Bitter Harvest

by Sheila Connolly

  “No!” three voices yelled in near unison, as everyone moved to stop her.

  30

  Seth reached Jenn first, wrapping his arms around her from the back, pinning down her arms. She started shrieking and thrashing. The goats backed away, startled.

  “Will somebody get the damn hayfork away from her?” Seth shouted, ducking the sharp tines.

  Meg and Bree exchanged glances. Bree nodded once, then approached cautiously. She swung the two-by-four and batted the fork’s wooden handle, forcing it out of Jenn’s hands. Meg rushed forward to pick it up and move it out of reach, then rounded up the nervous goats, one at a time, and herded them back to their pen. The gate securely latched behind them, she turned to face Jenn. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jenn just glared at her.

  Seth looked at Meg over her head. “Maybe we’d better get John over here—he can probably calm her down, get her to explain.”

  “What’s the number?” Bree asked. As Seth rattled it off, Bree punched it in, then handed the phone to Meg.

  Meg waited through three, four rings, until someone finally picked up. An older woman—Donna? “Mrs. Taylor?”

  “Yes, this is Donna Taylor. Who’s this?” the woman said, her voice sleep-clogged.

  Meg ignored her questions. “Is John there?”

  “No, he’s gone out. I’m here with the baby. Can I take a message?”

  Why was John out somewhere at this time of the night? Meg looked at Seth and shook her head briefly. “Could you tell him that Seth Chapin needs to talk with him, right away?”

  “All right. Seth Chapin, you said? That’s the man he works for sometimes, right? John must know the number.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Meg said. “Just tell him to call as soon as he can.” Meg ended the call and turned back to Seth. “John’s not home. His mother’s home with Eli.”

  The sound of her son’s name seemed to trigger a response in Jenn: she let out something that was a cross between a sob and a snarl, and struggled harder. Seth, caught unawares, lost his grip, and before anyone could move, Jenn darted toward the back door, which apparently was how she had come in, and disappeared into the snow. Seth followed quickly, but returned less than thirty seconds later. “Lost her. Can’t see a damn thing out there. I’ll try to get hold of Art again, now that we’ve got a more serious situation here. Bree, are you all right?”

  “Sure. I was ready for her. Don’t know what she thought she was going to do with that two-by-four, though.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t anything worse. Meg, give me Bree’s phone a sec.” When Meg handed it to him, Seth retreated to a corner and turned his back.

  Meg looked at Bree. “You didn’t tell me that you had an air horn.”

  “You didn’t ask. I came prepared—I’ve got all sorts of stuff in my pack. Got you out here fast enough, didn’t it?” Bree looked almost gleeful now.

  Meg didn’t see any point in mentioning that if Jenn had brought a gun, nothing would have been enough to get help in time to do any good. “It did. Did Jenn say anything to you?”

  “Apart from the ‘What are you doing here?’ kind of stuff? Nope. I assume she expected to be alone out here. You think she’s been behind all this?”

  “I don’t know. I wish we hadn’t lost her. And where’s she going to go? She really wasn’t dressed warmly enough to stay out in weather like this. She could just walk home, but she’s got to know that’s the first place anyone would look for her. But I have no idea where else she could be headed.”

  “Art’s going to send a car to the Taylor house,” Seth said, his call completed. “Here’s your phone, Bree. Art’s headed here—the accident on the highway was mainly a fender bender, people sliding in the snow, and they don’t need him there. Why is it some people around here never figure out how to drive in snow?”

  “Hey, I’m as guilty as anyone—it takes practice. Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here,” Meg said. She led the way across the drive and into the house, and the others followed. Inside, Meg shook her snow-covered coat before hanging it up, then went to make coffee. If Art had been out in the cold sorting out traffic problems, he would probably need it. She knew she needed something hot, now that the adrenaline of the confrontation with Jenn was ebbing.

  The coffee was ready by the time Art arrived at the back door. He stomped his feet on the stoop, then stepped inside. “Can’t leave you all alone for a couple of hours without you getting into trouble. Seth gave me the basics, but you all want to explain now? And should I be putting together a search party for Jenn Taylor?”

