Wasnt sure this was going to come together. Hope you like it.
Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think.
Also sorry foe any errors. Doing this on my phone and the formatting is wonky.
Some of the snow had melted down making the ground a muddy mess. It was freezing but the sun shone bright, filtering hazily through the chimney smoke. They were still in the dead of winter, the birds were chirping, not a care in the world.
Daryl perched on an upturned log, lighting a cigarette like he was some sort of teenager, sneaking a smoke. If Beth caught him, she probably, rightfully, would not be happy.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. She didn't really seem the type to get mad or frustrated or even flustered. She was almost overly calm. Still, he knew she'd be very unapproving of his smoking just as he was getting better.
A cigarette won't hurt anything. He'd been smoking since he was twelve, what's one more? He didn't care what anyone thought, including Beth.
And if all that were true, why was he trying to not get caught? Why did he care that she'd be upset that he was smoking?
He rolled his eyes at himself, inhaling deeply. It felt good to be able to breathe without coughing. He'd slowly begun carrying his weight, still sleeping in the afternoons. Mornings were when he felt his best. Best being a relative term.
He stepped away from the house checking over his shoulder for Beth. She must have been on the other side of the house, getting water from the well. He checked out the surroundings, the house, a dilapidated small garage to the left. The outhouse. The lean-to, stacked with wood. The wood cart, fashioned from an old wheelbarrow that she used to haul him up to the house, was parked next to it.
Beth was stronger than she looked to be able to heave him up into the bucket and steer it back to the house.
No sign of anyone, living or dead. He made his way to the edge of the property and followed a trail into a thicket of hardwoods to check the trap they'd recently set. Since they needed more food because of him it only felt right he helped in some sort of capacity. Beth would chide him for this also - heading off by himself without telling her.
They almost had it down to a routine. Together they set traps for rabbits or squirrels. Checked the traps. He, dare he thought, enjoyed her quiet company.
Not far off from where Beth found him face down in the snow, there was a fat winter rabbit in the old trap. Luckily it was dead because she had yet to give him his knife back which only slightly perturbed him.
He took the rabbit from the cage, strapped it to his belt and reset the trap. Nothing in the second trap. Winters were definitely lean times.
But Beth was resourceful. She had a root cellar full of vegetables she'd grown through the long summer months. What would parish, she canned. She dried herbs. Canned and dried meat. She'd use everything she could from that rabbit.
Back at the house he found her loading the wood cart. She eyed him, resting a hand on her hip, breathing deep from the exertion of loading the wood. She didn't have to say anything. He knew what she was thinking - that he shouldn't have gone off by himself and that look made him feel thoroughly scolded.
While skinning the rabbit for their dinner that night, she didn't recoil at the blood or cringe at the guts. She had an old table set up outside near the backdoor for such jobs and knew exactly what she was doing.
Curiously got to him. "Where'd you learn how to do this?" He asked as she rinsed her hands in a bucket of water.
"I been doing it my whole life," she told him. "Grew up on a farm. There was a grocery store in town but my Daddy insisted on being self-sufficient. I always thought it was a waste of time," she looked up at Daryl, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "He knew, somehow he knew. He taught me and my brother and sister how to hunt. How to cook what we hunt. How to garden. How to preserve." She looked away, her voice got quiet. "He taught me everything I know."
"Sounds like a smart man." The most his Daddy taught him was how to evade the police's constant surveillance of their house. "Ever use a crossbow?" He asked.
"No. We used rifles or traps. I dug a couple of deadfalls but I felt bad for anything that fell into them. Most of what I eat is from the garden." She pointed to a sizable patch of dirt the snow had melted off of quicker than the rest of the ground.
Seeing the question on his face she went on to explain. "My Daddy had a huge stash of seeds stored here among other things. I guess you could say he was ready for the coming rapture."
"Rapture? Like fire and brimstone?" He asked for clarification.
"Yes. He was a preacher and me and my sister would laugh behind his back about his preparations," she said, smiling at the irony of it. "But he was right."
"I guess," he agreed. "Things have definitely gone to shit."
He personally had never set foot in a church and knew little about it. "My great uncle was said to be a snake-handling preacher man." He surmised Daryl's side of the family was nothing but heathens. Daryl didn't take offense. His great uncle was right in that assumption. "Never met the guy though."
"Why not?" Beth asked back to work on the rabbit.
"Died of a snake bite."
