Chapter 1 - The Fate of The Farm

"Look at that deep well.

Look at that dark grave;

ringing that iron bell

in Scarlet Town today..."

Oregon, 1870

Emma rode upon the town of Scarlet early on the second to last Monday of summer. The town was already bustling with people - men on their way to work, women on their way to the store or out working in their yards, children on their way to the schoolhouse or our helping their mothers with the daily grind. Though Emma usually rode into town strictly on farm business, that day she was in Scarlet Town on a very different sort of business. She knew that her affairs for the day would change her life forever. What she didn't know, as she made a clicking sound with her mouth to signal her horse to ride on down the hill and into town, was that her life was about to change - but not in the way she was expecting. She would soon find out just what surprises lay in store for her as she entered the town limits. A wooden sign on the side of the dirt road proclaimed the name of the town proudly in red lettering. The red letters faded quickly, so they needed frequent maintenance in order to keep the town name bold and vibrant against the wood.

Emma guided her horse through town in the direction of the courthouse. It was one of the larger buildings in town and one of the oldest. It was a red brick, two story building with two impressive chimneys on either side of the roof from the front. Both the windows and balcony were painted white. There were several hitching posts out front. Emma tugged gently on her horse's reigns to pull her to a stop at one of the available posts. She stood up in the saddle at the same time she swung her right leg over the horse to jump down. It was considered indecent for women not to ride sidesaddle, but Emma had never even been taught how to do so. She wasn't interested in learning how, and was pretty sure that even if she was taught, she wouldn't be any good at it. Nobody in town seemed to be offended, at least not to Emma's face.

"Sit tight, Nelly." Emma murmured to the horse, giving her neck an enthusiastic pat.

After she had fished through her saddlebags for the necessary papers she would need, Emma headed up the court steps. As she approached the front door, it opened. A well dressed man stepped out, giving Emma a smile. He held the door open for her and tipped his hat.

"Ma'am."

"Thank you." Emma gave the man a courteous nod as she stepped inside the courthouse.

There was a tall desk at the end of the room. Emma approached it and the man sitting behind it. He looked up from what he was doing when Emma got close.

"Where are you headed, ma'am?" The man asked, adjusting his eyeglasses.

"Mr. Hershel Greene's will is being read today." Emma handed the man a piece of paper she had received exactly one week after Hershel's death. "I have an invitation to sit in on the reading."

"Ah, yes." The man handed the paper back to Emma without much inspection. "You'll want to head upstairs. It'll be the first door on your left."

"Thank you." Emma replied.

"Should I escort you up, ma'am?" The man asked as Emma stepped away from his desk.

"No, thank you."

Emma went up the stairs, flipping through her papers to make sure she had everything she needed. When she was certain she did, she approached the first door on her left. She had given herself a pep talk before leaving the farm that morning. She knew there was a good chance that at least one of Hershel's children would try to intervene, so Emma was prepared for that. There was no way any of Hershel's children would get the farm. Emma would make damn certain of that.

With a deep breath, Emma opened the door. She was glad she had prepared herself, because the first face she saw was that of Maggie Greene's. She was tall for a woman, but had a feminine body which she accentuated with the appropriate clothing. Her white blouse was tailored to fit her like a second skin, the material straining slightly across her breasts. A belt was pulled tight at her waist, putting her hourglass figure on display for the rest of the town to see and admire. The gray-blue skirt she donned was practically a perfect match to the color of her eyes. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled off of her face with a black ribbon to match the buttons on her shirt. Emma couldn't help but smirk. If Maggie Greene thought she could get her way by looking pretty, she had another thing coming.

"Emma." Maggie acknowledged her quietly, sticking her nose in the air as she turned her head in the opposite direction as Emma.

"Hello, Maggie." Emma replied coolly.

"Thank you for joining us, Mrs.-"

"Ms." Emma corrected the man standing behind the desk, walking forward to put my hand in his outstretched one.

"My apologies, Ms. Thorne." The man shook Emma's hand firmly, but she could see the confusion in his eyes.

Most people Emma met were surprised and perplexed that at her age, twenty-five, she was not yet married. It truly didn't bother Emma. She had learned over the years that many things about her came as a shock to those around her. Emma was not married for a very good and simple reason - she had no desire to be married at the present time. In truth, she wasn't sure that she ever would be ready to settle down with someone. She didn't give it much thought. There had never been a time in her life when she had the opportunity to think of being with someone when she had been taking care of herself since she was young. She didn't have the time to sit idly by while some boy fussed over her every want and desire. She was perfectly capable of doing what needed to be done on her own.

"Mr. Brooks, would you kindly shut the door so that we can begin?" The man behind the desk swept his arm in the direction of the door as he spoke to Maggie's husband.