  “If she hasn’t gone home, I’d say yes,” Seth said grimly. “She lit out of here in a hurry.”

  “Her mother-in-law said she was watching the baby,” Meg volunteered. “She didn’t know where John had gone.”

  “Great. People wandering all over in the dark, in the middle of a snowstorm. Well, my guy Hanson’s down at the Taylor house, so if anybody else shows up there he’ll let me know. Okay, from the top: what happened?”

  Meg set a mug of coffee in front of Art, then sat down and gave him the details of the plan they’d hatched and how they all came to be hiding out, waiting for the mystery harasser. “Bree stayed out in the barn, to give us eyes on that side. Seth and I took the house. Seth was upstairs asleep when Bree signaled the alarm.”

  Art swiveled to Bree. “What happened in the barn?”

  With evident relish, Bree recounted what had happened while she waited in the dark. Meg was impressed that Bree had waited until Jenn had come in through the back door—that is, when she was fully committed to what had to be breaking and entering. If Bree had spooked her by moving too early, Jenn could have disappeared into the night without being seen. “And then Meg showed up, and Seth maybe thirty seconds later. Seth got Jenn under control, sort of, and I got the pitchfork away from her. But when Meg called her house and found out that John wasn’t there, and Mrs. Taylor was alone with the kid, Jenn just freaked and got away.”

  “And here I thought this was a peaceful town,” Art said, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, Jenn broke into the barn, so that’s a crime. Then you confronted her with your noisemaker, and she panicked and dropped the two-by-four. Then she grabbed the first thing she could, which was the pitchfork. Did she threaten you?”

  “Maybe. Kinda,” Bree replied. “But it sure looked like she was going to go for Dorcas—that’s when we all jumped her.”

  “Dorcas the goat?” Art shook his head in disbelief. “And then she freaked out and ran out into a snowstorm. What a mess.” Art’s walkie-talkie blatted; he listened a minute then signed off. “No sign of Jenn at the Taylor house, but Hanson’s going to stay there. You tried John’s cell, Seth?”

  Seth shook his head. “He doesn’t have one—he can’t afford it these days. I would have given him one for work, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

  “Damn stiff-necked Yankees,” Art muttered. “Guy’s clearly got a bunch of problems, but he won’t take help when it’s offered. So we can’t track him, and if he’s not home, we have no idea where he could have gone, and he doesn’t know his wife flew out of here like a bat out of hell. Just great.” He drained his coffee mug and stood up stiffly. “Well, I’d better make some calls, see if we can find Jennifer Taylor. You available, Seth?”

  “Of course. Why don’t we split the list of calls?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Seth and Art went toward the front of the house, presumably to call searchers. Meg wondered idly if Seth had everyone in town on his phone’s contact list. How many people would it take to find Jenn—especially if she didn’t want to be found? But she wouldn’t leave Eli for long, would she? Meg felt both tired and keyed up, and Bree looked twitchy, as if she wanted to move. “You think maybe Jenn was going to rig up some kind of booby trap in the barn?”

  Bree shrugged. “No idea. There’s plenty of stuff out there already, if she wanted to fake an accident or something. If she’s really th
e one behind this. You think so?”

  “It looks like it, but it’s hard to say. I barely know the woman—I only met her a week or two ago. Why would she be doing this?”

  “Got me. Maybe she doesn’t need a reason, if she’s hearing voices or something. Maybe God told her to sacrifice a goat for some reason.”

  “Don’t even joke about it,” Meg said sharply.

  Art and Seth returned and started pulling on their outerwear. Art said, “Thanks for the coffee, Meg. You’ll let me know if she comes back this way? Or if John shows up? We’ve both got our cells.”

  “Of course,” Meg said.

  “Lock your doors,” Seth added, as he and Art went back out into the dark. Shortly after that a couple of cars and a pickup pulled into Meg’s driveway, and men started climbing out, clustering around Art for their orders. As Meg watched, they split up into teams of two and they all vanished into the snow.

