Part 4: The Winding Down
Over the years the winter months were especially lonely for Joe. Having a new friend with so much youth and vigor proved to sustain him even in his most distressing moments of physical pain.
However, the friendship was only so extra-worldly, and as the pain set in like a persistent winter gloom, it became even more earthbound and visceral. The conversations turned to convalescent care and Jennifer found herself caring for Joe in ways she didn’t imaging just a few weeks prior.
The two had spent the last two months getting to know and serve each other. For Joe, Jennifer was the daughter he never had. He would often tell her that. At first, he would approach the subject sheepishly, and toss around the subject like a hot potato. But eventually, he felt comfortable enough to just come right out and say it: “If ever I had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be you.”
Jennifer would grin and move toward a distracting task, like drying dishes or preparing the evening’s meal.
Joe often fought back tears when saying these things. He wished so badly he and Carla could have conceived a child, and now that Jennifer was in his life, conception wasn’t enough. He knew exactly the daughter he would have wanted and she was it. He felt broken-hearted when he thought of his life without her, all the prior years leading up to their meeting, and how he didn’t know her until now. It was grief in reverse, like a missing organ or portion of the brain that failed to mature because of some unknown absence that wasn’t discovered until life’s final years.
He thought of early imaginary years. He didn’t have her to help him with spaghetti meals in the kitchen, where she would stand on a step stool and ask too many questions. He didn’t have her to pick up when she fell off her bicycle and cried over a skinned knee. He never gently approached the sensitive subjects, the boys that would have broken her heart, and the bashful concealment that followed, the truth he would fish for until he lured it in. She would eventually break and he would have his chance to swoop in as her father and hold her and tell her he loved her and thought she was the most special and most beautiful girl in the world.
Though Joe was dying and his death would come soon, his anger over the matter had long subsided. He now dealt with this most irrational phase of grief, the grief of what never was and never would be. Despite his years studying molecular biology and quantum physics, this pondering was the most existential question of grief he had ever faced. “Lord, help me,” he would say weakly. “It’s not fair. I didn’t ask for her to come into my life, but now that she’s here, I love her more than anything. But I’m afraid I also love the lost potential of what might have been but would never be.”
Joe wasn’t wrong. He loved Jennifer, but he likely loved a parallel universe Jennifer where he was in the operating room, participating in her birth, watching her cry and take her first breaths. He watched as she timidly boarded a school bus for the first time. She looked back and with the saddest eyes in the world, said nothing except that she loved him and so badly did not want this new stage of life to begin.
Joe imagined the heartbreaks over boys, the late night chats, the hand-in-hand walks together in the old neighborhood. He imagined walking her down the aisle and giving her away to someone unworthy of her affections. He imagined killing that same man, too. Then, for a moment, he snapped out of his imaginings and laughed a little until a rattling cough erupted and, like an elevator plummeting down a shaft, he buckled over. The coughing sent a plug of mucus in a southerly direction only for Joe to heave and ho until the green and clotted bloody mass emerged and found itself plastered to the gravel just off the porch. As sad as the other world was, reality really was a bitch.
Joe had been dying for quite some time, but the clock’s second hand seemed to tick faster these days. Many days, he found himself unable to get out of bed. Jennifer, more often than not, made him breakfast and brought it to him; and more often than not he only ate scraps if anything at all. Jennifer was motherly over Joe. She urged him to eat, almost scolding him when he refused to touch his food. She loved him, too, and this was one tough but cerebral way of showing it.
She found herself more frequently sitting by his bedside reading to his sleeping, snoring body, the gurgling sometimes taking her off guard and startling her. “Is this the end,” she thought She would stop reading and hold her own breath as a way to make the room as quiet as a tomb. She leaned in and his breathing began anew and almost sound perfectly normal. The restart was both a relief and a horror. His chest would rise, like a baptized proselyte, up from the water and into consciousness. He was alive and free for a moment before plunging buried again, approaching the death throes of the first phase of baptism.
