Author's note:
It's been a while! If you're reading this straight from The Prince's Consort or my other works, you might be a little confused. This is the start of a biweekly project of mine, a descent from Heaven to Hell. So, it begins with this feathery light story, sweet and wholesome. Feel free to mention in the comments what cryptid creatures you'd like to see on our journey down to Hell. Enjoy!
"Miss Lisa, Miss Lisa!" I'm knee-deep in muck when Aaron, Erik Turner's boy, scrambles into sight, his youthful brown eyes wide, his appearance frantically disheveled.
"Miss Lisa!"
I spear my shovel into the mud and wipe my hands on faded blue coveralls. "Unless the barn is on fire-"
"No, ma'am." He catches his breath to tell me what has made him so excited. "It's Mrs. Hartfield's sow. She's giving birth!"
I drag myself out of the muck. "You could have started with that," I say, patting him on the back. "Come along, then. You're still going to help me in the orchard this afternoon, right?"
He keeps pace, bouncing on his heels. "Of course! Though my dad doesn't think I should be working on a Sunday." He tucks his hands in his pockets guiltily. "He thinks I'm sinning."
A laugh rises from my belly. "Yeah, well, these apples aren't going to miracle themselves to the market. Another day and they'll all be on the ground."
"I know," he says with a smile. "We'll get it done, Miss Lisa."
I scrub the short crop of his hair. "Thanks, A."
*
I'm leaning over the swollen sow. She's huffing and grunting but she's done this before. I keep letting her know how proud I am of her. Mrs. Hartfield is bringing towels and water in while I ease the little ones out and tie off their cords.
The children of the town are gathered around in anticipatory silence. Little eyes are wide. I focus on the star of the show, patting her rump. "Good girl. You're almost done. Just one more."
This gal didn't wait until Monday to have her litter. Like a good little heathen, she decided to have her kids when she damn-well pleased.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and ease the last one out.
While the others suckle on their mother's teats, I cradle the last one, drying off her little round body. She's smaller than the others but she still survived. I place her next to her siblings and lean back.
The children are wild with excitement, despite Mrs. Hartfield's hushes. Aaron looks at me, beaming, but I can't muster the same enthusiasm.
When the litter is settled, I slip out of the barn. No one notices. They're all too excited about the piglets, taking bets on whose parents are going to buy which.
The ride home is quiet.
I prefer it over the celebration I'll never truly be a part of. That celebration of life.
I've been surrounded by what I can't have for so long, I'm surprised it still hurts. I should be over it by now.
I grip the steering wheel and guide my truck down the narrow path to the farmhouse. It was once filled with the laughter of my nephews and nieces, but eventually, even my sister decided she had to move on from dad's legacy.
So, it's just me.
I've got Aaron on the weekends though. I don't know what I'd do without him.
When the engine dies, the absence is deafening.
I cleaned up the best I could with Mrs. Hartfield's hose but I'm still covered in grime. I estimate I have about an hour before Aaron comes meandering back to the farm demanding work for good pay.
I laugh with no one, knowing he'd never be so bold.
He's a good kid.
*
"Did you hear about the meteor shower?"
"I did," I say. "And I'm pretty sure I was the one who told
you.
"
Aaron issues a guilty grin, reaching high to pluck several ripe apples. "Well, my dad said I should stay inside tonight, just in case."
"Your dad has always been a little superstitious. Don't tell him I said so." I wink at him as he tosses a few red ones into the basket. "They say it's probably going to pass right over us, anyway. And they'll burn up before they ever hit the ground. There's no need to worry.
"I, for one, am going to be watching from the roof."
"My dad said you're brave because..." The boy drifts off in abject horror.
That familiar exhaustion comes over me. People talk. It's nothing new. "What'd he say, Aaron?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Lisa. I really shouldn't speak out of turn."
"Regardless, I'd like to hear it." I lean against the tree. "You already started."
When he doesn't speak up, I wave for him to get on with it.
"It's just- ah- my dad said you're brave because... you don't have anything to lose."
Something fragile breaks inside me.
I can't tell exactly what it is but it hurts worse when I put on a smile. "Come on, help me with this tree, and we'll wrap up for the night.
"I'm sure a certain young lady is looking forward to seeing her boyfriend, this evening. I wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
Aaron rubs his neck as a blush blooms over the bridge of his nose. "Beth isn't my girlfriend."
"No?" I say, throwing the basket to him. "Could have fooled me."
