by Wendy Tyson
“Irene did what she felt she needed to do under the circumstances,” King said. “She’d followed a slippery slope and there was no climbing back up. Right or wrong, she thought she was making the right choices.”
Where had Megan heard those words before? She glanced up at the trees, thinking about family and choices and treasures that would stay buried—for now. Birds called overhead. It was a perfect fall day, the cool air laced with the sweet smell of fermenting apples. Lily cooed in her stroller, and Megan knelt down to adjust her blankets. When she looked up again, she saw her Aunt Sarah across the orchard, talking to the older man Megan had seen eons ago sitting alone in the café. Megan watched the two of them—her tall, long-legged body and his broad shoulders and thick gray hair.
“The only thing I wish we could have solved was your mountain stalker,” King was saying. “Never did figure that out.”
“Speaking of stalkers, when Megan and Denver were at the Sauer farm, who called the police and for an ambulance?” Bibi asked. “Megan said it wasn’t her or Denver.”
A shadow passed over King’s features. “That’s a mystery too.”
“Well, the only good news is that the development won’t go through,” Bibi said. “With Jenner in trouble and the Sauer farm sullied by Irene’s actions, the buyers walked away.”
“Could happen again,” Denver said. “Just a matter of time.”
But by now, Megan wasn’t listening. Gaze on Aunt Sarah, she dialed Clay’s cell. She had a favor to ask of him. And he agreed immediately.
Thirty-Seven
The man was standing by the farthest field, near the horse pasture. Mark’s newest horse, the rescue with the lame leg, was outside, nibbling at grass by the fence. The horse looked well now, a white bandage on his left front leg the only indication of prior trouble. Megan watched the man watch the horse. She saw the tilt of the man’s head, the breadth of his shoulders. She recognized others in the set of his jaw.
She approached quietly. “I have something of yours.”
The man spun around. He seemed neither surprised nor happy to see her. Megan held out the knife. “I think this belongs to you.”
“How did you know?”
Megan pointed to his hands, which held a universe of tiny burn scars. “Tell-tale sign of a knife maker.”
He nodded. He had a broad face, clear skin, and deep-set green eyes. His nose was a little too big, and his tufty hair created a salty halo around his head. He was fit, if a little thick around the middle. Tall, broad, with the shoulders of a lumberjack.
“I guess I should thank you. For calling the police and summoning that ambulance Friday night.”
A slight nod was his only reaction.
Megan stood there, wanting to say more. She knew he’d been the one in the woods. That he’d been squatting in the trailer on the Kuhls’ property. That he may have saved Emily’s life with a call to the authorities. She said none of these things, however. But she didn’t leave. She let the silence press against them, trapping them in an awkward bubble.
Until a dog barked, then whined. Clay came running through the field, startling the horse. He held Sammy’s leash, and the dog pulled him toward the man, tail swinging back and forth in mad little circles.
“Nora,” the man said. A smile crept over his face. Megan recognized the smile as her own.
Clay questioned Megan with his eyes. She simply nodded. When Clay handed the man the leash, Megan turned to leave.
The man made no attempt to stop her.
Nearly two weeks had passed since the incident at Sauer farm, and Megan finally had the courage to stop by Sarah’s cottage. The autumn leaves had mostly fallen, and brilliant hues had given way to mud browns. Her aunt was outside, raking the remaining leaves with an oversized rake. She stopped when she saw Megan and put down the tool.
“Come in for tea,” Aunt Sarah said. “And a story.”
Megan followed her aunt inside. Once settled in a chair in Sarah’s kitchen, she had misgivings—she shouldn’t have come. But it was too late for that.
“He was a hard-edged man,” Sarah said. She was standing by the stove, waiting patiently for the water to boil, her back blessedly to Megan. “Poor, earning only what he could by doing odd jobs. His daughter was his pride and joy. His wife, an obedient little thing, didn’t understand her demanding husband or her wild-eyed child. She just attended church and thought things would turn out fine if she followed the rules.”
“Aunt Sarah—”
“One day he found out his daughter was pregnant. He couldn’t imagine a bigger disgrace. Even more, he couldn’t imagine a more bitter disappointment. He’d done what he could to make sure she had a better life than he’d had. He’d had her schooled, had her attend church, made all of the little sacrifices a parent makes for a child. And here she was, throwing it all away on a farmer’s son from Winsome.”
The whistle blew on the tea kettle and Sarah paused while she poured. When she turned to give Megan her cup, her eyes were misty. “He threatened to beat her within an inch of her life. Told her there’d be worse things coming if she didn’t get married.” Sarah put up a hand. “Before you say anything, know that your mother loved Eddie. Your mother loved him—and you—as well as a confused teenager could. But she had four adults telling her what to do, and she did it.”