Glenn Brooks had money. The key word being had. Glenn squandered his inheritance gambling in the south before a friend of the family offered him a job in Oregon. It was upon his move that Glenn met Maggie. They made quite a pair. Glenn had boyish good looks and Maggie was a beauty to any person who could manage to get one eye open. They both loved and desired money over anything else. Though the lumber business was booming, and Glenn had his teeth in it, he and his wife were always spending faster than they could bring the profits in. It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that Maggie had suddenly turned up in Scarlet Town that morning.

While Glenn closed the door, Emma took a seat in front of the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maggie studying her. Emma turned her head towards Maggie, looking her square in the eye. Maggie had been trying to see what was on the papers in Emma's hands. When Emma locked eyes with her, Maggie scoffed softly and rolled her eyes in a different direction. Emma looked down at the papers in her lap with a smile.

"Now, then, let's begin." The man behind the desk sat down and picked up the stack of papers in front of him. "You have all been invited here today so that we may read Mr. Hershel Greene's last will and testament. In attendance we have Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Brooks, Ms. Emma Thorne, and myself, Cap Shaw."

Mr. Shaw was dictating aloud to a tiny woman sitting in the corner of the room. She was recording each word on a gargantuan typewriter in front of her. The typewriter was practically bigger than the woman sitting behind it.

"Mr. Greene's stepson, Shawn, was invited. He declined the invitation. Mr. Greene's youngest daughter, Beth, was also invited." Mr. Shaw shifted to face Maggie. "I understand she was unable to attend due to her difficult pregnancy?"

"Yes." Maggie placed a hand over her heart. "My sister was just devastated that she was unable to be here, but her life and the life of her child come first."

Emma tried not to snicker at Maggie's act. She was overdoing it.

"I see." Mr. Shaw nodded and returned to the papers he was holding. "Mr. Greene has a letter attached to his will. It was his instructions that the letter be given to Ms. Thorne. I'll hand that over to you now."

Mr. Shaw leaned forward with a single piece of paper. As Emma reached out to accept the letter, Maggie suddenly snatched the paper from Mr. Shaw.

"Mrs. Brooks-"

"This is ridiculous, Mr. Shaw." Maggie interrupted Mr. Shaw, the letter now wrinkled in her hand from having snatched it from him so violently. "Hershel was my father-"

It was Emma's turn to interrupt.

"Maggie, you hand that letter to me now." Emma ordered Maggie with a level tone and direct eye contact as she turned in her chair to face her completely.

Maggie's mouth was agape, her eyes flickering back and forth between the silent Mr. Shaw and Emma.

"I'm not going to ask you again." Emma's voice was ice when she spoke.

Maggie's face suddenly changed right before everyone's eyes. She looked to Mr. Shaw with gray-blue eyes that had expertly become full of tears, her trembling lips parted as she made sad, soft sounds.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brooks." Mr. Shaw apologized, folding his hands on his desk. "Your father asked that the letter be given to Ms. Thorne. She can do with it what she wants."

Just as quickly as Maggie's face had changed before, in a flash, she was looking furiously up at her husband. She was fuming with anger because he had not tried to intervene on her behalf. Glenn tried to make up for his mistake by setting his hand on his wife's shoulder. She pulled her shoulder out from under his hand before she turned towards Emma.

"Here." Maggie snapped, thrusting the letter out to Emma.

Emma took the wrinkled letter from Maggie.

Emma,

Over the years, we have gotten to know each other. You know about my two wives, how they were both taken from me before their time. You also know about my daughters and my stepson. I remember the very day I told you about them. It was our second Thanksgiving together, although, I consider it our first since that first year you worked for me, things between us were not as they are now. I digress. You listened while I told you about Maggie, who always longed for more than I could ever give her. You listened while I told you about Shawn, who never viewed me as any sort of father figure or friend. You listened while I told you about Beth, who left home and never forgave me for those years I lost myself in the bottle. My children were either a disappointment to me, or I was a disappointment to them.

That day you asked me for a job on the farm, I was out of any hope that my children would fulfill me and bring me any sort of joy. Today, I am fulfilled. It is because of you, Emma, that this old man is filled with joy. You have become the daughter I never and should have had. Maybe it is arrogant to think that I am owed anything, but after losing two loves in one lifetime, I don't think it was too much to ask for a companion such as you.

You are different, but that's what makes you special, Emma Anne. Believe me when I say, dear, that I love everything about you. I love you for your strong, independent side. Just as I have experienced my share of tragedies, so have you. Most children your age, without any family to support and guide them, would have withered away. Not you, Emma. Not you. Though you may not realize it, or even know it's there, there are small moments in which you let another side of you shine through. In those moments, I love you just as much, maybe even more. Do not forget it is there and do not deny its existence. Give that part of yourself the room to grow. Share that part of yourself with the rest of the world, but only if they are deserving of seeing and experiencing it.

