Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I wait for ten more minutes before leaving the auction, and as I emerge into the afternoon sun, I feel strangely light. It’s not a good feeling.
We all need something that anchors us to the ground; family, friends, a place to be. All I had was my pa and the men he trusted to work our farm, but not anymore. Now I’m adrift. The world has opened up in front of me, but it doesn’t feel exciting. It’s too big and daunting, and I’m too small and sheltered.
There’s a square at the end of Main Street with some benches, and I take a seat, finding my wrapped sandwiches. Eating is a distraction and gives me an excuse for hanging around. People stroll by, engrossed in their own lives, on errands to buy groceries or clothes, or maybe get a tool fixed. Perhaps they’re heading to the diner for a delicious burger like Pa would buy me on my birthday each year.
I see Amber Davis with her momma. We used to play when we were kids, back when my momma was alive. Amber looks so different now. Gone are the hand-me-down jeans and t-shirts from her brothers. The floral dress she’s wearing flutters in the breeze, and her golden curls bounce with every step. She doesn’t see me, or at least, if she does, she doesn’t recognize me. It’s a good thing. The last thing I want to do today is to explain my circumstances, especially to Amber. Maybe the Davis family would give me a place to stay out of a long-forgotten loyalty to my mom, but I wouldn’t want that.
Sandwich devoured, I sit on the bench until it’s early evening, and I’m forced to make plans.
But what?
Sleep on this bench out in the open?
Find somewhere else? A doorway on Main Street or the bus shelter?
Inside my baggy work clothes, I feel vulnerable. I might be able to haul bales and handle wayward horses, but out in the world, I’m just a girl who doesn’t know how anything works.
My mind drifts back to the farm. The house, which is now locked up and the key surrendered, was so pretty when it was well cared for. Mom had a little garden to the side where she’d grow fruits and vegetables. I tried to keep it going, but there was always so much to be done. The barn was my favorite place to hang out. It was warm and comfortable and smelled familiar.
I know I shouldn’t, but going back there feels like my only option. It’ll just be for tonight. I can’t imagine the Bradford brothers will be interested in surveying their purchase immediately. It’ll be trespassing, but I guess, in a way, I still owned the place today. This will be just one more night to say goodbye.
I gather my possessions and make my way out of town. The farm is only a brief journey by car, but it takes me over an hour on foot. A few trucks pass me, but each time my heart races, and I duck my head, thankful for the baseball cap I have to conceal myself. I even tuck my long hair into my shirt, so it’s less obvious I’m a woman.
Cooper’s Cottage has only been vacant for a few hours, but already it seems dilapidated as though it’s been neglected for years. It’s so quiet, too, with no animal sounds except the infrequent call of birds that fly over.
The sun is setting on the horizon as I unlatch the barn door and breathe in the scent that smells like home. I search out my favorite corner, where I used to play with my dolls as a child. I liked it best because I could see the house through a crack in the wood and hear my momma when she called me for dinner.
As it gets dark outside, the light leaches from inside the barn until it’s pitch black. I pull my thick coat from my bag, and a blanket that I managed to roll small enough to carry. I use my bag as a pillow and close my eyes, trying to think about new places that I’ve seen on TV, places I can go to now I’m no longer anchored here. Everything seems tinged with gray as loneliness seeps into my attempt at hopefulness and positivity. Fretting holds sleep at bay until I’m dog tired and eventually drift off.
I wake, facing the corner, protectively curled on my side. My first conscious breath sounds wheezy. Maybe it’s the dust from the straw, or maybe it’s the cold. I don’t want to get sick without somewhere comfortable to rest and recover. It’s only when I turn over to stretch that I realize what woke me.
There’s a man standing over me.
A huge man with the sternest gray eyes I’ve ever seen.