. Walter continued. "This is Margaret's house."

"Exactly."

"And Margaret fed half this valley at one time or another."

Elsie smiled sadly. "More than half."

Walter pointed toward the ceiling. "You've got Sebastian and Miranda at your table." Then toward the direction of Brielle's farm. “Carmen. That baby." He paused. "And whatever fool turns up next." Brielle almost smiled. Walter gestured toward the shelves. "You think Margaret would want this sitting down here until it freezes, spoils, gets eaten by mice or gets taken by somebody who doesn't give a damn whose hands made it?"

Brielle looked at the strawberry jam. "No."

"Neither do I."

Walter picked up a box. "We take what keeps people alive."

Brielle looked at him. "Not everything."

"No."

"Food. Medicine. Fuel. Tools. Animal supplies. Things we can use."

Walter nodded. "Agreed."

"Not jewellery."

"Agreed."

"Not photographs."

"Of course not."

"Not her personal things just because nobody can stop us."

Elsie stepped closer. "We preserve Margaret's life." Brielle looked at her. Elsie gestured around them. "Not loot it." That was the distinction.

Brielle nodded. "Okay." Then they started packing.
________________________________________
It took hours. Far longer than Brielle expected. Margaret's homestead contained the accumulated infrastructure of a woman who had spent years preparing for winters, storms and ordinary rural life. Food. Preserves. Medicine. Soap. Cleaning supplies.
Candles. Matches. Batteries. Lanterns. Blankets. Animal medicines. Chicken feed.
Sheep feed. Hand tools. Garden tools. Seeds. Empty jars. Preserving equipment. The spinning wheel. Carders. Shears. Stored fleece. Finished wool. Knitting and crochet supplies. Fuel. Not much, but enough to matter. Walter siphoned what could safely be taken from Margaret's fuel storage into approved containers. Brielle found a small hand-cranked grain mill in the pantry. She carried it outside.

Walter looked at it. "Take it."

"I was going to."

"Good."

"You don't have to approve everything."

"Somebody does."

Brielle stared at him. Walter grinned. "You're welcome."

They left Margaret's photographs exactly where they were. Her jewellery remained in the bedroom. Her clothes stayed in the wardrobe. Her books remained on their shelves.
Elsie took one thing. A little ceramic bee from the kitchen windowsill. Brielle noticed.
Elsie held it carefully. "For her grave."

Brielle nodded. "Yes."
________________________________________
Loading the animals was another matter entirely. Daisy entered the trailer with minimal complaint. Clover did not. Clover apparently believed the trailer represented death.
Walter spent ten minutes attempting persuasion. Then another five attempting bribery.
Finally Brielle and Elsie helped guide the sheep inside. Walter secured the partition. "Easy."

Brielle stared at him. "You've been arguing with that sheep for fifteen minutes."

"Negotiating."

"You called her an ungrateful wool-covered demon."

"Negotiations became strained."

The chickens went into secured transport crates with feed and water. All ten. Brielle counted twice. The cats were loaded in carriers. The dogs would ride in the truck.
Everything else filled the truck bed and Brielle's pickup. They had brought both vehicles for exactly this reason. One trip. One use of fuel. One closure. No repeated journeys unless something truly important forced them back. By late afternoon, Margaret Reed's homestead looked strangely empty. Not stripped. Brielle was careful about that distinction. The furniture remained. Pictures remained. Books remained. Curtains moved gently at open windows they'd aired before closing again. Beds remained made. Margaret's favourite mug still sat beside her chair. But the things necessary to keep living had been removed. Because Margaret no longer needed them. Others did.
Brielle stood on the porch. Walter waited beside the truck. Elsie came out last.
She closed the door. Then she stopped. Her hand remained on the knob. Forty-nine years. Brielle wondered how many cups of coffee Elsie had drunk in that kitchen. How many arguments. How many birthdays. How many jars of jam they'd made together.
How many completely ordinary afternoons that nobody had realised were precious.
Elsie locked the door. She slipped Margaret's key into her pocket. "I don't know why I'm doing that."

Walter walked over. "Because it's her house."

Elsie nodded. "Yes."

