Chapter Text
The morning crawls into the sky at a lazy pace with dirty blues spreading like ink into the fog clouds that hang low through the town and surrounding hills from the night before. The black rock of the coast is slick from the crashing of the sea in her high tide through the night. Water hangs in the air and, when James steps out into the dim morning light trying desperately to push through the protective barrier of fog, he fills his lungs with that salty, heavy air. Smoothing a hand over the top of his head as he surveys his land, stopping when his fingers bump against his bun, James takes in the misty morning hanging over the town as it mutes the colors that lead down into the sleepy village down the hill. This plot of grass that spans over this hill and down the next valley is all he has in this world. That and the sheep. The sound of their bells can be heard distantly from their pen where they’ve been corralled through the night.
James pulls his down vest over his sweater, double checking there are treats for his dog in the pocket, and starts down the hill. Mud quickly accumulates on his boots as he treads to the pen, but he’s strong from the routine and isn’t bothered in the slightest. The fog keeps the sheep from view but only for a few minutes. When the shaggy bodies become visible, a smile tugs at his mouth. His herd is small compared to others on the island; several of his ewes are really starting to show as they get ready for spring and their lambs. Pipp stands at the ready as he approaches, her white coat melding into the morning. She gives a little hop, bending low with a wagging tail and she waits for him, not moving from her spot until he’s close enough to pet her. Only then does she chance one step forward. One short grunt from James backs her right up and she sits to wait for his command, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as she seems to smile up at him.
“Atta girl. Up.” James commands and Pipp stands, tail wagging so fast it sways her whole body side to side. “Approach.” She hops forward, pressing her face into his thigh. “Good girl.” Rubbing a hand over her head, he offers her a treat with the other. When they sort the sheep, she’ll come up to the house for a proper breakfast but there’s work to do. “Come Pipp. Pasture.”
Pipp circles him once and then waits at the gate as James unlocks the iron gate on the stone wall. The sheep congregate, trying to all get out the gate at the same time. Mud squishes under his weight as he steps aside to let them through. Pipp gives a bark and nips the heels of those in the front to get them going up pasture so the others will follow. She’s only a few years old, and certainly a welcome change to the donkey that used to be on the property and did nothing to stave off wolves, but she’s well trained and efficient. She is also James’ only companion up on this hill. He moves with the sheep, making sure the last of them is out of the corral before following Pipp up the green. “Hai!” He calls to Pipp. “Move up!”
When the sheep are settled in their upper field, their heads bowed to the dewy grass that shimmers with the sunlight that breaks through the clouds and burns off the fog. The gentle sounds of sleepy sheep and clanking bells join the soft sound of wind on the rocks and Pipp’s panting. Sea birds start to swoop in the air above them as they move towards town to look for easy fish on the morning hauls. He’ll need to head in today and see if his shipment of electric shears has come in. Normally, he’d rent out Gullbranderr’s but he anticipates another good birthing season like he had last year — one that increased his herd by a third — so he can’t spare the equipment or his two sons that normally come to help him this year.
James calls Pipp back to him. Her big white form comes sprinting down through the grass and rock and wildflowers. She circles him a few times until the zoomies subside, ending up at his side as she pushes her head into his thigh, looking for his big hand to ruffle her head. “Good girl Pipp.” James’ voice is deep this morning. Probably to do with the moisture in the air. And being awake for only forty-five minutes. Ushering Pipp in, he sheds his vest and, on second thought, his sweater which he folds to put on a shelf by the door. By the time he’s toed off his boots to set on the dirty mat next to the door, Pipp has curled up on the rug in front of the fire. Her eyes are still on him and when James makes eye contact, her tail thumps excitedly on the floor.
“Hang there.” He instructs with a smile as he moves to put a record on. “I need a minute to cook something.” The eggs from Skardis a few farms over are a beautiful soft green sitting in a bowl in his fridge. James grabs the bowl, some butter, and a couple of sausages before using his foot to close the small refrigerator. He’ll have to add eggs to the list for town, or potentially see if the Skardis have another dozen they could sell him. Their hens are good laying birds and again he considers purchasing a couple of their chicks to raise. Though the Oskarssons ended up with two aggressive roosters that kept everyone awake for weeks until finally Eli had lost enough sleep and made soup with his homemade noodles. The music on the record is scratchy and slow, an old Irish folk album he’d bought at a car boot sale last fall. Back then, he had no idea it would become the soundtrack to his mornings. The man who sold the record to him had insisted the music would be worth his money and the comfort the soft drone brings him has proven to be worth much more than a few pence. Now, he hums along to the lift of notes as he moves about his small kitchen in his thick wool socks and henley, making breakfast for himself and his dog. The kitchen starts to fill with the warm, earthy smells of the sausage and soon Pipp moves from the fire to sleep on the rug in the middle of the kitchen, between the counter and the stove. James sighs affectionately and gently nudges her to the edge so he doesn’t have to step over her each time he needs to backtrack. The whole rug slides across the wood with her weight.