Beth stilled and looked at Daryl again. Her eyes, large with surprise. "Is that true?"
Daryl looked away and chuckled. "According to family legend."
Her lips turned upward and she was trying to hold back, then gave up completely. Her laughter was like a salve. Soothing down to his rusty soul. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat. It felt strange. Light and airy. Decidedly uncomfortable.
When their laughter died down, he bent at his waist to rinse his hands in the bucket and said, "I can show you how to use my bow." Surprising himself. "Might be able to get a deer. Something a little more substantial than a rabbit before I leave." The word 'leave' got stuck in his throat. He had to clear it away before he spoke again.
She rolled a shoulder. "Maybe," answering evasively. She was uncomfortable with his offer to help. She was resourceful but also stubborn in her independence.
Beth didn't like it when Daryl talked about leaving. And she didn't like that she didn't like it. It went against her many self-imposed rules of never becoming used to someone's presence. Never think someone will be there the next day just because they were there the day before.
She kept things at a surface level, on a need-to-do basis. Help those who need help and move on. It was the least she could do to honor her fathers' memory. The very least. But some strangers stayed with her longer than others. Not only physically but in her memory. They became a part of her.
Like last summer, the teen boy with the eye patch and an infected cut in his arm. He was much older than his age, always so helpful and kind. Still tender in this hard world. He and his girlfriend stayed less than a week, she still thought of them often, wondering if they made it to the community a few miles away.
Or the woman that had been on her own for way too long. Was practically starving. She only needed a few good meals and some sleep, her pain not on the outside. She was older than Beth and gave off a motherly feel. The type to tell you exactly how it is, not because she wanted to hurt you but because she cared for you.
Daryl, Beth tried to convince herself, was just one of those people that left a part of himself with her. It didn't mean anything. He was no different than the boy with the cut or the woman that needed food. But, why then did the idea of him leaving dig a little deeper?
Daryl tried to help her cook the rabbit, though he wasn't sure what help he'd be. He was used to throwing something on the fire and eating without much thought. He didn't know how to cook in a stove.
She insisted she was better off doing it on her own. He was exhausted and she sent him to lie down. He told himself he'd only rest for a short time but ended up falling completely sound asleep until she woke him up when dinner was ready.
Dinner consisted of rabbit and fried potatoes and gravy served on actual dishes at the table. There was also a candle lit between them centered on the table. That was because they'd be in pitch dark if not.
"Potatoes are really good," he commented awkwardly. "Rabbit too."
"They're easy to grow and they last a long time in the cellar. Stick around long enough and you'll get tired of potatoes really quick," she teased.
"It was something we had a lot of growing up. They were cheap. Filling." What was it about her that made him think of things he hadn't thought about in years?
His childhood wasn't too far off from the way things were now. Maybe that's why he adapted so easily? They lived in a small trailer that was often without power or running water. They had to hunt for their food. Grow what they could.
His mother, for her part, tried to keep food on the table. At least for dinner, one meal a day. The rest of the time they had to fend for themselves because she was at yet another thankless job that paid too little. His dad was nowhere to be found most of the time. When he was around, he didn't contribute in any way.
"Did you, do you have siblings?" She asked.
He nodded. "A brother. Merle. And Rick. He died a while ago. Died saving me."
She thought for a moment, chewing slowly. "Then he didn't die in vain."
Her gaze held his, glowing in the warm light. She was sure of her words. It was so simple, not over complicated as he tended to make it.
He often thought what if I'd done this or what if I'd done that, then maybe Rick would be here. He couldn't just let it lay. The burden of guilt was so heavy it'd likely eat him up inside.
He wanted to tell her more. He kept his mouth shut. No good would come from sharing himself with someone he'd be leaving soon. No attachments were best.
They finished the meal in silence. It wasn't awkward, just two people sharing a meal - the best meal he'd had since he couldn't remember when - that didn't feel the need to fill the void with unnecessary chitchat that neither of them was used to making.
Beth spent her evenings reading quietly by the flame of a candle in her chair next to the fire. Daryl spent most evenings sleeping. As time went on and he wasn't as exhausted as he used to be, he spent most evenings on the sofa trying not to inconspicuously watch her.
Tonight she was reading a well worn, dog eared book. The title was something about a devotional of Psalms. He was trying to read the small print on the cover when he felt like he was being watched. He lifted his eyes to her face and she was staring back at him. He almost jumped.
"That interesting?" He asked, but didn't really care. He had no interest in psalms or any other part of the bible.
