For the first time, for as long as I remembered, I would come back home to an empty house, quiet and still. It had been a whole day since I’d spoken a word or cried any tears. An entire day since Merille had passed.

I buried her earlier in the morning, next to the roses, on the other side of the green house we had spent so much time together in. I thought she would have enojed the peace there, but now I was even sure if it was really her wish, or my weak heart, unable to stay by her side any longer. Now, I couldn’t get the smell of honey out of my head.

I had brought outside one of the heavy cardigans she always wrapped herself in. I sat it on the fresh soil resting next to me, and stretched it until it covered the small mount from one side to the other. Kneeled next to Merille’s grave, I wasn’t sure what to do or say. I remembered in the Bible mentions of prayers and chants to guide the one who had passed to heaven, and something in me believed it then. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

The sky above us laid still and desaturated, fluffy clouds slowly whooshing away. The air was heavy, but every now and then a timid breeze ruffled the leaves next to the house. Even if all the air in my lungs had been sucked away, the clearance we were in breathed steadily. A handful of sunflowers Merille and I planted were swinging lightly, a few feet away from me. I laid there long enough for the moisture of the soil to sip into my blouse, freshly reminding me that I was still here. In a small patch of skin uncovered by my socks and my pants, a few braises of grass brushed and poked. I turned on my side, making myself as small as I could. It was too quiet.

It all happened so quickly, before I knew it, she was weak and tired, frail and fragile. First her fingers turned pale; her eyes grew weary. She didn’t bake anymore, and she could barely cut the lavender from the garden. I read all the heavy books in the study, unable to understand what illness stole her from me.

I remembered, the week before, whirling out of the house to meet Merille sitting on the front porch, drinking milk and coffee barely hot enough to comfort her. From the tome we just got in the mail that morning, it seemed something akin to a poison was weakening my mentor, and if we tried hard enough, if she gave me enough time, I could make her feel better. Looking back, I could hear myself explaining to her how, following the chart detailing the symptoms and how the poison evolved, I had determined the right medication. She could garden again, teach me all I still had to learn. All we needed was time.

I felt so terrible yelling at her then; she only replied to me with a smile. She told me she was proud of me, but that’s not what I needed then. I’m sure she had some to peace with the thought of dying, at ease faced with her mortality. It was hard not to be mad at everything, now that my time with her had been replaced with silence, loneliness, and sorrow.

A familiar low rumble began again, far away in the hills touching the horizon. The faint tremors echoed to me until they reached my bones. I had never heard them so clearly before. It lasted for a while, shaking the whole world rhythmically until it quieted down. Merille didn’t seem to know when I asked her what those were, she simply told me the sea and the mountains sometimes argued that way.

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I sat up again, throwing my gaze as far as I could. The garden held its breath around me, as I looked for the source of the shakes, still resonating under me. The tall fig trees at the edge of the property blocked my view, so I stood tall to investigate further. Nothing of course. I had never caught what made all the raucous, but I would try again and again. Today was no exception.

I looked again over the grave where the sweater was laying face down, reaching for her. I grabbed it gently and wrapped it around me. It was about the right size for me now, I barely had to roll the sleeves to make them fit perfectly.

It was the middle of the day, and I couldn’t shake out of my head the list of chores left until I could rest. Since fall was approaching, the colder breezes zoomed between the trees and sometimes froze me to my bones. I still had to stock up on wood for the fireplace. The wheelbarrow I had filled up a few days ago with leaves needed to be emptied in the planters outside and in the green room. I wanted to trim the rose bushes and cover the tulips and daffodils as soon as I could, and bring down from the cellar all the leaves we had set to dry there. A lot of preparation was left to be done.

I turned to the little wooden gate at the end of the path out, still firmly shut from our last supply trip. Even when she grew weaker and weaker, Merille refused to let me out in the country, going with me no further than the delivery stalls a hundred yards away from our house. She told me many times that I was simply too young and unfamiliar with the land, but now that I was an adult, I had no experience venturing out of the property.

A violent gulf of wind hit my left side swiftly. Instinctively, I grabbed the cardigan full of dust and closed it shut around my waist, shielding me from the cold. I held it there tight for a moment, even after the fresh rays of sun reached me and comforted me. I had too much to do to contemplate longer.

Without looking back, I stepped towards the front door I had left open, and grabbed the gardening supplies left in our weaved basket on the floor. Only my hat was inside, a worn hole on its brim. Since the sun wasn’t as aggressive today, I decided to leave it behind and only bring my tools out with me.

I headed towards the old wooden wheelbarrow and set the basket on top of it, right over the pile of leaves I’d gathered. It looked so small in front of me nowadays, frail. I rolled it next to the closest rectangle boarded by rocks and emptied a good third in it. The basket rolled out and my spare and my gloves spilled out of it as it tumbled. I sighed in exasperation and crouched to gather what had fallen.

After it was back in order, I started to scatter the leaves around every stem I could feel. I wasn’t really thinking about it, as I’d done the task many times before. Some birds started to sing in the distance, but I couldn’t focus on their dissonant melody.

Right there, kneeling in front of the flower pots, I realized that it would be just fine if I didn’t wake up tomorrow. No one would be here to care about the chores, the plants would be fine and the house would hold still. I patted the leaves down with force until none rose between my fingers.

I hated the silence. Nature around was still chirping, but it was still too quiet. I still had so much to learn from her and she left me here, all by myself. I didn’t know anything about her orders or clients, nothing about her medicine craft. I had read her notes many times, I learned to understand the recipes but it wasn’t real life experience. In reality I didn’t have a grasp on anything. I was scared and I hated that too.

Since she took me in, I couldn’t remember a time where I was afraid. It was almost like nothing had changed since the time she found me. I was young, barely a woman. I was weak and powerless, just like today.