Grabbing her bowl from the floor, James scoops egg and meat and left over rice into the dish for Pipp before he plates up his own meal. “Hai. Sit.” He places the bowl near the legs of his chair where she comes to wait eagerly, waiting for the release. James bends over so their faces are level. Her eyes are a deep brown like the earth that sustains them. “A good girl Pipp. Very good girl.” She leans to lick his cheek gently even though her tail thumping on the floor indicates just how excited she is. James pulls back, straightening and then groaning as his shoulder pops. Damn thing’s been acting up again. Probably means there’s a storm coming. He rolls the joint, attempting to subside the pain which only makes it sharper first. “Eat.” He grunts at Pipp. Using his other hand, James reaches over and massages his shoulder until the pricks dull. The doctor told him that he should head into the capitol to see a specialist but he can’t leave the sheep for that long. There’s no one he trusts to leave them with. Ivan Gullbranderr and his sons would absorb them into their herd if given the chance. Their enterprises are encroaching on the other herders and slowly taking out the smaller farms.
James clasps his hands together and bows his head briefly, forehead touching thumbs, giving thanks to the universe in the feelings of his heart before he tucks into breakfast. The cheese returned from the larger dairy the next town over. Not making milk, butter, and cheese himself has eased the pain in his arm. They made him fresh burrata this time at his urging to experiment. Now he breaks one over his bread, watching the cream spill out. Maeve, his mum’s old cow, doesn’t produce much anymore. Some have suggested he sell her off and get a new one but he can’t bring himself to do it. After the life she’s given him and his family, James intends to be with her when she goes. He cuts up the pillowy round of cheese with the side of his fork with a stir into his eggs and scoops the mixture onto the bread. Yelena had offered to teach him how to make bread last time he was in town but James had refused. Her crusty loaf is sometimes the only thing that can get him into the village. Often he likes to add on the cold days to the end of that sentence but that would be a lie. Going into town gets harder and harder. If he starts to make it himself, then he’s less likely to go into town. He needs to force himself to leave the property; warm bread keeps him from isolating. On the days he picks up the loaves, James always grabs two. One for home and one for the road that he can break open while still warm. He spreads butter in gentle motions back and forth over the last piece of bread.
“Should we go for a ride Pipp?” Her head pops up from the dish she’s licking clean, ears perking at him with the understanding of the word. James ruffles her head as he puts breakfast away. “Get your leash. Let’s go.”
The drive into town is windy and muddy. James goes slowly with the window open, breathing in the cool air. Pipp leans out the other window, her fur blowing back as they drive, eyes closed. Occasionally she lifts her head when she catches a scent of moss or livestock or food on the breeze. The arm James has leaning on the open window is his bad one. Not bad, he tries to remind himself to steer away from the judgement. Injured. The skin is tough and scarred from an accident a few years back. The trauma kept him hidden for a few seasons, but then his mom died and he had to step in for his sister’s sake. Becca is off at university now, studying something James doesn’t understand. It’s better for her to be away and educated, to get out of this small town and off the island. Even if he misses her. Even if he could use her help. The storms usually bother his arm but he likes to ignore the pain in order to feel more normal. Today he has a grey cotton sleeve under his sweater to give an extra layer of warmth since he’ll be outside longer.
James hits the paved road as they pass by the large football field on the edge of town. It’s brilliant green this morning from the water in the air. The familiar sights of town crop up in order: the big white church where his mother took him to light candles, the graveyard where his parents are buried, the docks where the fishermen come up with their haddock and monkfish and shark, the Kielberg’s house that is perpetually under construction, the school he attended all growing up, and the community center where they hold weekly dance classes. Finally he pulls the truck into a marked stall in front of the marketplace. “Wait here girl.” He rubs Pipp’s head affectionately before turning his keys. She settles into the front seat obediently and looks up at him with the definition of puppy eyes. “I’ll be right back.” Pipp whines but when James steps out, she stays where she’s laying. Her training has really solidified in the last few months. A swell of pride warms his chest. “Good girl, Pipp.”
