Bitter Harvest (9 page)

“Could have been an epidemic. There was a lot of diphtheria around in those days. Typhoid. Even measles could be deadly.”

So much death,
Meg thought. Did she really want to know what happened? Not exactly, but she did want to know what had brought this piece of cloth and the history attached to it to her house. She knew who had been living in it in 1800. Was the girl a relative? Had the family in the sampler lived—and died—around here? Or was the sampler something that someone had once picked up at a yard sale, and then tossed into the closet and forgotten?

“You’ve gone quiet,” Seth said.

Meg smiled ruefully. “I’m just wondering how much I want to know about a family that had such rotten luck—all the kids dying like that, and then the parents. Mostly I’m curious about what the piece is doing here. Well, there’s not much I can do about it right now. If we had power I could go online and at least find out if there was anyone with that surname in Granford at the right time. But we’re stuck back in the nineteenth century, and it’s a little too snowy to walk over to the town hall and ask to see the records. So maybe we should just get back to work? It’ll be dark soon, and it may take us a while to put dinner together, what with having to cook it over an open fire.”

“You might want to talk to Gail Selden, once you can get to town, and I’ll see if any of the thanatologists I consulted when I was in college can shed any light.”

“The what?”

“Thanatologists. People who study death, and how culture copes with it.”

“Seth Chapin, you are a font of information, even if it is a little creepy. Okay, back upstairs for now. Oh, first let me take care of this before Lolly decides it would be nice to sharpen her claws on it.” Meg found a clean towel and rolled the sampler into it, setting the bundle on the sideboard, where she hoped it would be safe. It would be a pity for it to be destroyed after it had waited so long.

They finished exploring the front bedroom, which since it was on a corner and had two windows, still had enough light to see by. There were no more surprises, happy or otherwise.

“The other front room?” Seth asked when they were done.

“My room? I went over that pretty closely when my parents were here, remember? I don’t suppose anything else will turn up, and it’s in pretty good shape. So now what?”

“I say we call it a day. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Downstairs the light was fading fast. Max followed them around, but Lolly opted to stay as close as possible to the dwindling fire. The snow was still piling up against the windows. “Is this ever going to end? What’s the longest Massachusetts storm on record?”

“That I can’t tell you, but it should blow itself out soon.”

“How long will it take to clear the roads?”

“What, you’re in a hurry to get rid of me?”

“No, nothing like that. It just feels so odd, to have no options. You think the goats are all right?”

“I’ll check on them when I take Max out, which should be sooner rather than later, from the way he’s acting. How about I stoke up the fire, and then take Max out while you rustle up some grub?”

“That’s sexist—careful or I’ll give you nothing but beans.”

“You’d regret it later.”

“I could make you sleep in another room.”

Seth just shook his head and laid a few more logs on the fire. “And retrieve my cold corpse in the morning.”

“Oh. I hadn’t considered that. But with these temperatures you’d keep until I figured out what to do with your body.”

Seth snorted. “Come on, Max.”

Meg followed them as far as the kitchen. What could she make? Or maybe she should make Seth cook—she knew he knew how. Of course, to be fair she’d have to go out and get the wood and stoke the fire, and she wasn’t about to assume she could handle that. Better to cook. And fast: it was cold in the kitchen.

The result was sort of a goulashy concoction of beef, tomatoes, and onions, with a bunch of herbs and paprika thrown in. She mixed the ingredients together in the cast iron Dutch oven, which conveniently had little feet on it to hold it over the coals while it cooked. She waited until Seth deemed the coals ready and spread them around so she could settle the pot on top. How long the mess would take to cook was anybody’s guess—she’d just have to keep poking at it. She checked her watch: five o’clock, and already night-dark.

“Now what?” she asked.

“You sound like a bored kid. Relax. Is there another bottle of wine somewhere? We can pull up the chairs and huddle in front of the fire and have a drink.”

“But we did that
last
night,” she said with a mock whine.

“Yup, we did. Nobody ever said colonial life was exciting, except for the occasional Indian attack or war. Mostly you worked hard to stay alive, fell into bed, made a few babies, then got up and started all over again. On Sunday you might take some time off for church.”

“Oh, come on. There had to be some socializing.”

“Weddings and funerals. Quilting bees. Sharing the harvest chores and celebrating when it was done. I don’t think anyone should romanticize the lifestyle, but it worked, because here we are.”

“Yes, we are. Just like all those forebears, sitting in front of the fire, grumbling. Soon to be followed by snoring.” She stood up quickly. “I’ll go look for that wine.”

In the kitchen she found a bottle of red, and collected two glasses—and Lolly’s food, to save herself yet another chilly trip. Back in the front parlor she handed the bottle with a corkscrew to Seth, then refilled Lolly’s dish while he opened the wine. When she was done, Seth handed her a glass.

“What should we drink to?”

“Survival.” Meg raised her glass, and Seth echoed her motion.

Dinner proved better than she had expected, especially after Meg had had the brainstorm to make up a corn bread crust and bake it on top of the stew for the last half hour or so. Or maybe the wine made everything taste better. Either way, she wasn’t going to complain. Stomach full, head swimming slightly, she sat cocooned with blankets in her chair staring at the embers of the dying fire, until she nodded off.

She half woke when Seth nudged her gently. “Bedtime. I stoked the fire, and Max has done his stuff.”

She was too sleepy to think of a comeback, so she followed him meekly to their now-familiar nest in front of the fire, where they snuggled in for the night.

Maybe pioneer life wasn’t for her, but this she could grow used to.