I have one final request. I must ask that you forgive me. You must forgive me for my weakness. Just three years after you came to be with me, Maggie reached out to ask for my help. Before you came, I might have cast her letter aside, but you showed me that to hope for the better is not a foolish thing. In order to settle debts Glenn and Maggie owed, I made an agreement with the bank that if I were unable to repay the loan, they could seize my farm once I passed on. I am so sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry that the farm that should have been so rightfully yours will not be.

I love you, Emma, and God willing, I will be watching you.

With a clenched jaw to keep the tears at bay, Emma lifted her head to look Mr. Shaw in the eye. The moment their eyes met, he cast his down. Mr. Shaw knew what information Emma had just learned, but there was nothing he could do. The deal had been made.

"I have the deed to the farm right here." Emma lifted the paper in a futile attempt to claim Hershel's farm. "Hershel entrusted it to me when he got sick."

"She can't-"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Thorne." Mr. Shaw finally lifted his gaze. "Though Mr. Greene's intentions were to leave the farm to you, his contract with the bank supersedes his wishes."

"What about me?" Maggie whined, laying her hands on Mr. Shaw's desk. "You had to have invited me here for a reason, Mr. Shaw."

"I invited you here as a courtesy, Mrs. Brooks." Mr. Shaw replied frankly, folding his hands on his desk. "Mr. Greene was your father, therefore, you had a legal right to be here."

"So...he left me nothing?" Maggie asked, lifting an eyebrow as she sucked in her cheeks.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am." Mr. Shaw answered with a sigh.

Maggie stood so quickly that Mr. Shaw jumped back in his chair. With a snap of her long fingers, Glenn was following her out the door. Maggie opened the door, slamming it against the wall with such force that the room shook. Glenn left it open as he followed his wife out.

"Mr. Shaw, is there anything I can do?" Emma asked, ignoring Maggie's dramatic exit. "You and I both know that this is wrong."

"I wish there was something I could do for you, but the most I can do is get you a few days to get your affairs in order." Mr. Shaw got up from his desk and circled it, taking a seat on the corner right in front of Emma. "The bank owns the farm, but not Mr. Greene's personal effects. Go back to the farm, pack up anything you can, and leave the past behind you."

Emma looked down at the useless deed in her hand.

"For what it's worth, Ms. Thorne, I believe an injustice is being done here today."

Emma folded Hershel's letter into a square small enough to fit in her skirt pocket. When the letter was tucked away, she got to her feet. There was nothing more she could do. Though she had brought the deed with her, it didn't matter. The deed held no merit with a contract existing between Hershel and the bank.

"Thank you, Mr. Shaw." Emma finally said, extending her hand.

Mr. Shaw turned to set the deed on his desk. When he turned, he shook Emma's outstretched hand, placing his other hand on the other side of hers. He clasped Emma's hand in his for several moments before he released her. Once she was free of his grasp, Emma was on her way out of the office and the courthouse entirely.

Outside, Emma saw a carriage pulled up in front of the hitching posts. The driver of the carriage was fixing what appeared to be one of the wheel axles. Glenn was standing over the driver giving him a piece of his mind. Maggie was sitting inside of the carriage, silently fuming. Emma had the intense urge to approach Maggie, but as she took a step in her direction, she decided against it. With a single shake of her head, Emma turned and headed over to where Nelly was hitched up.

"You didn't really think the farm would be yours, did you?" Maggie said suddenly.

Emma stopped in her tracks. She stared hard at the ground, thinking about whether or not Maggie Greene was worth her time. As Emma remembered the horrible stories Hershel had told her about his oldest daughter's behavior, she decided that if not for herself, she owed it to the old man to let Maggie have it in one way or another. So, Emma pivoted, and strode back to the carriage. As Maggie lifted her head in surprise, Emma seized her by the wrist and yanked her solidly out of the carriage. Maggie barely caught herself.

"Let-"

"Listen to me, Maggie. You did enough talking upstairs." Emma snarled low enough for Maggie's ears only. She kept a firm grip on Maggie's wrist as she pulled her in closer. "Before I came here today, I promised myself and whatever higher power there is that I would be damned before one of your daddy's children got a piece of his land. I would rather the farm be turned over to the bank then allow you to get your insatiable, grubby, selfish fingers on it."

Emma released Maggie harshly, sending the woman back a few steps in surprise. She raised the deed, and when she did, Maggie raised a hand and flinched. Emma smirked.

