Page 49 of Nineteen Letters

When I hear her stomach growl, I look down at my watch and see it’s almost midday. “Shall we have our picnic down by the river? It’s only a five-minute walk from here, it’ll be just like old times.”

She smiles. “I’d like that. I was hoping we’d get to see the river.”

I have so much to show her. I’m going to drag this day out as long as I can. Who knows when I’ll get this opportunity again?

I leave her standing on the back veranda while I collect the picnic basket and a blanket from the car.

As we head across the grassed area towards the apple trees, she points to the large wooden barn. “What’s in there?”

“That’s where Pa used to store his machinery and the apples after harvest.”

“It’s big.”

Although the trees haven’t been tended to for some years now, they’re in surprisingly good condition. I’m saddened to seeall the rotten apples scattered on the ground beneath the trees though, it’s such a waste.

“What was that?” Jemma asks, grabbing hold of my arm.

“What was what?”

“That rustling noise.” Coming to an abrupt stop, I listen. When I hear the noise she’s referring to, I turn my head in that direction. “Do you think it’s a snake?” she asks, moving closer to my side.

“Not this time of year, it’s not warm enough,” I answer, chuckling. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

“I’m coming with you.” The way she latches onto my arm tells me she’s frightened.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Right.” I chuckle again because I know damn well she is.

We make our way down a few rows and the noise gets louder. Placing my hand out, I halt her. Crouching down slightly, I smile when I see a baby goat feasting on the apples that have fallen from a tree.

“Shh.” I place my finger against my mouth, and gesture for Jemma to follow me with my other hand. “Come,” I whisper.

All sign of fear disappears the moment the baby goat comes into view. “Oh my god, it’s so cute,” she says in a soft voice. “It’s so tiny.”

A loud bleating sound comes from behind us, making Jemma scream and jump behind me. I throw back my head and laugh when I see two larger goats standing a few metres away.

“It’s not funny,” she says, slapping my arm. I beg to differ; I find it hilarious. When the larger goat takes a step closer and releases another bleating sound, Jemma’s fingers dig into my flesh. “Shoo them away. Please shoo them away.”

“You’re not afraid of goats, are you?”

“No! Umm, yes. Crap, Braxton, do they bite?”

“They must be wild goats. They’re probably trying to get to their baby.”

She pops her head out from behind me. “That one has horns.” We hear another bleating sound and see a few more goats approaching from the other direction. “Crap, there’s more. They’re surrounding us ready to attack.” I can hear the strain in her voice, but I still can’t help but laugh.

“They’re not going to attack us,” I say, trying to calm her.

“Get them away!” She’s panicking now, so I snap into action.

“Scram!” I yell, taking a step forward and flicking my free hand out in front of me.

I expect them to run, but that’s not what happens. Instead, to my amazement they all fall onto their sides like a pack of dominoes, their stiffened legs protruding from underneath them. It’s such a comical sight, I have no control over the loud laugh that spills from my mouth. That is until Jemma speaks.

“Oh my god, you killed them,” she cries. For a split second, I think I have as well, until a few of them move, thrashing their bodies around trying to stand. The rest quickly follow. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Have I just been punked by a small tribe of goats?