Francis
Thread Warnings: Depression, Parental Death. More may be added.
Cheryl
In the aftermath of Josephine's burial, the farm became unnervingly quiet. Crops still needed to be sown and tended to, never mind the turmoil that burrowed into their chests and brought fresh tears to their eyes.

Owen knew that his sisters tried their best to inject life and hope back into every waking moment, just as Josephine had. Hazel was typically the most successful in the endeavor, followed closely behind by Rue. While they couldn't perfectly emulate the deceased matriarch's booming joviality, their efforts brought some much-needed happiness to the homestead.

Dorothy, on the other hand, had become skilled in making things tense.

As the youngest, Owen never had illusions that he would have the chance to become the next head of the family. Dorothy was reserved for that position as eldest, but even so, her commands to the rest of the family became extensive. She had always had a knack for ordering the others around, especially Owen, but now it was tenfold. 

*Run to the store, Owen.*

*Did you remember to check over the seedlings, Owen?*

*Go take care of this for me, Owen.*

Never mind the fact that he was a man grown, never mind that Dorothy had her own children to send. She always called for him, even if he was busy, even if he said *No*.

In truth, there were probably better places for him to go and gather his thoughts, but Dorothy already knew about those. He'd never been out this far before on his own, but the atmosphere was pleasant. The brook was enough white noise without being overwhelming, and the tufts of grass were soft from their new growth.

A peace he desperately needed, even as he fought against his urge to cry.
Dorothy
The traps had been re-set deep in the brush, and Algernon was done for the day. He'd found little to do around town in the morning, and even the birds in the trees were quiet as he passed the hours by amongst the familiar trees. Briar Ridge had gone from a place of strangers to one he almost called home, these days. The concept of home in itself was one rather foreign to him, but one he found he didn't mind so much. There was a feelin' of reassurance in walkin' the same paths day after day, goin' about his business without nobody disturbin' the peace. 
He was just passin' by the creek as he did each afternoon when he realised he wasn't alone in the small clearing. 

Sittin' on the bank where the water met the earth was a man - a farmer by the looks of him, flaxen-haired and well-built. His back was turned to Algernon, but the hunter hadn't made himself known to many of the farmers around town, so there would've been little use in tryin' to recognise his face anyhow. What Algernon did recognise was the slump of his shoulders, the bowin' of his head, altogether cuttin' a figure of the kinda sorrow so deep it sank into your very bones. 

Algernon Granville was a good man (Sheriff Guerrero had told him so, and he'd taken it to heart) and he didn't have nowhere else to be. Surely it couldn't hurt to check in, to make sure the stranger was alright, could it? He had the time to spend talkin', though he weren't so sure he made good conversation, try as he might. Perhaps he could do somethin' for this man who'd found himself this deep in the woods, sunk to the ground in a frankly miserable-lookin' way.

It would be worth a try. 

"Nice day for it, ain't it?" He called out, footsteps heavy as he made his way across the grassy ground to come up behind the man - he called out, for he had no intention of startlin' the fellow and makin' things any worse than they already were. "Always more peaceful by the runnin' water. Sorry for interruptin' your thoughts, sir, but if you ain't mind my askin', what brings you all this way from town?"

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Cheryl
Owen remained still, at first. The voice was one he didn't recognize– it had an unmistakable gruffness, almost akin to his long-passed father, and it made the ache in his chest all the worse. So much had already been taken from his family in less than a decade, and god only knew how much more they would lose in the coming years.

He'd taken to wearing his hair down, lest his family spot the haggardness of his face, and was thankful that it provided him with a barrier to the stranger.

"Nothing that you have to concern yourself with, mister." He swallowed, willing the tears in his eyes to abate. "I just came here to think, that's all."

The lie was clear in his voice and his body language in how both trembled, but whatever shame he would have felt vanished under the effort of keeping himself coherent enough to wave off Algernon's concern. Josephine would have chided him for being so cold, he thought, to open himself up for the chance at a new connection. You could have a new acquaintance, at the very least, and she always said that he needed more of those.

With his mother gone, though, Owen found that the notion made his stomach turn.
Dorothy
Algernon was no stranger to liars. Did he think that this man was lyin' out of malice? No. But he was lyin' nonetheless, and Algernon wasn't the type to go lettin' that kinda thing slide. Not when they were in the woods, and the woods were *His* Territory, and there was nobody around to be hearin' a thing and so what was the point in lyin' about wellbein' when Algernon had *Asked*?

The hard-hearted hunter of years gone by would not have pressed. Hell, the Algernon Granville of only six months ago would have shrugged his shoulders and said somethin' along the lines of *"Fine then, keep yer secrets"* And walked on to find himself a drink or a stranger more inclined to take his company. 
But he was not the man he had been a year prior. Briar Ridge had brought about a change in him, and the changed man that stood beside the creek and watched the ripplin' of the water and the tremblin' of the shoulders of a man he had never before met was not a man who wanted to let this pass him by. 

What was it Rafael had said to him? *Sorrow ain't contagious.* That had not been a whole truth. Sadness was somethin' that could fester within a person and leech its way into the earth beneath his feet, into the very air he breathed. But to take a weight off of another's shoulders and place some of it onto your own was to lighten the load upon the one in need of it the most. 
And so Algernon sat himself down on the bank of the creek, not without a little *Oof* As he all but lost his footin' in the dirt and planted firmly on his ass. 

