The Axe (rough draft)

They thought the country would be best for Bernadette. After all, her time spent at her family’s summer home out near the lakes were some of the best times of her life. So surely, out there would be the best place for her after what happened.

The house was surprisingly chilly, but there seemed to be no attempts at making it warmer. Bernadette was surprised at the lack of care around her new home. The dust on the mantels, the closed in feeling of the walls. She walked through the house, thinking to herself how she did not want it to seem so inhospitable when her husband returned. She wanted to have the place renovated and beautiful by then, but everything just seemed to keep getting in the way of that goal.

Due to a childhood ailment, Bernadette was left almost mute, she could barely speak above a whisper. Most of the time, she had to communicate through letters. In youth she had carried around a notepad and pen at all times. At least she had beautiful handwriting.

But now, in this house, where she felt so alone. Bernadette often kept to herself, walking around, staring out the windows, and feeling the listlessness that came with nothing to do. The planned renovations to the house were put on hold due to heavy rain that felt endless. There were rooms where the walls were opened, exposing the hollow, dusty contents inside. It made the house feel even more desolate.

“I cannot begin to describe how empty it all feels without you, my love,” she began one of her letters. “This place and all around it feels lost without your warming presence. The staff does not listen to me. And do not get me started on what else has been going on. I have taken myself away from everything, I have kept myself alone in order to ignore. I know this is not how you would like me to do things, but I do not know what else to do with myself. I know you cannot write to me as often as you’d like, but I feel as though I cannot begin to return to my senses without some word from you! I fear I will not be myself completely until you are home. Even if these renovations are not done, I still wish you here. That is all I long for. Your everloving wife, Bernadette.”

One afternoon, which was more dreary than the last, Bernadette wandered back into what had been the bedroom. It was the room that was last being worked on, one wall had been removed in order to make it bigger and more open. She had wanted french doors that lead out onto the terrace that would let in all sorts of beautiful light. But now. That wall was stripped down to just the brick and mortar. The one wall was partially torn down. She walked around the brick, leaving footprints in the dust.

Bernadette turned to look at the wall where the bed had once stood. She and her husband had spent so few nights together there before he had to go. There had been far too little time together, and it had made Bernadette so happy. She never thought she would be wed until she met him, and from there on it was like a fairy tale. He gave her a voice, helped her to stand on her own. So without him there, it might as well go on raining forever.

“I know this house is old, but it is a chance for us,” he told her. “We can do what’s needed to make it feel newer and lighter. Do whatever you need to make yourself happy here.” His smile brightened Bernadette’s soul. He lifted her up in a way no one else ever did. “We have wealth now, we can do everything we need to make this place our home.”

Bernadette turned back to the destroyed wall, peering into the space between bricks where the cold air breathed. Inside she saw something. Perhaps one of the workers left a tool behind. She reached inside and stretched out her fingers to feel something cool and smooth against her fingertips. She took hold of the handle drawing forth the tool from within.

The axe sat quite heavy in her palms, and the blade still looked to be quite sharp despite the obvious wear it had been through. Bernadette looked it over, wondering if it was being missed by whoever used it last. She took it downstairs with her, placing it by the empty fireplace. She had left a note for the staff to light it, but the note was left ignored again. Frustrated that she was being ignored while her husband was away, Bernadette added onto the note.

She struck the pen to the paper harshly, hoping to get across her frustration. “Or else my husband will be made aware.” She smiled to herself after penning the addition, then returned upstairs to find something to do. The staff had been chosen by her step-mother, she was not surprised they were ignoring her.

Bernadette was used to being ignored. As a child her parents had sent her away, first to relatives, then to school where she became ill and lost her voice. It was then that she had been returned home where her mother had passed away and her father remarried. Bernadette’s step mother had been a source of unnecessary conflict for her. She tormented Bernadette regularly about her voice, asking her to speak up, say something for once. She even mocked her writing of letters and notes in order to be understood.

“Look at this stupid, vapid, girl,” she would crow. She always had company. Her friends, or even just people she breathed near, would be invited over so she could show off her newfound wealth and affluence. Everything her mother so tenderly put together in the house, she replaced with something bigger, shinier, and newer. Bernadette was just the last piece that needed replacing, unfortunately she was immoveable. There was nowhere she could be sent now. No one wanted her, no one really knew what to do with her. After her mother passed away, her side of the family refused any contact with her father, especially after her remarried. There were also no schools who would take her. Besides, her step-mother refused any more money be wasted upon Bernadette.

