The hinge complained in the damp, which the cousins took as a kind of welcome. They had borrowed the orchard for the afternoon from a relative who was not yet ready to discuss the will, only the apples. Oil, a cloth, a patience that surprised them both. While one held the gate the other worked the pin, and they talked about the document in the drawer without naming the sums. A blackbird did the commentary. When the gate swung cleanly they were almost disappointed; the task had been a place to put the feeling. They left it ajar, which is a decision. On the walk back one of them said that a will is just a gate that sticks, and the other said, kindly, that this was not the sort of sentence that needed to be clever. They walked the rest of the way in a better silence.#
This is an excerpt. The complete piece is in the print and digital edition of Issue 01.