Finn sat on the porch steps, picking at a splinter in the wood with his thumbnail. Barnes had stopped barking and curled up beside him, his breathing slow and steady.

  Inside, the house was too quiet.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small Tiffany box, its edges slightly crushed from being jammed in too long.

  He signed.

  He had planned to give it to Sue before dinner, maybe even surprise her while she was cooking. But he came back late; just in time to eat. And she had forgotten to cook either; she looked occupied with work and thoughts when he arrived.

  Maybe it was a terrible time to give her something, he thought.

  “Barnes, old chap, what should I do now?”, he asked, rubbing the dog’s head. Barnes stirred at the sound of his name, then suddenly stood up and trotted toward the door, tail wagging. He paused, looking back at Finn expectedly.

  Barnes heard his name being called; he suddenly stood up, ran toward the door and wagged his tail, looking back at Finn expectedly.

  “You want to go inside, old chap?”, Finn chuckled. “Or do you mean I should give her this now?”

  He opened the door. Barnes trotted in at once, heading straight for the chicken drumstick left on his tray. The kitchen was empty; Stephen had probably stepped outside for a cigarette.

  “Enjoy your meal, old chap”, Finn said, rubbing the dog’s head. “Then let’s do this together.”

  He squatted beside Barnes, waiting patiently as the old dog gnawed on the meat.

  When Barnes was done, he gave one satisfied huff, then lay back down, licking his chops. Finn took a deep breath, stood up, and dusted off his jeans.

  He held the Tiffany box in his palm for a second. It looked almost silly now - crumpled at the corners, the ribbon slightly askew.

  He had spent two weeks saving up for it.

  Finn walked up the stairs, and though he tried to set his feet gently in every step, the wooden floor made stomping sounds like thunder under his weight. Barnes followed him up.

  “Oh no, old chap, I’m sorry, but you gotta stay out here. You smell terrible!”

  He paused outside Sue’s door. The light was off, but a spain spark glowed from the desk lamp inside.

  He knocked - gently, with two fingers.

  No answer.

  “It’s me,” he said quietly. “Can I come in?”

  He heard the faint rustle of bedsheets.

  “Door’s not locked.” Sue murmured from the inside.

  The door creaked open; Finn leaned in, peering carefully before stepping inside.

  Sue was curled up in bed, her back facing the door, the blanket pulled up to her stomach, her knees tucked close to her chest like a shrimp.

  “I thought you’d be asleep already,” Finn chuckled nervously, easing down onto the edge of the bed.

  Sue shifted a little but didn’t answer.

  He tapped her shoulder gently.

  Sue turned to face him. Her eyes were red but dry, tear stains marking her cheeks. Her red hair was messy, tangled from sleep and crying.

  She sat up slowly,rubbing her eyes and hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes met his - questioning.

  “For you.” Finn said, smiling shyly.

  He held you an ugly Tiffany - white box.

  Sue blinked at it, still unsure, until Finn reached for her hands and placed the box carefully into her palms, folding her fingers over it with a soft pat.

  “A birthday present?” Sue rasped. Her voice was hoarse - like a young duck during its molting season.

  Finn nodded.

  “Thank you,” She whispered, sniffing.

  And finally, she smiled.

  The tiffany box was turned over in her hands and was studied like a puzzle.

  “It’s a little ugly,” Finn admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “They only had the display ones left. And I, uh…spent too much on what’s inside.”

  She lifted the lid, careful and slow. Nestled in a cloud of white crinkled tissue was a single lipstick - metal black, heavy, and expensive - looking. The casing caught the glow of the desk lamp.

  “...A lipstick?” Sue asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  Finn nodded, awkward but proud. “I asked around. All the women I know. M’ssus Kruger, Clara from the bakery, even the twins at the diner - you know, those with green and purple eyeshadow? What’re their names again? Anyway, they all said lipstick would be something you give a girl.”

  Sue pulled it out, uncapping it. It was a pink shade - but instead of the bubblegum pink, it was the muted, dusty pink like dried rose with just enough depth.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But why did you choose this shade?”