The marketplace is bustling with the morning crowd when he steps in. Dried fish hang behind the first counter making the entrance smell overly salty as many of the older women from the town walk between counters with their baskets on their arms to purchase food for the next few days. Everyone can feel the incoming storm so now is the time to prepare. James pulls his bag out of his vest pocket as he approaches the bread stall. Yelena is behind her display of bread all neatly arranged on black wire racks. Most of the big loaves are gone leaving the smaller rolls and fancier breads but she pulls out a paddle with her next batch out. “Are you just going to lurk there or are you going to say something?” Yelena turns with a smirk, wiping her brow with the back of her forearm.
“Hi Lena.”
“Hiya James. Two loaves?” She is already turning the hot loaves in paper for him to take. Yelena has been his friend since they were in school. The year younger, she never paid attention to what people said about James. Within days, she’d determined he was more than merely charming like other girls thought. When the accident happened and James withdrew, she didn’t then believe the people who said he’d been a troublemaker all along. There were those in the town that wanted to dislike him and took the advantage to do so when given the chance. Yelena solidly held her opinion of him and was one of the only ones to continue in friendship when he retreated.
James nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Doin’ okay?”
Yelena pushes her light hair back towards the braid that is coming undone down her back. “Course. I’m always okay.” She smiles and rings him up. “You ready for shearing season? Heard you’ve been looking for equipment since the Gullbranderrs’ are sticking to themselves.”
The clearing of his throat sounds more like a grunt and he averts his eyes darkly. “Yeah, well…”
Yelena waits for him to answer and when he doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, she shoves the bread at him. “No harm gettin’ some help James. The Lützen farm hired some of those workaway kids. They arrive tomorrow on the ferry.”
“They’re going to spend all their time training them.”
“Better than not being able to get the work done.” Yelena’s look is pointed. “Could call Becca, see if she has friends that would take a few weeks to come down during break to help.”
His big hand rubs up the back of his neck, trying to shore away his concern and unintended embarrassment. “I’ll think about it.” He places the bread in his bag. “How’d you know I needed help anyway?”
Yelena leans on the counter to see who is around before she meets James’ eyes. “Heard Ivan Gullbranderr last he was in. He’s looking to buy you out. Says if you can’t make it work this season, you’ll not be in a place to deny him anymore.”
James sighs, turning to look around them to see who possibly heard that, though most of the vendors probably know if Ivan was in here bragging. He’s a loud man. If that’s the intention, James really needs to look into getting help. Ivan is buying up farms all over the island but James’ won’t be one of them. It’s been in his family for generations. Sliding the coins over to her, James nods. “Thanks for the bread. And information.”
“Don’t be a stranger.” She tells him with a raise of her eyebrows. “Say hi to Becca for me when you talk to her next.”
From his pocket, James pulls the burrata he brought for her. “Maeve’s. For you. Had it with the last of your bread for breakfast. You need to try it.”
Yelena turns the little package over in her hands, a soft look crinkling her eyes. Bringing Yelena cheese is one of the few things James feels he can do. “Thank you. This is kind of you. I know she doesn’t produce much anymore.”
James shrugs off the compliment. “Are the Skardi girls in today?”
“No, you’ll have to go over to the farm.”
James bobs his head and looks around so he can time his steps away from the counter to not get in anyone’s way. “See you in a few days, Lena.” She waves a goodbye before turning back to the oven. Weaving through people, James stops to buy vegetables. These days, most seem indifferent to him. When he had first started coming back, people acted like they were seeing a ghost. Rumors flew. He learned to cover up his arm as much as possible. Nobody truly knew what happened; he learned that as the things people had been saying for years finally reached his ears. Stories some had made up that had turned to local legend. James never had the patience to correct them because no one seemed to listen anyway. Talking to deaf ears only made him feel more like an outsider.
When James unlocks the car, Pipp’s head perks up. Her tail thumps against the car door as she waits for him to get inside. He settles in for the drive over to the post office where his package has been sitting after being in customs over in the capitol for over two weeks. Reaching over, he ruffles Pipp’s head and pulls out of the parking lot using his left hand. It makes the arm ache a bit, stiff from not doing his exercises this morning. Palm flat on the wheel of the truck, James looks over his shoulder and steers out in a fluid movement, wet gravel crunching underneath him.
