“With all the black rot that’s plaguing the other farms around me, I decided to plant a crop of winter wheat this year. It sprouts quickly and it would be ready to harvest in the spring. I know…things could get bad this winter, and I just wanted to have something to hope for.” He paused, scratching at his scraggly blond beard. “And…and it was growing. Really growing. Too fast, maybe.”
“Too fast?” I echoed, so drawn into his story, I’d forgotten I wasn’t supposed to be listening in.
“Don’t you know better than to eavesdrop on other people’s business?” Matthias folded his arms over his chest, peering across the aisle with disappointment.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Thaddeus waved off their concern. “Winter wheat should only get so high before the snows set in, you know?” He pantomimed several inches between his fingers. “But this wheat…it’s waist-high now. Or…it was.” He swallowed, aware others nearby had also begun to listen in. “It started turning yellow, like it was almost ready for harvest. And the heads…I’ve never seen such large ones in all my seasons. There wasn’t just one on each stalk either. Some of the straw had two, three, even four heads apiece. It was a miracle, I thought. This could help everyone through the winter. I was going to harvest it and mill it down to flour. I would have had enough to feed the Falls. But then this morning…”
His voice caught.
Edmund Latheton leaned in. The carpenter was captivated. “What happened?” he asked, his voice hushed.
“Nearly all of the wheat was…gone. Stripped bare.”
Leland’s eyebrows shot up. “Someone else harvested it?”
The farmer shook his head. “Sections of the fields were…flattened. Whole areas just…” He swiped his hand out.
“We have had unusual weather of late,” Matthias reasoned, glancing to the hail still pelting the windows with chinks and clinks. It was a wonder any of the stained glass was still whole. “Perhaps a wind—”
“No, no, sir,” Thaddeus disagreed. “It wasn’t an even sweep through the fields. There was a pattern to it.” His lips twisted with dismay. “There’re…pictures drawn in the wheat.”
A wave of uneasy murmurs stirred.
“Sets of circles, side by side. They’re dotting over the whole field. Like a tornado came down but went back up to try again. There’re hundreds of them.”
Edmund’s eyebrows furrowed into a worried line. “How big would you say they were?”
“Not very. Maybe six, eight feet wide, each of them.”
Edmund let out a sigh. “I know what did it.”
Simon and Rebecca had drifted over to the group and were standing in the aisle. Rebecca’s hand flittered toward her stomach, but she caught herself in time and opted to sit down in an empty pew.
Simon leaned against its side. “What do you mean, Latheton?”
“A couple of days ago, I noticed that some of my lumber had gone missing. Several boards were gone and some lengths of rope. I didn’t think much of it at the time—figured someone needed it and would come back with payment when they could spare it.”
Beside him, Prudence let out a sharp huff. It was no secret that she kept a fanatical eye on accounts.
“Now I wonder if it weren’t some children up to a bit of mischief.”
As if we were all puppets pulled by strings, our heads turned to the group of young boys playing in the back of the sanctuary.
Thaddeus shook his head. “I can’t see how children could create such—”
Edmund cut him off. “It’s not hard. You set a pic point in the field with a tether for a mule. The board goes on the ground behind the mule. Two people balance on either end of the wood, holding onto the harness. And then, just give the beast a whack and let it run.”
Thaddeus looked stricken. “Why would someone do that? With winter upon us and supplies so low? I looked through the flattened wheat. It’s all spent, the heads stripped clean and the seeds scattered.”
Matthias’s nostrils flared. “The better question is who? Have you had any disagreements with anyone of late, McComb? Anyone looking to settle a score?”
“No. No one.”
“Has your wife? Your children?”
Thaddeus glanced about the sanctuary as if looking for someone to pin the blame on. “I can’t think of anyone.”
Leland clicked his tongue. “I can. The newcomers. Ezra and his boy. I don’t see them here today. Could it be they’re sleeping off their exhaustion after a night of sabotage?”
Matthias frowned at the other Elder. “What are you suggesting? It’s Ezra Downing,” he reminded everyone. “A member of this town. Of the founding families. He’s hardly a stranger.”
Leland pursed his lips.
I’d never seen the Elders so openly in disagreement.
“He disappeared when he was—what? Fifteen years old? He wasn’t even part of the Gathering yet. And now suddenly he returns. How are we meant to know anything about them?”
Several townspeople turned, glancing back toward our pew, contaminating us by association. Sadie pressed herself close against my side.
“I think…” Matthias’s gray eyes drifted to look above our heads, unfocused as if watching something play out, far in the future. “He was horribly wrong about the wolves being gone. I’ll give you that, but that could have been any of us—”
Leland shook his head, not backing down. “I think they ought to be cut off from town. Shunned.”
“Shunned?” From the back of the room, Parson Briard stood. “We’ve not had cause to shun anyone in the Falls in years. Decades, even.”
Leland’s eyes narrowed. “This is for all of our safety.”
“Safety?” Briard snorted. “I’m certain we can handle any threat those two men might pose.”
“Two came into town,” Leland allowed. “But we don’t know how many others there might be left in the forest, waiting for a signal.”
“Hiding in the forest? After all these months? You sound absurd.”
Amos rose on creaky legs, holding on to Martha for support. “With so many strange events, I think it best to exercise caution. I don’t want to cast blame, but…Leland is right. It’s been many years since we last saw Ezra Downing. We don’t know what sort of man he turned out to be. Vigilance is prudent.” He offered a tentative smile across the sanctuary. “We’ll pull through this as we always do in Amity Falls—together.”