"I may not look the part so well as you, but I am a lady." Emma tossed the deed at Maggie. "That's the only piece of your daddy's farm you'll ever have."

With that, Emma turned and left Maggie behind. She hoped to never see the woman again.

0o0o0

It was a three hour ride from Scarlet Town to Hershel's ten and a half acre farm. By the time Emma got back after her trip to the courthouse, it was well into the afternoon. She had things to do and not much time to do it in, so she didn't plan on wasting any time. She had to make sure the animals were fed and taken care of before she left in the morning and a house to sort through and get packed up. Emma knew that though anything was hers for the taking, she wouldn't be able to pack up much. She had no idea where she was going to end up. She couldn't lug around more than she could afford to load up in the carriage.

Hershel had five horses in all - two fillies, a colt, a stallion, and Nelly, who was the oldest horse out of the lot. It might have not been the wisest choice, but Emma decided right away that she would take Nelly with her. If she didn't, there was a good chance Nelly would be killed for her meat or her hide. Emma would make sure the remaining four horses were cleaned, groomed, and given enough food to last until the bank took possession of the farm. She would do the same with Hershel's cows. If the ride into Scarlet Town weren't as long and it wasn't summertime, Emma would have taken any milk she got from the cows with her for trade. The milk would surely spoil on the journey, so Emma would just have to leave that behind too. She couldn't leave the poor cows full of milk, though. So, even though she wouldn't be profiting off of it, Emma milked all of the cows.

"You thirsty, Skipper?" Emma asked when the lazy basset hound padded into the barn. She looked over at the droopy faced dog, who was slowly but surely making his way over to her. When he was close enough, Emma aimed one of the teats at him. "Open up, boy."

The dog opened his mouth as Emma squirted milk at him. She couldn't help but smile. Hershel had always accused Emma of spoiling Skipper, but Emma had a soft spot for him. Even though it took Hershel an entire year to warm up to Emma, Skipper had always been fond of her. On her first night in the loft, Skipper joined Emma in her small bed. At first he was able to hop up on the bed on his own, but over the years, Emma had to lug him up into it herself. Emma often slept on her side with her legs curled up into a C shape. Skipper always slept in the little nook her long legs created. His head was heavy on her, but Emma didn't mind. Skipper was warm and comforting. On stormy nights, he would actually lay on top of Emma's pillow, right next to her head. On those nights, he would drool into Emma's hair.

"Well, boy, we have a lot to get done tonight." Emma announced to the dog as he settled himself down beside the stool she was sitting on. "Are you going to help me out?"

Emma looked down at Skipper, but he was already fast asleep. Emma chuckled to herself.

As she moved from cow to cow, Skipper would rouse just long enough to follow her. When she finished milking the cows, Emma started on the horses. There were the two fillies, Amber and Ruby, then there was their stallion, Barrow. The colt, King, was newer to the group. Hershel had only had him for about six months before he died. Amber and King were very similar. They were both buckskinned, although Amber was more golden side while King was creamy. They were also both stubborn and ornery. Amber was prone to bucking her rider if she didn't get her way, although there was a trick that usually kept her behavior at bay for a short time - a handful of sugar cubes. Ruby was a blood bay beauty, and she knew it too. She loved being groomed. It wasn't uncommon for Ruby to begin to snort and make a fuss if she felt she wasn't brushed long enough. Even though old Nelly held a special place in Emma's heart, her favorite horse of the lot was Barrow. He was a mighty black stallion with eerie human eyes. Emma loved him for his character. He was a strong horse, displaying his dominance over King quickly when he arrived on the farm. Barrow was also gentle, though. Emma saw the way he looked after Nelly. He always made sure she got her turn at the trough when all the horses were out in the pasture. There was a jagged scar on Barrow's rump from when he had protected the other horses from a gray wolf. Hershel had shot and killed that wolf, then skinned it so that he could hang the hide from Barrow's stall door. Barrow seemed proud of it. He didn't like it when anyone touched the hide. It was his badge of honor.

"The rider who ends up with you is a lucky son of a gun, B." Emma murmured softly to the horse as she ran a brush through his dark mane.

Barrow suddenly turned his head towards Emma. She looked up to meet his brown eyes. She recognized the emotion in them. It sent a shiver down her spine. Barrow knew something was wrong. He wanted to know what was going on, but Emma had no way of telling him. She gave him a sad smile as she ran a hand down his muzzle.

"I wish I could afford to take you with me, Barrow."

