They took Old Mother away the next morning. Long bereavements in a house were not permitted, not since the village was attacked by diseases that almost wiped it out. Despite Dr. Peter’s words, it was scarcely an hour later when the villagers came to scavenge furniture and any of Old Mother’s possessions they found of value.
Throughout that torture, I sat at the table, my head bowed, my dry eyes, two stinging torments because I hadn’t slept all night, nor moved from my position at the table.
None of the villagers spoke to me. No one tried to soothe my anguish. Perhaps they didn’t even see me until that evening when I was asked to move because the table and chairs were being carted away.
And then, when I stood up, I went to see what was left of my personal things. Nothing. Even the few pieces of clothing I’d earned in my labors had all been taken. It was then that I noticed that the house had been completely stripped bare.
No food remained, no dishes, no books, not even the brews Old Mother had handed out to the sick and needy. When I saw that everything was gone, I was furious with myself. I had not taken a single remembrance of the woman I’d loved, the one who was also the only person who’d ever loved me.
I left the empty house and walked for hours. The sky grew dark. I lay down and slept. The next morning, I walked some more. I found a low-hanging apple, one shriveled from age. That was my meal for the day. I stumbled forward, almost blindly, nibbling on wild carrots, finding an old walnut tree that still bore fruit. A nearby creek gave water for my parched lips and throat.
I became a wild woman then, living off the land, wondering about without purpose. Still in mourning, still senseless about the future. The only thing I held onto was that I would not return to live with Mrs. Fedner.
The day came when they were to bury Old Mother. I didn’t dare openly visit, fearing they would force me back into their web, toss me into Mrs. Fedner’s house of bitterness.
I watched Old Mother’s funeral from a distance. A Council member said some words, and each of the villagers stepped forward to throw a fistful of dirt into the already dug hole. I resisted the urge to join them. Old Mother would have understood. She used to tell me that funeral rites were for the people who lived, not for those already departed.
“Goodbye, Old Mother. I love you,” I said. Then I turned about and continued my aimless roaming of the countryside. My stomach pained me. My thirst was back. I returned to the creek. A deer and her fawn were drinking. I waited for them to finish. Then I bent down and drank my fill as they had done.
The next day I found an old shack. It was a mess with boards sagging from rot. Termites had munched. It was cave-in ready, just waiting for the next wind or rainstorm. I knew better than to crawl inside. Instead, I lay down in front of it and slept.
At the end of a week, having spent time dragging away bad boards and stabilizing good ones, I was determined to make the shack livable. I knew it would need a lot of work and materials that I had no money for. I was quite capable of supplying labor for the restoration. But for the latter, that took some time to figure out.
I knew, though, that some people would hire me. It was only my fear that the Council might object and force their will on me that held me back. In the end, it seemed unavoidable.
Mr. Tully in the apothecary, was the first to give me chores. I stacked goods in his store, mopped the floors of his shop, dusted shelves, and cleaned windows.