The sheep looks up, chews thoughtfully, and goes back to eating. I slide my phone into my pocket. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s a menace.” But Gran’s voice is fond. “Come on, you stubborn thing.”
I approach slowly, hand outstretched. “Hey there, pretty girl.” Baabara watches me with dark, calculating eyes. I crouch, making myself smaller, less threatening. “You know,” I say conversationally, “you remind me of my sister’s donkey. His name is Chiron, and he’s a butthole. He bites.”
Baabara’s ears twitch forward. I’m not sure if sheep can be interested, but she looks it.
“Maybe you two would get along. You’ve both got that ‘I do what I want’ energy.” I’m close enough now to touch her. I run my hand along her wool; it’s soft, warm in the afternoon sun. Baabara leans into the touch. “Oh, you’re just a sweetheart, aren’t you?” I scratch behind her ears, and she makes a pleased sound. “All that attitude is just for show.”
Gran Ethel watches with obvious approval. “You’re a natural. Most people are intimidated by her.”
“I grew up with four sisters. Nothing scares me.” That’s not entirely true, but I like to pretend.
Between the two of us, we coax Baabara back toward Bedd Fellows Farm. She trots along now that she’s gotten her rebellion out of her system.
“You know,” Ethel says as we walk, “Baabara really would love to meet this donkey of your sister’s.”
“Chiron? Honestly, I think they’d either become best friends or mortal enemies. No in-between.”
“Well, we should make it happen sometime. When your sister visits.” She says this casually, like it’s a given that I’ll be here long enough to have visitors, like I’m not just passing through. I bristle at the implication, though I’m not sure why, and I immediately change the subject to ask about strawberry planting.
When we reach Bedd Fellows Farm, Ethel leads Baabara to her enclosure—which is more of a palace and fancier than any of my sisters’ houses—and secures the gate with a complicated series of latches and zip ties.
“She does like her freedom,” Ethel explains. “Ethan gets mad when she wanders.” Bedd Fellows Farm is beautiful—rolling fields, a big red barn, a tidy farmhouse with a wraparound porch. I can see why Ethel loves it here, why Asher’s sister chose to stay after she moved back here from her city life.
“Now then.” Ethel dusts off her hands and fixes me with a knowing look. “I’m having the family over for dinner on Sunday. You should come. Bring Asher.”
“Oh, I couldn’t?—”
“Nonsense. You helped me catch my sheep; you get a dinner invitation. That’s the rule.” She’s already walking toward a small structure near the barn. “Besides, Asher needs someone to persuade him to show up.”
“I don’t think I have that kind of influence.”
“Honey, I really think you do.” Gran flings open a barn door to reveal a golf cart. It’s forest green, slightly battered, with the farm logo painted on the side. If I had good internet, I’d be live-streaming this entire thing.
Gran tosses me a key on a knitted lanyard. “Here. You can borrow this to get Asher down the hill. Those crutches won’t work on this terrain.” She pats the seat. “Use it all you want till Sunday. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Back at Pierce Acres, I’m scrubbing rust off an old bucket when my phone buzzes. I periodically catch a blip of cell service, and my connected life floods back to me. I sent my sisters a photo earlier of a rusted maple tap I’d pulled from one of the old trees. Evidently, the entire conversation is coming through at once.
Look what I found! This thing is like 50 years old and still works!
Eden
OMG that’s so cool!! Are you going to try to make syrup??
Eila
Those old taps are actually better quality than modern ones. Hold onto it.
Eliza
The patina is beautiful. Very cottagecore.
I smile at my phone, warmed by their enthusiasm. Then Esther’s message comes through.
Esther
That’s great, Eva, but when are you coming home? Your clients (AKA me) are asking about the Q4 content calendar.
