Free Leave a Trail by Susan Fanetti

permission, for instance, to go back to the kitchen.
    Which she did now.
    Beth and Connie were shuttling about, preparing the morning feast Beth had planned. It smelled fantastic, whatever it was.
    “Hey, cutie! You’re back early.” Beth smiled as Adrienne walked over to see what was cooking. Though Beth was bossy and often severe, she always seemed to have a smile for her. The cook nodded at Adrienne’s outfit—a flowing rayon skirt and a long sweater, with her ballet flats. “And you look like you’re working.”
    Really, Adrienne just liked to wear skirts, but she had dressed with the idea that she might be helping guests this morning. “Yeah—Shannon’s under the weather this morning. I think she’ll be in later, though.”
    “That girl is having trouble with this baby, no mistake. Comes from trying to do a young woman’s work too late, I say.”
    Adrienne didn’t respond; she didn’t have an opinion about Shannon deciding to have a baby at forty-two. Or, forty-three, really, by the time the baby came. She did, however, have curiosity about why. But that wasn’t something she had any intention of sharing with Beth.
    “Whatcha making?” A much safer topic of discussion.
    “Strawberry fritters with chocolate sauce.”
    “Oh, my God. That sounds amazing.”
    “Oh, it is.” Beth nodded to a tray on the counter behind her. “One. Only one.”
    “Thank you!” Adrienne took a fritter from the tray, poured herself a cup of Beth’s famous coffee, and found a corner to stay out of the way while she ate.
     
    ~oOo~
     
    Afterward, when the breakfast rush was really underway, and Adrienne felt really underfoot, she went out onto the front porch for a minute of cool, fresh, country morning air. She’d seen a lot of the world—most of Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean, anyway—and had seen some beautiful things. An ocean so clear and blue it would have been hard to believe it was real if she hadn’t been standing in it. Sunrise glinting on Alpine snowcaps. Rolling acres of French vineyards. Seongsan Sunrise Peak. Buildings and neighborhoods and people and flora and fauna that awed and amazed her. But there was something about this place—humble as it was—that she found calming. The varied greens of the grass, fields, forest. The bright white of the fences and the gravel drive, the vivid red of the barn. The light dappling of morning mist still clinging to the ground.
    The sounds of the goats bleating and the dog barking and the horses fussing…
    They were all still in the barn.
    More curious about why Badger hadn’t put them out yet than worried about the reception she’d receive, Adrienne stepped off the porch and crossed down the drive to the barn. She pulled the door open; it was dark.
    Standing half in the gloom, her hands still wrapped around the door pull, she looked back to make sure it was Badger’s bike she’d parked next to. Yes. Of course it was.
    Weasel barked again and ran up to her, his tail wagging.
    “Hey, boy.” She ruffled his ear. “Badge? Are you in here?”
    No response but the whinny of one of the horses and the knock of a hoof against a stall door. “Badge?”
    Weasel ran halfway down the aisle and stopped to look back at her. She had a weird sense that he was trying to tell her something, so she followed, pushing the door all the way open first. It was dark in here, and she didn’t know where the lights were.
    As she headed down the aisle, Weasel ran to the open office door, then turned around and barked at her. He was definitely trying to tell her something. Now she felt a surge of anxiety, and she trotted the rest of the way. She pulled up short as she got to the door.
    Badger was there. Sitting in his chair. Not sitting—passed out. He looked—God, he looked terrible. He was black and blue everywhere, and his face was misshapen, one eye swollen half shut, with several stitches through his eyebrow. But that wasn’t the worst part. Worst was how pale he was under the