She looked at Brielle. "Ready?"

Brielle looked toward the vehicles. Maggie and Pip waited inside Walter's truck. Three cats occupied carriers. Ten chickens complained from their crates. Two sheep shifted inside the trailer. Boxes of food, tools, wool, seeds and preserving supplies filled every available safe space. Brielle looked back at Margaret's house. "I don't think leaving it here would bring her back."

"No," Elsie said softly.

"It wouldn't."
Brielle stepped down from the porch. Then stopped. "The greenhouse." Walter looked at her. "What about it?"

"We leave it."

"Obviously."

"But we're not coming back every day."

Walter nodded. "Fuel."

"Exactly." Brielle looked toward the glass structure. "If something's still growing when we're out this way for another reason, we check it. Otherwise we don't burn fuel travelling six miles each way for tomatoes." Elsie looked reluctant. Then nodded.

"Margaret would understand that too." They climbed into the vehicles. This time Brielle drove her own pickup. Walter followed with the trailer. Elsie rode with him. The convoy pulled away. Brielle watched Margaret's house disappear in her rear-view mirror. For the first time, nobody remained there.
________________________________________
The reaction at Brielle's farm was immediate. Miranda came running from the house the moment the gate closed behind the second vehicle. Carmen followed much more sensibly, carrying Leah. Sebastian came from the barn. Toby barked. Then the dogs in Walter's truck barked. Then the chickens began. Then one of the sheep bleated.
Miranda stopped dead. Her eyes became enormous. "MUM!"

Brielle climbed out of the pickup. "No."

Miranda stared at her. "I haven't even asked!"

"I know you."

Miranda pointed toward the trailer. "SHEEP!"

"I am aware."

"Two!"

"Yes."

"Two sheep!"

"Still yes."

Walter climbed down from his truck. "Their names are Daisy and Clover."

Miranda made a sound Brielle had previously only heard when she'd been given birthday presents. Brielle looked at Walter. "Traitor."

Walter smiled. "You told me to investigate."

"That was me."

Miranda ran toward the trailer.

Brielle caught the back of her shirt. "Slowly."

Miranda immediately slowed. "Sorry."

Sebastian approached more cautiously. "Did you find out what happened to Mrs Reed?"

The excitement faded. Brielle looked at her son. "Yes." Sebastian waited. "Someone came to her house hurt," Brielle explained. "She tried to help him."

"And he bit her?"

"We think so."

Sebastian looked toward the ground. "Then she came here."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Brielle hesitated. "She wrote our name down."

Sebastian looked up. "She was coming to us?"

"I think so."

"Did she know she was going to turn into one?"

Brielle crouched in front of him. "I don't know."

Sebastian's face tightened. "But she came because she thought you'd help."

Brielle swallowed. "Maybe."

Sebastian nodded slowly. Then he looked toward the trailer. "So we're helping her animals instead." Brielle stared at him. Eight years old. Sometimes far too young.
Sometimes capable of making things painfully simple.

"Yeah," Brielle said softly. "We are."

Sebastian nodded. "Good."

Then he went to help Walter.
________________________________________
The next hour was chaos. Maggie and Pip were introduced carefully to Toby. Toby regarded the newcomers with immediate interest. Maggie remained cautious. Pip decided within approximately thirty seconds that Toby was his new best friend. Midnight saw three cat carriers entering the house and vanished. "That's probably sensible," Carmen observed.

The ten chickens were moved into a temporarily separated section beside Brielle's existing flock until they could be introduced properly. Miranda attempted to introduce herself individually to all ten. The chickens were not interested. Daisy and Clover were moved into a secure pen. Walter checked the fencing twice. Brielle checked it a third time. Carmen stood nearby with Leah against her shoulder.

"Two sheep."
Brielle looked at her. "Don't."

"Three cats."

"Carmen."

"Two dogs."

"Stop."

"Ten chickens."

Brielle pointed toward the house. "You can go inside."

Carmen smiled. "And a spinning wheel."

Brielle sighed. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No." Brielle watched Miranda telling Daisy something extremely important. "I really don't."

Carmen's expression softened. "You did the right thing."