The drive to the post office is short, just down the road, and this time he lets Pipp out with him. She’s still not trustworthy where there’s meat involved but the post office is safe. Asla Skardi, the oldest of the eight girls, has been working at the post office since high school. Her hips were all Bucky heard about when he was barely old enough to know that the way hips moved was supposed to mean something. Not that he was particularly into hips like hers but he’d always thought she was like those girls who used to get painted by Rubens: soft and pink and dynamic. The bell on the door rings and she turns, soft in her sweater and curls too rebellious for submission into plaited braids. “James. Hi.”
“Hi Asla. How’s Pétr?”
She smiles kindly at that, melting some of her outward stiffness. Her little boy has her cheeks. James quite likes to catch glimpses of him running wild on the farm, usually muddy in his miniature wellies. “Oh, he’s tiny and busy. Good thing he’s got a whole farm to run around on. Ma keeps him busy.”
“I’m headed over there to get some more of those eggs after I pick up my package.”
“Oh right.” Asla turns to disappear into the back. “You had a couple things come for you.” Five packages stacked on each other balance in her arms as she comes out. “Doing some online shopping?”
“Something like that.” James murmurs. “Any mail for me?”
Asla checks his box and pulls out a few envelopes. On top is a postcard. “Becca’s sweet to send pictures.”
“You know her. She’s good like that.” James gathers all the packages in his arms, balancing them carefully. Too much money in equipment to drop these. He’s finally got shears of his own. Now he needs the hands to use them. “Thanks Asla.”
“Say hi to Ma when you go.”
“Will do.” He clicks his tongue at Pipp who leans on the door enough for an angle that he can slide his body against diagonally along the bar and get it open. Leaving the stuff in the back of the truck would be a stupid idea judging by the clouds so he accommodates things on the back seat and takes off back towards his farm.
The Skardis are a little ways out like he is. A few minutes into his drive, James has to roll up his window so he doesn’t get rained on. His mind flashes to the sheep and he sighs. Should have penned them so they’d be dry. The mud gets deeper the farther he goes towards the house but going out and not getting eggs means he needs to go out again tomorrow. As he turns the final corner, his back fishtails and he overcorrects, sliding in the mud towards the house. A fresh layer of gravel slows him and gives the traction the truck needs to right itself.
Magga comes out of the barn to watch him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, shaking her head. James parks near the barn and steps down, bashfully nodding at the matriarch. “Hiya Magga.”
“Hiya James.” She looks over his truck with a stern judgement but doesn’t say a word.
“Saw Asla. She says hi.”
Magga nods sagely and turns to walk back into the barn. She’s one of the few people James knows who doesn’t like to wear a sweater, her big tattooed arms bare most every time he sees her. “Here for eggs?”
“If you’ve got some.”
“James! Can we let Pipp out?” He turns to see the two youngest girls at the door of his truck, one with hands up on the window to peer in at his dog. The other is looking at him with pleading eyes. The girls have dogs a plenty but they do love Pipp.
“Sure.” He waves at the two and follows Magga when he hears the door to the truck open.
The barn is cool and warm, their cows on one side and a large coop on the other. One of the few wooden barns still standing on the island. The rumor is the wood is from the ship of Magga’s viking ancestors who settled the area. There are some carvings in the high beams that make James wonder if it wasn’t vikings, what other stories may be told. “Maeve still producing okay?”
“Less so now but some.” James comments as he watches Magga duck into the coop.
“Your mam loved that cow.”
Magga is one of the only people who will talk about his mom with him. With neighboring farms, and kids enough between them, the two got to know each other well. “I know. It’s why I can’t sell her.”
The chickens swarm Magga’s feet in a ruckus as she gathers a dozen eggs for James. “How’s your sister?”
“Good. Working hard. Sounds like she likes her new roommate.”
Magga grunts in response. When she doesn’t say anything else, James waits. She’s not a woman of many words. Covering the basket in a cloth, she steps out of the coop and hands the basket to James. “Should hold you over.”
“Do you think-” Before James can ask her opinion of the storm, a small body propels himself at the back of James’ knees and he has to catch himself as Pétr dances around him gleefully.
With his usual impish smile, he reaches for the basket. “Mine!”
James holds the basket higher. “Thanks Magga.”
