Moon Dance

by Mariah Stewart

  She pulled the gate shut as tightly as she could, then toned to look at the house, wondering if perhaps the same intruders who had created such chaos in the garden and had broken into the barn had managed to get into the house, as well. Surely the police would have checked, but she decided that a cautious look around before going in was always a wise move.

  The tall grass that grew around the foundation of the old farmhouse stood as upright this morning as it had the day before, showing no sign that it had been trampled flat by invading feet. Georgia strolled around the outside of the house, checking to see if all the windows and doors were intact. It appeared that the kids who had stopped by in the night had confined their pillage to the garden and a visit to the barn. Satisfied that there were no unwelcome guests lingering about, Georgia went to the back door and unlocked it with the key Laura had given her. She stepped into the kitchen, paused, then locked the door behind her. Just in case.

  The early morning sun flooded through the windows to welcome her, and Georgia smiled without realizing she was doing so. The room was warm and pleasant and homey. She left her purse on the kitchen table and walked through the house to make certain that all was well. She passed through the dining room into the living room, then into the small sitting room beyond. Nothing was out of place, and she headed up the steps to check the bedrooms. The house was quiet but, oddly, did not feel vacant, as if the life that had filled this place lingered long after its occupants had departed. It was not, Georgia realized, at all disconcerting, but rather a pleasant suggestion of welcome. The feeling of ease followed her back down the steps to the kitchen, where she unlocked the basement door and turned on the light. Laura had given her a list of things to bring from the jelly cupboard downstairs, and she pulled the small piece of paper out of her pocket as she descended into the basement.

  Georgia found the ancient pine cupboard just as Laura had described it, and opened the double doors. Rows of jars were aligned precisely across each of the shelves. Stacking her arms with dusty jars of the requested peach, plum, and strawberry jam, she carried them carefully up the stairs to the kitchen, where she placed them on the counter. On the second trip down she moved several jars around, searching in the dim light for the peaches Jody had asked for, and found herself marveling at the contents of the cupboard, of the jewel-like colors and the shapes that shone through the clear sides of the glass containers. There were small canning jars of deep amethyst-purple grape preserves, strawberry jam as dark and rich as garnets, and emerald green piccalilli. Larger jars of tomatoes gleamed as bright a ruby red as they had when Hope Carter had placed them there the year before. Jars of deep brown apple butter and golden peaches stood side by side on the top shelf. There was a beauty to the colors, an artistry to the arrangement, that Georgia could not define. She knew only that for some reason, it brought a anile to her face to look into those shelves and see the preserved bounty of Pumpkin Hill spread out before her. She found herself wishing that she had known the woman whose hands had created such a pattern of perfection from the fruits of the earth, and in that moment understood Laura's reluctance to empty the cupboard of its contents.

  Georgia took down three large jars of peaches, two small jars of apple butter, and slipped in one of pumpkin butter as well. It would be a shame when the day finally came that these shelves stood empty, she found herself thinking as she closed the doors to the old cupboard. She went back up the steps and lined the jars up with the jams, then searched in the space under the sink for a dishcloth she could use to wipe dust from the jars. Once they were cleaned up and the cloth rinsed off, her small task complete, she was free to leave the house and could wait outside for Chief Monroe to arrive, but found herself not yet ready to lock the door behind her. What would it hurt if she sat at that old round table and had a cup of tea while she waited for the police chief to arrive?

  She put water on to boil and filled the silver tea ball with loose tea. The same slightly chipped white cup she had used the day before seemed to be waiting for her on the counter where she had left it. Something about being able to do that—to use the same cup two days in a row—gave her a sense of history here, brief though it might be, and it pleased her. When the tea kettle began to scream, she turned off the burner and poured her tea, swirling the tea ball around in the bottom of the cup until the color was just right. She removed the silver ball, now hot and dripping with amber liquid, and placed it on a saucer she'd left on the counter, then sat in the chair closest to the window to sip her tea and study her surroundings.