Brielle looked toward the vehicles full of Margaret's belongings. "The useful things."

"Yes."

"It felt like stealing."
"But it wasn't." Brielle looked at her. Carmen shifted Leah higher against her shoulder. "You didn't go there looking for things you wanted." She glanced toward the animals.
"You went because Margaret was dead and all of this was still alive." Brielle followed her gaze. Daisy. Clover. The chickens. The dogs. Three irritated cats somewhere nearby.
Food that could feed children. Seeds that could grow more. Wool that could become blankets. Tools that could make things. Knowledge contained in objects none of them currently knew how to use. Margaret was gone. What she had known didn't have to disappear with her. Brielle looked toward the house. "We keep the spinning wheel."

Carmen blinked. "Were we not?"

"I mean we learn."

Carmen laughed. "Which one of us?"

"All of us."

"Excellent." Carmen looked at the sheep. “I've always wanted to be terrible at spinning wool."

Brielle smiled. "We'll be terrible together."
________________________________________
That evening, Elsie came back. She carried the ceramic bee. Sebastian and Miranda walked with Brielle to the old maple. Carmen came too, Leah held securely against her chest. Walter followed. For once, nobody joked. Elsie crouched beside Margaret's grave.
She placed the little bee at the base of the marker. "There." She brushed dirt from it. "You always did like the ridiculous thing."

Walter stood beside his wife. "She gave you one too."

Elsie looked up sharply. "Nobody asked you." Walter's mouth twitched.

Sebastian slipped his hand into Brielle's. Miranda took her other one. Brielle looked down at Margaret's grave. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Nobody asked which part she meant. For shooting her. For being unable to save her. For entering her house. For taking the food she'd grown. For moving the animals she'd loved. For continuing when Margaret couldn't. Maybe all of it. Then Brielle felt Sebastian squeeze her hand. She looked toward the farm. Lights glowed behind blackout curtains. The solar batteries were carrying the evening load. Carmen had Leah. Walter and Elsie were alive. Ten new chickens settled uneasily beside Brielle's flock. Two sheep stood in their new pen.
Maggie and Pip were curled near Toby. Three cats were somewhere inside the house plotting Midnight's overthrow. Margaret's jam filled shelves in Brielle's cellar. Her seeds waited for another growing season. Her preserving equipment sat ready for the next harvest. Her spinning wheel stood in the workshop. Her wool was dry. Her shears were clean. Her animals were fed. Margaret Reed was dead. But not everything she had built had died with her. Brielle looked down at her children. "Come on." Miranda looked up.

"Where?"

"Inside."

"Can Daisy and Clover sleep inside?"

"No."

"Can I sleep outside?"

"No."

"Can Toby sleep in my bed?"

"No."

Walter walked behind them. "You're very negative tonight."

Brielle looked over her shoulder. "You can sleep in the barn."

Walter nodded thoughtfully. "Fair."

Elsie hooked her arm through his. "Don't tempt me."

For a few seconds, everyone laughed. And Brielle realised something. The world was becoming defined by what disappeared. People. Towns. Phones. Electricity. Safety.
Certainty. But perhaps survival would also be defined by what they refused to let disappear. A jar of strawberry jam. A packet of seeds. A spinning wheel. Ten chickens.
Two stubborn sheep. Three cats. Two frightened dogs. A ridiculous ceramic bee. And the memory of a woman who had opened her door because someone needed help. Brielle looked once more toward the grave beneath the maple. Then she went inside with the living.

By the time Walter and Elsie were ready to leave, the afternoon was already beginning to soften toward evening. Brielle stood beside Walter's truck as he climbed behind the wheel. “You'll call at eight?” she asked.

Walter gave her the familiar look that suggested she was being unnecessarily maternal. “Eight o'clock, mother hen.”

“Walter.”

“Yes. Eight.”

Elsie leaned across him. “We'll call.”

Brielle stepped back as Walter started the truck. The livestock trailer was empty now, Daisy and Clover safely settled into their new pen. She watched Walter and Elsie disappear down the road. For the first time all day, Margaret's animals were entirely Brielle's responsibility.

TBC

 

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