Pétr lunges at him, trying desperately to get the eggs the James has up in the air even though he’s small. “No! Mine! Mine eggs!”
Pipp runs in, a blur of white, and barks at the small boy who sprawls back with big eyes. “Whoa! Pipp heel!” Pétr falls back on the hay and begins to cry. James grabs the scruff of Pipp’s neck with his free hand. “Sorry, she’s not-”
“Take her out!” Magga shouts, pointing with a strong finger towards the door of the barn. The cacophony of curious chickens and frightened cows and crying child becomes overwhelming very quickly so James does as he’s told and pulls Pipp from the barn. The embarrassment turns to frustration. Pipp has never snapped at a child. Especially not on the Skardi farm. Shoving money into the youngest’s hand, James hauls Pipp up into the bed of the truck with a sharp “down” instruction. He apologizes to the awe struck girls before getting into his truck where he almost pulls away. It’s so rude. With a hand hesitating on the keys, he steps back out again and walks back towards the barn, hands shoved in his pockets.
Magga is on the hay with her grandson, rocking him back and forth as she rubs his back. Standing in the doorway, James’s hands are in fists to work on curbing his anger. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Just spooked.” Magga cradles the little head on her chest. “He’ll learn not to get in someone’s face if things aren’t going his way.”
“She doesn’t do that. I don’t know what happened.”
Magga sighs and finally meets his eye. “Thanks for coming to get eggs James. Get home before things get worse.”
At this point, he’s not sure if she means the storm or the situation. Reluctantly, James nods and backs out of the barn to drive himself and Pipp home. He can’t even bring himself to crack open the warm bread sitting on the seat beside him.
By the time they get home, his house is barely visible through the sheets of rain on his windshield. James sits in the truck, leaned forward on the steering wheel as he tries to put the interaction behind him. Part of him thinks maybe he shouldn’t bring the dog with him anymore, but how would she learn? If he learned to make bread and got some chickens, he wouldn’t have anywhere to be. Having his dog come into town with him is something that felt normal, like he’s just one of the other farmers. That sense of belonging that he has a hard time feeling isn’t something he wants to give up. With a sigh, he turns off the truck and grabs the bag of food and the boxes from the post office, kicking the truck door shut behind him. “C’mon Pipp. Inside.”
She sulks around his ankles as he pushes in the house. James realizes as he pushes in that he isn’t even sure he knows where his house key is right now. His house is quiet and dark when they enter. The low beams are usually comforting, cozy and warm with the earthy wood smell. But when it rains like this, James is reminded of the old ship this wood comes from. When his ancestor crashed on this coast, death seemed imminent. With wood scarce on the island, he took the shattered ship and built a home to get him through the cold months. Those cold months lasted into years and now, James is still here. The house has been updated and expanded some but the kitchen and living area still feel like that boat’s hull.
He turns on the light, an old lantern looking light that he installed a few years ago. His mother had loved the aesthetic of the glass. It casts a warm glow on his small home: a large leather armchair in the corner, a solid wooden table his father had made with matching benches, a thick rug in front of the mantle and fireplace. By worldly standards, it’s not much, but James has a warm bed and sufficient to eat and a job that he likes.
His phone on the table lights up. A message from Yelena with the website to the workaway program she was talking about earlier. James sighs as he balances with his good arm on the wall to toe off his boots. He’ll need to go see to Maeve in a little while but she can wait until the storm has calmed its tantrum and the wind isn’t blowing sideways. Looking couldn’t hurt. He will need help. Even with his small flock and new equipment, his arm will give out before he finishes even a quarter of the work. The treatment costs and recovery time afterward isn’t worth being stubborn. Yelena’s suggestion of Becca’s friends isn’t a bad idea either.
Pulling out his laptop as he settles in the big, worn armchair and pulls up the website. There aren’t many looking to work where he is, which isn’t that surprising. Somewhere like Romania or Costa Rica are much more enticing. The screen has a section that scrolls automatically with news: new people who have joined, updates on projects, hosts updating profiles. All of this feels like too much. Fixing up an old chateau in southern France? Very romantic. Helping some disabled guy shear his sheep in the cold mountains? Less so. Not that there needs to be anything sublime about farm work but some kind of adventure would make more people want to come. There’s not even much to do here in their free time. Feeling defeated, James shuts the laptop and sets it aside. He only has a few more weeks until summer starts and the coats need to be off before then. “What are we going to do Pipp? Who would want to come help us?”