  Meg looked at the clock on the microwave: one o’clock in the morning. Even Bree looked like she was drooping. “I have no idea what to do now,” Meg said. “There’s no point in us bumbling around out there—I’d get lost in a minute.”

  “Agreed,” Bree said. “You think she’d sneak back into the barn?”

  Meg shrugged. “I don’t know. It might be smart, but I don’t know if she’s thinking straight. You were thinking it could be something like schizophrenia? Or . . .” Meg recalled the tombstone in the cemetery, and those lost children. Hers? Would that be enough to threaten Jenn’s sanity? Or the prospect of losing Eli, too, if he had whatever had killed the other children?

  And wasn’t that a lot like what she had suggested to Seth, about what Unity might have done in Pittsford all those years ago? Was there some connection?

  Meg jumped when there was a pounding at the back door. She and Bree exchanged a startled glance, and Bree looked around the kitchen quickly. For a weapon? All the traditional women’s weapons were there at hand—kitchen knife, rolling pin, cast iron skillet. Would either of them be able to use them?

  This was ridiculous. Meg stood up and strode to the back door, to find John Taylor standing on the stoop, shivering. “Is Jenn here?” he shouted through the door.

  Meg looked at Bree again, who was standing with her hand on a skillet on the counter. Bree nodded cautiously, and Meg pulled open the door. “Come on in, John.”

  She waited until he had come in, shutting the door behind him while he stomped snow off his boots and shook his coat.

  “Is she here?” he demanded again.

  “No, but she was earlier. Have you been home yet?”

  “No, I’ve been looking for her for a couple of hours. I fell asleep in my chair at home, and when I woke up she was gone, and Ma wouldn’t say where or why. But I think she knew.” He looked awful, his hair dripping with melting snow, his face white, save for his reddened nose. “Why?”

  Meg sighed. “John, you’d better sit down. I’ll get you some coffee, and then we have a lot to talk about.”

  John allowed Meg to lead him to the kitchen table, and fell heavily into a chair. He nodded once at Bree but didn’t speak to her.

  Wordlessly Meg filled a mug with coffee and handed it to him, then she sat down opposite him at the table. Bree maintained a wary stance a few feet away, although she had put the skillet down on the counter next to her within easy reach.

  “John, do you know why Jenn was here?”

  “No, do you? Look, I don’t really have time for this right now. I need to keep looking for her.”

  “John,” Meg said gently, “the police are already doing that. You should stay here in case she comes back, so everyone knows where to find you.”

  “The police? What’ve they got to do with it?” He started to rise, and Meg laid a hand on his arm.

  “Jenn was acting kind of odd when she left here, and she didn’t go home—the police checked, and they have someone waiting there. You’d be better off if you stay here.” Meg glanced at Bree, trying to signal that she should let someone know that John had reappeared. Apparently Bree got the message, because she nodded once and slipped out the kitchen door—carrying the skillet, Meg noted. John was so absorbed in his own misery that he didn’t even seem to notice her disappearance.

  “I’m so tired,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what, John? Does this have to do with Jenn?”

  “Jenn, me. Losing my job. Eli. My mother. Do you know, there isn’t one damn thing in my life that’s going right? And I’m supposed to be the strong one who keeps it all together. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  When Meg looked at John again, she realized that the melting snow was now mixing with tears, running down his face. “I’m so sorry. I wish there were something I could say that would help, but there’s no easy fix for your problems.”

  “I don’t want your pity, or anybody’s. Sorry—that sounds kind of rude. Thank you for not throwing a bunch of fake sympathy at me. I get plenty of that from people. ‘It’s all for the best.’ ‘What doesn’t break you will make you stronger.’ It’s all bullshit. I don’t deserve this, and Jenn doesn’t either.”

  “Is this about Eli? And . . . your other children?”

  John’s head came up abruptly. “You know about them?”

  “A little. And I’ve made some guesses. Can you tell me about it?”

  Bree slid silently back into the room, and nodded. Meg took that to mean that help was on the way, not that she was sure she needed help. She didn’t think she had anything to fear from John Taylor.

