Free The Mirror by Marlys Millhiser

happened because she was crazy and put her away.
    Shay fed Brandy some cheese, a piece of dry bread and a glass of milk. She felt better and decided to take one thing at a time and not worry about the rest until she had to. She could at least haul water, sweep and hoe.
    She poured lukewarm water left in the tea "kiddley" into the dishpan and washed. Having dumped the dirty water on the ground by the back step, she swore at herself for not thinking to pour it on the garden.
    Shay began there immediately. But the hoe wouldn't cut through the crusty ground to get at the roots of the weeds. Perhaps she should water first and then hoe.
    Wondering what mental institutions must be like in this day and age, she raced along the path to the spring. It took the pool inside the box forever to refill so she could dip the second pail, and she struggled slowly back with the load, soaking each side of Brandy's dress with sloshover. I didn't know water could be so heavy.
    It took five such trips and most of the strength from her borrowed body to wet the soil enough to work it. She groaned as she stooped for the hoe once more.
    Birdsong. The drone of insects. The rhythmic scritching of the hoe. The sound of an ax splitting wood somewhere below. Barking dogs. Children's voices and laughter from cabins down the road. How could this world appear so normal? Didn't it realize it had been dead for years?
    Shay thought of poor Cara Williams and her baby. How old had Cara been?
    The sun grew hotter and Shay thirstier, but she'd used all the water on the garden. Brandy's fair skin prickled, so she returned to the cabin for the bonnet. The moment she opened the door she realized she'd forgotten to empty the chamber pot. She rushed it to the outhouse and then set it in the sun to air. After gulping a glass of cold milk, she was back at her hoeing.
    Shay stopped often now, to rest Brandy's back. Middle Boulder Creek foamed and sparkled. Wildflowers decorated the slopes right up to the cabins and around the tree stumps. She had to admit it was a pretty sight by daylight and she could see more substantial homes now, built across the valley and among the cabins.
    But one thing was curious. Her view of Main Street was excellent, yet she couldn't identify a single building. Surely some would have survived. The Gingerbread House had, and for far longer.
    As she bent back to her task, her eyes slipped by the sweep of mountain peaks that hemmed the valley to the west. Gone were the swaths of treeless ski runs. How many times had Shay passed through a different Nederland on her way to the Eldora ski slopes? Again that intense longing to be home gripped her.
    Brandy's hands had begun to blister when a thought brought her up short. She scanned the western ridges, turned to the town below, to the meadow where horses and cows grazed instead of a reservoir, and then took another look at the cabin. This must be almost the spot where Shay's parents owned a cabin. Jerry Garrett came up often to get away from the Gingerbread House.
    Rachael'd inherited the Gingerbread House from her grandmother-that was Sophie. And this land must have come to the Garretts through Grandma Bran, who is me right now. Did Brandy inherit it as the widow of Corbin Strock? Perhaps she obtained it in a divorce settlement. Her mother and twin uncles had grown up on a ranch outside of Nederland.
    Shay felt apprehensive at the thought of knowing things that would happen but not knowing why. What if the mirror wouldn't work?
    The garbage heap not far from the garden was thick with flies, rusting cans and broken bottles. Sun elicited strange odors from that direction and Shay was relieved to put the hoe away and drag Brandy's aching back into the cabin.

    It was long past midday when Corbin realized he'd not been back to check on Brandy and he hurried over the ridge to the path past the spring. Someone had forgotten to replace the lid. He stopped to scoop out a few drowned bugs, drink from his cupped