Chapter Text
When Beth was ten-years-old, her Daddy had taken her out to the barn to help him with some chores. Beth, all knobby-knees and unkempt blonde hair and wearing a too-big pair of her brother’s hand-me-down overalls, carried a large bottle of milk. She listened to him as he explained what he was doing while checking on each animal. They stopped at one stall that had a newborn calf in it with its mother, and her Daddy told her, “His mother isn’t producing enough milk to feed him. Sometimes, things don’t go as planned, Bethy, but we have to do our best and keep moving forward.” He had shown her how to feed the calf and she held the bottle up with steady hands. The calf drank greedily, not wasting a single drop.
“Is he gonna be okay, Daddy?” Beth asked with wide eyes.
“As long as we make sure he’s fed and taken care of, he’ll be just fine, Doodlebug,” her Daddy had replied, patting the calf on the head. He sat down on a bench with a grunt and watched her hold the bottle for the calf. “Runnin’ a farm isn’t easy, but us Greenes, we face all tough times and challenges head-on with hard work and hope that it’ll be okay.”
Beth had simply smiled, not truly understanding what he meant by all that, but she remembered it years later anyway. When the calf was finished with the bottle, he kept sucking at the nipple and Beth giggled, petting him on the head like her Daddy had done. She went over to sit beside him on the bench and the calf took wobbly steps to follow her.
“Is he gonna be like the other cows, Daddy? Is Otis gonna take him away?”
“You have a good heart, Bethy,” her Daddy had said, love and pride in his eyes. “You’re strong. This farm will always need someone like you. I think this little calf, he’s strong, too. Otis won’t take him away.”
Beth had beamed up at him and hugged his side fiercely. Her Daddy gave her a kiss on the top of her head, and told her the calf would need a name if he was going to stay. The calf was dubbed Sprinkles and her Daddy had laughed, telling her it was a wonderful name.
The death of her father was the last reason Beth thought would bring her back to her hometown of Senoia, Georgia.
After three years of living in Atlanta, surrounded by tall buildings and honking cars and asphalt, Senoia was so quiet, almost too big and open. Beth could remember when she was eighteen and she couldn’t wait to get out of this small town. The familiar scent of pine and the sound of cicadas filled the air. As she drove down Main Street, past Jim’s Diner and the general store, the weight of her absence pressed down on her chest.
In the passenger seat, her sister Maggie sat in silence, watching the town pass by as well. She rubbed a hand over her stomach, a more common action she had picked up since their father passed. Beth chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to focus on something other than the grandchild her father never got to meet. The traffic light over the intersection she went through changed from green to yellow to red, and a glance in her rearview mirror showed her that her brother Shawn had to slow his truck, which hauled a small moving trailer, to a halt to avoid going through the light.
As she rounded the final bend, the farmhouse came into view, standing tall against the backdrop of rolling fields. Her heart ached at the sight of it. This place, with its bright white paint and wraparound porch, had been the cornerstone of her childhood, the heart of her family. And now it was hers to look after, a legacy handed down through generations. The thought was daunting.
She parked her car and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. Maggie waited patiently, probably not ready to go into the house either. The last time the both of them had been here was for their father’s seventy-fifth birthday, last year. The house had been filled with people, all of Hershel’s friends, all the people that loved and admired him. And now, the house stood empty and silent.
Taking a deep breath, Beth opened the door of her car and stepped out, the gravel crunching under her feet. She grabbed her purse and one of her suitcases. Maggie took a bag as well and they entered the house. The front door creaked as it was pushed open, an unfamiliar sound, because Hershel had always kept the hinges lubricated. But the worn wooden floors, the smell of books, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator all felt so familiar, emotion crawled up Beth’s throat.
Shawn’s truck pulled up behind Beth’s car. Shawn and Maggie’s husband Glenn jumped down, meeting the women at the front door.
“Beth, do you care if I ask some of the guys to help us with the bigger stuff?” Shawn asked.
Beth shook her head. “I should probably meet them all anyway.”
Shawn nodded once and headed off toward the bunkhouse to get some extra hands. Glenn opened the trailer and started carrying boxes into the house, placing them in the living room at Beth’s instruction. She didn’t want to deal with unpacking right now. She didn’t know where she was going to put all this stuff, everything she had collected while living in a small, too-expensive apartment in Atlanta. That was a task for another day.
Shawn returned a few minutes later with two of the farmhands. They were introduced as Tyreese Williams and Caesar Martinez. They both began helping Glenn and Shawn move her things. Beth remembered them from the funeral, but she hadn’t had the time to speak with either of them.
In between hauling boxes, Caesar told Beth where the others were: Otis Miller, the only farmhand that didn’t reside in the bunkhouse, lived down the street with his wife Patricia; Jimmy Taylor spent his days off with either his mother or his girlfriend; and Daryl Dixon, the foreman, was in Atlanta. Beth had known Otis and Jimmy her entire life, but Daryl she had met only once, in passing, before he had been promoted to take Otis’ place as foreman.
Between the four men, everything was moved into the house quickly. Tyreese and Caesar took their leave, telling Beth that they would see her the next day. Beth watched them walk away, anxiety curling in her stomach. She was their boss now. She was now the sole owner of her family’s farm and had five grown men working for her, several of which were twice her age.
“Bethy.” Maggie squeezed her arm, drawing her attention away from staring toward the bunkhouse. “Are you hungry? Glenn could go get some pizzas.”
Beth forced a small smile, knowing that Maggie only suggested it to try and get a laugh out of everyone because Glenn had delivered pizzas while he was in nursing school and he had hated every shift. Glenn rolled his eyes at his wife’s joke, but waited patiently for Beth’s answer.
“Pepperoni, please,” she said.
“Half with mushrooms, thanks, Glenn,” Shawn piped in with a grin
“You’re driving, man,” Glenn scoffed. “One pepperoni, half mushroom, and a Hawaiian for my lovely wife.”
Shawn made a face at Maggie’s pizza preferences and dodged her hand swatting at his arm. Maggie had hated pineapple on her pizza until she got pregnant and then it had become one of her most craved meals, which Shawn never failed to make fun of her for.
As the guys drove off in Shawn’s truck, Beth and Maggie sat on the front porch swing. Maggie linked their fingers together and Beth rested her head on her sister’s shoulder as they listened to the cicadas in the woods and cows bellowing in the pasture.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” Maggie whispered.
“All of you have to get back to work,” Beth replied, just as softly. “And I have work to do, too.”
Maggie gave her hand a squeeze. “Everythin’ will be okay. You can do this.”
Beth hoped she was right.