  “Nobody else in town knows, or at least I didn’t tell them. I know people talk. But maybe I’ve been wrong. It’s not like I ever did anything wrong, and Jenn didn’t either. We fell in love, we got married. We couldn’t have known . . .”

  “Known what, John?” Meg said quietly.

  “About what those kids had, what Eli’s got, that’s going to kill him.”

  31

  And then the pieces came together for Meg: Unity and her daughter Violet, who had married in Granford. All the dead children. “It’s hereditary, isn’t it?”

  John stared into his coffee mug, clutched between his hands, and nodded. “There’ve been a lot of kids around here who died before their time. They start out fine and healthy, and then they get sick and die. I remember that from when I was a kid, but nobody talked about it.”

  “And nobody knew why?”

  John shrugged. “There’s a name for it. But the end’s the same, no matter what they call it. I thought maybe we could get away from it if we moved away from Granford, but it didn’t make any difference.”

  Meg tried to make some sense out of what he was saying. John and Jenn had lost two children, and Eli was headed down the same path. There had to be a medical explanation.

  He went on, almost talking to himself. “I grew up around here—down the road. Jenn did, too. We met in high school, we fell in love, we got married. Normal, ordinary stuff. We had kids, Megan and Sean. Then Megan got sick, and nobody knew what the problem was—she had fits, she had breathing problems. She died when she was almost four, and we never got a good diagnosis. Jenn was pregnant with Sean by the time they figured out what it was. It’s called Batten Disease. There’s no cure.”

  “Oh, John,” Meg said softly. “How awful. They’re buried in the cemetery here, aren’t they?” Was that why he was so willing to maintain it? To stay near his lost children?

  “Yeah. We were living in Springfield, but Ma bought the plot when Dad died, and that was the only place we had for them. We didn’t come back here to live until I lost my job. Ma had the house, so we moved in with her.”

  “How did Jenn feel about that?” Meg asked.

  “She was okay with it. I couldn’t find work anywhere, not full-time, and she couldn’t work because somebody had to take care of Eli. Ma’s been working steady at the restaurant, but she doesn’t make much.” John looked directly at Meg. “We didn’t mean to have Eli—it was a mistake. We knew before he
was born that he’d never make it. And Jenn won’t let him out of her sight most of the time. That’s why I was surprised that she left him with Ma, to go out in this kind of weather. You said she was here? Why?”

  Meg hated having to make John’s life even more complicated, but she had to know. “John, someone’s been pulling pranks on me lately—letting the goats out, breaking small things. Bree found a nail in one of her tires. And then someone shot out my kitchen window. Do you know anything about that?”

  His bewildered look was convincing. “You think Jenn had something to do with all that?”

  “She broke into my barn tonight. She didn’t expect to find Bree in there, waiting. She tried to attack her, and then she ran out and disappeared. That’s why the police are looking for her. Would she be likely . . . to do harm to herself?”

  John looked grim. “Not as long as Eli is alive. Me, I don’t matter to her anymore. I don’t blame her—I’ve screwed up almost everything I’ve done.”

  Meg realized that there was a question she had never asked. “Has Jenn’s family lived around here for long?”

  “What?” John seemed startled by the non sequitur, but he nodded. “They settled here like two hundred years ago. She’s proud of that. Wait—are you telling me that what Eli’s got has something to do with her Granford ancestors?”

  “I think so. By any chance, was Jenn’s family name Morgan?”

  John stared at her as though she was crazy. “How did you know that?”

  Meg shook her head: this was not the time to explain. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. The only thing you’re right about is that you have rotten luck. I’m so sorry.”

  Meg looked up to see a car pulling into her driveway, now completely filled with vehicles. This one was a police cruiser, and as Meg watched from the kitchen window, an officer she didn’t recognize climbed out, then opened the back door for Jenn Taylor, who was clutching Eli. Donna Taylor climbed out of the other side of the car. The officer herded them all to the back door, and Meg had it open before he had time to knock.