  At ten o'clock on an early spring morning, Pumpkin Hill stretched out impatiently around the farmhouse. The fields beyond the barn were ready to be plowed for spring planting, and the trees were eager for their buds. There was silence where the whine of a tractor should have filled the air, stillness where the bustle of farm life should have brought the landscape to life.

  How sad, Georgia thought, that a farm should be idle.

  Absentmindedly she picked up a photo from the windowsill and studied the face of the old woman who had brought such vitality to this place, whose passing was mourned even by the land she had left behind. There was a strength in the woman's eyes, a sureness in her smile, and Georgia quietly saluted her. She replaced the photograph on the sill, and picked up the one next to it, the one of Hope with Laura's brother, Matt. There was a third, smaller picture behind the two larger ones, and Georgia lifted it out of the sun's glare. A laughing Ally, at maybe one year old, riding atop Matt's shoulders. The same photo stood on Ally's bedside table, and when she had first seen it, Georgia had mistakenly assumed the man in the picture was Ally's father, the man and the child had seemed so in sync. She had been surprised to learn that the man was Ally's uncle. Georgia had thought at the time it was odd that Matt's picture would hold a place of honor and that Ally had no photos of her father on display.

  Georgia drained the last of the tea from her cup, then rose to rinse it, pausing to gaze at the amber remains in the bottom. What had Laura said about Hope reading tea leaves? Was there a book one could read to leant about such things? she mused. What might that little clump of leaves near the handle signify? Or that tracing along the one side? She washed out the cup and dried it before reaching to return it to the cupboard.

  The sound of tires crunching on the pebbled drive drew her attention, and she pulled aside the curtain just in time to see the local law emerge from a dark blue police car. She left the warmth of the kitchen and went out the back door.

  "Hello!" she called. "Chief Monroe?"

  "Yes." The short, middle-aged officer with a slight paunch removed his police cap as he walked across the yard toward Georgia. "You must be Georgia. Laura called and said you'd be waiting. Have you had a chance to look around?"

  "Yes. The house is fine. No sign of anyone even going near it. There is something I think you should see over here, though." Georgia pointed to the garden. "It looks like someone went on a tear in here."

  Chief Monroe went to the fence and peered over it. "Hmmph. Would you look at that?" He pushed open the gate and walked up and down the disheveled rows. "Hmmph," he said again.

  "Why do you suppose they did that?" Georgia asked, pointing to the uprooted plants.

  Chief Monroe shook his head. "Doesn't look like kids did this. For one thing, they swore they didn't do anything but sneak into the barn. Said they never came near the house, and from what you're telling me, they didn't. I'll ask them about the garden, but to tell you the truth, it doesn't look like something kids would do in the dark, you know what I mean?"

  "Well, it's curious, Chief. Laura and I were here yesterday, and the garden was just as neat as… as if it had been tended last week."

  "I'll ask the kids again." He nodded slowly. "In the meantime, we'll keep an eye on the place as best we can. But as I reminded Laura, we're a very small, rural department and don't have a lot of man-hours to spare. She and Matt should make some sort of arrangements to secure the property. Last night's group wanted nothing mor
e than a place to drink a few beers. Who's to say that the next time someone won't get careless with a cigarette? It would be a terrible shame if something were to happen to the barn or to the old farmhouse. The Evans place has been part of this community for two hundred years. I'll do my best to look after it, but I sure wish Laura would rent the place out. At least there'd be someone on the premises, know what I mean?"

  Georgia knew what he meant.

  She thanked him as he got back into his car and waved good-bye as if to an old friend when he turned the car around and headed down the drive to the narrow country road that would lead him back into town.