  “I didn’t know,” Finn admitted. “I just knew pink would be better than the red shade like cherries that m’ssus Georgina used to wear. I described you to the shop lady and she said this would suit you.”

  Sue smiled at the lipstick. “You didn’t have to spend that much on me.”

  “You might need it. Someday.” Finn said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “I mean - m’ster Stephen’s been buying you dresses that you never wear.”

  “I don’t look good in those,” Sue said quietly.

  “Well,” Finn looked at her, earnest and a little flushed, “Trust me. One day you’ll need them. And this too.”

  He ruffled her already - messy hair, said goodnight to her and went downstairs.

  The screen door thrummed behind Finn as he stepped out, the porch light casting a dull amber glow over his shoulders. The air was thick with summer - sweet clover and dust and something smokey from a fire far off. He sank into the second chair beside Stephen, who sat rocking slowly with a chipped enamel mug in his hands.

  Neither of them spoke for a while.

  Then Stephen broke the silence. “Did she like it?”

  Finn scratched his jaw, eyes fixed on the gravel. “Yeah, she didn’t say much, but… I think she did like it.”

  Stephen nodded, taking a slow sip of what had to be cold tea.

  Another pause. Then -

  “You didn’t have to do all that, James.” The old farmer sighed.

  “M’ster Stephen, no one has actually called me James since I got here.” Finn chuckled as he replied. “Anyways, I just felt like I should.

  “You always feel like you should, kid.”

  Finn did not answer. Stephen studied him sideways - the moonlight caught his profile, the firm set of his jaw, the slope of his nose sun - warmed, faint gold hair still damp at the temples, and a quiet weight behind his baby blue eyes. His shoulders seemed a bit too broad for the chair, like he had outgrown the boyhood he never really got to keep.

  A gust of wind stirred the porch leaves.

  Stephen swirled what little was left in his mug, then set it down to the railing.

  “You see, kid, I’m terrible with children. When you first came here, you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. You barely spoke; and you clung to Georgina like a duckling.” Stephen let out a soft breath.

  “I was eight,” Finn said, smiling faintly. “And terrified of your dog.”

  Stephen chuckled, dry and quiet.

  They sat a while longer.

  “James,” Stephen said.

  Finn turned.

  “Have you ever thought about going back? To the bees?

  Finn shook his head. “No. Not really. The place is gone now. Sold to pay off the hospital.”

  Stephen nodded again.

  “Your parents were good people.” the old farmer sighed. “One day they told us they wanted to expand their farm and bought some cows, the next day they died of the disease brought by those cows.”

  “They liked you.” Finn said.

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  Stephen’s mouth twitched. “I liked them too. Both of them”

  There was another rustle as Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “It wasn’t even a war. Just a sickness.”

  Stephen nodded. “Georgina said you never cried in front of her; even when they buried your parents, and some of your relatives couldn’t even walk back.”

  “There wasn’t much to cry about, back then. I was too busy helping bury the cows.”

  The porch was swallowed into silence as the wind stopped.

  “I thought m’ssus Georgina was scary at first,” Finn said. “She had that deep red lipstick and said whatever she wanted. But she took me in.”

  Stephen shifted, the wood groaned under him. “You turned out alright. She’s done a great job.”

  And he sighed, again. “I wished I could have done the same. Or at least, had the chance to.”

  Stephen reached out for the cup he had put down and took a sip of what was left. He rubbed his thumb against the rim of the mug, the sound soft and scraping.

  “I never told you why I never had kids,” he said after a beat. “Not really.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “No. But maybe I should’ve.” His voice had roughened. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want them. I did. Rose did too, for a while. But… My old man worked at the chemical plant during the war. That chemical plant happened to be near the river. They didn’t pay attention to that. Or they just didn’t care. After all, we’re at war. Anyways, it messed him up. Messed me up too. So she left. Found someone who could. There were four of them, you know - her children with her new husband. They’re all grown up and have their own family now.”

  Finn looked down, then back at him. “I’m sorry.”

  Stephen gave a tired smile. “Not your fault, kid. Life doesn’t always give you what you want. Sometimes it gives you something you’re supposed to take care of.”

  Finn didn’t say anything, but the way he sat straighter, the way his hands stilled in his lap - it said enough.