Jennifer also found herself alone in the enduring hardships of the homestead. In the early days of living under Joe’s roof, she took for granted his ability to still chop firewood, his ability to forage for wild edibles and shoot the occasional game. She wasn’t very versed on how the larder worked and how he managed to preserve wild pork below ground in a box filled with salt. Where would she even get the salt to undergo such a task? Once she pulled the meat out of the salt what would she do with it? And when would she pull it out? How did his little smokehouse work, the one made from an old refrigerator? How did he manage to preserve so many seeds from such a small garden plot? How would she continue to do so in his absence? Was she being presumptuous to even assume she would stay at Joe’s place after he was gone? It was a conversation she avoided. Joe taught her a lot of his knowledge on these subjects, which came from many years of hands-on experience. His vast library included a trove of homesteading and survival books that ranged in every topic imaginable. They were a great resource, but time and dirt under the nails was the truest way to hone those skills.
Joe had a dairy goat, Lulu. How long would the girl produce milk? When she dried up, what would Jennifer do? Was there someone nearby who had goats and could help her re-establish the breeding and milking cycle? If none of the hens were broody, how could she guarantee additional chicks to keep the egg-laying prospects alive? What if a dog or some wild animal, or worse yet, poachers, stole the chickens and left her empty handed? Jennifer wrote all of these questions down and more on a legal pad, and after looking over them, she began to cry.
She cried for Joe, for his dying self. She cried for the sweet man who took her in and gave her a home and an education in life she would have never had elsewhere. She cried because he would soon be gone and she would be all alone. She cried because in her loneliness, how would she survive this wilderness life? In the short time she had lived with Joe, he had only mentioned one nearby neighbor, Leland, and didn’t say much about him. In Jennifer’s dreamlike state, the denial of the future days ahead, she lacked the courage or foresight to ask questions about anyone nearby.
It was late late February, and Joe, in good spirits, arose early and slowly ambled around the kitchen, his slippers making a sandpaper sound on the floor with each movement.
Jennifer came down the stairs, and let out a yawn and hugged and rubbed her shoulders with some friction to create some warmth.
“Morning,” she said. “It’s cold. I’ll get the stove going.”
The comment flew past Joe like a bat under a streetlamp.
“I heard through a little birdie that today is a special day,” he said, wearing a cooking apron with lacy false filigree, one that hopefully had belonged to his deceased wife.
“What are you talking about? And what are you wearing?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, it’s February the 27th, right? Isn’t today your birthday?”
Joe pulled a cake out of the oven and turned toward Jennifer when she shared the bad news.
“It’s not your birthday today, is it,” Joe said, looking forlorn with his mouth slightly open, the cake in hand, the apron even looking sad.
“Oh Joe, no, I’m sorry. My birthday isn’t for another month, March 27th.”
She felt broken hearted for him but also wondered why he believed it was today and how he came upon that conclusion.
“Well, no worries. We’re celebrating today. Who knows, a month from now I might be packing shoe boxes in the North Pole.”
“OK, well I’m good with it,” she said, with a laugh. “Thank you so much!”
She hugged her frail old friend. The two embraced quietly for a brief moment and then they heard Silver barking wildly. The bark was constant but lacked malice. There was a tap at the door.
“Are we expecting company?” Jennifer asked, immediately skeptical and moving toward a defensive position behind a couch where a handgun was stashed and loaded.
“I don’t know. Let me check. Just have my back, but I’m sure we’ll be OK. Silver didn’t sound too upset.”
Joe approached the door and did his best to sound more villainous than he was.”
“Who’s there?”
“Hey, buddy, it’s Leland. Just dropping by to check on you.”
Joe opened the door and sized up his friend who had grown an impressive scraggly beard but had lost several pounds and looked a little gangly since he last saw him.
“Leland! It’s been awhile.”
