The days after Maddy's departure stretched on like an endless gray haze, each one blurring into the next.
The farm, once a place Queenie Weston could escape to in daydreams of beetles and adventures, now felt suffocating. Every corner of the land whispered with Maddy's absence, the willow tree, where they had once whispered their futures, stood silent and still. The Carlton estate, visible in the far distance, loomed like a ghost of a world Q could no longer touch.
The gates were closed now, iron bars gleaming coldly under the sun. She hadn't dared to approach them again since the morning she found out Maddy had left. There was no point. Maddy wasn't there, and the pristine gardens had nothing to offer her but memories she wasn't ready to face.
"Queenie!"
Q flinched, her thin arms trembling as she tried to haul the last of the firewood into the stack. The logs were heavy, rough against her blistered hands. When one slipped from her grasp, tumbling to the dirt, she winced at the thud, knowing what would come next.
Her father's shadow fell over her like a dark cloud. He didn't yell, didn't need to.
The weight of his disappointment spoke louder than words.
"Slower than molasses," he muttered, his voice low and cold. "If you can't even stack a pile of logs, what good are you?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and bitter. Q bit her lip hard, swallowing the sharp retort that begged to escape. She knew better. Words wouldn't help; they never did. So she bent down and gathered the fallen log, her fingers raw and trembling as she placed it atop the stack.
By the time the sun reached its peak, her dress clung to her back, soaked with sweat. Her arms ached, her hands raw and red. She dropped the last log with a thud, collapsing into a patch of grass, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
"That's all you've done?"
The voice startled her. Q turned to see the baker's wife standing by the road, a basket of bread tucked neatly under her arm. The older woman peered at her over round spectacles, her expression sharp with a mixture of pity and disdain.
"I'm working as fast as I can." Q muttered, brushing a hand across her brow.
The woman clucked her tongue. "Always slow, weren't you? It's no wonder Miss Carlton left. A girl like that has no business staying friends with someone like you."
The words stung more than Q wanted to admit. She lowered her head, willing the woman to move on, but she didn't.
"Don't look so pitiful," she continued. "That's how the world works, girl. Madeline Carlton's off to become something, and you're still here, doing what you're good for."
With that, she walked on, her footsteps crunching against the dirt path, leaving Q alone with the weight of her words.
Later, in the market, the town's youth proved to be even crueler. A group of them loitered near the feed store, blocking her path as she tried to hoist a heavy sack of grain onto her shoulder. They eyed her with grins sharp as knives.
"Look who it is," one boy sneered, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Shouldn't you be off at Princess school with your best friend?"
"Yeah," another chimed in, his voice mockingly high-pitched. "Oh wait—you're too busy rolling in the mud with your pigs!"
Q flushed, gripping the sack tighter. "Leave me alone."
"What's the matter, Queenie?" a girl in the group taunted. "Upset because your little Princess isn't here to protect you?"
The laughter came then, loud and unkind, echoing around her like a chorus of crows.
"She's named Queenie," one of the boys said, his voice dripping with mockery, "But she's no queen. Just a dirty little farm girl."
"More like a pig!" someone else cackled.
Q's chest tightened as the words dug in deep. She hated her name, hated the way it felt like a cruel joke when spoken by people who saw her as nothing. She didn't belong to the elegance of royalty the name implied; she barely belonged to the dirt under her feet. She was just Q. Plain, simple, and unremarkable.
Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them, hot and unwelcome. She bit her lip until it stung, forcing herself to hold back the sobs. She wouldn't let them see her cry, wouldn't give them that satisfaction.
"Say something, piggy!"
But Q stayed silent. She heaved the sack of grain over her shoulder, her arms trembling as she shoved her way through them. The jeers followed her all the way down the road, their laughter sharp and cutting, sinking into her like thorns.
That night, she retreated to the barn. The letters she had written for Maddy sat in a neat pile beside her, the edges worn and crumpled from being handled too many times. Q picked one up, her fingers tracing the familiar folds. The ink smudged under her touch as she unfolded it, her voice barely a whisper as she read.
"Dear Maddy," she began, her throat tight. "You're the only one who doesn't make me feel like I don't belong. You're the only one who…"
The words caught in her throat, and she couldn't finish. What was the point? Maddy wasn't here. She would never read the letters, never know the weight of the words Q had poured onto the pages.
Her gaze drifted to the jar of beetles she had collected weeks ago, their once-vivid shells now dulled by time. Everything felt childish now. Small. Meaningless.
Q shoved the letter back into the pile, tying the stack shut with shaking hands. Then, she curled up in the corner of the barn, clutching the bundle to her chest as if it could anchor her to something real. The tears came again, quiet and unstoppable, soaking into the crinkled papers.
Tomorrow, she told herself.
Tomorrow, she would figure out a way to leave. To go anywhere but here.
She didn't know where she would go, only that she couldn't stay. Not in a place where every face reminded her of what she wasn't, where every corner whispered of the friend she had lost.
But for tonight, all she could do was cry.