Bitter Harvest (18 page)

“I wasn’t looking, and you and Bree have been back and forth through that door anyway. Meg, what are you saying?” Seth said carefully, dishing up oatmeal and collecting sugar and milk. “Here, eat this while it’s hot.”

Meg dosed her oatmeal liberally with brown sugar and added milk. “I’m saying that maybe someone knew I was in that barn, and set things up to make it look like a casual accident. Like so many of the things that have been happening lately.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, right, you don’t know—I told Bree about them.” Meg quickly ran through the list she had given Bree—to which she could now add the mysterious jamming of the barn door. “Look, a couple of events I could accept as accidents—but there’s been something every day this past week or two. I can’t be that unlucky, can I?”

“If you think about probabilities, it does seem unlikely. But I can’t see any reason why anyone would want to do this to you.”

“Forget about probabilities—there’s somebody behind this. But I can’t figure out who either! Look, I had plenty of time to think about this last night, and I came up with zip. I don’t know of anyone I’ve ticked off around here. And I don’t know why an anonymous stranger would be doing this to me, unless it’s some weirdo who gets his kicks by tormenting people he doesn’t even know.”

“Exactly.” Seth thought for a few moments. “Well, assuming there is a person behind this, and not just bad karma, what do you want to do about it?”

“I wish I knew. Setting up surveillance cameras seems a bit ridiculous, and besides, some of these things have happened at other places, like the parking lot at the market. You want to tail me and keep watch? Should I hire a PI? Or a bodyguard? I’ll bet there aren’t a lot of them in Granford.”

Seth’s mouth twitched with amusement. “No, there aren’t. Look, I’ll stay around as much as you want, or you can come stay at my place.”

“I refuse to be driven out of my own home. Even if I did stay with you, who’s to say that this person won’t just wait until I come back to start up again? And Bree lives here, too. No, I want to get to the bottom of this, not just hope it all goes away.”

“You want to go to the police station and talk to Art?”

“I suppose I should, just so there’s an official record of this. I assume there’s not much he can do, though, since there’s not much to go on.”

Meg lapsed into silence as she finished the very good oatmeal Seth had made.

“I’m sorry,” Seth said softly.

She looked up at him. “For what? This isn’t your fault. And you can’t exactly protect me 24/7.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, for whatever reason. You know I’ll do anything I can. You want me to set up some bear traps?”

Meg smiled at him. “You have bear traps?”

“No, but I know where I could get some.”

“Of course you do. Is there more oatmeal?”

After a second bowl of oatmeal, Meg felt almost normal. “So, what now?”

“I install your furnace, for starters.”

She’d forgotten the reason he was there. “Of course! You need any help?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. But if you want, you can help me carry it in.”

“Whatever you say.”

As Seth had predicted, Meg was surprised by how light and manageable the new furnace was. It was hard to imagine that it would really keep her entire house warm. Once Seth was happily settled in the cellar with his tools, Meg went to let the goats out of the barn again. Before going in, she studied the outside door. No marks of any kind, or at least, none that hadn’t been there for a long time. Seth had tossed the pitchfork to one side, and she could see on the end of it the scars in the wood where it had caught in the metal tracks for the door. It all looked so innocent; it was so easy to believe that it had simply been in the wrong place, and fallen down at just the right angle . . . No. Her gut said that there was more than that going on. She just didn’t know what.

She took a deep breath and went back into the barn to bring out the goats.

It was midafternoon before Seth declared the furnace operational. The process had been delayed by the installation of a new thermostat: like everything else in the house, the wiring had been retrofitted, crammed into spaces in a building that had not been planned for such exotic things, and there had been much cursing and muttering as Seth tried to fish wires through serpentine paths in the old walls.

Meg had kept herself busy during the day, mostly online, looking for information on early American needlework. The more she hunted, the more she was impressed by the piece she had found. It was no simple schoolgirl exercise. Rather, it was an elaborate, carefully planned, and beautifully executed work, and Meg was surprised by the skill it showed. Violet had been twelve when she made it—to Meg it seemed incredible work for one so young, especially since she herself had no skill with a needle and felt lucky if she could sew on a button. She smiled, though, as she wondered what young Violet would have made of a modern computer.

Meg had done as much cleaning of the sampler as she dared, given its age and fragility, but it was enough to let her read all the details. What facts did she have? Violet Cox had signed the piece, in silk, in 1798 and she had reason to be proud of her work. Since Meg knew how old Violet had been when she made it, that gave Meg a birth year for her: 1786. What wasn’t clear was
where
she had made it. In Granford? It was tempting to look at the white house in the bottom panel and see Meg’s own place, but all Colonials looked more or less the same. On close examination Meg had decided that the adjoining small trees, enclosed in a fence, did indeed have little dots that might once have been red, so she thought she was justified in calling them apple trees. But of course, she had learned that the majority of early New England houses had at least a few apple trees, and the other, larger trees flanking the house could be anything. Meg wondered if the tree line had been that close to the house once upon a time, or if that was merely a conventional representation.

Based on the images she had called up online, Meg could say that the mourner was a typical element, but the row of tombstones was more unusual. There was an entire genre of what was known as mourning samplers, including a group of fairly well-known ones made at a school not far from where she sat, in South Hadley, but the images there were larger and most often focused on a group of mourners clustered around a large pedestal topped with an urn, with weeping willows in the background. A sole mourner was less common, and Meg hadn’t found any other images of a row of tombstones.