Leland took the last statement as more of a question mingled with the sour vinegar of rebuke. Leland, after all, had only landed at his river cottage some months earlier and was still fairly new to the area. He bartered with Joe early on and the two struck up a friendship that included fishing, singing old country songs on Joe’s front porch and the not-so-occasional pint. Leland, however, had been busy running up and down the river in search of any signs of life where items might be traded or worked for; unfortunately, he only found himself defending his life against river rats who were too far gone in their drunkenness for greed, survival, and misgivings about the state of the world to notice the need to help a fellow man.
About this time, Jennifer rose suddenly from behind the couch. Leland, startled, pulled away at his shirt and grabbed the grip of his pistol. The action didn’t deter Jennifer. With gun in hand, she drew it immediately upon Leland. Her hand unfazed by her action, she was too far lost in the previous month’s abuses to allow some tentative fear stop her from defending Joe and herself.
“Jennifer, sweetie, he’s my friend,” Joe said, pleading, using his hands to try to break her stolid gaze locked on Leland.
“Please, darlin’ just let the gun down. He’s helped me in more ways than I can count.”
“I’ve been here nearly three months. If you’re such a good friend where the hell have you been?”
It was a fair question. Leland answered by describing his journeys up and down the rivers and sloughs, looking for any signs of life, any sign someone might have created a small community along the river bank and began trade and commerce.
“I’m sorry, I would have been by sooner but I got into a gunfight with some savages. I took a bullet in the leg; dug the thing out myself before passing out. It took a few weeks for me to heal up enough to leave the house. I would have called, but no phone and all.”
Leland was mesmerized by the beauty of Jennifer. Though he still gripped his pistol, he was completely under her spell. She could have shot him until her revolver was empty, reloaded, shot again, and Leland wouldn’t have noticed. His dying visions would have been Jennifer’s beautiful blue eyes, her blonde hair and her lips, slightly agape, looking at him with suspicion and displeasure.
The tension was slowly melting. Jennifer had already laid the gun on the nightstand. Leland dropped his shirt to conceal his weapon. The two just stared at each other, like two aliens from different planets trying to figure out the other.
Joe had different thoughts. Hot damn, he said to himself secretly, though openly a coy smile began to break open one side of his mouth.
“That jar of honey we have says Leland’s honey. That came from you, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s an older batch I harvested back where I used to live in Jacksonville, but I hope to catch a swarm by spring.”
Leland was amused that she referred to the honey as something “we” have. He noticed the nestled, comfortable connection Joe and Jennifer enjoyed and was pleased by it.
“It’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was a long, silent stare again.
“Alright, well, come on in Leland and let’s catch up. I’ll put on a pot of tea. Jennifer, what would you like besides a slice of birthday cake?”
“Oh, wow, happy birthday!” Leland said.
“Thanks. Joe’s actually a month early, but I think we’ll celebrate anyway. Please stay and enjoy a piece of cake. I guess he knows what he’s doing. He sure does look bona fide in that apron.”
“Hey, my wife taught me a lot in the kitchen and I taught her a thing or two as well.”
”Keep that to yourself, old man,” Leland told Joe. The three laughed and the plates were dispersed with Jennifer’s birthday cake.
After that day for the rest of her life Jennifer would celebrate her birthday a month early, and in doing so, also celebrate Joe.
Part 5: The Open Country
All I maintain is that on this earth
There are plagues and there are victims,
And it’s up to us, as far as possible,
Not to join forces with the plagues.
— Albert Camus
Joe now lay in bed with his knees bent, as brittle as the limbs of a naked winter fig tree. He was close to the end, breathing without breath, grasping with no grip.
Jennifer sat by his side. A few candles burned in place of the electricity that had flickered on and off several times earlier and then suddenly gave up the ghost. The warm glow danced gracefully against the brass colored old tongue-and-groove paneling of the walls.
It was March 27th, Jennifer’s actual birthday, and she felt a tinge of anger toward Joe. Why would he die on her real birthday? She already promised him she would move it a month earlier. But the rational part of her brain flipped over and the umbilical of her emotional tether was cut from the reality of what was actually happening.