“Can’t speak!” The woman sneered into her face. “And when she does you can’t even hear her.” She gloated as she circled around Bernadette. “Say something, child. Say something at all. Surely you can muster a few words in your defense.”

Bernadette would just stare off into the distance. She would place herself into the paintings, or she would read the spines of books along the shelf. Anything at all to distract herself from what was being said. Because should she dare try to speak, or even worse, write something, it would only make the mockery of her step-mother worse.

It was no secret amongst the staff and Bernadette herself that the woman only wanted her father for his money. Bernadette’s family was extremely wealthy. So it was also not a surprise when she began pushing for Bernadette to marry her son. Who Berndaette had never met. The boy was away for school, finishing up his education for something, Bernadette never really got a straight answer. Her step-mother insisted upon it, assuring that whatever wealth Bernadette’s family had all went into her pockets.

It wasn’t until she met the man that Bernadette had a change of heart. It was early in the morning, and Bernadette was the only one besides the staff who was awake. Her step-mother enjoyed sleeping in and insisted her father did as well. Most mornings were quiet and peaceful, so Bernadette enjoyed the study while no one was around. He arrived, coming in out of the rain and cold. His cheeks were ruddy, his smile charming.

“You must be the lady of the house,” he said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I suppose you’re my sister now,” he laughed.

How such a handsome creature came from such a vile one astounded Bernadette. She took him into the study to help him warm up. He did not mock her voice, or her inability to speak. He found her method of communication charming.

“It’s fascinating,” he said. “You would think most would just give up, and here you are fighting to be heard. It’s remarkable.”

He had been the first to ever say it in such a way, and it touched Bernadette to her soul. It did not bother her from there that her step-mother insisted on the union. In fact, she and her husband began to grow quite close without his mother’s influence. He wooed Bernadette in seret, kissing her sweetly when they were alone, reading to her, even helping her to be heard.

“I do not care for my mother or her desires,” he whispered to Bernadette one day. “I would have been drawn to you even if you were poor. That is how much our souls are connected. You and I were meant to find one another.”

To marry him was Bernadette’s greatest joy. She had never dreamed she would find someone who would even want to marry her, let alone love her as well. The wedding was nothing grand, as her step-mother did not want money wasted on an extravagant affair. They were given a house, but not one of the good ones they owned.

“It will be alright, it is just for us, so we will make it that way. Just for us,” her husband said. “We’ll be together, that is all that matters.”

And it was fine, for a while.

Bernadette went back upstairs after placing the axe near the fireplace. She strolled into the room where she had been sleeping. She sat upon the foot of the bed. She had been sleeping there for a while, not just because of the renovations.

Just before her husband had to leave, her step-mother had become ill. He insisted on letting her come to their home to convalesce there. Bernadette had been apprehensive, after all, this had been the main source of her torment for the last few years.

“Not to worry, we’ll let the staff deal with her. I just ask for you to be kind to her. She is my mother after all, and yours as well. Perhaps now she will be kinder too.” Her husband said gently, calming Bernadette’s nerves and worries.

That evening, Bernadette went back downstairs. Her note was gone from the table, but there was still no fire. She frowned, deciding to take matters into her own hands. Except, as she went to get the firewood, she noticed something strange. The axe was gone. She remembered where she had placed it, perhaps they took it outside.

Bernadette stacked wood into the fireplace, and she went to the kitchen to search for matches. While there, she saw the axe by the door. She took it, afraid they would move it out to the shed where it would be forgotten. She placed it back by the fireplace then tried to light the matches.

“How pathetic you are,” the voice sneered.

Berndaette flinched, striking the match against the side of her finger which scraped skin from the knuckle. She looked back, seeing her step-mother standing there in the doorway. Her eyes narrowed upon Bernadette.

“Can’t even strike a match,” she continued to growl. “What good are you even for?” She kept her pashmina clutched tight around her neck. “Worthless. Worthless is what you are.” A wicked smile then cut across her face. “Aren’t you going to say something?” She seemed to be seething, frothing, to get out what you knew was coming. “Cat got your tongue?” the raucous cackle that emanated from her throat made your blood boil and your heart sink.

