Baby

for the woodpile, she heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, she stepped out to the stoop to see a trapper holding up a bloodied, wriggling snow rabbit. The rabbit’s legs were horribly broken, evidence of a cruel steel trap. The trapper offered the rabbit in exchange for some dinner and lodging in her brand new barn. Before she could respond, she felt the familiar pressure accompanied by the smell of sulfur. Glancing worriedly to the woodpile behind the trapper’s back, she saw Baby’s glorious tail at attention and the strange frightening membrane protruding. Before the trapper could question the sudden strange smell, his crippled rabbit jumped from his arms and quickly scampered down the road. Netty quickly shooed the trapper away with a gift of a golden raspberry pie. As soon as she saw him down the road, she gathered Baby up in her overcoat and ran to the cabin, quickly bolting it from inside, her heart beating uncontrollably. She shook her head at Baby. How to explain the danger and risk if Baby was not more careful displaying his more flamboyant talents?
    Her mind flashed with rainbows and whispers. “I am Elder now, Sister. Such is my imperative.” Elder? Has Baby gotten old?
    “Baby, how old are you? Where are your parents, your mommy and daddy?”
    “No parents, only Brothers and Sisters. I do not know old. I will be always.” Baby’s cryptic comments only befuddled her. No matter how she asked, she could not get clarification. So begging Baby to be more aware, she dropped the subject. She needed to get to the barn to milk the cows after collecting them from the fields.
    Netty’s new pride and joy was her fledgling herd of Jerseys. If four could be considered a herd. She had great hopes for spring calving. She would love to add butter, cheese and milk to her deliveries. Baby was an unexpected help at harvest time, but she could sure use some extra hands, she thought. It was clear she was spreading herself thin. Netty asked Baby to remain in the cabin while she milked the cows. She reached for her boots and her overcoat. Bending down to put on her boots, she winced, feeling her tail bone ache as if it was badly bruised. Feels a bit worse, she thought, having noticed the pain about a week ago. Straightening up, she buttoned up her overcoat and prepared to tramp through the snow along the winding path that the herd created moving back and forth from the field to the barn.
    The cold felt particularly bitter. Netty thought she should have brought the herd in earlier, but she dawdled, trying to conserve the herd’s hay, stored safely in the new barn. The more they grazed under the snow the longer the hay would last. As the little herd spotted her, they came running. They knew her appearance meant they were going back to their warm barn to be milked. As they ran ahead, Netty noticed a flicker of light through the trees. Was someone camping on her property? She did not mind as long as they passed through quickly. She had to wonder if they were gypsies. Now that the farm was becoming prosperous, she was bound to become a target for petty theft. Glancing back at the herd, she saw they had disappeared from sight, well on their way back to the barn. Oh well, she thought. Better check this out. She regretted not bringing her Winchester with her. Shrugging to herself, she carefully made her way through four-foot snowdrifts to the woods on the other side of the field. Climbing the split rail fence, she listened for voices, trying to get an idea of what she was up against. She found the silence ominous.
    Creeping ever so slowly, she got nearer and nearer until she realized the light was not from a fire. On a rock near the fire sat a small kerosene lantern. A horse snorted at her approach, very skittish, very skinny. As Netty approached the remains of a fire, she knelt down to feel the burnt embers; cold. And very wet. She looked up and saw a fir tree standing over the fire. Who would be so foolish as to build a fire under a snow laden tree? Standing, she silently surveyed the clearing, her eyes coming to rest on a large dark lump in the snow. Cautiously, she approached the lump. She startled, suppressing a scream as the lump moved. It emitted a hack and a cough. It was a man; what appeared to be a solitary man. She could handle that. Gently, she poked him with her foot.
    “Hello there, sir.” With no reply she began to wonder if he was injured. Kneeling down, she took his arm and gently rolled him over.