“Read the highlighted part to me,” Joe said, his voice a mere whisper.
She picked up his old, tattered Bible and read.
“So he told them this parable: ‘What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”
Jennifer struggled to walk through the halls of the passage.
“Isn’t that something?” Joe said, before rolling onto his side away from Jennifer to fade once more into a deep sleep.
Leland walked in and sat beside Jennifer, handing her a cup of elderberry and lemongrass tea, with a plug of something from Joe’s magical elixirs that would help her relax. He sheepishly put his arm around her as she whimpered silently. He rubbed her shoulder and pulled her into himself. There was a slight tingle in his body as her head, her perfect smelling hair and the closeness of her warm body touched down on his shoulder. He was conflicted. He wanted her to grieve and he wanted to be there for Joe, but he also wanted to savor this brief moment where he felt an intimate physical connection to this mysterious woman who entered his life a month earlier and had done nothing short of torment him.
After Jennifer’s birthday party back in late February, Leland made a point to come around as often as possible. He was completely smitten by her but knew little about her. He also knew she was in a troubled place.
Joe was dying, but at times had the strength to tell Leland briefly of her plight, her dead husband, the violent marauders, the violations she endured. Joe cried as he spoke these things and his cries only triggered more coughs and hemorrhagic episodes with blood and mucus.
Leland told him to settle down.
“Friend, don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it all out. We just want to care for you now. Jennifer loves you like a daughter. Hell, the only time I can get close to her is when she’s crying over your pitiful self.”
Joe let out a brief happy laugh before the clotted mucus discharged and disturbed his breathing.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t want to send you into a coughing fit.”
“It’s OK, it was worth it. I am in the way. I only hope when I’m gone you two will continue to get to know each other and make a life together. I think of her as my daughter. In my dying dreams, please give me some thoughts of grandchildren.”
Leland knew this was an especially arduous request, but would give the old college try.
“It’s really up to her, though. I can’t get over her. I think about her all day. I’m like a damn fool, stammering around in my workshop, cutting myself with the wood planer, bruising my head by not ducking below the pipe wrenches that I hung. I’ve forgotten everything. I know she’s been through a lot and is full of trauma, but how can I convince her I’m on her side?”
“Have you picked her wildflowers?” Joe asked.
“Well no. Are any growing right now?”
“It’s March. Not much is yet alive. But find the smallest of flowers, the little bachelor’s buttons, in the slough fallows and bring them to her. Tell her she is worth so much more but she will have to wait for the season to change for you to prove to her just how much you care for her. That should work.”
“Joe, you are a genius.”
“Leland, if you think that is genius, then you are an ignoramus,” Joe said, laughing and coughing until he silenced the noise with his bloody handkerchief.
“Well, I’m grateful for you, friend. I’m so sorry for the state you’re in. I want you to be my friend all my life.”
“Just don’t hurt Jennifer,” Joe said.
Joe had more words to say but few would come easily.
“This old place belongs to her and everything in it. I don’t have a new will; the old one includes my wife. Well, I’ll go to see her soon and the will won’t matter anymore. There’s no government to validate it anyway. Make sure nothing separates Jennifer from this being her home — if she wants it.”
“I’ll guard her and this home with my life,” Leland said.
“And please take care of Silver. I miss her so much. I haven’t seen her in ages. I’ve been so busy dying that I’ve neglected the poor girl.”
“Do you want me to get her and bring her to you?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never been a big inside dog person.”
“Joe, excuse me, but screw your past preferences. I’m getting your poor dog and you’ll like it.”
Joe nodded and his head nestled into the pillow. Leland quickly went out the door without saying hardly a word to Jennifer who was sitting in a love seat in the living room reading a book.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Dealing with an old codger. Be right back.”