The first thing Meg noticed was the brightness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to tell that something had changed that morning: the sun had come out. She could hear Seth in the kitchen, talking on what had to be his cell phone. No doubt organizing the Granford digging-out process. She wondered if he had enough clout to get her driveway plowed quickly, and then felt ashamed of herself. She didn’t need to go anywhere, and Seth’s car was back at his place anyway. He’d have to hike back overland to get it, if that was even possible.

She pulled off the blankets and stood up, once again dislodging Lolly. The sun rose on the other side of the meadow, but all she could see was blazing blue sky and an endless expanse of white. She couldn’t even tell where the fence around the goat pen was, the snow was so high. It was beautiful—and it was going to be a pain to get rid of. Couldn’t they all just wait until it melted? Not likely: Meg remembered mounds of snow in the middle of Northampton early in the year that had lasted weeks.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Seth came into the room, looking ridiculously energetic.

“Brilliant deduction, since I’m standing up. What time is it?”

“Just past eight. I had to check in with the snowplow guys. They’ve got to dig themselves out before they can tackle the roads. It may be a while.”

“Do you need to be somewhere?”

“Not yet. Don’t you wish you’d gotten a plow blade for that tractor of yours?”

“No! Then someone like you would expect me to use it. You want breakfast?”

“Sure. I’ll build up the fire again—let’s hope this is the last time.”

“Still no power?”

“Not yet, but the guys I talked to said the electric company’s working on it. Maybe by the end of the day.”

“Have you checked in with Rachel and your mother?”

“Yup. All’s good there, and the kids are thrilled to get to stay home another day. Look, I’ve got to take Max out, and I’d better dig a path out to the barn and make sure the goats have enough food.”

“Shall we do the traditional thing again? You make the fire, I’ll make breakfast. Unless you see a handy varmint out there and want to shoot it for breakfast instead.”

“If I brought back a rabbit, would you be prepared to skin it?” he asked.

“In your dreams. Go!”

In the kitchen Meg assembled eggs, bacon, bread. She swabbed out the skillet they had used the day before, still unwashed since there was no hot water. Cold water and grease were not a pleasant combination. She could hear the rhythmic sound of Seth’s shovel out back. Given that the snow was three feet deep, it might take him a while to reach the barn. Good thing they didn’t have cows to milk.

After a few more minutes Meg heard Seth outside the door now, clearing a broader path in front of the back door. Then he came tramping in, scattering snow, with Max adding his own. “Still cold out there! The goats are fine, if bored—much longer and they may chew their way out of the stall.”

“I’ve got breakfast ready to go, if you think the fire’s ready,” Meg said.

“Let me feed Max and mop up the melted snow first.”

Meg carried all the fixings into the front room. Before she could set the pan on the fire, she decided to check her messages and powered on her cell phone. Bree had called not half an hour earlier, so Meg returned the call. “Bree? How are things in Amherst?”

“Hi, Meg. Not too bad—the plows have been out already. How about at your end?”

“Seth says he’s called them out, but I haven’t seen them. I can’t even see the road.”

“So I shouldn’t try to get back there?”

“Not yet. We still don’t have power, and who knows when we’ll have heat? Enjoy your free time—you’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just have to make do.”

Meg could hear Michael laughing in the background. “I’ll let you know when the roads are clear, but there’s no rush.”

“Well, at least you’ve got Seth to keep you company. Bye!”

Bree hung up before Meg could respond. When Seth came in, she told him, “It looks like Amherst has the plowing under control. I told Bree she didn’t need to rush back, even if she could. Maybe she should stay there until I get this furnace problem worked out. You have any idea how long that will take?” She set the skillet on the fire to heat.

“Depends. Once the roads are clear I’ll make some calls.”

“Just try not to bankrupt me. My credit card is already groaning.”

“I’ll do the best I can. Now, about that breakfast . . .”

By the time they had finished eating, the first snowplow had gone past, making a quick detour to clear a portion of her driveway. Seth went out to confer with the driver, and watching from the kitchen window, Meg recognized John Taylor, who waved at her. He’d been so bundled up the last time she’d seen him that she hadn’t gotten a good look at him. He turned out to be older than she had expected, probably in his forties, with a lean dark face, sort of like a prebeard Abraham Lincoln. Seth and John chatted for a few minutes while Meg cleaned up. Did she dare risk boiling water so she could do the dishes? How long would it be until the power was restored?

When Seth came back he said, “Good news. John says the power problem for this road is a downed line over toward town, where a tree fell on it. The rest of the town is back on line, and as soon as they break some trucks free they can fix the last wire. Figure you’ll have power by this afternoon. Look, I’ve got to go into town and coordinate the cleanup process. Will you be okay here? And can I leave Max?”

“I’ll be fine. No problem about Max, but maybe you could stop by with some more firewood later? If the furnace won’t be ready for a few days?”

Seth smiled. “So you really want to keep staying here, even without heat?”

“Hey, we made it through the blizzard, and I’m getting pretty good at cooking over the fire. Once the power’s back, I can shift to the kitchen. I’ll be fine. You go and do what you need to do.”

When he was gone, Meg turned to Max. “Well, pal, what now? You know, I think I vote for boiling a pot of water and then a quick sponge bath. If there’s any water left, I might make a stab at doing the dishes. How does that sound to you?”

Max slobbered at her for a few moments, then turned and settled himself in front of the fire. Meg laughed. “Too much for you, eh, Max? Too bad.” She went back to the kitchen to find a stockpot, which she filled with as much water as she could lift, then hauled it back and settled it on the coals, adding a few split logs around it. It looked stable, which was a good thing, since it would probably take at least an hour to get hot. How on earth had women done laundry in earlier centuries? It must have taken a day just to get the water hot enough. At least they’d had fewer clothes, but the downside of that was that things must have gotten pretty rank. She definitely preferred the present.