Autumn Maeve – Part 1
Maeve stepped onto the aging front porch and sympathized with the creaking of the floorboards. Last night had been a rough one. She felt the ache of each lost moment of sleep in her bones.
The first cold night of the season had left a glittering sheen upon the pumpkin resting in the diamond grass below. A sudden breeze disturbed the dried corn husks in the neighboring field. The sound sent shivers down Maeve’s back as her worried eyes scanned the area for trespassers. She’d been certain she’d heard someone knocking around in the yard last night, but fear had kept her glued to her bed.
She traipsed the dewy driveway to retrieve her paper from the box. The old recliner her friend had hauled to the roadside for her in hopes that someone might take it off her hands now bore a sparkling coat of frost. She prayed the moisture wouldn’t deter any interested passerby from accepting it.
The “boing” of a spring inside the furniture startled her. Seconds later, a mouse ran out the bottom. She wasn’t surprised to see the frightened critter. The old house she’d recently moved into had harbored various other living things for years. Oh, well. At least she wasn’t alone.
A sudden gust blew through, rustling the husks and calling to mind Maeve’s dream in which tiny skulls on a tree barren of leaves rattled in the wind. The chill in the autumn air intensified her shiver at the memory. Pulling her sweater closed, she quickened her pace toward the porch.
What sounded like a tiny call for help sounded to her right. She turned her head in the direction of the cry. There on the once white porch swing weathered to gray sat a long-haired cat. “Oh! Well, aren’t you camouflaged?” Maeve said as she approached the feline.
It stood and answered in a trilling, close-mouthed tone, “Hmmm?” At least, that’s how Maeve heard it.
Holding out a hand to request permission to pet, Maeve clarified, “It means you blend in.”
The cat did not appear to be feral. It pushed its head into her offered palm, then took a few steps forward to encourage full-body petting. A male voice below said, “I see you’ve met Ghost.”
Maeve whirled around to find a 40 or 50-something man with silver hair and the tan of a farmer. The surprise of seeing anyone in her yard put her at a loss for words.
He filled the silence for her. “I’m Larry, your neighbor.”
Maeve glanced in all directions. There were no houses as far as the eye could see. That was why she’d chosen the place. “I wasn’t aware I had a neighbor.”
Larry smiled. “Across the cornfield, down the hill.”
Not creepy at all. “Were you the one rustling the stalks just a minute ago?”
“I may have ruffled a few husks on my way in. Sorry, I should warn you, I take a morning walk through my field daily. You’ll probably be seeing me around.”
Maeve nodded but inwardly screamed, ‘Well, there goes my privacy!’
“Anyway, if you need anything, I’m just a cornrow trek away. Good to meet you, what did you say your name was?”
It couldn’t hurt to tell a stranger her first name, could it? The wind blew locks of her auburn hair across her mouth as if trying to hide her identity as she answered, “Maeve.”
He nodded. “Maeve.” He glanced over his shoulder at the cornfield. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. See you around.”
The cat nudged her hand once more. “Wait, is this your cat?”
Larry spun on his heel. “Nope.” Pointing to the aging structure behind her, he said, “It comes with the house.”
Maeve shook her head. “That wasn’t in the contract. Are you sure he doesn’t belong to anyone else in this area?”
Larry laughed. “You and I are the only humans in a five-mile radius. I’d say that’s unlikely.”
Maeve glimpsed down at the purring mass of fur massaging her arm with its head. She didn’t know how to be a cat owner. She’d always had dogs. “I’ll have to make flyers and put them around town, then.” She turned to find that Larry had disappeared.
The wind now blew so steadily that the entire field of stalks shook. He must be in there somewhere, headed back to his house down the hill. “Or maybe I imagined him,” Maeve mused.
Another meow brought her attention to her immediate dilemma. “I think I have some canned tuna in the pantry. Come on in.”
Ghost hopped down from the swing with a thud.
“You’re quite substantial for a cat without an owner. You must be a pretty good hunter.”
Having reached the screen door, the cat placed his front feet on the pane with ears perked.
Maeve peered in just in time to see a mouse darting across the floor. Smiling to herself at her good fortune, she opened the door. “Welcome home, Ghost.”