A few moments later he marched inside with Silver at his side. Jennifer got up, wondering what was happening. Leland went straight to Joe’s infirmary and Silver obliged. When she saw Joe, she immediately whimpered and tucked her head and tail as she walked speedily toward her old friend. She sat next to the bed, as close as she could get, and began to sniff and lick Joe’s hair and face. Joe perked up and frailly embraced his girl around the neck. He whispered in her ear and teared up and the words he told her were taken to the grave when Silver would eventually pass some time later. They had their moment and Joe’s energy fled again. Silver sat next to him and stood watch over her most important treasure.
Jennifer watched from the doorway.
Leland placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder and gave a slight massage before leaving.
As Leland walked by Jennifer, he smiled at her and she could see the glistening tears in his eyes. She felt something in that moment but rejected it, even has he grazed her arm with his hand as he passed her.
While Joe slept, Leland told Jennifer he needed to run home and get some things. He wanted to bring his pup, Lucie-gal, up to Joe’s cabin, but knew she was younger than Silver and unbound, while Silver was old and worn out. The two got along in short spurts. Rarely did he ever bring her with him and expect to stay for an extended period of time. This trip was different. He was heading home to pack and return for the duration. He knew Joe would soon be gone and he wouldn’t leave his side nor Jennifer’s as the culmination of Joe’s life came to its conclusion.
“I’ll be back soon. I’m just two camps up from Joe’s. It’s a short trip.”
“OK, please hurry.”
“I will. Can I bring anything back for you?”
The question seemed kind of silly, as Leland saw the rogue words flee into the open air.
“Sure, bring me a hair dryer. Bring me the code to Joe’s non-existent Internet connection. No, I’m fine.”
Leland drew closer, gently placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on her forehead.
Jennifer drew away quickly and went back inside the cabin. The quick reversal bruised Leland’s ego. What had he done wrong? Probably nothing. He reminded himself she was in grief and struggling to capture the gravity of the future. He blamed himself for being so stupid as to impose his will upon Jennifer.
Leland paddled away before striking up the motor and purring up the river.
Just out of site and as the sun began to drift below the cypress, Jennifer hurried back onto the porch. She did need something, but he was gone.
Leland was nearly home when he saw a thrashing movement in the bushes just beyond the thickets along the shoreline. He drew his revolver. If it was pigs he could bring home meat. If it was thieves he would kill, no questions asked. These were times that tried men’s souls; being virtuous and turning the other cheek was a hard chore to complete, especially when there seemed to be so many bad people in the world who were bent on destruction.
Leland shut off the motor and the little aluminum john boat glided quietly in the still black water. The evening sky was growing more vibrant with colors of gold and pink. The heavens above were obscured by a low-hanging blanket of clouds that hovered just above the trees and the golden-hour light made everything look magical, blazing orange and pink. Even the dark water had a sheen of gold crackling and rippling like hot oil in a pan.
Despite the beauty of the moment, Leland wondered what lurked beyond the brush line. Would he soon face fire from some unknown force? As his john boat floated to its conclusion, letting the current reverse its position, he grabbed a paddle and began to force to boat further toward his camp. He was home.
Suddenly, Leland imagined the worst scenario possible. His mind told him this would happen:
He stepped out of the boat, his boots splashing in the shallow shoreline that met the bank. His boots were now wet, but mostly dry on the inside. Using the tethered rope, he dragged the boat high enough so it wouldn’t escape.
He walked carefully toward his camp. The home sat just upland and overlooked the shallow waters. He didn’t notice anything out of sorts, but experience told him to keep his gun drawn.
As he walked upland, his position vulnerable to anyone above him, he stayed keenly aware of the sights and sounds surrounding the cabin. Suddenly, in the distance, he saw a stirring in the brush just beyond the home. He immediately wondered why Lucie-gal wasn’t barking. The old camp was on stilts with a crawl space that was high enough to walk under while barely crouching. Leland had guns hidden in various places. His concern grew with the absence of his Lu’s barking. He quickly entered the crawl space and found the cradled notch where two-by-six boards shored up the porch above and secured a pistol-grip 12-gauge shotgun. Leland grabbed it and stuck his revolver back in its holster. He exited the crawl space and watched for movement in the brush. It was nearly dark at this point, so he set up position against a sharp right angle on the side of the house that blocked the empty propane tank.