Barrow reached out, running his forehead up and down Emma's face. She put her arms around the horse's thick neck, her cheek against his soft coat. She could smell Hershel's aftershave ingrained in Barrow's black coat and hair. Barrow had always been Hershel's favorite too, but when the old man started growing weak, he didn't have the strength to ride the powerful horse. Emma knew Hershel would forgive her for leaving Barrow behind, because she knew that Barrow was too great a horse to fall into just anyone's hands. Barrow would be well taken care of by whoever bought him.

Up the ladder and into the loft was Emma's first home on the farm. It was where she and Hershel had first met, and also where he let her stay after he hired her as a farmhand. Emma still remembered how it felt waking up with a sawed off shotgun pointed at her face.

Emma was startled awake. For a split second, she thought it was due to the bright lightning or the booming thunder. When her eyes snapped open, though, she was met with the double barrels of a shotgun. Emma nearly sat up, but the shotgun came closer when she moved. Instead, she slowly propped herself up on her elbows. She knew that she was in the wrong, so she decided that it would be inappropriate to fight back.

In the shadows, it was difficult to make out the figure holding the shotgun.

"What are you doing in my barn?" A man's voice asked, breaking the silence.

Emma could tell from the voice that the man was older.

"I was just trying to get in out of the rain." Emma replied calmly.

"This isn't an inn." The old man informed Emma firmly, keeping the shotgun leveled at her head.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Emma apologized genuinely.

"Should I even bother to ask you if you took anything?" The old man asked with a sigh.

"Like I said, I was just trying to get out of the rain. I may be trespassing, but I'm not a thief."

The old man didn't say anything for a time. Then, he lowered his gun.

"Collect your things and get on your way. You'll have no more trouble from me." The old man said.

"If anyone here was causing trouble, it was me." Emma admitted, sitting upright. "I'm sorry that I got you up in the middle of the night, and in the rain no less."

"Young lady, I've been working this farm all my life - rain, sleet, snow, or shine." The old man snorted.

"Be that as it may, it would make me feel a lot better if you let me make it up to you."

"How's that?" The old man asked skeptically.

"Let me work for you tomorrow free of charge." Emma suggested.

The old man chuckled quietly in the darkness.

"Sir, I've been working on farms all my life - rain, sleet, snow, or shine." Emma retorted, folding her arms over her chest. "You may find that you like my work so much that you want to hire me yourself."

The old man's laughter grew louder.

"I doubt that very much, but I'm willing to give you a chance to prove yourself."

Emma smiled and put her hand out for the old man to shake.

"It's a deal, Mr...?"

Emma looked down at the old man's hand as it came towards her out of the shadows. It was worn with work and age. The palm was callused and rough in hers, matching up perfectly with her own. She could feel the old man studying her own calluses with his hand. He was beginning to believe that Emma was telling the truth.

"Mr. Greene." The old man finally replied.

Emma slid two trunks down the ladder. When she climbed down after them, she patted her hand against her thigh to signal Skipper to follow her out of the barn. He trotted after her as she made her way up to the house from the barn, dragging both trunks behind her.

The farmhouse was white. It had recently been repainted, so the color was vibrant. The summer sun reflected off of it, blinding Emma as she pulled the trunks up to the house. She left the trunks on the wrap around porch, then opened the door for Skipper. He made his way inside, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor. Emma followed him in. She kicked her boots off by the door. It was a bad habit, not untying her laces. It wore her boots out, but Emma liked them that way. They formed better to her feet with the wear and tear.

While Skipper made himself comfortable on the cool kitchen floor, Emma started rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. Truth be told, it wasn't hers. It was Hershel's, but Emma had been wearing men's shirts her whole life. She owned a few women's blouses, but they weren't practical for working or riding in. So, she mostly lived in the men's shirts she had collected over the years. Since she was alone in the house, Emma unbuttoned her skirt and stepped out of it. She folded it over a chair at the kitchen table. Wearing only Hershel's shirt and her hose, Emma started the task of sorting through everything in the house. There were items she could keep for herself, items she could trade or sell, and items she would have to leave behind.

Emma started in the kitchen. As she sorted through the different utensils, cookware, and such, she was reminded of the first meal she ever made for Hershel. After he had let her work for him for the day in order to repay him for her having slept in his barn without his consent, Emma had closed the day by making Hershel dinner. Emma was a damn good cook. She whipped out her best recipe that night - meatloaf.

Emma was able to scrounge up most of the ingredients she would normally use when making her meatloaf. The only item missing was parsley, which didn't concern Emma. She was able to pick two green peppers and an onion from Hershel's garden. She chopped those up finely, throwing them into the ground beef she took from the icehouse. Into that, she cracked an egg. She sprinkled in salt and pepper before working the mixture around with her hands. Meanwhile, two slices of bread were soaking in milk. She added those to the mixture, then topped it off with ketchup. Her hands were a mess as she worked the meat into a loaf.