“Marrying my father.”
Sarah nodded.
“Did Bibi know?”
Sarah sat across from Megan. Her face, so full and rich with character, contorted into a mask of pain. “Yes.”
“She knew my mother was forced to marry my dad and she went along with it?”
Sarah sat there, mute.
“Well?”
“Don’t ask questions if you’re not ready for the answers.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“True. You are.” Sarah sighed. “Bonnie had your grandfather to deal with. He also thought they should marry. Bonnie figured that if your mother was living with them, she’d be away from John—that’s your maternal grandfather’s name, Megan—and safe. Duty was paramount. Childish whims went out the door in Bibi’s eyes when Eddie and your mother decided to sleep together. Bibi had one real concern.”
“The baby.” She was thinking about me, Megan thought.
“Yes.”
Megan looked out the window, at the last of the Macintosh apples, now rotten and prune-like, hanging from Sarah’s two fruit trees. This kitchen smelled of cinnamon and ginger, but the tea was bitter on Megan’s tongue.
“You knew he was here, in Winsome.” Megan couldn’t bring herself to say his name.
“Yes—eventually. We’ve kept in touch here and there throughout the years.”
“You tried to tell me.”
“Yes. He wanted to meet you, but was afraid you’d turn him away.”
As he’d once turned away my mother, Megan thought.
“He asked me not to say anything or he’d leave. Promised he’d come clean in his own time. He’s sorry, Megan. He never meant to scare you. He wants a relationship with you.” Sarah’s voice pleaded, cajoled, begged Megan to understand. “But he’s a broken man, and a proud man, and I don’t think he knows how to tell you any of this.”
“Why are you helping him?”
Sarah took her time responding. “Because I feel sorry for him. Because I want to help you heal.”
Megan wanted to say: And because you feel guilty—an emotion you can’t seem to admit.
Megan pictured the Adirondack chair on Potter Hill. Once a symbol of fear and angst, she now saw it for what it really represented. Loneliness. Sadness. Regret. She took another sip of tea and turned her face to the window, letting the sun warm her skin until she felt human again.
Alvaro’s Rustic Potatoes au Gratin
This simple dish is delicious on its own, but at the café
Alvaro pairs it with grilled free-range chicken breast, a salad of fresh greens, and a slice of hearty French bread. Gruyere works well with this recipe too.
Serves 6-8.
Ingredients:
3 russet potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
2 tbsp. + 1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 red bell peppers, seeds removed, cut into 1-inch pieces
8 oz Raclette cheese, grated (more or less to taste)
Salt and pepper
Preparation:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Mix potato slices with 2 tbsp. olive oil. Spread the potatoes on the bottom of a large baking dish and cook them for about 30 minutes, uncovered, until the potatoes are mostly tender. Turn the potatoes over and add the diced peppers and remainder of the olive oil. Return the potato mixture to the oven, increase the temperature to 400 degrees, and cook the mixture for an additional 45 minutes (time will vary based on oven and size of pan), until the potatoes and peppers are tender and browned on the edges. Remove the pan from the oven, turn over the vegetables, and sprinkle the Raclette over the potato mixture. Return the pan to the oven and cook for an additional 5-10 minutes, until the cheese has melted. Sprinkle pepper and salt to taste.
Gardening Tips
Pests affecting your organic tomato plants? Try growing your tomatoes with a companion plant, such as basil, nasturtiums, or marigolds. Basil repels pests, and the peppery flavor of basil leaves pairs well with tomatoes in sauces and salads. Nasturtiums are said to deter insects such as aphids and certain beetles—plus the leaves and flowers of nasturtiums are edible and make a wonderful addition to salads. And not only are marigolds attractive visually, but they repel nematodes and other insects that harm tomatoes. Companion plantings work well in container gardens too.
About the Author
Wendy Tyson’s background in law and psychology has provided inspiration for her mysteries and thrillers. Originally from the Philadelphia area, Wendy has returned to her roots and lives there again on a micro-farm with her husband, three sons and three dogs. Wendy’s short fiction has appeared in literary journals, and she’s a contributing editor and columnist for The Big Thrill and The Thrill Begins, International Thriller Writers’ online magazines. Wendy is the author of the Allison Campbell Mystery Series and the Greenhouse Mystery Series.
The Greenhouse Mystery Series
by Wendy Tyson
A MUDDIED MURDER (#1)
BITTER HARVEST (#2)
SEEDS OF REVENGE (#3)
(Fall 2017)
Available at booksellers nationwide and online
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Henery Press Mystery Books
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