"Sure, I ain't *Have* To concern myself with nothin'. But who's to say I ain't in the mood to do it anyhow? Penny fer your thoughts, mister, and perchance I'll find a few'a my own to be sharin' when you're all done. Name's Algernon. Granville. What kin I call you?"

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Cheryl
For a moment, Owen thought he'd driven Algernon off. Sure, being alone with his thoughts scared him as much as a sudden conversation with a stranger, but at least he could avoid the shame of his exposed emotions. The ungraceful *Oof* From the older man brought his head up, however, and directed his watery gaze over.

He opened his mouth to speak a few times, to try and convince the stranger that this was a fool's errand, but it closed as soon as Algernon spoke again. Owen wasn't sure if the tight feeling in his chest was gratefulness or his despair worming its' way deeper. Either way, the feeling was... Uncomfortable.

"Owen Barnes," He rasped, "I just wanted to find a place to gather my thoughts for a bit. Things at home are..."

Tense came to mind first, followed by hostile, depressing, unfamiliar-

"...Not ideal."
Dorothy
Algernon was firmly of the belief that so long as you knew a man's name, he weren't a stranger to you no more, and thus Owen Barnes cemented himself firmly in Algernon's mind as, if not a friend, an acquaintance at the very least. It would do well enough. 

"You done picked a good spot if you don't mind me sayin' so," He replied, noddin' his head as he spoke. The creek, with its bubblin' waters and the faint sound of birdsong up in the trees, was a peaceful place when no other could quite provide the solace needed. He'd spent many a quiet afternoon here himself, though afore the snow had melted it hadn't been quite so invitin'. Things were greener now. Spring had well an' truly sprung upon the holler. 

"What is it that's troublin' ya, Owen? Nothin' I can help out with, I'm guessin'? If it's a case'a work to be done I'd be happy to lend a hand here an' there, I'm gettin' good at all'a that, but you fill me in an' we'll see what's to be done about things."

It was a rather pragmatic approach for him - unusual, but not unhelpful, at least he hoped that would be the case. 

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Cheryl
That had managed to get a small laugh out of Owen. "No, I don't think it'd be considered a case of work that you could help with, Mister Granville."

"My family lost my Mama recently," He started, hesitance clear in his voice, "And we're all mourning. My sisters and I, we're doing our best to tend to things and make sure everything is still running smoothly, but my oldest sister..."

His eyes closed as he heaved a shaky sigh. "She's been pushy to all of us lately, but she acts like I'm her servant these days. Not that I mind helping her, not at all, but she's always *Yelling* At me, like I'm a little boy and not the grown man that I am. Hell, she snapped at me that I forgot to weed the damn winter wheat crop when I've taken care of it every year since I was able to WORK on the farm! She didn't even go out to the fields to check, no, she just looked out her window! You can't hardly see anything from the window as well as you can in the field!"

"We've been doing this for years, her even longer than me, and she knows that *I* Know how this sort of thing works, but everything I do gets her hissing at me like a cat. I'm *Trying* Not to get mad, I know she's just upset about Mama being gone, but I can hardly take her yelling at me anymore."

Owen turned to Algernon, lip trembling. "It's like she *Hates* Me, Mister Granville."
Dorothy
Algernon listened close as Owen talked, turnin' his body to face the other man to give him what could only be described as full and undivided attention. He could tell there was some nervousness to his tone, so he did his best to make himself small, less intimidating, and only hoped that gettin' it out might make Owen feel somewhat better. 

A death in the family was never an easy thing to handle, especially when the weight of all the grief felt as though it were fallin' solely upon your own shoulders. Or at least, that was what he'd heard, and what he'd gathered from his time in Briar Ridge, a place in which death seemed to follow those who deserved it the least, haunt them in the shadows and strike at a moment's notice. Owen was only a young man. He should have had so many more years with his mama. Algernon couldn't blame him none for the emotions spillin' over, especially as he went on to explain the situation with his sister.
It was natural for grief to affect folks in different ways, and well-known that women perhaps handled their feelings differently than men might, but that was no excuse for mistreatin' someone - your own flesh and blood no less. Algernon's heavy brow furrowed, and he turned the words over in his mind. This oldest sister, troubled though she may be, sure didn't sound like a nice lady.

Tears, unshed as they were, were *Not* Something that Algernon had much experience in dealin' with. Thankfully, some instinct he wasn't previously aware of rose up, and he wrapped a large hand around Owen's forearm, squeezin' all gentle and reassurin'.

"Hey, now. I'm damned sure she don't hate you. It's like you said - she's upset, feelin' all the same things you're feelin'. I'm sorry about your mama - losin' somebody so close to you like that ain't easy, 'specially if it's an unexpected losin'. But it don't give your sister the right t'be cruel over nothin'. You sounds like you understand her good. She oughta offer you some'a that same understandin'."

He could not allow himself to grow angry on Owen's behalf, but somethin' about that sad wet shinin' in his eyes made him want to march down to Owen Barnes' farm and give the sister a small piece'a his mind right then and there. It wouldn't help, though. Algernon had never been good at talkin' things through. What he could do was stay with the man, and let him keep on sayin' his piece, and try to soothe his woes. 

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