The verse she assumed came from the Bible: it read, “All the increase of thy house shall be cut down in the flower of their age.” That was apt, if it referred to all those dead children above it.

And that was where she ran out of facts. She had plenty of questions, starting with, who was Violet Cox? How was she related to the Lampsons? And what was the sampler doing in her house, which had been built and occupied by Warrens? Meg already knew that she’d be disappointed if it turned out to be nothing more than a coincidence, but she was going to do her best to figure out who Violet was and if she was connected to the Warrens.

Finally Seth came back up the cellar stairs and sought Meg out. “I can’t exactly hand you a key, but you want to start her up officially?”

“The furnace is a her?”

“You can call it ‘her’—or ‘it’ or whatever you want. Let me show you the thermostat.”

“Seth,” Meg said impatiently, “I’ve seen a thermostat before in my life. Just tell me how to turn it on.”

“You don’t want complete instructions on how to program it for the next seven days?”

“No. I want heat—now!”

“Then push that arrow key. The ‘up’ one.”

Meg complied. She waited a few moments, then said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You’re not supposed to. It’s new, right? That old one of yours sounded like a jet engine taking off. But check the registers.”

Meg walked over to the nearest floor grate and stuck her hand out. Yes, there was a steady stream of hot air rising. “Hurray! How do we celebrate warm air?”

“A kiss might be nice. And an offer of dinner. And dessert.”

“All your wishes shall be granted. I am positively giddy! The house will be warm again!”

“Give it a few hours and it’ll be fine. Of course, you’ve still got the same leaky windows and no insulation.”

“Oh, pooh,” Meg said. “Come here.”

A few minutes later she said, “If you want dinner you’re going to have to let go.”

Seth backed away reluctantly. Meg opened the door to the kitchen, and Lolly ventured out cautiously, sniffing. She sneaked up on the heating grate, and after deciding it didn’t pose a threat, she settled herself on top of it, the rising air riffling her fur.

“Smart cat,” Meg said. “Okay, I’m going to go figure out dinner. Oh, and I should call Bree and let her know the heat’s back on.”

“I’ll go collect my tools and clean up downstairs.” He disappeared down the stairs to the cellar once more. Meg gave her thermostat a final pat and headed for the kitchen. On the way she picked up her phone and called Bree to give her the good news.

When Seth returned, Meg was happily chopping some late pears for dessert. “Do you want something to drink? I feel like christening the furnace with champagne, except I don’t have any.”

“I’ll settle for a beer, if you’ve got one.”

“That I can do.” She found a bottle in the back of the refrigerator and handed it to him, then returned to chopping.

After a few moments, Seth said tentatively, “Meg?”

“Yes?” she replied without turning.

“I had time to think about what’s been going on here, while I was working.”

“Oh?” she said.

“What happened last night, you in the barn—it could have been serious. I’m starting to think that it was a little too convenient that the pitchfork fell just the right way to jam the door.”

Exactly what she had thought. “So what do we do about it?” Meg said, turning to face him.

“I don’t know. Be careful, for one thing.” Before Meg could protest, he held up one hand. “I know, you’re already careful, but maybe you need to look harder at things. Have you noticed anyone following you?”

Meg stifled a laugh. “Uh, no, but I can’t say I’ve been looking. You think whoever it is, is planning all these little annoyances? Or is he just seizing the opportunities when he sees them?”

“I can’t say.”

Meg considered. “I do know that the incidents have been the kinds of things that are calculated to hit a woman’s nerves. You know, those ‘things that go bump in the night’ that we all worry about when we live alone, whether or not we admit it. Nothing violent, nothing really destructive, but disturbing all the same.”

“Maybe your realtor Frances is trying to force you to sell the house so she can get the commission.”

“Maybe. The housing market sure has been lousy lately,” Meg said.

They were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. A door slammed, and Bree waved at Michael as he pulled away. She hurried in, crowing with delight. “Woo-hoo! It must be sixty degrees in here! It’s absolutely tropical!”

“It’ll get even better. Seth promises. You and Michael have a good time?”

“Uh, we kept warm. How about you? Oh, is that coffee new or old?”

“Just made it.” Meg hesitated a moment, then said, “I spent the night in the barn.”

Bree stopped pouring a cup of coffee to stare at her. “Huh? Why?”

“It wasn’t my idea. I went out to take the goats into the barn, and somehow the hayfork fell and jammed the door shut. Do you remember the last time you used it?”

“Yesterday morning before I left. I cleaned out the stall inside the barn, and I’m about 98 percent sure I left it inside the barn. I haven’t been able to get to the hay in the shed since it snowed, so I wouldn’t even need it outside.”

“That’s kind of what I figured. But that leaves only one other possibility.”

“Someone wanted you to stay in the barn all night?”

“You got it.”

“Are you okay?”

Meg smiled at her. “Actually, yes. You’d be surprised how much body heat the goats radiate.”

“Ha! You jealous, Seth?”

“Of what?” he asked, bewildered.

“You’ve been replaced by a pair of goats. Female at that. But we can keep you around in case the heat goes out again.”

Seth chuckled. “Glad to be of service, ma’am.”

Bree sat down at the table. “So, you thinking that somebody’s pulling these pranks for a reason?”

“It looks like it, but I have no idea why.”

“What’re you going to do?”

Much as she hated to make this official, Meg felt she had no choice. “I think it’s time to talk to Art.”

“Do you want to call him, or shall I?” Seth asked.