Emma watched that meatloaf cook more closely than she ever had before. She barely managed to whip up mashed potatoes and green beans to go with the meatloaf she kept such an eye on it while it baked. She knew that the dinner she served to Hershel could make or break her opportunity to work for him permanently. He had seemed pleasantly surprised and impressed with her work that day. Emma had woken up at dawn at started the chores Hershel had given her to do. She hauled water, fed and groomed the animals, gathered eggs, milked the cows, cleaned out the chicken coop, washed clothes, and mended several articles of clothing for Hershel. Emma didn't mind the hard work. It made her feel useful, accomplished. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to work hard. That was the only way things got done. That was the only way she had been able to take care of herself for so long.

When it was time for dinner, Emma rang the bell hanging on the porch. Hershel was out repairing a fence. Skipper came running long before Hershel did. Emma had cooked him some of the ground beef separate from the meatloaf mixture. She spooned it into his bowl and watched the dog gobble it up with a grin.

"Smells good in here." Hershel said as he walked in the front door.

"I hope you like it." Emma replied simply, setting the table as Hershel took off his jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door.

Emma waited for Hershel to be seated before she took a seat across the table from him. She already had his plate in front of her. She placed a generous slice of meatloaf on his plate, followed by potatoes and green beans. There were slices of white bread and butter in the center of the table. Emma passed the plate to Hershel, then started to serve herself. She glanced up every couple of seconds to see if Hershel had started to eat. He was taking his time. He folded his hands in silent prayer, then buttered a slice of bread. He took a drink of his milk, then had another drink. He seemed to know that Emma was on pins and needles waiting to see if he liked her meal. Finally, Hershel picked up his fork and started to eat. He started with the green beans, then took a bite of the potatoes. Last, he cut a piece of meatloaf to try. Emma nonchalantly watched as he put the meatloaf into his mouth. Hershel chewed thoughtfully for a minute, then swallowed. Emma waited for Hershel's reaction.

Hershel cut into the meatloaf again and used the bite to scoop up some of the mashed potatoes.

"You can stay in the loft." Hershel said as the fork was on its way to his mouth. "The work day starts at daybreak and ends at sundown."

Most of what was in the kitchen would be staying put. It was either to large to carry with Emma, or it was of little use to her on the road. She had no idea how long she would be without a roof over her head. In the meantime, she couldn't afford to carry every little thing with her. She would have to make due without some items, like cookware. She had done it before.

Emma moved on to the living room next. It was the biggest room in the house by far, with a warm and inviting fireplace in the corner. Skipper was laying down in front of the fireplace as though there was a fire roaring there. It reminded Emma of the night Amber was nearly swept away in the river a few miles east of the farm. That was the night Hershel and Emma's relationship started to change.

Hershel and Emma were out hunting pheasant when the storm hit. Well, Hershel was hunting. He had put Emma in charge of collecting the pheasants he shot. Skipper helped by following after Emma and licking the heads of the dead pheasants. When the rain started, Skipper kept brushing his head against Emma's legs as she and Hershel made their way out of the woods to where they had left the horses to graze. Hershel picked up the dog and laid him across the front of Barrow's saddle. Hershel climbed on behind Skipper, keeping one hand on the dog and one on the reigns.

The rain had really started coming down as Hershel and Emma rode in the direction of the farm. By the time they reached the river they would have to cross to get home, the storm had reached the height of its ferocity. Hershel and Emma got out of their saddles to guide the horses through the raging river. Hershel went into the river first, pulling Barrow across after him. Barrow was brave and strong. He trudged through the rushing water with ease. Skipper remained still in the saddle as he was pelted with rain. Emma watched Hershel carefully to make sure that he got across. He may have been old, but Hershel was tough. He was able to make it safely across the river with Barrow in tow. It was Emma's turn to guide Amber across.

Emma started into the water. The current was strong, but Emma could manage it. She braced herself against the splashing water as she clicked for Amber to follow her. The horse was visibly nervous. Amber tried backing away, but Emma gave the reigns a gentle tug. She reached out to try and soothe the horse by running a hand up and down Amber's muzzle. The stubborn horse stopped trying to back away from the water's edge, but she remained still. Emma clicked at the horse again, giving the reigns a firmer tug. Amber snorted in protest, but she slowly stepped into the fast moving water. Emma clicked at Amber in encouragement as she started slowly guiding the horse through the waves. It was going so well, until a truly large clap of thunder echoed through the stormy darkness. It frightened Amber, sending her rearing up, hooves flailing. The reigns were pulled from Emma's grasp. Then, suddenly, Amber was falling over into the water. Emma watched in horror as the horse was swept downriver, fighting the whole way.

