Chapter 30
The cold morning light seeped through the barn’s slatted boards, settling in pale stripes across the dirt floor.
Barb stood beside the goats, listening to their quiet breaths and the soft shuffle of hooves.
The animals seemed calmer today, though their stillness came from exhaustion rather than peace.
She filled their trough and checked the latch twice.
Her movements were controlled, rhythmic, and grounded.
The fight from the day before clung to the air. Every corner of the property carried its echo. The grass still bore marks from where bodies had fallen. The frost had melted unevenly where men had run, crawled, or died. Even the wind felt different, as if it knew violence had touched the land.
Cathy had gone silent after the fight. It wasn’t the silence of shock, which faded in hours, but the kind that crept inward and stayed.
Cathy followed Barb through the cleanup with a strange numbness.
She held the barn door while Barb moved tools.
She helped recheck the fences. She did what Barb asked, but none of it felt like her.
Her body moved, but her mind stayed somewhere she couldn’t reach.
That frightened her more than any raider.
She checked the cows next. They pressed close to her, seeking reassurance.
Their breath steamed in the morning air.
She scratched one behind the ear, murmuring softly as she measured their mood.
Animals always sensed the truth before people did.
If danger lingered, they would feel it. “Good girls,” Barb whispered.
She turned toward the barn loft. Cathy had climbed there after the cleanup and had barely left since.
The loft had become the only place she allowed herself to exist. Barb had climbed up the ladder twice last night and found her sister curled in blankets with the puppies beside her, both kittens tucked beneath her knees.
Her eyes remained open even when she looked asleep.
Cathy sat against a wooden post, knees pulled to her chest. Her hair hung over her face. The puppies slept around her feet, occasionally nudging her hand as if begging her to return to herself.
Barb climbed halfway up the ladder. “Did you get any sleep?”
Cathy didn’t look up. “A little.”
“You need more than a little.”
“I’ll sleep later.”
Barb studied her sister’s face. There wasn’t any anger or emotion, just an overall emptiness.
That terrified her more than fear would have.
She climbed the rest of the way and sat across from Cathy.
“The goats need to be checked again at midday since the temperature is dropping fast. I can handle it, but I want you with me so we can fix the loose slat together.”
Cathy pulled a blanket closer to her chin. “You can do it.”
“I can, but I want you there anyway.”
“I just feel tired.”
Barb nodded. “Then help me with something smaller. Something that doesn’t require the cold.”
Cathy looked past her. “Maybe later.”
Barb swallowed the urge to push harder. Pressure would only fracture her more. She reached for one of the puppies and lifted him gently. The puppy whined, then nestled into Cathy’s lap.
“He misses you,” Barb said softly.
“I’m still here.”
“You are. Not fully, but you are.”
Cathy looked down. “Barb…I can’t get it out of my head.”
“I know.”
“They came onto our land, and they meant to hurt us. They meant to steal our animals, didn’t care what we said, and didn’t care what they had to do. I keep seeing them running toward us. I keep hearing the scream of that second one when he hit the ground. I keep replaying it.”
“You survived it,” Barb said. “Your body remembers the fear because it doesn’t know how to let go yet.”
Cathy blinked slowly. “I keep thinking that I almost shot that fourth one. I could have done it.”
“You didn’t have to. Firing a warning shot was enough.”
“What if it hadn’t been? What if he had reached you? What if I had missed? What if he had put his knife into you before I could do anything?”
Barb leaned forward. “I’m alive. You’re alive. The farm is still standing. Everything else is fear talking.”
Cathy drew her knees tighter against her chest. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
Barb watched her carefully, unsure how to respond without widening the wound. She stood and placed the basket she had brought onto the loft floor. Inside lay bread, cheese, a boiled egg, and sliced apples. She pushed it toward Cathy. “You need to eat.”
Cathy didn’t move. The puppies nudged her again, one pawing her leg.
Barb’s voice stayed gentle. “Eat whenever you can. Not for me, but for you.”
Cathy nodded once, a small gesture that carried more weight than it seemed.
Barb climbed down, leaving her in the quiet with the animals.
The weight of the farm settled back onto her shoulders the moment her boots hit the ground.
She hauled two buckets of water from the pump, carried them across the yard, and poured them into troughs.
She gathered eggs from the quail hut, checked the perimeter, and scanned the tree line.
Everything took longer because she did it alone, but she refused to shorten any routine.
Winter would come soon, and preparation couldn’t be delayed.
The day crawled forward slowly. The cold thickened, creeping into the soil and turning puddles into thin sheets of ice.
Barb kept moving, cleaning the barn aisle, organizing supplies, maintaining the traps, and issuing noise alerts.
Every hour, she went back to the loft to leave food, blankets, or a quiet presence.
Cathy spoke only once during those visits. “Barb.”
Barb paused mid-step. “Yes?”
“I feel like I’m disappearing.”
“You’re not disappearing. You’re overwhelmed.”
“It feels like I’m failing you. It feels like I’m making everything harder,” Cathy said.
“You’re not.”
“I can barely make myself move.”
Barb wanted to gather her into a hug, but her sister’s gaze told her she would break under too much pressure. She sat instead, close but not touching. “Then I will move for both of us until you can again.”
“That is not fair,” Cathy whispered.
“No,” Barb said quietly. “It’s not. Life will be unfair for a long time, but we don’t quit because of that.”
“I want to be stronger.”
“You are stronger. You survived something most people never could.”
Cathy shut her eyes. “I don’t feel strong.”
“Feeling it isn’t always the truth.”
Barb stayed with her until Cathy’s breath steadied.
Then she returned to work. By late afternoon, the sun dipped lower, lighting the pasture in a cold gold that made the frost sparkle again.
She tightened the ropes on the feed bins, checked the barn door hinges, and secured every weak point she could identify.
Her muscles burned from the strain, but she welcomed the discomfort.
It kept her focused and upright. At sunset, she carried a small meal to the loft again.
Cathy hadn’t moved much, but she had eaten half the bread and a slice of apple.
That felt like a victory. Barb sat on the loft floor, and the puppies climbed into her lap.
The kittens curled on her sister’s side.
“I’m going to bed soon,” Barb said. “The firewood is stacked inside. The doors are barred, and everything is ready.”
“I don’t want to sleep alone.”
“Then come to the house. Bring the puppies. They’ll settle more easily with you.”
Cathy hesitated, then finally rose slowly from her blankets.
Her legs shook as she stood. Barb helped her down the ladder.
They walked toward the house with quiet steps, the puppies bounding behind them in clumsy joy.
Inside, Barb lit the wood stove. Flames warmed the room in slow waves.
Her sister sat near the heat, drawing the animals close to her chest. Her face softened, though her eyes still held a distant, dim quality.
Barb sat beside her. “We will get through this, Cathy.”
Cathy rested her head on her knees. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am,” Barb said. “I have to be.”
The wind brushed against the house, rattling a loose shutter.
The farm remained quiet, but the quiet didn’t comfort Barb tonight.
It felt too thin, stretched over fear and memory.
Winter would come soon, and the land would grow harsher.
The raiders would return eventually. Survival meant more than fences and food now.
It meant pulling her sister back from the edge.
Cathy curled into the puppies, shoulders trembling, breath uneven.
Barb watched her for a long time, grief and fear settling heavily in her chest. The farm would stand because she refused to let it fall.
The animals would survive because she wouldn’t allow otherwise.
Cathy would return to herself because Barb would carry her until she could.