"Sure," she said ambivalently, rearranging her body, tucking a socked foot under the opposite leg.
The fire crackled in the silence in between them until he asked, "You still believe?" He gestured toward the book. "In all that? After everything that's happened?" He was rusty with conversation, he found himself to be genuinely interested in what she thought, what she believed in, and since she wasn't offering up any information he had to bring it out of her. Strangely, he wanted to bring it out of her.
"It's comforting," she answered.
She wore her regular thick sweater that looked old yet comfortable and black leggings that she wore under her layers. Leggings, jeans then her overalls. At night, she wore only leggings and a sweater or a threadbare sweatshirt. (Everything they had was threadbare.) Once a week she'd wash everything.
"Comforting?" He asked, sitting up straighter.
"Yeah, reminds me of when things were… different." She closed the book and placed it on her lap, caressing the cover almost affectionately.
"When things were easier?"
"I guess," she rolled her shoulder he was learning was a gesture she often did. "Living on a farm wasn't easy, We had our hardships too. I still wouldn't change it for anything."
Then she said more to herself, staring into the fire, "The only constant in life is change."
"It was your Dad's?" He gestured to the book.
She nodded. "He loved to read." She hesitated a moment then stood, placing the blanket and the book on the seat of the chair. "I want to show you something."
He slowly rose, standing too fast still made him woozy, and followed her to the ladder that led to the upper loft. It was dark and he heard Beth fiddling with something and then the scratch of a match, a spark of light. The room came into view.
It wasn't large, about half the size of the living area. Two walls were paneled with wood and lined with bookshelves. The shelves were jammed with books. A mattress was on the floor against the third wall. It was neatly made with an old quilt and faded floral pillowcase. A stack of books was on the floor next to the pillow.
In the dim light, he wandered the room looking at the spines and titles of the books. They ranged from fiction to non-fiction to biography to the Christian religion as well as other religions and philosophies.
"These were my Dad's books. He kept them stored here because Mama said he had too many at home. He didn't mind, he'd have something to read when we came here on vacation or for an occasional weekend," Beth explained. She stood near the ladder, looking around the room as though she could see the memories playing out before her.
"I've read just about every one. I admit though, I probably wouldn't have before. I didn't read much then. Too busy worrying about normal stuff. Like my sister taking my clothes without asking." She chuckled lightly.
"I'm not much of a reader. Thought your dad was a preacher man?" Daryl asked, picking a book out of a shelf on Buddhism.
"He was. He was always willing to learn what other people believed in. What made them tick. But he was a believer through and through. I wasn't as devout as he was," she said quietly. Almost ashamed. "Then or now."
"Wouldn't no one blame ya'. Especially now." He took a few steps, covering the space between them. "If there is a God or heavenly being living in the sky or whatever, He sure ain't done nothin' for me." His words were harsh but he said them quietly, gently. "What's the point of all this… this horribleness?"
"You're still alive aren't you?" She asked somewhat earnestly.
"What about all the people that ain't?" He focused on her bright blue eyes, seemingly a beacon of hope in the dark world they lived in now. "I'm here 'cause you saved me not because of some Divine intervention."
"If that's true, what led me to you? I noticed that the curtain was folded up on the windowsill and went to straighten it. Just happened to look out and saw you. A pile in the snow."
"It was a coincidence," he scoffed. Wasn't it? No doubt he'd be dead if it wasn't for her.
"Maybe it was a coincidence and I definitely don't have any answers. I don't honestly know what I believe anymore. That doesn't mean there isn't a purpose to this life. A purpose to the suffering. There has to be." She said with such quiet conviction he almost believed her.
"All I know is everything I loved became everything I lost. My Mama died, then my brother. Daddy and me made it a year before he got bit and died. I didn't know what to do. I knew I had to do something before he…" she stopped, took a breath.
"Before he turned?" Daryl filled in when she couldn't.
She nodded "So I covered him with the quilt my mother made him as her wedding present and poured gasoline around their bed and lit a match and left. I had to find a tether to something familiar. I came here, to the place my parents built. I find comfort here" She gestured to the room. "I found purpose in the words of these old books. Purpose in helping people."
His hand went to her cheek, his thumb wiping away the single tear that she hadn't realized had fallen. He nodded his understanding. He was a long way from where he started out, running through life with no purpose. Beth was right, no one had any answers but he felt closer to something being here with her.