  Georgia loaded the glass jars of preserves carefully into the Jeep in two trips, then returned to the house to lock up, making one last round through the first floor, reluctant to leave. This was a house that had been filled with purpose, with peace, and she felt the comfort of both. Having no real reason to stay on, and knowing that Jody was awaiting the bounty from Hope's cupboard, Georgia left through the back door, locked it behind her, and climbed back into the Jeep. She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward Bishop's Cove, hardly noticing the battered black pickup that sped past her in the opposite direction just as she entered the first curve in the road.

  "Why do you suppose someone would do that?" Laura frowned after Georgia told her about the mayhem she'd found in the garden. "I really hate it that there's no one there. I wish Matt could come back and take over."

  "Why can't he?" Georgia asked.

  "Matt trained under a truly wonderful vet when he was in school. Dr. Espey was very, very good to him, helped him out in many ways. Matt did his internship with him, and planned to open his own clinic at Pumpkin Hill. Dr. Espey had a stroke last fall, and Matt stayed on to keep his clinic running. He'll stay there as long as Dt. Espey wants him to. As much as I hate having the farm vacant, I couldn't ask Matt to come back while he's still needed there. Dr. Espey loves Matt like a son, and Matt loves him like a second father." Laura tapped her fingers on the counter. "I wrote out an ad for the local paper. I think I'll run it in the Baltimore Sun, as well. Here. Read it over. How does this sound?"

  Tenant wanted! 97 acres with fully furnished farmhouse, barn, chicken house. Available immediately. Please call…

  "Does that sound too desperate?" Laura frowned.

  "It sounds to the point."

  "You know, I hate the thought of strangers moving in to Aunt Hope's house. Sleeping in her bed. Using the things she used, things that have been in our family for so many years. I guess we'll have to take a weekend and pack up the things of sentimental value so that her dishes and her collection of old cut-glass vases don't get broken or stolen. I really do hate this, Georgia. I just don't have much choice."

  "Actually, you do." Georgia said softly.

  "How do you figure?"

  "Why not rent the farm to me?" The words were out of Georgia's mouth before she could give herself a chance to change her mind about the idea that had been blossoming inside her since she had poured that cup of tea in the old kitchen just a few hours earlier. "I'll be your tenant. I'll stay at Pumpkin Hill."

  "But why would you want to do that? It's miles from everything, it's in the middle of nowhere…"

  "The middle of nowhere is fine for now. I've been wanting to get away from the city, have some time to myself. Why not Pumpkin Hill?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm positive." Georgia nodded. "I thought about it on the way back today. I like it there. I like the way I feel when I'm there. It's exactly the feeling I left Baltimore to find."

  "But your condo…"

  "I'll call my friend Lee. He always seems to know someone coming in from out of town—dancers, actors—looking for a furnished place to lease for a few months."

  "Georgia, I'd be delighted to have you at the farm. Thrilled, to tell you the truth."

  "Good. Then we're both delighted. You have your tenant and I have a lovely old farm all to myself. We both win. Call Chief Monroe and call your brother and tell them that neither of them has to worry. I'll drive back to Baltimore tomorrow to get my things together, then I'll move in over the weekend, if that's all right with you."

  "That would be wonderful. Great." Laura nodded as Georgia hugged her and happily skipped from the room.

  "Great," Laura repeated to herself as she reached for the phone to place a call to the police to let them know the farm would be inhabited by the weekend.

  Then she'd have to call Matt. Laura grimaced at the thought of it.

  Telling Matt that she'd found a tenant was one thing. Telling him that she'd agreed to lease Pumpkin Hill to Georgia Enright was something else.

  seven

  Georgia's move from her Baltimore condo to Pumpkin Hill was relatively painless and without complication. With the help of her sister Zoey, who had a rare weekend off from her job as a sales host for the nationally televised Home Marketplace home shopping network, it took but two days to pack clothes, books, music, and some personal items. As she had hoped, Lee did in fact know of a stage actor who would be in Baltimore for six months in an off-Broadway production and was eager to find a place to hang his hat while he was in the city. As she locked the condo door behind her, Georgia had handed the key to Lee so that he could show the apartment to the actor on the following Tuesday.

