The Lamb and the Gray Battle

January 4, 2022

That had been an evil day, cold and blustery. Evie had been cheerful, bright and smiling, the only sunshine in the snowstorm. That old woman, Gran, had stabbed her cane into the ground like a knife, plunging it in over and over as she shuffled up the steps.

"The movers set up the bed yesterday. Turn on the room heater and bundle up," Evie sang. "I'll start a pot of tea for you."

"Do you even know which box the kettle's in?" Gran growled, shuffling back to her room, still digging the cane into the floor with each step, all her hatred stabbing the carpet. That accent was funny, but familiar. Jo couldn't place it.

"I won't be a minute finding it," Evie called after her, but she looked over the stack of boxes and her shoulders sagged.

Jo said, "I'll help you. Don't worry about it."

"I'll never learn," Evie said, gaping at the stacks surrounding her, no motion made to open any of them. "Gran says I need to write what's in the boxes on the sides. Organize the stuff when we pack it up." She heaved a breath and said again, "I'll never learn."

Then her smile became even brighter and she opened up the next box, and instead of hunting for the teapot, she started sorting through bathroom toiletries and dog food bowls.

Jo didn't own a teakettle. It would have been faster going door to door and asking each of the neighbors if they had one she could borrow. Jo tore open each box, one after another, trying to discern if anything like a teapot was stored inside.

One box was particularly heavy. It was filled with stacks of papers, a book Her Story, written by Joseph Smith, and a dozen cassette tapes.

Her husband's voice filled her head in that instant.

"She was so old." He shook his head. "I'd never met anyone like her. I'll never meet anyone like her again. I'll never see her again."

Evie snatched the box from Jo.

"That's Gran's stuff. I'll put it in here," she said, placing it in what would become the spare room.