She looks up from her spot on the rug when he speaks, tilting her head at the unfamiliar words. Every time she does that, his heart melts. The innocent confusion is so damn cute.
James pats his chest. “Come up?”
Pipp is up fast, boosting herself onto his lap and curling up against him.
James kisses her head and wraps his arms around her fluffy coat. “You can’t go chasing people, even if they look like they’re attacking me. Especially when they’re so small. I can handle my own.” Her fur is soft as he leans his cheek against her neck. As much as he means what he says — he doesn’t want her going after people she presumes are attacking him — the fact that she likes him enough to protect him is comforting. She’s probably the only creature in the world that would do so. James closes his eyes as a tear slips down his cheek and into Pipp’s mane. A lost ship in the storm. For all the brave face he likes to play, the loneliness is never far on days like these. A melody his mother used to sing comes to his memory like a blessing. “No time to look back, facing the wind, fighting the waves, may heaven protect us all. Pray I won't be lost, wind in the sails carry me safe to shore.”
James blinks, breaking his stare from the fires he processes what his sister is saying on the other end. “You’re sure you don’t have any friends that would want to come work for a few days? I’ll give them a place to sleep and food. You know the run doesn’t take long.”
“I grew up in that house. Where do you intend to let them sleep? My bed is the only place besides the couch and I don’t want university friends sleeping in my childhood bed. That feels weird.”
“Becca.” James sighs and shifts in his chair. “Will you just ask? Ivan Gulbranderr is poking his nose around again, asking how I’m handling all the land by myself.” He doesn’t want to beg for help, or even admit that he needs help, but there’s no way he can do this by himself. This feels harder than hiring the boys from town. “Please.” The word feels strained and he hates the way it sounds like pleading.
The line is quiet. James waits for what his sister will say. There’s no use trying to rush her. Pipp comes to sit next to him and tilts her head up towards his hand, looking for attention. There’s a quiet sigh. “Okay, I’ll ask around but I make no promises. And you have to post on that site that you’re looking. Deal?”
“Deal. Thanks, Becca.”
“How’s everything else?”
“Good. You know how it is. Yelena says hi.”
James can hear Becca smile through the phone line. “I always said you should date her. She’s sweet. And she’s not afraid of you.”
“I’m not really—“ James clears his throat, eyes falling as he looks down. “Not really my thing. Dating.” Or women, though he’s less sure about that. He’s not quite ready to go there yet with his sister.
“You’re stupid. Up on that mountain up there by yourself. Dating someone would keep you warm.”
“First of all, hey. Second of all, I have Pipp. She keeps me plenty warm. Third of all, I like it up here. Whatever number I’m on, I make yarn for a living, Becca, what do you want from me?” James lifts his head to look at the wood beams across the ceiling and breathes in the warm air from the fire. She wants to be a big city girl and do university and leave their sleepy agricultural village behind but somebody has to hold down the fort and make ends meet.
“Yeah, I hear you. You’re doing important work.”
“Family work.” James rubs his hand on his chest. “All for you.”
Becca is quiet for a moment. “You know I appreciate that you help pay for school.”
“I know.” James returns softly. He’s never been good at saying the three words most would. The way James says I love you is action centered. Take a sweater. Here’s a coffee. And in Becca’s case, I will take on more sheep so we produce more to help cover the cost of tuition. “Stay safe. Study hard.”
“Promise. I’ll let you know if I find anyone interested.”
“Thanks Becca. Talk soon.”
“Bye James.”
He waits for her to hang up before pulling the phone away from his ear and shutting off the screen. “Am I a lonely awful hermit Pipp? Don’t answer that.” There are times he thinks about dating, but the options here are pretty much reduced to kids he’s grown up with, a lot of whom have a judgement about him from their younger years. Steve was the only one ever nice to him besides Yelena and he’s pretty sure Steve married some foreign girl a few years ago and moved away. He hasn’t really heard much from him since they graduated anyhow. That’s one thing James regrets. One amid the many.