  By mobilizing her family and packing each of their cars with boxes, suitcases and garment bags, Georgia was able to make the move in one trip. Mrs. Colson, her mother's housekeeper, had piled hampers of food for the moving crew into the back of Delia's car. Once the move was completed, a wonderful midaftemoon feast awaited, reheated and served by Nick's wife, India, and her aunt, August Devlin, on the old pine table in the dining room at Pumpkin Hill.

  "Just look at the view you have from these windows!" Delia had exclaimed as she had gone from room to room. "Why, in a month or so, the trees will be all leafed out and there will be buds on those apple trees. And those lilacs will be in bloom before too long… do make sure you cut bunches of them and bring them inside." Delia sniffed at the imaginary scent and sighed. "Heaven!"

  "Not bad, Georgia," her brother had remarked, nodding his approval after making the obligatory inspection of the farmhouse's mechanics and locks. "It's secure and well maintained. Of course, we'd all feel better if you weren't living here alone…"

  "Or at the very least, get a dog," Zoey suggested.

  "We'll loan you one of ours," Ben Pierce, Zoey's fiancé, volunteered. "I'll bring Dozer to visit for a while. By the time you're ready to send him back, maybe you'll have him housebroken."

  "Ah, thanks, guys," Georgia laughed, "but I don't think I want to take on the responsibility of a dog right now. Besides, I don't know how long I'll be here."

  "I thought you didn't really have an official lease." Six months pregnant, the diminutive India sagged against the doorway for support.

  "We don't." Georgia nodded somewhat absently as she sorted through the boxes. "We're basically taking it month to month, but who knows where I'll go from here? Nick," she turned to her brother, "would you carry these boxes of clothes upstairs for me?"

  "Sure." He hoisted a carton onto his shoulder. "Which bedroom are you using?"

  Georgia paused to ponder this. The rooms she had seen on the second floor—Laura's old room and those of Matt and the departed Aunt Hope—had all seemed to still belong to someone else. She wouldn't feel comfortable moving in to any one of them. The guest room would have to do.

  "You could leave everything in that front bedroom," she told Nick. "The one to the right of the steps."

  "How 'bout these boxes of books?" Zoey asked.

  "Just leave them in the living room."

  "Your stereo?"

  "Living room." Georgia nodded.

  "Are you sure you have enough juice for all that electronic equipment?" Nick stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, mentally trying to calculate the power requirements of the stereo with its CD, tape, and recording components, the television and
VCR combination, and the microwave oven that Laura and Ben were carrying into the kitchen. "Sometimes old places like this have low wattage electrical service."

  "Oh, it shouldn't be a problem." Laura poked her head through doorway. "My aunt had the service upgraded to two hundred amps about five years ago when she got the new refrigerator and stove, so there's more than enough for whatever electronic toys you brought with you. The service even runs out to the barn."

  "Well, then, I can just hook up that CD player and serenade the wild cats you mentioned." Georgia grinned.

  "Mommy, Corri found an old can in the barn that has a momma mouse and babies in it!" A breathless Ally flew into the house through the back door.

  "She didn't bring it in here, did she?" Delia, who'd been leaning over a box of table linens on the dining room floor, stood up and appeared to cringe slightly.

  "No. But she wants to take them home," Ally said wide-eyed. "Can she do that?"

  "No!" August and India responded in unison.

  "We have plenty of mice of our own in Devlin's Light," India told Ally. "Tell Corri to put the can back where she found it, and then come in to get cleaned up to eat."

  "And both of you leave your shoes out on the back porch," Laura called after her daughter, who was fleeing toward the barn to relay instructions.

  "Take a can of mice babies back home!" India shivered. "What will that child think of next?"

  "Georgia, what do you want me to do with these tablecloths you brought with you?" Delia asked.

  "There are tons of things there in the sideboard," Laura pointed out. "Leave your things packed and use Aunt Hope's."