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By Root 954 0

of. All my life, I thought I was this independent woman. I was on all the right committees, made speeches for all the right causes, traveled all over the world with Cici and Lindsay. I had my little part-time job, I made all my own decisions, but . . . there was always someone there to fall back on when things went bad. My husband, Jim . . .” She drew another breath, and it was a little shaky. “Funny, how after so many years of marriage you don’t think about how much you depend on the other person until . . . well, until they’re gone.” Quickly, she touched the back of her gloved hand to the corner of her eye, and went on, “And then of course there’s just the whole system in the city. Your doctor, your pharmacist, your plumber, your vet . . . there’s always someone there. You never have to find out . . . how much you can’t do.”

She looked down at the empty thermos cup in her hand, and carefully set it on the ground. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here,” she repeated tiredly.

Ida Mae said, extending her hand, “Give me some of that soup.”

A little surprised, Bridget handed over the thermos. Ida Mae unscrewed the top, and took a few sips. Then she said, “Nice dog.”

Bridget followed her gaze toward the dog, who had not moved from his position in the corner with his head on his paws since they had brought the sheep in.

“I had one like that when I was a girl,” she went on. “Smartest dog I ever knew. Never stopped going, always into something. Called him Rebel.”

“Rebel,” Bridget repeated, smiling a little. “I like that name.”

Ida Mae sipped from the thermos in silence for a while. Then she said, “What the hell is a sous chef, anyhow?”

Bridget looked at her, startled. “Umm . . . it’s like an assistant cook.”

“The girl that peels the potatoes,” said Ida Mae, nodding. “I had me one of those, back in the day. Had a girl to do beds and laundry, too. There used to be some parties in the house like you never seen.” She lifted one shoulder and finished off the soup. “After it was just Mr. B to take care of, we didn’t need so much help.”

She fixed Bridget with a steady look. “You girls now, you need a lot of help.”

Bridget sniffed, and tried to smile, and blotted her eye with the back of her hand again. “Yeah. I guess we do.” And then she added gently, “It was nice of you to bring the poultices . . . even though you knew they weren’t going to do any good.”

Now it was Ida Mae’s turn to look surprised. But almost immediately she regained control of her expression, and averted her gaze.

They sat like that, in a silence that no longer seemed quite so oppressive, for close to an hour. Then Ida Mae got up one more time and bent over the sheep. Bridget watched her, with dread building in her chest, until the older woman straightened up again.

“I reckon you can go on back to the house,” she said, without looking around.

Bridget stood slowly. “Is it . . . ?” She couldn’t finish, and Ida Mae merely put both hands to the small of her back and arched her shoulders, working out the kinks.

Bridget took a long, steadying breath. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, it’s life on a farm. I understand that.” She made herself walk over and look down at the lifeless form on the barn floor. “See that little smudge of black around his eye? Like a mask. That’s why I called him Bandit.” And before she could stop them, tears were rolling down her face, splashing on her muddy boots. She tried to stop them by pressing her fingers to her eyes, but it was no use. “I know you think it’s stupid,” she choked out, trying not to sob. “I know I’m just a city girl and it’s just a sheep, but it was mine, my responsibility, and it shouldn’t have died . . . I should have done something. I would have done something if I could have! It shouldn’t have died! It’s not fair when things die! It’s just not . . .”

And then she was sobbing, great heaving painful sobs that wracked her chest and hurt her stomach, and Ida Mae just stood there, quietly, until she was too tired to cry anymore. Then Ida Mae said, “I buried a husband and two sons. I guess we got something we can