“I picked out the second all on my own.” He’d stopped scrubbing to watch my reaction. “It reminded me of your clover crown.”
I couldn’t help my cry of delight as I opened the second parcel. A beautiful length of blush-pink voile, scattered with embroidered Swiss dots, lay nestled in the wrapping.
“Whitaker, it’s the most beautiful cloth I’ve ever seen—thank you!”
“It’s probably too thin for this cold weather, but when I saw it, I couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing it.” His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn’t look away, even as my cheeks heated once more.
“I…I love it. Thank you. It’s just…perfect.”
He grinned, clearly pleased that I liked his choice. “Why don’t you take them back inside? I’m ready to come out, and I don’t need your ogling eyes roving about my naked frame. I’m quite modest, I’ll have you know.”
With a smile, I turned to go. My heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, and I was already dreaming up patterns for the new fabrics. I pictured wearing the pink voile next spring, sitting in a field of wildflowers with Whitaker. We’d hunt for four-leaf clovers until twilight came and we could no longer see anything but the twinkle of fireflies and a heartbreakingly large crescent moon.
“Oh, Ellerie?” he called after me, interrupting the daydream. His eyes sparkled green and amber as he smiled up at me. “I missed you too.”
The sound of hammers filled the crisp autumn air, their cheerful tapping carrying across the farm. As the men of Amity Falls shouted and laughed outside, framing out the new supply shed, our kitchen was being turned upside down as the wives bustled about, preparing for the noon meal.
Chicken sizzled.
Biscuits rose.
Pies steamed at open windows.
But even these wafting aromas were not enough to overpower the scent of sawdust. It permeated the morning, covering everything outdoors with a fine silky film. Sadie and her friends had been charged with keeping it out of the house, and they ran races with their wide straw brooms, their merriment infectious.
“It was awfully good of you all to come out,” I mentioned to Charlotte Dodson as she whipped a bowl of egg whites into lofty peaks. “We’d never be able to rebuild the shed so quickly on our own.”
“When neighbors reach for helping hand…,” she said with a smile.
“Extend your own, as God commands,” the rest of the kitchen spoke up, reciting the last part of the sixth Rule.
“All the same, I’m so very grateful to everyone. All of us are.”
I glanced out the window at Samuel. He was looking over a drawing Matthias Dodson had sketched out. The Elder was pointing to some detail, and Sam nodded, an unusual solemnity weighting his face.
“It was a terrible thing that happened to you Downings,” Charlotte said, spooning out the meringue over the pie crust I’d labored over. “Terrible. We’re just happy we can help in some way.”
She stole a quick glance toward the Danforth farm and shook her head. Nearly no one had seen Rebecca or Mark since the Judgment. They’d hidden away in their cabin, cloaked in grief and rage.
“Perhaps we could bring them a plate after the meal,” I suggested, and her cheeks colored, as if she was embarrassed to be caught staring.
“The Danforths aren’t receiving visitors,” she said, then carefully added, “at least not from our group.”
“Group?” I echoed, looking about the kitchen.
Martha McCleary and Cora Schäfer worked together ladling beans as Violet Buhrman stirred a simmering pot of dumplings and gravy.
“Founding families,” she murmured, dropping her voice. “She blames us for what happened to her pa. Now the only person Rebecca Danforth will let darken her door is the parson and his family. I saw Clemency and Letitia riding up on the buggy earlier today.” She shook her head.
“I…I’m sure he’s a comfort to them in these times,” I said, stringing together words that felt far too grown-up to be coming from my lips.
After a pause, Charlotte nodded.
Merry and Bonnie Maddin came in, giggling. We’d set up a long series of tables in the side yard, and they’d been busy all morning, laying out napkins, plates, and cutlery.
“Mr. Dodson wanted to know what time the meal will be ready,” Merry said.
“We’re just about ready to start serving up the chicken,” Martha called out. “Ellerie, can you get me a serving bowl or two? I’m not sure where your mother keeps them.”
I ducked into the larder, and stood on tiptoe to pull down Mama’s wedding china. We didn’t use it often, but I wanted to show my appreciation for everyone’s hard work today, however I could.
A scream sliced through the air, and I nearly dropped the bowl from my hands.
Its high pitch was unmistakably Sadie’s.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” I raced out, praying there’d not been an accident.
The kitchen was empty.
All the women stood on the porch, hands shielding their eyes as they squinted at the commotion in the yard.
A monstrous, hulking thing lay in the dirt.
At first, my mind couldn’t wrap around what I was seeing. There was fur and feathers. Sharp pointed ears. Sharper teeth. Giant curved talons poking from enormous padded paws.
“What is that?” I dared to whisper, horrified the beast would turn its head toward me and devour us all.
“It’s dead,” Cora murmured, stepping away from the safety of the porch.
The thing was unnervingly still.
All of the yard was.
The men had stopped their work, had dropped their tools where they stood. Saws and hammers littered the ground like confetti. Most of them stared, slack-jawed, at the creature, but Calvin Buhrman studied something beyond the beast.
Someone.
“Ezra?” he asked, his tone incredulous enough to draw the others’ attention. “Is that you?”
My gaze drifted toward the tall figure standing beside a cart I only now noticed.
He looked to be around forty, maybe a little younger, though an unlikely pair of gold spectacles balanced precariously on the end of his nose. His hair was as dark as coffee beans, and his skin was sun-kissed and freckled. This was a man used to being outdoors, fighting the elements, and—judging from his well-toned muscles—winning.
Another man was with him, still seated in the wagon. A boy no older than myself. Chocolate-brown eyes gleamed beneath a mop of dark curls. His lips upturned, his smile easy. There was no doubt the two men were related.