  Silence fell between them again. But this time, it felt like an old blanket. Worn but warm.

  From inside the house, the light in Sue’s room blinked off.

  Stephen leaned back in the chair. “She’ll leave, one day.”

  Finn didn’t move. “I know.”

  “You’re going to stop her?”

  The old farmer thought for a moment, then shook his head.

  He let out a faint smile.

  Finn stood up, said goodnight to Stephen and went inside. As he went upstairs past Sue’s room, he noticed that the door was slightly opened. Maybe she had gone downstairs for some water and forgot to lock the door when she got back.

  Finn reached for the door to close it. As his hand was on the door knock, he looked inside and saw that Sue was not on her bed. She was on her desk, head resting against the table’s surface. Her hands were holding something, like a book.

  Maybe she fell asleep while she was reading something - Finn thought. He smiled, shook his head and closed the door.

  He did not have any ideas that Sue was actually on a quest.

  She found herself on a train, with a seat by the window. She did not know how she got there. Her stamp album was open in her lap, but the pages were turning on their own, fluttering like wings.

  The train moved without a sound. There was no engine, no whistle - just the rhythm, like a heartbeat.

  The first stop was Branwick.

  The old capital rose from the fog like something from her father’s handwriting. Golden roofs stacked over cobblestone alleys, a soft, sleepy river winding like ribbon through its heart. The trees along the embankment drooped with age, their roots covered with a carpet of velvet - like moss. She saw a boat drifting with no oars, and people walking slowly, like they had nowhere urgent to be.

  Then the train pulled forward.

  It travelled through places she only knew from stamps: a red mountain, with smoke rising from its snowy tips; an Eastern village, with giant stilt houses and people doing their work in the yard; a coastal town, quiet and blue, with half - sunk ships off the horizon and a foreign square, with posters peeling off brick walls and flags she did not recognize.

  But the train did not stop.

  Instead, it began moving backwards.

  She saw uniforms.

  Planes.

  Fire in the sky.

  Crowds waving.

  Crowds screaming.

  A girl - her face unreadable - climbing into a cockpit with a scarf wrapped around her neck.

  A man in uniform holding a stretcher.

  Planes started taking off from the deck.

  Everything blurred at the edges.

  The stamps on the album’s first page began to lift, peel slightly. They glowed faintly - like something inside them still lived.

  Sue looked up.

  Outside the train, the world was turning gray.

  She gripped the windowsill. She wanted to stop. But the train kept moving.

  Sue started screaming and punching the window glass; it felt like her scream was so loud that some people in uniform outside started to notice her.

  She took a deep breath, stood back, and punched the window again with all her strength.

  The pain was so loud that it brought her back to the Hedgehog farm.

  Sue found herself still on the desk, with her stamp album opened in her hands.

  Her heart was beating like when she was in sports class.

  On her forehead, there were sweats rolling down her face.

  She wiped the sweat on her face and took a deep breath. The dream felt so real that she started to long for all the places she had seen there.

  She came downstairs to the kitchen for some water. Stephen and Finn were both in their room; Barnes was snoring on his mattress. The house was in a deep sleep. The only thing awake was the sound of crickets chirping in the vast ink black area outside the window.

  Sue stood in the dim kitchen light, glass of water in hand, trying to shake off the last pieces of the dream. Everything felt magical, sticky and wrong at the same time.

  Instead of going back upstairs, she drifted into the living room, quiet as a shadow.

  She started walking around, eyes wandering on different corners of the living room, hoping to ease her mind.

  Something was off.

  Sue stopped and tried to find out what it was. She stood still for a few minutes, until she realized: her bike was gone!

  A panic rushed to her like she was hit by a strong wind. She put the glass down on the coffee table and started looking around.

  She turned the porch light up and looked outside.

  It was there, on the porch.

  She let out a relieving exhale.

  But when she took another, closer look, she saw that it was locked up with a thick chain, fastened to the tool shed post.

  She froze.

  It had not been locked yesterday.

  Stephen must have done it.

  Maybe he was going to talk to her about it again; about how he worried about her making decisions on her own and going to that exhibition in town. Maybe he would not even talk about it.