Bernadette slammed the matches down and walked away, choosing to ignore her step-mother rather than engage her. It seemed that most of her life would be devoted to fighting to this woman.

“Run away, that’s fine!” Her step-mother cackled behind her. “Keep running! You can’t leave me!”

Bernadette slammed the door behind her so she couldn’t hear the sneering directed at her. She went back into her room, sitting down upon the edge of the bed. Once her husband came home, everything would be fine.

Her step-mother had turned away all the staff, refusing their help and instead insisted Bernadette be the one to care for her. She made life hellish for Bernadette, creating terrible messes in the bed, throwing things at her, including her hot tea and meals. Eventually, Bernadette just stopped. She stopped checking the bed, she stopped bringing her food. Her step-mother’s wails could be heard all throughout the house, whining and moaning like a petulant child. Bernadette had even considered closing the door for good and never acknowledging her again. But she could not leave her to suffer in such a way. She returned to taking care of her, making sure her tea and meals were always lukewarm. But by then, her step-mother was too weak to even throw a saucer.

“Once my son comes home,” she rasped, taking deepwinded breaths between every other word, “he will hear of how you treated me.”

Bernadette pressed her fingers to her throat so she could speak. “And he will hear of how you treated me.” Her voice was soft and barely there, but the step-mother heard it.

The next morning, Bernadette left her room and something fell as she opened the door. Laying on the floor before her, was the axe. She frowned as she picked it up. It shouldn’t have been placed upon her door like that. She carried it back downstairs, laying it upon the coffee table while she wrote another note.

“This axe is not to be touched. Leave it alone. And please start another fire. My husband will not tolerate this.” She placed the note down on the table before the axe and left it in a huff.

“Why don’t you say something?” Her step-mother’s voice rattled from her room. She began to chuckle. “Just speak up!”

Bernadette slammed the door as hard as she could and continued on down the hall. As she passed by the window, she saw something strange from the corner of her eye. She stopped, gazing out the window, only seeing her reflection from the gray of the rain. It looked like something had been walking right beside her. It looked like another woman.

Her husband had told her that this house once belonged to his father, a poor nobleman whose family fortune had been squandered away, leaving mere pennies for him and his mother. He had lived there his entire childhood, and even some when he wished to escape university. Bernadette’s step-mother said many things in order to get Bernadette’s goat. Including how her son was notorious with women. She made up such vulgar stories about him bringing women here to seduce.

It was so salacious that Bernadette knew it could not be true. She refused to hear of it, and yet, her step-mother would carry on about the affairs. She would taunt Bernadette with tall tales that he was still probably going about them while he was away.

“His father was the same way,” she crooned one day. “Didn’t matter who or what it was, so long as he could stick into them. Worthless,” she coughed. “It was good when he died. Left us more than nothing. He had no coffin you know? They couldn’t find his body.” The smile which then graced her face was enough to make Bernadette think that her step-mother had something involved with his death. No one smiled like that except for the cat who caught the canary. Death was involved with that smile.

Her step-mother noticed Bernadette's frightened stare and slowly the smile melted away. “That is a good thing, dear. He didn’t deserve it.”

It is what caused the constant fear in Bernadette that her own father could fall victim to her. After all, she would inherit his wealth and it would be so easy to do if she’d done it once before. She had sent her father many letters trying to find out why he married such a beast. But he never wrote her in return. He was probably ashamed of his answer.

Bernadette was sitting in the study, writing another letter, when she heard a crash outside. It sounded like something had fallen into the bushes just outside the window. Unlocking the window to look, she peered out through the rain first. She then looked up, seeing the windows above her just close. Bernadette leaned out the window where she saw the axe had fallen into the bushes.

She went outside into the rain, crawled through the bushes, and fetched the blade. She held in her hands and looked up. It almost looked like there were shadows moving in the room, set against the glow of a fire. Bothered by this, she took the axe back inside, intending to take it to whomever had dropped it from the window. What was strange was that the room above was her husband’s office, and it had remained closed since he left.

As Bernadette went upstairs she heard voices, people were talking in low, hushed voices. She heard a woman most of all, speaking in rushed sentences. Bernadette opened the door to the room, but she found nothing except lit candles. She looked around, breathing slowly. She knew she had heard something. She set the axe down upon the table and approached the window. She touched the glass, smoothed her fingers upon the latch. It felt warm.

