Gilda jangled the reins, urging the horse ahead. “Just a little farther,” she said, as much to her passengers as to Milkwood. The raccoons riding behind her in the dray had protested throughout the entire trip. She fed and watered them before starting out but that didn’t stop them from restlessly rattling the bars of their cages and growling. “Then you’ll be in your new home. I’m sure you’ll like it much better than The Ranch’s grain silo.”

Up ahead, a copse beckoned. The thicket would make a great den. The surrounding foliage offered plenty of nuts and seeds, insects and slugs, and the soft ground suggested a nearby source of water. The raccoons would be unlikely to be tempted to return to the populated areas of The Ranch. Even if they were, it would be a long trek across open range where they’d risk being prey to larger animals.

She secured the horse and cart then unloaded the cages. She had worked with a blacksmith to craft spring-loaded traps that would capture animals without hurting them, small ones for rodents, larger ones for bigger animals like raccoons.

“Why not just shoot them?” the blacksmith had asked, and Gilda gave him the same explanation that she had given to that barkeep at the saloon.

Stepping to the back of the trap, she stretched forward to raise the spring-latched door. The raccoons darted out and without a backward glance, dashed into the shadows.

The animals released, Gilda loaded the empty traps into the cart and turned for home. She had set out at first light this morning and now wished that she had packed herself something to eat or at least a jug of water. Her search for a suitable location in which to release the animals had taken her farther than planned. She wished Milkwood would go faster but he was taking his sweet time. The long trek had tired him, too.

In the distance to the right she spied a solitary house. “Perhaps the people there would be gracious enough to give us a little water,” she mused, and steered Milkwood in the direction of the detour.

Barely more than a cottage, the little structure was taller than it was wide, with a thatched roof, one narrow mullioned window, and a board-and-batten door. Hemming in a small garden, its picket fence looked more decorative than functional. The house lacked anything like a corral or barn, or outbuilding of any sort.

Gilda tied Milkwood to a scrawny tree. He lowered his head to munch on the grass growing at its base.

“Hello,” she called, approaching the house. “Anyone home?”

No one came from around the back nor did the door open. Maybe no one was home although with nothing around to suggest that the owners had a horse or even a donkey, Gilda wondered how they could have gone anywhere. Foot travel wouldn’t take them very far.

She stretched forward to peek into the grimy window. Enough sunlight penetrated the dirt to show her one room. Beds lined each of three walls. A table with three straight-back chairs sat in the room’s center and three rockers faced the stove. She saw no occupants unless they hid in the cupboard.

She tapped gently on the window. “Hello. Anyone home?” she asked again, but got no reply.

She stepped around to the door and knocked. Before she could call out again, the door creaked open. “Hello, anyone home?” she asked a third time, and took a step over the threshold.

Somehow, it felt larger inside than it had appeared from the outside. Tidy enough, it nevertheless had a musky smell. Perhaps the residents kept pets, although Gilda didn’t see any sign of a cat or dog.

No one came to greet her. It was so quiet she would have assumed the place had been deserted except it was clear that someone had been here, and recently. Three bowls sat on the table. She took a step closer and saw that they contained what looked like oatmeal. It was as though breakfast had been prepared and served but something had called the three diners away mid-meal.

Gilda’s stomach growled. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if she had a little bit. She’d be happy to reimburse them for it. She dipped up a spoonful and brought it to her lips but the heat told her that it would be too hot to eat. She put it back and scooped up some from the bowl next to it. She sampled it but it had gone cold and was as palatable as glue. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and tried the third bowl. The cereal’s temperature was warm enough to be comforting but cool enough that she wolfed down the entire serving.

She glanced at the rockers facing the stove. She must have been hungrier than she realized and was lightheaded, because the chairs appeared to rock. There must be a draft coming in from the open door, she decided. The three chairs were in graduated sizes. She sat in the largest one and when she found that her feet didn’t reach the floor, she rocked herself out of it. The smallest chair lay on its side, one leg cracked. She lowered herself into the medium one, already feeling guilty about eating the cereal. She would compensate the owners for it. She would borrow some money from Father and then come right back. Right after she took a short nap. She was overcome with sleepiness which she attributed to the warm oatmeal on what had been an empty stomach. She glanced at the beds pushed against the wall. One was clearly too small for her. Another was huge but the third looked just right for just a few minutes of shut-eye.

“Someone’s eaten my porridge.”

The guttural cry startled Gilda out of a deep sleep. She sat up just in time to hear another voice, not quite as gruff. “I think I know who. There’s someone sleeping in my bed.”

It’s said of Devorah Fox that she writes outside the box. Its feelings hurt, the box gets up and stomps off. So she writes about that, too.

A multi-genre author, her novels and short works blend elements of fantasy, exploration, mystery, and romance, often infused with elements of mythology and folklore. Her imaginative style and narrative depth appeal to readers ranging from the young to the young-at-heart. Explore themes of self-discovery, resilience, and the complexities of human nature. Grab your passport and be transported to vivid worlds filled with emotion, adventure, and unforgettable characters.

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