Inside, voices rose—quick, irritated. Footsteps. The barn door creaked open. One of the men stepped out and scanned the trees. Another followed, circling wider, checking the ground like he expected footprints. Eleanor held her breath until her lungs burned. Her arthritic hands trembled against the dirt.
The men paused near the corner. Close enough. Then they turned away, apparently satisfied. Eleanor shifted to move—fast as she could manage—and that’s when her heel landed on a stick. Crack. Followed by silence.