Had someone actually been there? Bernadette thought. “Perhaps I have been mistaken, after all, it is easy for voices to carry here.” She stepped aside from the window, bumping into her husband’s desk.

The open desk drawer rattled, and inside she saw a clutch of letters. Bernadette opened the drawer more, seeing her handwriting. It was all the letters she had sent to her husband. She held the bundle, feeling angier than she did before. Her letters had never been sent! That would explain why her husband had not responded to her. She charged down the hallway, stomping her feet. She heard a scream down the hall and she stopped. The house fell still and quiet again, only filled by the sound of rain. She took another deep breath, looking down at her hand. She thought she had taken the bundle of her letters. Instead, she held the axe in her palm.

How odd, Bernadette thought, I was sure I took the letters. She turned around, looking back down the hallway to her husband’s office. The door closed as she watched and she could hear the lock click. The axe slipped from her fingers and dropped onto the floor with a dull thud.

She slowly approached the door, placing her hand upon the wood. Inside she heard muffled panic, low voices, cautious breathing. She took hold of the doorknob, twisting to find it was locked. Bernadette twisted again, this time pushing harder. The door struck hard against the frame. The voices went quiet and Bernadette tried turning the knob again. The door opened and she stepped inside slowly. No one was there.

Bernadette saw the bundle of letters upon the desk and approached them. She picked them up and saw the string that tied them together was stained and crusty. It was stiff with something dark brown, and the same stain covered the letter at the back. She set them back into the desk drawer, closing it tight. She smoothed her palms across the desktop and took a deep breath.

When Bernadette went back out into the hallway, the axe was gone. Chills went up the back of her neck, prickling along her hair and itching over her scalp. I gazed down the hall, which in the dark looked endless and hollow. It looked like the mouth into a void which would swallow her up if she took another step. She turned the opposite way, going into her small bedroom and locking the door behind herself. It felt as though there was someone breathing down her neck, following her around and using that axe to toy with her.

Bernadette clasped her hands together to pray. She had been having nightmares since coming back to this place. She saw red in her dreams, she heard screams of terror. When she walked through the house, the walls were stained like the bundle of letters. From within the walls hands reached, pushing against the stone like it was fabric. The long fingers stretched and grasped at her. Bernadette would run, but just as before, the hallway would become long and endless. No matter how far she ran, the hallway never ended. Although, the walls did begin to creep closer and closer together.

The further she ran the more confining the space felt. Farther in and down, the walls were so close that the hands could touch her. They grazed her skin, pulled at her hair. Moans issued forth, deep, sorrowful, yet pain filled ones. They whined from the walls, stretching out like the fingers until Berndaette could no longer move. The hallway closed in upon her. The walls swallowed her up and gulped her down. She would wake then, staring up at the cobwebs along the ceiling.

The cold air of the house had become normal to Bernadette. Although it served as an aching reminder at how little people cared for her. She could be cold, she could deal with the temperature. But it was the coldness that came from people she could no longer stand. She wanted her husband to come home. She wanted her father to respond to her. She wanted her step-mother gone from the place.

Bernadette left her room in the morning, finding that the rain had not ceased. In fact, it had grown heavier and darker than last night. Bernadette stood by the window, looking out over the countryside that had once brought her peace. Outside, the world stretched on and on, ending with the hills, falling into the river. Her eyes followed along the grounds, seeing strange objects moving in the shadows. Her eyes became unfocused and she turned away. Bernadette rubbed her eyes and it felt as if there was sand behind the lids.

Her step-mother’s chambers were downstairs on the ground floor. An insult to her step-mother, which is what Bernadette intended. But it made things easier as well. As she grew close, she noticed an object laying beside the door. Bernadette hesitated, her eyes watching the object very closely. She took ginger footsteps, seeing that the axe was placed right next to the door.

Bernadette looked around. There was no sound coming from any direction. There were signs that no one was even around. She picked up the axe and held it firmly in her grasp. The handle fit her palm, it felt weighted and elegant. Her fingers clutched, wrapping tight around the wood. Her eyes followed along the blade, wondering just how sharp it really was.

