She got to work immediately—sweeping, stacking, and organizing what little was worth keeping. There wasn’t much. A few rusted tools, some broken fencing, and a saddle with a cracked leather strap. Still, it felt good to bring a little order to the place, like she was restoring something sacred, piece by piece.
By late morning, she was down to the last pile of hay. It was tucked in the back corner of the barn, behind the old feed bins. The mound had been there for as long as she could remember—left untouched, even when her father was well enough to maintain the rest.