Page 105 of Homestead

The sun has fully set that evening by the time I finish getting the chickens and pigs ready for the night, go to the bathroom, and lock up the house.

Jimmy was just as happy as me to get back home, but he’s gotten grumpier as the evening’s passed with me having to do all his chores.

His leg is healing, but it’s not anywhere close to completely better yet. And I refuse to let him risk it by overdoing his activity no matter how stubbornly he wants to get back to normal.

When I finally return to the bedroom, he’s lying in bed in his boxers with the sheet pushed down to his thighs. “I coulda done somethin’.”

“Whether you could have done something and whether youshouldhave done something are two entirely different things.”

He scowls at me as I pour water in the basin and start cleaning myself up. “You shouldn’t have to do everythin’.”

“I won’t have to do everything for long. You need to have a little patience. Can’t you just enjoy the fact that we’re home?”

“I’m real happy ’bout that. But you’ve had a hard week and haven’t had much chance to recover because I’ve been stuck in bed all this time. And you’re pregnant on top of it all. You must be dead on your feet.”

I shimmy out of my jeans and panties and finish a quick washup before I pull on my nightgown and join him in bed. After turning off the lantern, I’m careful not to accidentally jar him or knee his bad leg as I climb over his body.

“I am pretty tired,” I admit as I fit myself at his side.

Wrapping an arm around me, he lets out a long breath, readjusting me so we’re both more comfortable. “You need to get some sleep. Let me do the mornin’ chores tomorrow and you can sleep in.”

“No way.”

“You got mornin’ sickness.”

“And you have a bullet wound in your leg.”

“I feel fine now.”

“No, you don’t.Ifeel fine.”

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.”

I can’t help but giggle at the silly argument and his ornery tone. “I guess we’re both not in tip-top shape, but we’ll get there.”

He relaxes. Tilts his head down so he can press a few kisses into my hair. “Yeah. We’ll get there.”

After a minute, I ask in a different tone, “What do you think they’re up to at the border?”

For the past several days, it’s been one of the main topics of conversation in the community. Why did they try to capture me and Jimmy? It was obviously an organized plot, not a spur-of-the-moment impulse. They were waiting for us. Ready for us. And we managed to stop their attempt and kill all the guys who tried it, but we still don’t understand what their motivation was to begin with.

“I really don’t know.” He shifts restlessly. “If they’d killed me and just took you, maybe I could see what they were after.”

A chill runs through me at the thought.

Jimmy continues, “But they wanted both of us. Alive. I got no idea.”

“Me either. Do you think it’s… it’s over?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I dunno. But somethin’ makes me think they’re not done. We’re steppin’ up on patrols and posting guards. Not sure what else we can do but wait and see.”

“Yeah.”

I don’t like it. It makes the world feel a little less safe than it was before. But in truth, my sense of safety before was based on ignorance rather than true security. This world—what it’s become—will never fully be safe.

But we defended ourselves once. We can do it again.

We’ll have to.

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