Her thoughts were stalled by the sound of breathing from inside the room. The rasp and wheeze of her step-mother came out into the hallway, perking her sensitive ears and making her skin itch. Bernadette was sick of hearing her, of seeing her. She reached for the door knob, gently turning it so it didn’t make a sound.

The door creaked quietly as Berndaette opened it to a crack. Inside she saw the bed, the curtains drawn around it. Her step-mothers breathing became a much more vicious sound, almost as if she couldn’t breathe at all. Bernadette stepped inside, holding the axe to her side. Perhaps it was her step-mother who had been moving the axe all around the house. It was probably also her who had kept her letters from getting sent. It would all make sense that she was trying to torment Bernadette, she had been from the moment she married her father.

The curtains around the bed shifted as Bernadette breathed upon them. She peered in through the darkness, seeing nothing beyond the first few inches of the comforter. Bernadette slipped her fingers around the curtain, tugging just enough so light pooled around the pillows.

“What are you doing?” Her step-mother’s voice croaked quietly from within. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She suddenly sounded so afraid.

Bernadette lowered the axe and tucked her arm around her back. She still couldn’t make out her face in the shadows. “I came to check on you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here!” She wailed the words over and over. Bernadette let go of the curtain and stepped away from the bed. Her step-mother began screaming the words over and over, her voice so shrill and angry.

“Shut up!” Bernadette tried to speak over the cacophony. “Shut up! Shut up!” her voice came out no louder than a whisper, but she roared along with her step-mother. She raised the axe up, intending to swing it down through the curtains. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” She nearly swung it but then she heard a knock at the front door.

The world went quiet, her step-mother only breathed. Bernadette’s body swayed as she tried to understand. She left the room, hearing the knock again at the front door. She grew frightened, clutching her hand over her chest. She stared towards the source of the noise, her skin felt cold, her chest became tight. She then thought that it could be her husband and she went to the door. The weather outside was so dark and foul, how could it be anyone else? She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice was gone from yelling at her step-mother.

“No one’s answering.” She heard from outside.

Bernadette held her breath.

The door jiggled as someone tried to open it. Bernadette’s eyes focused upon the lock, watching it, praying it didn’t fail.

“Maybe we should go around,” another voice said.

Bernadette rushed from the front door, running to the kitchen to the staff entrance. She checked the lock, even braced a chair in front of it. She then ran to the parlor where there were glass doors that opened to the garden. She locked them tight, twisting a tie from the curtain around the doorknobs so it could not be pushed open. She felt safe for a moment and she wandered upstairs. She was close to her room when she remembered the cellar doors.

Bernadette ran. She bolted towards the kitchen where the door was being banged upon. She went down the stairs to the basement. The cellar doors hadn’t been opened and she felt relieved. But as she came close to them, they flew open, letting in rain and cold. Bernadette ran and hid, ducking herself down behind crates.

“Something doesn’t smell good,” a man said from above.

“When does a cellar smell good? Try and not overthink this.” two men came down from above, leaving the cellar door open behind them. One of them came in further, looking around while the other lingered behind him.

The first man sighed. “I still don’t like it.”

“We’re looking for trouble,” the other kept his voice low. “What’s to like?”

Bernadette clutched the axe tight in her fist. These men broke into her home, they were probably looking for something valuable to take. She inched back further as the two men came into the basement. They walked right by her, heading for the stairs. One looked quite big and heavy, the other appeared slimmer but taller.

The slim one turned before going up the stairs, making Bernadette duck behind the crates. He followed the bigger one up the stairs and they closed the door behind themselves. Bernadette sat there, wondering if she should continue to hide or she should try to do something about the invaders. Her mouth felt dry and she still couldn’t find her voice. She heard their footsteps above her head as they went along the kitchen floor. She heard one of them scream and a dull thud hit against the floor.

Every inch of Bernadette’s skin crawled. She went to the stairs, crawling up them so no sound was made. At the door, she turned the knob so it wouldn’t make a sound. Peering through the crack, she saw the slim man run from the kitchen. The bigger one was knelt down upon the floor. She stepped out, creeping slowly and cautiously towards him. She didn’t breathe as she approached, keeping herself as quiet as possible.

The big man began to rise from the ground and Bernadette swung. She brought the axe down into his back. He screamed and she pulled back to strike him again. The man fell to his knees and she hit him again, and again. He fell over onto the ground, laying on top of something.

