Josie leaned back on her haunches and looked at the sky. The clouds looked dark and wet. Not much time. She bent forward and kept plucking, moving faster. There were a lot of plants left to pull if she wanted to have enough for Jasper. Not having enough for Jasper was unthinkable.

A raindrop felt cold on her shoulder. Josie was grabbing at the stalks with both hands now, pulling two at a time in her rush to get done. The basket had to be full, overflowing. It would take at least to the end of this row of plants to have enough. She was barely a third there. She willed her fingers to move faster, tugging the stalks free from the soil and tossing them into the basket in one clean movement.

It hadn’t been this way before she had the baby. When she’d first discovered Jasper—or rather, when he revealed himself to her—everything had seemed so relaxed. Her needs and his fed one another in a sort of symbiosis Josie had never experienced before. When she remembered the months before the baby, she recalled serenity, clarity, peace.

The back of Josie’s tank top was damp with rain. She was pulling the plants as fast as she could. There had to be enough for Jasper. There just had to.

Josie stood up, hefting the basket up onto her shoulder. The house stood halfway across the field, perhaps a quarter mile. The walk back, carrying the weight of the basket, stepping carefully among the rows of plants, was the hardest part. The soil turned to mud under her shoes, making wet sucking noises with every step. She had to walk quickly, but she couldn’t risk losing any of her harvest. It took longer than she’d hoped, but she made it up to the front porch.

She kicked off her shoes on the mat by the front door. “I’m back!” she yelled, entering the hallway. The house was quiet. “Jasper?”

Her heart was beating very fast. She walked down the hall, looking into rooms as she went. No one. She retraced her steps and climbed the stairs, clutching the basket. “Jasper?”

Both bedrooms at the top of the stairs were empty. The only sound from the bathroom was the drip of water in the shower. “Jasper?” The door to the master bedroom was partially open. Josie tapped softly. “Are you there?”

A sigh. “Yes.” The enormous rabbit was seated, Buddha-like, on the floor, facing the window.

Josie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’m so glad you’re here. I brought your carrots.”

“You are late.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The rain—”

“You will not be late a second time.” Jasper turned slowly to look at her. In his arms, he held the baby. He stroked its neck. “No, I don’t think you will be late again.”

The hairs stood on her arm. “Of course not. May I—?”

“Very well. Take him.” The rabbit gave her the infant.

“Thank you, Jasper. I promise to do better tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget his carrot.”

She took the vegetable and held it to her child’s mouth. The baby held it in chubby little hands, gnawing at the food with rodent-like incisors.

Jasper smiled.

Copyright 2008 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.

Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.