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"Why thank you, dear," she says, patting my arm with a wrinkled hand.
"You're such a gentleman."
I chuckle, shaking my head as I scoop oats into the first stall.
"Don't let that fool you. I'm still Italian at heart."
It feels good to joke and chat lightly with them, even if just for a moment.
To feel normal again.
But I can't fully relax.
My muscles stay tensed, ears alert for any sound out of the ordinary.
As we make our way down the row I glance repeatedly back at the house, anxious to get back before Diana wakes.
One the horses are fed, Martha heads back in to begin breakfast.
I continue to help John.
"So," I ask, "what next?"
John grunts as he lifts a bale of hay, carrying it towards the stack in the corner.
"Well, we've got a few repairs to make on the east fence. And then there's those tools that need sharpenin'."
I nod, grateful for the distraction. "I can help with that. And the fence, too."
John grins. "You're a good kid. So willing to lend a hand. But please, feel free to go back in there to the wife whenever you like. I'd hate to keep you."
"I'm enjoying this, John," I say, giving him a friendly pat on the back.
We set to work, hammering in nails and tightening loose boards.
It's hard work, but it feels good to sweat and feel the burn in my muscles. I
t reminds me that I'm alive.
That I have something worth fighting for.
But as we work, I can't help but keep thinking of Atwell.
Is he already on his way here? Will he catch us off guard?
I push the thought aside, knowing I can't let it consume me.
But it's always there, lurking in the back of my mind.
The paranoia is so bad, that I begin to think dark thoughts.
Really dark thoughts.
What if Mary and John betray us?
What if they called the cops or someone to inform them of our presence - just to keep their safety?
People can't be this helpful, can they?