  No, that doesn’t sound like him. She thought. He will try to talk me through.

  But anyhows, it was true that Stephen did not trust his stepdaughter.

  That was even worse than any fight.

  Sue stood at the window, staring at the locked bike.

  Her fingers curled against the glass.

  So that’s how it is.

  Not a conversation. Not a warning. Just a quiet, heavy decision made about her but without her.

  She turned away and walked back to the living room. The water was still sitting on the coffee table. She picked it up and drank the rest slowly, like it might steady her.

  It did not.

  Upstairs, the house sighed. Barnes muttered something in his sleep. A floorboard creaked.

  Sue went back to her room.

  She folded the stamp album and put it on the bookshelf.

  Something flew out between the pages.

  She knelt down to pick it up; it was the postcard, with her father’s handwriting on the back.

  “I’ll hope you go someday. To Branwick, and beyond”

  It did take her long to make a decision; but she made it.

  Sue knew she only had a few hours until the first light.

  In the pale hour before dawn, when the trees outside were still only vague silhouettes and the sky was just starting to leak a dim, gray shade of blue, she packed her back. Some change of clothes, her coin purse, a store bought mini honey cake that she had been saving, and her stamp album.

  She slipped out through the back door, moving slow, quiet, like she belonged to the dusk.

  Outside, drops of early fog dozed off on the thick surface of leaves. The grass damped and smelled like fresh early morning. Faraway, the pine trees were blurred in the mist, like they were covered in a thin cheesecloth.

  Sue walked down the dirt path to the next farm - the one with the middle aged couple, the Daleys, who always gave her pears in autumn. M’ster and m’ssus Daley were packing fruits and veggies on their cart when Sue called out for them.

  They blinked in surprise at the sight of her.

  “Suzy, child, why’re you hear this early? What happened?” m’ster Daleys frowned.

  “Did someone kidnap you? Did you have an accident or something?” m’ssus Daleys was panic and attacked her with dozens of question when she lifted her arms up and swung her around for a check.

  “No no m’ster and m’ssus Daleys, I’m fine. I’m going to my uncle and aunt’s. My uncle’s picking me up in town. I’ve got to go early so I don’t miss the bus. Could you maybe take me to the station?” Sue smiled and lied.

  “Of course we can. But does Stephen know?” m’ster Daleys frowned again.

  “Of course he does. He said he would wake up early and drive me but I didn’t want to disturb his rest." There came another lie.

  “All right then. We’re headin’ in that direction anyhow.” m’ster Daleys scratched his head, nodded.

  Sue climbed onto the back of their cow cart, legs swinging off the edge. As the cart creaked down the road, she unwrapped her mini honey cake and took small bites, staring at the quiet fields slipping by in the early light.

  Her heart was beating too fast, but her hands were steady.

  In the far East, the sun had woken up from its sleep and early yellow flickering rays started performing their early morning dance on the fields.

  The bus stop was just a wooden bench beneath an old acacia tree, the paint peeling like dry skin. A faded sign hung crooked above it, barely readable in the rising sun.

  The Daleys waved goodbye from their cart as it rolled off toward the market.

  Sue waved back, her smile trembling a little at the edges.

  Then she sat down, alone, her backpack beside her.

  For the first time since waking from that dream, there was nothing left to do but wait.

  The wind picked up slightly, stirring the dust at her feet. Her hands found the stamp album inside her bag, fingers brushing the worn cover. She did not open it.

  A truck rumbled past. Birds started to chirp louder now, as if the world was beginning to stir with her secret.

  The long wait was a trial for her intentions. As she was watching vehicles passing by, in a heartbeat, a voice in her head told her; it’s okay to go back now. Maybe we shouldn’t be here.

  Sue shook her head. The fight last night. The locked up bike.

  She was supposed to be there.

  When the bus finally arrived, she stood, heart thudding in her chest.

  There’s no going back now.

  She climbed in. Paid. Found a seat by the window.

  The bus door hissed closed. The engine growled, and with a cough of black smoke, it pulled away.

  She could not help but look back; the pine trees on the faraways mountains shrank and shrank as the bus rolled on the road.