He waited and watched, hoping desperately for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. In the stillness he worried about Jennifer and Joe back at the cabin. He even began to wonder if his trip was necessary and then felt guilty for leaving them.
“Lucie-gal, where are you,” he whispered in the darkness.
Was any of this necessary? Could he just stand up at this point and walk inside his house?
Suddenly the noise in the brush began anew. Two voices were heard. A woman and a man spoke, though quietly. Leland’s ears showed him where the noise came from and he was getting restless and angry. He immediately arose and walked quickly toward the conversation.
“Get up now and show yourselves or I’ll unload these seven rounds into you!”
Suddenly, gun blasts erupted, aimed toward Leland’s general direction. He dove into the brush and took cover quickly; he suddenly felt like a fool for charging so cavalierly into the dark.
The shots missed him but also provided him with some helpful evidence. He now knew exactly where the shooter was located. Barring an Army sniper or someone with extreme skill, the shooter probably didn’t even change position. In Leland’s experience over the last few months, most people found themselves attempting to do things well beyond their capabilities.
After taking in the heat and light of the phosphorescent glow that rushed toward him, Leland breathed in deeply and then leapt to his feet. He immediately began firing off shells in the general direction of the previous shot.
He heard a scream. Violent pangs erupted from the brush. A woman was crying and a man was facedown with a scattering of buckshot pellets implanted into his back. Leland brushed aside the pokeberry and beautyberry to discover a pitiful sight.
“Drop it!” Leland yelled.
The man, writhing in pain, still had a gun in his hand. The woman, hovered over him and hysterically pleaded for Leland to help.
“Why did you shoot in my direction?”
Leland was now in command of the situation.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” the man said.
“You might die soon,” Leland said.
The woman wailed like a banshee.
“Tell me, what were your intentions when you thought it smart to fire upon me?”
He realized he was talking like a cowboy in the old West, speaking in ways no one spoke in current times.
“I don’t know,” the man said, breathing rapidly. “I saw this place and thought I could start over here. I didn’t think someone was already living here.”
“You didn’t see the lights on? The firewood cut? Where’s my dog?” Leland asked. He was now aiming the gun straight at the stranger’s head.
“I’m sorry, she’s over there. I think she’s dead. I didn’t mean to kill her but she lunged at me when we first arrived and I did what any sane person would…”
Leland shot the stranger in the back of the head. The sight was grotesque. The woman with him let out a violent cry. Leland told her to leave or he would kill her, too. After briefly clutching at the dead man’s bloody body she fled through the forest, never to be seen again, most likely dying and picked over by vultures and coyotes and wild pigs.
Leland awoke from the dream. The rustling in the bushes continued. Leland felt the pressure of his imagination pressing upon him. He called out.
“Who’s there? I’ll shoot, I swear!” his voice rattled.
Suddenly, the bushes settled and Lucie-gal ran out with a duck in her mouth.
“Girl!”
Leland was so relieved he nearly cried. These times were difficult and the stress of possible realities constantly weighed on his heart.
Lucie-gal ran toward Leland, proud of her trophy. She dropped it at his feet and sat, expecting a grand appraisal.
Leland gave her a big hug, mostly because his imagination wasn’t true, mostly because he could caress her living body and take her away from that imaginary moment that would have broken his heart. He picked up the still warm duck and packed it in his knapsack before heading into the home to grab a few essentials.
Leland packed a few things in a separate bag from the soggy, dead duck: some pajamas, replacement underwear — a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste that was nearly exhausted. He grabbed a lot of ammo and a few more guns. He stepped off the porch and saw a bouquet of tiny flowers crowding together near the river’s edge. He took Joe’s advice and picked a handful for Jennifer. He and Lucie-gal loaded up into the boat, he turned on the motor to quickly tread back toward Joe’s camp.
