Sunday, June 6, 2020

My aroma had dampened enough for me to resume so regular duties and the first order of business is what to do with Brad. I insisted he be present at the meeting too and engaged. The young man relayed the same story, word for word, to my wife and Gary, as he struggled with tears as he told of his wife. Cassy started to stare hard at me with tear-filled eyes when he got to the part about his pregnant wife. She and I have not exactly had any time to talk about that night since she came off watch. Brad never plead for his life and only asked for a quick death.

My friends were not as eagers as I to keep him on but I made a good case of needing more grown help on our homestead before winter. Brad's shoulders slumped as the judgment came to a consensus. He looked as though he was looking forward to the cold embrace of the ground but now we have denied it to him. I hope we have not made a mistake. We need help, badly. The help that does not come with a price tag, like what would come from one of the nearby neighbors. We have a chance for that, but it means taking a chance. That chance though means a risk that can cost one or more of those I love, their lives. My mind wanders to the woman named Samantha buried in our growing cemetery, the starvation she was faced with, and suddenly, that risk does not seem that bad, nor the price. Maybe after a period of indentured servitude, Brad will choose to join our family. If not, I shudder at that thought.