Even as I walk away, Aaron gets more and more flustered, explaining all the reasons why she's not interested. When I reappraise him, noting his tousled hair and frantic eyes, he goes even redder.
I grab his shoulder. "
Tell
her. She's dying for you to ask her out."
There's still uncertainty in his expression. "How do you know that?"
"There are no secrets in this small town." I study his conflicted stance, his dark eyes that dart to the orchard. "Go on. Take the rest of the night off. But don't tell your dad!"
A smile brightens the boy's face and he throws his arms around me. "Thanks, Miss Lisa."
I'm stunned by the hug but by the time I unfreeze, he's already kicking up a cloud of dirt down my narrow drive.
*
I bring the wine bottle up to the roof.
The glass I leave on the kitchen counter. I don't need anything fancy, just the night sky and something to mellow out the evening. It's been a long day, between the sow and the orchard, and Aaron's innocent but biting words.
That bastard Erik ought to know better.
No matter how I try, I can't banish the dark thoughts that come with it. The grief, the blood, and all the years that followed. How he can sum up my life like that, I'll never understand.
Sure, I've got nothing to lose. He's not
wrong
.
But I've done so much more. My orchards and crops feed the town, and then some. Three generations, we've sustained this place. And yet there's a hollowness that won't go away. A quiet truth: it ends with me, doesn't it?
I take an irreverent swig of wine and look to the sky through bleary eyes.
"Damn them," I say aloud.
I sigh and lie back on the tiles, trying my best to forget.
The meteors will be breaking into the atmosphere any minute now, and on a clear night like this, it promises to be a satisfying show. I take another drink, relishing the bitterness on my tongue.
I think I see a flare, then another.
I strain my eyes to the heavens, watching as more break through the atmosphere, burning up before they come close. Soon, the licks of flames speckle against the velvet night. I raise the bottle and cheer them on, a lone voice above the field. That's when I see a big one. It's burning but it doesn't get any smaller. Instead, it gets bigger with each passing moment.
I'm awed as it draws a hot scar over the horizon, arching down to meet the earth. This wasn't supposed to happen. I stand and steady myself against the house, watching as the massive meteorite crashes into the field just beyond the orchard.
Dirt flies high but its final resting spot is concealed behind the apple trees.
Sparks still stream from the sky but no others join the big one.
I don't hesitate, scrambling off the roof and leaping through the window. I kick my shoes on and pound down the stairs to meet it, nearly forgoing my keys.
The truck sinks into the soft dirt but with the right handling, I get her treading the turf. My foggy lights cut through the dimness as I come upon the landing site.
I can't miss it.
It took out several rows of trees in its trajectory, steam billowing from the point of contact. I leave the engine running and the lights trained on the mound.
My poor trees
, I think, stumbling over upturned roots and loose soil.
I peek over the crumbling edge, and sudden confusion grips me.
It's not a meteorite. Not even close.
I finally notice that charred feathers drift about like snow, and I tilt my head. "What the hell?"
*
"No, way," I say aloud, braving a closer look. "It can't be."
I've never seen anything like it-
him
. It's definitely a man, by the look of him. But- there's something wrong with his back. Broken bones and skin and feathers are mashed up beneath him, the rest of him not faring much better. The quiet strain of agony is laced in his heavenly features, and his eyes are closed.
Nothing else occupies the crater, except for him.
He's easily seven feet tall, by my estimate.
I won't say what I think he is. I'd risk sounding like Erik Turner.
When the ground cools, I dare tread closer. "Excuse me," I whisper, hoping my first instinct is wrong. Not even his chest is moving. I look to the sky, wondering if it will give me some answer but the meteor shower is over. I lean in and feel his chest, searching for signs of life.
A shudder rocks him, and he goes still again.
But his eyes flutter like he's still with us.
He's too big for me to carry him but if I could get a sheet beneath him, I could drag him onto the truck once I open the tailgate. He's injured by his fall. I consider the extent of the damage as I study the strange appendages jutting from his back. Wings.
This man has wings.
*
The living room will have to do.
I can't lug the poor bastard any further, straining with all my might just to get him on the carpet. His wings drag uselessly beneath him but they create enough slip to get him the last few feet. I land on my ass and his head hits the floor with a thud.
"Shoot," I hiss, rushing to gather up bedding.
I don't know what I'm doing, running on steam like this. I ignore his strange attributes, treating him like I would anyone who'd been hurt on my property. Though, when I glance at the landline, I hesitate to call the sheriff.
I tuck two pillows under his head and cover him up with an Afghan before falling languished into the couch to watch him with tired fascination.