"Emma!" Hershel shouted over the storm. "Emma, grab my hand!"

Emma looked to Hershel, who was standing on the bank with his hand outstretched in her direction. She could have easily made her way to him and gotten to safety, but she knew Amber was in trouble. After only a moment's hesitation, Emma started off after Amber as Hershel called after her to come back. Emma was making little progress fighting the waves on foot, so she threw herself into the water. She swam with the current, making out Amber's struggling form whenever the lightning provided light to see. At last, Emma caught up to the panicked horse. She grabbed hold of Amber's rump to keep from being pushed past her. Emma reached up towards Amber's muzzle. The horse was thrashing her head around, whinnying and neighing in terror.

"Easy, girl!" Emma yelled as she fought against the horse for control.

At last, Emma had a feel for the reigns. She wrapped them around her hand to ensure she wouldn't lose them.

Hershel had followed Emma's swimming form downriver after climbing into Barrow's saddle. When he caught sight of Emma and Amber, he climbed down to help them. In the flashes of lightning, Hershel watched Emma fighting with Amber in the water. She was unwilling to leave the stubborn beast behind, even if that meant putting herself in danger. Hershel acted quickly when he saw Emma struggling to pull Amber to safety. He moved Barrow close to the edge of the river so that he could tie Amber's reigns to Barrow's saddle.

"Emma!" Hershel called out. "Emma, the reigns! Hand me the reigns!"

Emma saw Hershel with his hand outstretched. She was able to pull Amber close enough to where Hershel could grab the reigns. He quickly tied them to Barrow's saddle. While he did that, Emma climbed into Amber's saddle.

Emma realized she had been staring into the empty fireplace. Skipper was watching her with droopy eyes, as though he knew Emma was reminiscing about his former master.

"Why did you do it?" Hershel asked as Emma stoked the fire, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders.

"What?" Emma asked, turning away from the flames.

"Why did you go after Amber?" Hershel asked. "You could have been killed."

Emma pushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear before she turned her head back around towards the warm fire. Skipper was curled up beside her. She stroked his damp fur.

"I couldn't just leave her." Emma replied simply.

That night, Hershel made up Maggie and Beth's old bedroom for Emma to sleep in. That was where she remained for the rest of their time together.

Emma went upstairs where both bedrooms were located. Hershel had been living on the farm his whole life. He inherited it after his parents died, and lived there with both of his wives. He and his first wife, Josephine, had only one child together - Maggie. Josephine died of tuberculosis when Maggie was little. Hershel remarried two years after Josephine's death. Annette brought her son from a previous marriage, Shawn, into her marriage to Hershel. Together, they had Beth. Hershel and Annette had shared a bedroom, so had Maggie and Beth. Shawn slept in the living room on the sofa. When he got older, he moved out to the loft.

For the past four years, Emma called Maggie and Beth's bedroom home. It was small, with barely enough room for the double bed, bureau, and vanity. Emma often had to squeeze past furniture to get in and out of the room, but she didn't mind. It was warm and cozy. Besides, she didn't have much to fill the room with. Her clothes were tucked away in the bureau and her toiletries and personal effects were laid out on the vanity. Emma would be taking all of her things with her on her journey. She folded up her clothes - two blouses, two shirts, two skirts, two sets of undergarments, and one pair of long trousers. She placed everything else on top of the stacks of clothes. She would carry them down after she went through Hershel's room.

Emma went to Hershel's bedroom door. It was wide open. She looked in at the bed, which she had made after the coroner had taken Hershel's body away. Hershel had been growing weaker the past six months, but it still came as a shock to Emma when he became ill.

Hershel was sleeping when Emma brought a tray up for him for dinner. She quietly went to his side, setting the tray on the nightstand by the bed. There was a bowl of vegetable soup, two pieces of dry toast, and a tall glass of milk. Emma knew Hershel wouldn't be able to finish any of it, but she hoped. His appetite had been getting worse and worse as time passed. Emma could see life draining out of his body every moment of every day, but there was very little she could do. She took care of everything on the farm herself, as well as cared for Hershel, but still she felt helpless. She had brought the doctor in from Scarlet Town twice, but he said the same thing both times - there was nothing more to be done.

"Is that your vegetable soup?" Hershel asked suddenly, his eyes still closed.

Emma smiled.

"It sure is."

Hershel opened his eyes. He looked up at Emma with a smile of his own.

"This sure is a treat." Hershel looked over at the steaming bowl. "You usually don't whip this up until it starts getting cold outside."

"Well, today is your lucky day." Emma reached for Hershel. "Why don't I sit you up so that you can eat something?"

Emma helped Hershel sit up and fluffed his pillows.