“What was that?” The slim man called out. “What happened?”

Bernadette left the kitchen, going down the corridor to the parlor. She heard the footsteps of the slim man approaching and she hid herself in the shadows, moving behind furniture as he went down the corridor. She quickly ran, heading towards the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Bernadette’s flesh crawled as she looked behind her. The door to her step-mother’s room was open. She stopped on the stairs and gazed into the room, seeing the curtains on the bed flutter. She found herself back inside the room. She stood over the bed as before, only this time she didn’t feel the need to keep her presence hidden.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” her step-mother wheezed. “Look at what you’ve done to me!”

Bernadette tilted her head to the side. She could hear the man screaming from the kitchen. She brought up the axe over her head. When it landed there was a crunch rather than a sickening wet thud. She brought it down again, hearing a snapping and breaking.

“Look what you’ve done to me.”

Bernadette threw open the curtains, and she saw a shattered skull upon the pillow. A skeletal arm thrown back over the headboard. Thick brown crust covered the comforter. Decayed skin peeled away from the shattered bones. She almost laughed, but no sound came from her lips. Bernadette stumbled from the room, giggling to herself. The axe dragged along the floor behind her as she went towards the stairs.

“Oh my god.”

Bernadette turned around, seeing the slim man standing behind her. His face was pale and grave, but in the shadows he almost looked familiar. “It is you.”

Opening her mouth to scream, only a hiss could escape. Bernadette ran upstairs and the man gave chase. She bolted down the hallway, but the hands began to reach from the walls. She evaded them, struck them with the axe. She ran then swung the axe. Ran and swung again. Her breath rattled as she tried to escape them. She heard voices coming from the master bedroom and she ran inside, slamming and locking the door behind her.

There was a weight upon her body and a shroud upon her eyes. As Berndaette looked up into the room, she could almost see the bed and she desperately wanted to lay her weight upon it. She staggered forth, going towards where the wardrobe had stood. Behind her the door rattled and banged and the man shouted for her.

“Where are you going?” Bernadette whimpered, her voice cracked and frayed. She reached up, touching the broken wall where the wardrobe had stood.

“I didn’t expect you to be so needy,” her husband said. “Isn’t it enough to be here.”

Bernadette saw shadows in the wall moving. “You can’t leave me here.”

“I can do as I wish.” He said. “It’s mine now.”

Bernadette watched the fireplace, her eyes becoming unfocused. She slipped into the wall where she had found the axe before. “I’m yours.”

“Yes. That you are. But that does not make me want to stay here. I hate this place. I wish my mother had not sent us here.”

“I can make it home,” Bernadette wept. She fell to the floor, dropping the axe. She crawled through the dust and debris and found where her husband was laying. “Please, stay.” She touched his face, wiping away decay.

The door burst open and the slim man came inside. Bernadette turned as he approached, clutching her husband’s head in her arms. The slim man picked up the axe  and threw it aside.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Bernadette. We’ve been looking for you.” He was shaking, and he couldn’t look directly at her. “Stay where you are,” he said warningly.

Bernadette sat in the wall, clutching her husband’s head and rocking bath and forth. As the sun began to shine through the rain, more men arrived. They pulled Bernadette from the wall, dragging her and hitting her so she would comply. She struggled and hissed, kicking her limbs and clawing out at the men. They struck her against the floor, knocking the air out of her lungs.

“Easy now,” the slim man said. “She is still a woman.”

“She killed everyone in this house,” a gruff voice snapped. “This ain’t a woman anymore.” Bernadette was lifted off the ground by the man and another. She was taken from the bedroom and into the hallway where they forced her into the void.

The next thing Bernadette saw was a bright light shining in her face. She looked up, seeing the slim man standing above her. Her arms and legs were bound to a bed, but she didn’t struggle.

“Where am I?” Bernadette’s voice croaked.

“Back where you belong,” he said coldly. “You’ve been missing for two weeks.”

Berndaette didn’t try to speak again. She rolled her head away, looking back at the wall. She could remember flashes of bright red and her husband falling to the ground. She could remember being taken away. She ran away. Found her husband’s grave and took him home. After that, she wasn’t sure.

“I want to know why,” the man said sternly. “Why did you kill them with the axe?”

Berndaette took a deep breath and closed her eyes.