Page 82 of Wild Heart

The house had been quiet all morning. Grief, by then, had softened its grip just enough to allow space for preparation, quiet hands folding sweaters into drawers, boots lined neatly by the door, Livvy swaddled in soft cream wool and sleeping deeply against Natalie’s chest. Her tiny mouth opened in a dream, her fist curled at her mother’s collarbone. Inside, the four of them had moved in silence.

There had been no rush. No spoken urgency. Just a shared understanding that today was a threshold. A bridge between before and after. And nothing, not the clearing skies or the cooling wind or the baby’s gentle coos could stop the ache in their bones that today was the day they would say goodbye.

Natalie had dressed in a long gray coat that had once belonged to Olivia, worn wool that still smelled faintly of cedar and wind. It was too big in the shoulders and short at the wrist, but she wore it anyway, buttoned carefully around Livvy’s sling. A shawl wrapped around her throat, and a locket rested against her heart.

Mason wore his cleanest flannel and boots Olivia had once teased him for polishing. Davey had combed his hair with effort and stood in the hallway with his shoulders squared and his grief like armor.

“Ready?” Mason asked, his voice rough with restraint.

Natalie nodded. Davey reached for the door. And when he opened it the world stood waiting. The porch steps opened not onto solitude, not onto fog or fallen leaves, but onto rows and rows of people. The entire community had come.

They stood in clusters, shoulders close, hats in hands, coats zipped tight against the wind. Children held the leashes of shaggy dogs. One girl had a tabby cat curled in her coat. An older man stood with a hawk perched calmly on his thick glove, eyes sharp as the mountain.

Farmers, teachers, shopkeepers. The wildlife vet from thenext county. The postal clerk who’d cried when he learned the news. Volunteers, interns, and neighbors who had once brought Olivia preserves in the summer, now here with offerings of silence and reverence.

And at the front of them all stood a simple wooden coffin draped in pine boughs, mountain laurel, and bundles of dried lavender.

No one spoke. But when Natalie stepped onto the porch, Livvy against her chest, Mason and Davey at her side, the crowd clapped. Not loudly. Not the kind of applause meant for celebration. It was soft. A slow, swelling sound, hands meeting hands in a rhythm that said:We see your pain. We loved her too. We are with you.

Natalie’s throat closed. She blinked fast, but the tears came anyway. Mason stepped beside her and took her hand. Davey placed a palm gently on her back. And Livvy, as if she understood, let out a tiny, breathy sigh against Natalie’s heart. Together, they descended the porch steps. The path from the lodge to the church at the edge of town had been cleared of leaves. Along it, volunteers had placed lanterns, small glowing orbs that flickered in the morning wind.

And then the procession began. The coffin was lifted gently by four of the sanctuary’s longest-serving hands. Two women and two men, their eyes rimmed red but their strides steady. They led the way through the trees, and behind them walked Mason, Natalie, Davey, and Livvy. Then the rest.

A slow river of footsteps, hushed murmurs, the occasional cry of a hawk above. Dogs walked without barking. Children walked without asking questions. The forest, too, was silent. The trees stood tall and listening. The sanctuary watched.

And Olivia, if she was anywhere at all, was in every rustle of pine, in every paw print pressed into the trail. She was in theway the animals moved, the way the wind curved around the people she’d protected, healed, loved.

As they neared the church, the sun broke through the clouds, casting long beams of light across the procession.

And Natalie, heart full and shattered, whispered to her daughter, “This is your village, Livvy. This is who we are. Because of her.”

And Livvy stirred against her, a hand slipping free of the sling, fingers curling toward the light.

35

The grave was simple. Just a low, earthen mound beneath a canopy of pine and aspen, the morning light filtering through the leaves like threads of gold. The air smelled of loam and lavender, from the bundles placed lovingly on the fresh soil, some from the sanctuary’s gardens, others gathered by neighbors from the woods Olivia had once walked.

The service had been quiet, gentle. There had been tears, of course, whole rivers of them, but there had also been laughter. Memories. A thousand small stories offered like prayer. Now, as the others began to drift away toward the lodge and the warm fire inside, the burial ground emptied slowly. Except for the four of them.

Mason stood with one hand resting on Davey’s shoulder, his grip steady and warm. Davey hadn’t moved since the last handful of soil had fallen on the coffin. His shoulders were hunched, his face turned downward, and the raw, open sorrow that had taken root in him seemed heavier now than ever. Mason stayed silent, letting the stillness settle between them. He knew there were no perfect words for this kind of goodbye. Noway to mend the wound of losing a mother in a single breath or gesture.

But he could be here. He could show up, the way Olivia always had.

“She would’ve hated this,” Davey finally said, his voice cracking. “All the fuss.”

Mason managed a small smile. “Probably.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the wind curling through the trees. Livvy let out a soft whimper from Natalie’s chest where she slept, swaddled tightly, sensing the sorrow around her.

“She’d be proud of you,” Mason said to his son, his voice low. “For how you’ve handled this. For how you’ve stepped up for the sanctuary. For Natalie. For Livvy.”

Davey wiped his sleeve across his face, still not looking up. “I don’t know how to do this without her.”

“You don’t have to,” Mason said gently. “You have us. You have me.”

Davey turned then, finally meeting his eyes. And in that glance, Mason saw the boy he’d missed, the man he was becoming, and the bridge they were building, slowly, painfully, together.

“Come on,” Mason said softly, guiding him away from the grave. “They’re waiting for us at the lodge.”

---