“Jennifer,” Joe said, his breathing heavy, his voice nearly gone. “I’m sorry I have to leave. Please forgive me.”
Jennifer, crying, cradled Joe’s frail thin frame into her arms.
“You saved me. I don’t want you to go. I love you.”
“Take care of Leland. He’s pitiful. But he loves you. You know that, right?”
Jennifer turned her head to gaze out the window. She felt his body gently heave and his bruised lungs cringed and crackled.
“I love you Jennifer,” Joe said, his glassy eyes peering beyond her face, groping for light that the wood grain beyond her dismantled.
“I’m in that open country. I’m going home.”
His frail, wiry muscles quivered for a moment, his lips turned dower and he gazed for the last time at Jennifer’s beautiful, mournful face. And then he left.
As Jennifer lay, cradling Joe’s body, she realized he was no longer moving, no longer heaving, striving against the wind at the ebb and flow of air in his lungs. He was done. He was gone.
His body looked as peaceful as a sleeping lamb.
Jennifer wept bitterly. She held his frail body, pulling him closely within her arms, her soul wishing her tears broke through the veil between life and death. But the veil was dropped, the separation made, the closeness severed.
She never heard the clopping sound of Leland’s boots rushing up the porch and opening the noisy, whining screen door. Leland called for Jennifer.
Lucie-gal and Silver frolicked in the front yard, making playful yawning sounds, oblivious to the sadness just yards away within the cabin.
Leland found Jennifer holding Joe’s lifeless body, moving back and forth like a metronome, forever trapped in rhythmic trance, an unbreakable spell.
He moved slowly toward her.
“I’m sorry Jennifer.”
She spoke in tongues too unbearable to utter, continuing her rhythmic trance. Minutes passed until she finally wrested her grip from Joe and lay his broken body down. Her eyes were masked with tears as she reached for Leland.
“Please hold me.”
Leland’s hesitancy broke and he moved quickly toward her, grabbing her up in his arms; he held her like his life depended upon it. He kissed her tears away. He kissed her neck, the hard jaw line and the softer spots below it where he felt her heart racing within her neck.
“I’m so sorry, darlin’ ” he said. It was the first time he used an affectionate word with her. He immediately worried he said too much.
She didn’t respond. She just gripped more tightly against him, their bodies melding more closely in the bleakness. A brief gust danced and swirled through the death chamber and the candle light flickered wearily.
Leland’s warm embrace mingled with the smoky perfume of his sweaty flannel shirt was welcoming to her. She raised her head to meet his and for the first time they kissed. It was messy but pure as the first frost on the dew-laced leaves of the garden.
The power never returned. The last flickers shuttered just moments prior to Joe’s passing, and, like his soul leaving his mortal coil, it too, left with him.
Jennifer settled into the old cabin, though she rarely preferred the loneliness of the place, the constant reminders of Joe’s well-lived life. She and Leland became one — slowly, grieving and laughing, mingling their sorrows with a fragile ambition for their future. Life in this new world was different than the way things would have been prior to the end of everything. Leland often wondered what his chances would have been with such a beautiful woman if he wasn’t the only choice left in the whole god-forsaken world.
There was no nearby pastor to witness their nuptuals, but Leland did his best to seal their union. He respected her space. He carved a wooden ring from the cypress bog and placed it on her finger. He asked her forgiveness for not having gold. She playfully slapped his wooly cheek and blushed. He brought her flowers. He made sure Joe was close by, burying him beneath an old oak just north of the cabin. He made a place for Jennifer to sit and talk. He loved her and, with all his might, he fulfilled his promise to Joe to protect her.
He loved her and she loved him and the two of them made a life in the dark, tangled, morose age beyond ours, the one where life would surely continue despite lights, despite air-conditioning and synthetic happiness.
Leland didn’t disappoint. He gave Joe those grandkids, and they kept coming. Two homesteads became one and the life they lived was a sigh of hope in an otherwise bleak and broken world.