back. Oh well, so be it. I shouldn’t depend on anyone else anyway.”
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom to try and comfort Ben and glanced out of the living room window to see a path going through the freshly fallen snow leading to her front porch. Her pulse quickening, she walked over to the window and looked around. After scanning all around her immediate area, she glanced directly underneath the window. To her surprise, Maeve saw what she had just wished for: a small pile of firewood neatly stacked and ready to be carried inside.
“So he makes day deliveries as well. Hmmm. Why didn’t he knock on the door?” Looking around at the swaying trees, she worried about him out there being exposed to elements just to bring her firewood. He could have at least come in for a cup of coffee to warm up.
“Mom? Can I put on more clothes?” Ben yelled down the stairs.
She laughed out loud. She had a history of trying to keep Ben in his clothing—he always argued with her when the time came to wear coats and gloves and other outerwear. The boy would often want to wear shorts to school in the dead of an average winter like some of the other locals around town who wore Bermuda shorts in January. She’d never understood the logic in that. “Of course,” she yelled back upstairs.
As she met him upstairs he zoomed down the hallway to his own room—to procure another sweatshirt, she imagined. He’d opened his bedroom door, and the air in the hallway was like ice, having suddenly displaced some of the warmth from upstairs. Soon Ben reemerged holding a large navy sweatshirt from his drawer and closed his bedroom door. “I’m going to warm this up by the woodstove before I put it on.”
“OK, knock yourself out. Just don’t put the shirt on the woodstove, please. The last thing we need is a fire.”
As he descended the stairs, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they should move into the living room downstairs and block off all the upper bedroom doors to conserve heat. With that idea in mind, she began collecting blankets, pillows, and what she needed from the bathroom for both her and her son. Closing the door behind her, she glanced at the photo on her nightstand, in a way saying goodbye to Roger’s image for a few days. Perhaps an absence would do her some good.
She carried her load down the stairs and dropped the bedding on the couch, then put the bathroom essentials into their proper place in the bathroom on the main floor. “We’re going to close off the upstairs for now to conserve our heat down here. It’ll be an adventure,” she said to Ben, who was looking at her for an explanation. “Like camping out.”
“OK, that’s a good idea, Mom.”
He was game. She hoped she could keep up the spirit of adventure because something told her things were about to get really tough. She’d foolishly limited their food supply by negligence and routine. So now she tried to look ahead to prepare for what might come. What worried her most was what would become of them in a few days once all the food ran out. What if she couldn’t get to the store?
They certainly couldn’t walk that far. They could last a few days, and she’d already decided she would skip her own lunches to conserve food for Ben. In the pit of her stomach, she was afraid she’d already failed her son.
How foolish I’ve been. I might have doomed us already.
Chapter 8
Bishop’s little place in the woods consisted of a fortified lean-to against a stone wall that led inside a cave. He was sure when scouting out a permanent residence in the forest that this spot was favored by the local bears, but after several days of surveillance, none of them ever showed up, so Bishop made the hideout his own. He’d added finesse to the structure over time, picking up pieces of scrap here and there.
Bishop also used his bank account to purchase a few items in town and utilized the scrapyard for the rest. He didn’t need much, just a safe place to
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom to try and comfort Ben and glanced out of the living room window to see a path going through the freshly fallen snow leading to her front porch. Her pulse quickening, she walked over to the window and looked around. After scanning all around her immediate area, she glanced directly underneath the window. To her surprise, Maeve saw what she had just wished for: a small pile of firewood neatly stacked and ready to be carried inside.
“So he makes day deliveries as well. Hmmm. Why didn’t he knock on the door?” Looking around at the swaying trees, she worried about him out there being exposed to elements just to bring her firewood. He could have at least come in for a cup of coffee to warm up.
“Mom? Can I put on more clothes?” Ben yelled down the stairs.
She laughed out loud. She had a history of trying to keep Ben in his clothing—he always argued with her when the time came to wear coats and gloves and other outerwear. The boy would often want to wear shorts to school in the dead of an average winter like some of the other locals around town who wore Bermuda shorts in January. She’d never understood the logic in that. “Of course,” she yelled back upstairs.
As she met him upstairs he zoomed down the hallway to his own room—to procure another sweatshirt, she imagined. He’d opened his bedroom door, and the air in the hallway was like ice, having suddenly displaced some of the warmth from upstairs. Soon Ben reemerged holding a large navy sweatshirt from his drawer and closed his bedroom door. “I’m going to warm this up by the woodstove before I put it on.”
“OK, knock yourself out. Just don’t put the shirt on the woodstove, please. The last thing we need is a fire.”
As he descended the stairs, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they should move into the living room downstairs and block off all the upper bedroom doors to conserve heat. With that idea in mind, she began collecting blankets, pillows, and what she needed from the bathroom for both her and her son. Closing the door behind her, she glanced at the photo on her nightstand, in a way saying goodbye to Roger’s image for a few days. Perhaps an absence would do her some good.
She carried her load down the stairs and dropped the bedding on the couch, then put the bathroom essentials into their proper place in the bathroom on the main floor. “We’re going to close off the upstairs for now to conserve our heat down here. It’ll be an adventure,” she said to Ben, who was looking at her for an explanation. “Like camping out.”
“OK, that’s a good idea, Mom.”
He was game. She hoped she could keep up the spirit of adventure because something told her things were about to get really tough. She’d foolishly limited their food supply by negligence and routine. So now she tried to look ahead to prepare for what might come. What worried her most was what would become of them in a few days once all the food ran out. What if she couldn’t get to the store?
They certainly couldn’t walk that far. They could last a few days, and she’d already decided she would skip her own lunches to conserve food for Ben. In the pit of her stomach, she was afraid she’d already failed her son.
How foolish I’ve been. I might have doomed us already.
Chapter 8
Bishop’s little place in the woods consisted of a fortified lean-to against a stone wall that led inside a cave. He was sure when scouting out a permanent residence in the forest that this spot was favored by the local bears, but after several days of surveillance, none of them ever showed up, so Bishop made the hideout his own. He’d added finesse to the structure over time, picking up pieces of scrap here and there.
Bishop also used his bank account to purchase a few items in town and utilized the scrapyard for the rest. He didn’t need much, just a safe place to
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