After the accident, Steve and Yelena were the only ones who made any effort to talk to him but James had retreated. Pulling himself from the depths was his own journey. James stills as his thoughts turn towards those years. There are things his memory has let go of to protect him, and then there are things he wishes he could forget. Thick eyebrows pulled together, he watches the way the flames move along the log in the fireplace. The emotions are more than he ever likes to look at. James is afraid of those dark recesses. His jaw tightens as the emotions well in his chest, that overwhelming pressure physically manifesting. The accident broke him, stripped down everything he had to the bones and hollowed him out. It took a lot to get him into the shape he’s in now, even if sometimes he feels like a shell. Yelena called it depression but that feeling is something he sits with now. Another ghost that hangs around in the corners of this house.
He can’t deal with ghosts right now. James shakes his head and pushes up suddenly, needing to move. Sitting here will do nothing good for his mood. But he made a promise to his sister that he would post on the site. James grabs his laptop and sits back down to make the account. If he can get a post up, he can go for a walk and check on the sheep. The online form takes a ridiculous amount of time to fill out. They want his entire background on this thing. Dutifully, James fills every box and finally gets to the end where he can describe the job. That’s where he pauses.
Come help on a sheep farm! He writes first. After staring at it for a minute, he deletes the whole thing. This isn’t going to work. James has never been good with words. Help needed on island sheep farm. Come learn about shearing and sheep care. “Sheep care.” James repeats out loud, scoffing. He absently moves his coffee mug and the cold brew from this morning sloshes over his hand as he sets it down too hard in his frustration. A few words. They’ll come because of the location. Help needed on island farm. Come learn how to shear sheep with James, a disabled fourth generation sheepherder. Room and board provided. Additional time may be added to learn the lambing or yarn making process. Concise. To the point. James posts the ad and closes his laptop. Time for a walk.
Pipp follows him outside into the cool afternoon. Dark rain clouds hover in a smokey blue blanket, whetting the air with promise. These are the days of rain. After their mixed success at their day in town, James has stayed home with Pipp. He’ll have to go back in eventually but they’ll sequester a few more days in the house until he can gear himself up enough to deal with people again. After grabbing a bucket and dipping the rim in the feed enough to fill with corn, the two of them hike up to the higher hills where the sheep have wandered up pasture during the day. James uses his crook to help get up the more muddy slopes while his pup bounds ahead, every so often turning back to see if he’s still coming. As he nears the flock, the sheep lift their heads to assess the threat. James starts to sing. They know his voice and start to flock towards him. One shake of the bucket of corn tells them all they need to know: time for dinner. The sheep come faster now. James kneels in the field, scooping out a handful of corn to urge some of them towards him. The ewes bump at him in their friendly way with bleats and huffs.
There’s something comfortable about sheep. James waits as Pipp rounds up the stragglers before giving another shake of the bucket and heading back down the hill. They’ll follow until the shadows get to be too much. His calm, steady voice swells like an descant above the steady rhythm of walking sheep and their bells, the distance rolling of thunder, the panting of his dog. James keeps his head down as he watches where he steps on his way towards the small barn built on the property. Falling out here alone could potentially be dangerous for him.
He’s always alone. Becca’s right. Pipp really isn’t enough. When James is sick, there’s no one to help with chores or make sure he has food in the house. If anything were to happen to him, no one would know. He swallows hard and rubs a hand over his eyes. There’s not a chance for him here. And there’s not a chance he’s leaving. This place has claimed him. Best not to think of that right now. He needs to do what needs doing.
The barn smells wet when he enters. The roof is probably leaking again. He’ll need to make sure that’s fixed in time for the lambs to arrive. Even with some wet, this is still a safe space for them to shelter. They lay down in the layers of hay and curl up to drift off. When the sheep are penned for the night, James steps inside before the rain really starts coming down. Pipp shakes off and curls up immediately in her bed, looking up at him with sad eyes. “I know. It is cold out. Summer’s coming. I promise. But you’re going to have to go back out with them.” He settles into his armchair with his laptop. There’s no expectation someone has signed up. It’s only been an hour or so. But his fingertips drum on the computer with his anxiety to check. Maybe he can see the views and know whether this was a good idea or not. If no one even looks at the ad, he’ll have to really beg his sister to recruit. James opens the website like a compulsion.
His notification dashboard has a little red 1 near the digital envelope. The quick response sends his heart speeding. Maybe he’ll get the help he needs after all. When James opens the message though, there isn’t a request for information. The system is telling him to complete his profile with a picture. James slams the computer closed harder than he meant. It’s only been an hour. He needs to give this time or it will drive him mad. Needing to distract his mind, James goes to change into sweats and starts dinner for the both of them. Something will come. Something has to come.