I felt a breeze at the back of my neck, where the dirty cardigan I was wearing left my skin bare. It was getting late in the day already. I had about half of the work done, and it seemed satisfying enough. I wasn’t really hungry. My fingers were covered in dirt, and already I could feel small cuts all over my palms and fingertips. I decided that maybe it was time to go back to the house and prepare for the night. I looked up to the kitchen’s window. It was dark and quiet.

After dusting off my hands, I stood up and looked down at my linen pants. I only then realized how much soil I had on myself from the morning. I raised my eyes again and looked towards the green house where the small buds of the Centifolias bushes were still visible. They almost looked like beady eyes in the darkening afternoon, asking me something I had no answers for.

“I’m sorry” I let out, hoping for who had become my mother over the past decade to hear me.

I walked over to the front door and opened it. The cold of the old home hit me right in the chest this time, so hard that I almost forgot to lock it behind me. With all its lights out, and the fireplace still sleeping, it was almost like the house was grieving with me. Before grabbing anything to eat, I went into the main room, where it seemed like the moonlight was starting to overflow the window. I crouched in front of the fireplace and moved some fine pieces of wood in the middle of it, trying to make a little pile that would ignite and keep throughout the night. To my surprise, there were a lot more pieces left in the little enclosure against the wall, and with only myself to warm, I wouldn’t go through it all before a few days.

I extended my hand until my fingertips reached the thin layer of ashes inside the firebox. With my index nail still dirty from the garden, I traced a line in the powder, long enough to ensure the flame would stay alive and strong until morning. Then taping my nail on the bare metal, I felt gentle sparks on my skin, slowly enveloping me with warmth. Filaments of energy twirled around my finger in a fraction of a second, igniting the air into small specks, before they fell on the half-consumed logs.

“Ouch” I said to myself, as the fire started too close to burning my skin.

Forgetting for a moment how dirty my finger was, I approached it to my lips. Before putting it in my mouth to soothe the skin now red, I refrained myself from tasting the mix of ashes and soil. Instead, hoping to calm the benign burn, I blew gently on my fingertip. No matter how many times I tried, I was still very much a novice in the art.

Still crouched, I watched the fire I had created reach the branches and grow bigger, slowly comforting me. Once the fire licked the bigger pieces of wood, I put a log that I thought would warm up the house for a few hours, and before going to bed, I’d put another one or two.

While the flames reflected in my eyes, I started to think of a list of things I would have to do in the morning, to keep this place as tidy as I could. I grew attached to this house over the years. I knew where to step to make the stairs creak, I knew the wall paper like the back of my hands and the fixtures bringing the sunlight in when opened.

There, dirty and tired, I decided to make a pact with myself to not let the house fall in disarray. In the morning I could sweep the floors and cook a meal for the day. Then, I could take care of the green house, the flowers and spices, and finish protecting the plants before the first frozen mornings. I knew where Merille kept her books about botany, so with enough research, trials and errors, I should be able to care and tend for the plants we kept just like she did. It would take some time, and maybe it would be lonely, but she had nurtured me and raised me for ten years almost. If this was the legacy I could give her, then I would.

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I wrapped my arms around my knees, sitting more comfortably on the stone tiles. I let the gentle warmth envelop me, and as I sighed, I felt a pocket of fur brush against my back.

“Hi Toby,” I responded to the cat behind me.

I reached out to the little man, petting the back of his head gently. Toby’s coat was a lot greyer now, and his shallows meows I had known to love were sparser and graver in a way.

I slid to the side and crossed my legs down, before bringing him in the cradle I’d just formed. It was always difficult to understand his emotions, the small mask of fur protecting his face at all times. Gently, the fire to our left was shining off his whiskers, his beady eyes pointed down.

“Can you tell? It’s just you and me here” I tried, but the feline didn’t bother to reply. With the back of my hand, I brushed his fur tenderly. He was such a small bean; I had never seen him eat consistently. As I understood, he roamed in the forest and hunted, only appreciating homemade meals when they consisted of leftover pies, sweet or savory.

He was gone all day, sometimes nosing around the rosemary and marigolds at dusk, before coming back to us and laying at our feet for the night. I wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the throw or the company, but he curled into a ball, his face planted firmly into the cover.

Now that the fire was stronger, the whole living room and part of the kitchen was illuminated. The whole house already looked safer and more comfortable. With the warm light bouncing, the green couch and the matching chair looked almost made of wood, or a very heavy dark fabric. The myriad of tiles on the floor reflected the flames at different angles and intensity. It was beautiful to see, no matter how many times I’d had witnessed it. A shiver rolled down my spine as I yawned deeply.

In one motion I untwisted my legs and grabbed Toby wielding him like a bag of potatoes under my arm. His legs were dangling alongside me, he was really warm.

With one look around I made sure all the windows were locked. All three doors around the main floor -the green house door, the back door and the front door- were shut, but I stopped for a second to check in the small closet alongside the living room. There was a small bed laid firmly on the floor, with a side table where we usually kept a few first aid necessities. Over the years Merille and I had welcomed many to rest and heal on this cot, and when at first I borrowed Merrile’s bed in the master, she slept under those very sheets.

I carried us upstairs. I considered sleeping in the master bedroom tonight for a brief moment. I couldn’t exactly remember the last night I had stayed there, but I missed the comfort and familiarity of Merille's immense bed. Soon after she brought me here with her, she had cleaned the back room right above the front vestibule and I had appropriated it since then. It wasn’t as big as the master and didn’t have a boudoir attached to it, but it had its perks.

When I was at my desk, I had a bird view of the green house and the glass installation on its roof. When the breeze made it possible, some specks of lights were reflected by the mirror shards up to my ceiling, and it was breathtaking, every time. I had fallen asleep many nights mesmerized by the stars dancing around like fairies. She had installed a very heavy curtain to block the morning sunlight of course, but more often than not, I had left it open to wake up naturally with the sunrise.

I had accumulated over the years more clothes that my 10-year-old self would have dreamed of, and they were all neatly arranged on a metal clothing rack Merille had dug up from the cellar. Primose, tailor and good friend of the house, often came to deliver a dress or slacks he had made for me with fabrics as beautiful as they were durable. Of course, I had my favorite out of this custom made collection, and I usually wore the same two pairs of overalls with blouses to cover and protect my arms. Over the years he had even made me a small bag that I wore over my shoulder out of a mix of linen and leather.

Primose was so kind to me every time he’d visit, picking up his usual order of herbs regulating his blood pressure and dropping off clothing, quilts and curtains. His graying beard gave him a wise and serious appearance, but his wit and warmth hadn’t changed a bit.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I sighed heavily, thinking of the conversation I would inevitably have to go through, giving him the terrible news. My vision blurred slightly before I shook off my head quickly. If I didn’t have the confidence to let those words pass my lips in front of him, the least I could do was to send him a letter to inform him of what had happened.

I stood up, gathering myself, before breathing shakily for a moment. I needed a good shower to calm down, or I would never get any sleep.