Horizon (03) by Sophie Littlefield

person was definitely trying to push it through the slot. Her feet crunched on the gravel and the figure turned toward her, her jacket hood falling back a little to reveal Valerie’s tired, anxious face.
    “Oh!” Valerie said, her hands going to her throat as she scrambled to her feet. The object hung from the slot. What looked like sleeves hung limply to the ground. “Sammi? Sage? Is that you?”
    “What are you doing? ” It was Sage who answered, her voice shrill. She stalked forward and grabbed the thing from the slot and yanked it savagely out. It caught on a splinter or a nail and ripped, curling lengths of knit fabric tumbling down the wall, and Sage yanked even harder and the sound of the tearing echoed in the still morning as the thing came away in her hands and all three of them stared at each other.
    Then Valerie sighed, her hands falling useless to her sides. “It’s his favorite shirt, Sage,” she said unhappily. “I was fixing a torn seam for him…please, give it back. I’ll mend it again.”
    “He shouldn’t be here,” Sage said, in that same thin, high voice that didn’t sound like her. “He’s not sick.”
    But she allowed Valerie to take the shirt. Sammi and Sage watched her shake it out and squint at the damage, a long rip in the underarm, before folding it with care and stuffing it in the bag she carried over her shoulder.
    “I brought a few other things for him,” she said quietly. “Some socks. A…book. I’m going to put them through now.”
    Sage didn’t stop her this time, and Valerie crouched down again to slide her gifts through the slot. Sammi saw that the book was a Bible, a small one with a flexible blue plastic cover. It made a muffled slapping sound when it hit the floor inside.
    Sage knelt down next to her and tried to look through the slot, but all she saw was darkness.
    “I was here earlier,” Valerie said softly. “Around midnight. I stayed with him until he fell asleep, Sage.”
    Sammi knew that Valerie was trying to comfort them, but she felt guilty. They’d been in their house, drinking tea and warming themselves at the fire, while only Valerie had come here for him. Was that going to be his future, to be forgotten and left alone each night as people found excuses to be elsewhere?
    “Did he ask about me?”
    Sage kept her face pressed against the house, so she didn’t see the way Valerie pursed her lips, the sadness that came over her expression. But she didn’t answer the question.
    “You must not blame Cass,” she said instead. “This could be anyone’s fault. No, I mean, it’s no one’s fault. The blueleaf could have been so young it was hard to detect the signs, or it could have been from the roots they’ve been drying—they’re throwing out the whole batch now—or it could have been from dried flour, even, or beans from last summer.”
    But Sammi had stopped listening. “What do you mean, blame Cass? Why would we blame her?”
    Valerie’s eyebrows pinched together, making a line between them.
    “No, you know something.” Sammi stared at her face, trying to find the answer in her silence. “What happened? Come on, I’m going to find out anyway—you know I will. What did she do?”
    “She didn’t do anything, Sammi, other than her job. You know how hard Cass works, she’s out there every day that she isn’t watching the kids, and that’s hard work, bending down between the rows. I mean, I tried it and I couldn’t keep up. It’s hard on your back, and it’s just way too hard to keep staring at the plants and looking for something out of place. It could have happened to any of them—”
    “Cass picked the blueleaf? Is that what you’re saying?” A horrible thrill of understanding made Sammi go cold. “But nobody ate it, did they? That couldn’t have made Phillip sick—”
    “He isn’t sick,” Sage wailed, crumpled against the house as though she was trying to embrace it.
    But Sammi was remembering all the times they’d hung