"Why don't you just sit with me for a minute?" Hershel asked as Emma went to pick up the bowl of soup.

Emma sat down in the rocking chair at Hershel's side.

"How are you feeling?" Emma asked.

"I don't want to talk about that." Hershel waved his hand at Emma. "I'm tired of you watching me as though I were going to drop dead any minute."

Emma looked down at the floor.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful." Hershel's voice softened. "You've taken such great care of me. I feel blessed to have had you in my life, and not just now, but these five years you've been with me."

Emma glanced up to see that Hershel was reaching out to her. She leaned forward to grab his hand with a smile. His palm was cool and clammy in hers, but his fingers gripped hers hard, meaningfully.

Hershel died a little over a week later. Emma had woken up the morning he died knowing it was his time, and she was pretty sure he knew it too. There was a feeling hanging in the air all day and all night. So, when Hershel took his last breath late that night, Emma wasn't surprised. She had calmly covered him in the sheet, closed the door so that Skipper didn't get upset, and rode into town for the doctor and coroner. It hadn't been until Hershel's funeral, until everyone had departed from his resting place, that Emma had shed tears for the old man who had given her a home.

Emma wasn't going to trade or sell anything in Hershel's bedroom. She wasn't going to profit off of his clothes or his trinkets. She took a few articles of clothing for herself, and also some of his personal effects to remember him by. She took his flask, the portraits of his wives, and his pocketwatch. Everything else she would leave behind. Before she left his bedroom, she turned around and gave it one last look. Her eyes settled on the made bed. After a few moments, Emma quietly shut the door and started taking her things downstairs to pack up in the trunks.

When she finished packing the trunks, Emma stacked them on the porch. She would pack them up in the carriage in the morning. For the remainder of the evening, she was going to sit out on the porch swing with Skipper and a cold glass of milk. Emma let her hair down and kicked one leg out on the swing, using the other to slowly rock herself back and forth. Skipper laid at her feet, content.

The night sky was illuminated with thousands of tiny stars. Emma watched them twinkle as she sipped on her milk. She had spent many summer nights sitting out on the porch with Hershel and Skipper. Sometimes he would read aloud from the Bible to her. Sometimes they would whittle together. Other times they would talk, or sit in silence. On one night in particular, Hershel had taught Emma how to do something she had never been taught how to do.

"You never went to a dance?" Hershel asked in amusement, turning towards Emma.

"Quit looking at me like that, damnit." Emma laughed, covering her face with a hand. "You're acting like I said I never saw the sky or felt the grass under my feet."

"I just can't believe you never went to a dance." Hershel replied.

"Really, Hershel?" Emma asked, resting her face in her hand and cocking an eyebrow. "You can't believe that I never went to a dance?"

"I suppose I can." Hershel chuckled.

Emma laughed quietly for a minute until Hershel got to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked.

Hershel turned and extended his hand out to Emma.

"I'm going to teach you how to dance." Hershel told Emma as-a-matter-of-factly.

"No, no." Emma waved her hands. "That's okay. I don't need to learn."

"Come on, Emma." Hershel grabbed Emma's hand in his. "Humor an old man."

Emma groaned as Hershel pulled her to her feet.

"Now, put your hand on my shoulder." Hershel said, placing his hand at Emma's waist. "Just follow my lead."

Emma put her hand on Hershel's shoulder. Then, Hershel started to guide her around the porch. Emma felt painfully awkward as she tried to figure out where Hershel was leading her. She tried to figure out where he was moving ahead of time so that she could beat him there. She ended up stepping on Hershel's foot.

"I'm sorry!" Emma tried to let go of Hershel, but he held her fast.

"I told you, let me lead." Hershel said, slowing his steps. "Just let go and let me lead you. Trust me and let me lead."

Emma sighed. Instead of trying to figure out what Hershel was doing, she stopped thinking entirely. She just focused on the sound of crickets chirping in the summer heat. She glanced up at the stars glowing in the night sky. She looked down at Skipper as he snored away on the porch floor. She focused on how nice it actually felt to sway slowly and rhythmically in a warm and comfortable place.

"See?" Hershel smiled. "You're doing fine, just fine."

Emma smiled back at Hershel.

"I guess this isn't so bad." Emma admitted with an eye roll and a laugh.

Hershel slowly spun Emma out, then brought her back in.


"Scarlet Town" - Gillian Welch [Emma rides into Scarlet Town]

"Please Read The Letter" - Alison Krauss & Robert Plant [Emma reads Hershel's letter, Emma packs up the house/has Hershel flashbacks]

"Now That You're Gone" - Ryan Adams & The Cardinals [Hershel teaches Emma to dance]