Bitter Harvest (5 page)

“Maybe. No harm done, apparently. Let’s get these two settled.” He led the goats into their new temporary home, and they explored it thoroughly before trying out the feed. Seth latched the gate behind them.

“Will they be warm enough?” Meg asked.

“Sure. They’ve got shelter, and they’ve got each other. How do you think animals survived in the wild all these years?”

“I didn’t think about it. Are we done here? My fingers are getting numb.”

“And they aren’t going to get a lot warmer in the house. Remember, I offered you a nice warm place.”

“And I thank you, but I’m staying.”

“Then so am I.”

When they emerged into the blinding snow, Meg realized there was someone else in the driveway, or at least another truck.

“Seth?” someone called out.

“John?” Seth replied. Meg giggled: this was like a game of Marco Polo, with the three of them trying to find each other in the snow.

A shadowy figure came into focus, bundled to the eyeballs. “Hey, Seth, I wanted to check if you’d need me for plowing? Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you, ma’am.”

Seth looked back and forth at Meg and John. “You haven’t met? Meg, this is John Taylor—he lives down the street from you, toward Ludlow. John, meet Meg Corey.”

John stuck out a gloved hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry I haven’t been by to introduce myself before now.”

“Hey, I’ve been so busy with the orchard that I haven’t been around much, so I probably would have missed you anyway.”

“Looks like you had a good harvest this year.”

“I did.”

“Just came over to talk to Seth. So, Seth, can you use me for plowing?”

“Sure. I’ll call you as soon as I have the details. Once the snow stops.”

“Right. Thanks. Good to meet you, Meg.” He climbed into an ageing pickup truck and pulled out onto the road.

“I haven’t seen him around before,” Meg said as the truck disappeared. “Which is surprising, since it’s not like there are a lot of people living on this road.”

“John doesn’t socialize much. He’s having a rough time—he’s got a sick kid, and he just lost his job a few months ago and had to move back in with his mother. I plan to hire him when I need another pair of hands, so you’ll be seeing him here, on and off. And I’ve been throwing what municipal work I can his way, like snowplowing. His wife can’t work because someone’s got to stay home with their child full-time.”

“Sad,” Meg said.

“It is. Come on, let’s get out of the weather!”

“Right behind you.”

Meg followed Seth into the house, and they stripped off their outer clothing, shaking the snow from each piece; it melted quickly on the floor, making puddles. Max was eager to help, and excited about being inside with some of his favorite people. He kept bouncing around their legs, and Meg had to remind herself that Max wasn’t even a year old yet—still a puppy, albeit a large and boisterous one. Lolly watched the scene from atop the refrigerator, keeping out of the fray.

“So, now what?” Meg asked. “Are you hungry?” She was surprised to see that it was lunchtime already. “I did stock up on staples, so we won’t starve. Oh, except I didn’t think of dog food. Will Max eat cat food?”

“I can go back and get a bag of kibble.”

“Seth! You want to go back out in that?” Meg waved out the kitchen window, which showed nothing but white.

“Why not? It’s daylight, I’ve got the snowshoes, and I know the way. Give me lunch and I’ll be ready to brave the storm.”

“If you say so,” Meg said dubiously. If it had been up to her, Max would have eaten whatever she could find. “Ham and cheese work for you?”

“Sounds good.”

Once lunch was over, Seth donned all the pieces of clothing he had taken off.

“Are you going to take Max with you?” Meg asked.

“I don’t think so—he doesn’t have snowshoes, and it’s getting pretty deep out there. Besides, if we got separated, I’m not sure I’d find him again. He’s never seen snow, and I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s easily distracted.”

Meg conjured up an image of doggie snowshoes and laughed. “He’ll be okay here. Won’t you, Max?” Max responded by drooling on her hand. “How long will you be? Just so I can send out the Mounties when you don’t show up.”

“This isn’t the Arctic, Meg. I’m walking home and back again. I’ve done it a thousand times, even in the snow. An hour, maybe? I’ve got to make sure my place is secure, too. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Maybe you should start cooking dinner—that at least will keep the kitchen warm. We’ll wait to build a fire until I get back. Anything else you can think of that we need?”

“Just you.” As he headed for the door, she grabbed his coat and pulled him back and kissed him.

When she let him go, he smiled and asked, “What was that for?”

“I’m sending you off into a howling blizzard in search of dog food, a truly noble calling. Thank you for humoring me about staying here.”

“Hey, I get it. Although you may find one experiment as Meg Corey, Pioneer Woman, is enough for you.”

“Take care.” He gave her a salute then strapped on his snowshoes. She watched him as he disappeared into the driving snow—it took him only a couple of seconds to vanish. She turned to the dog. “Well, Max, what shall we make for dinner? How does minestrone sound to you?” Max wagged his tail enthusiastically. “Minestrone it is.”

Seth had been right about a warm kitchen. She kept all the doors closed, and put a large pot of water on the back of the stove before she began chopping vegetables and opening cans. She had it easy—at least she had fresh vegetables, not to mention store-bought cans of beans and tomatoes. A century or two ago, people would have eaten what they raised—period. Probably December wouldn’t have been too skimpy, but she could imagine that February might be grim, after the fall harvest crops had run out. The apples would have survived that long—dried, maybe, and she thought she’d seen some mention of putting them in barrels, well packed in straw, and submerging them in a pond over the winter. It sounded a bit extreme, but what did she know? She had modern refrigeration.

The soup started to smell good. It was hard to go wrong with the basics: onions, carrots, beans. The nice thing about minestrone was that you could toss in whatever you had on hand, and no one could argue with you about messing with the recipe. And it was kind of cozy to be working in the warm kitchen while the snow swirled around the house. The windows were steaming up. Lolly slept on, and even Max was quiet at the moment, which was a blessing. Should she make something to go with the soup? Corn bread? Did she have cornmeal? She couldn’t remember. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d really cooked. She’d been so busy with the harvest, and so exhausted at the end of each day, that she and Bree had relied mostly on takeout and microwave foods, even though she shuddered at the salt and sugar content. Rachel had taken care of Thanksgiving. So this was really the first chance she’d had to indulge in cooking for pleasure. She could make the corn bread, and then leave the oven on and try for an apple pie. At least she knew she still had apples.

After an hour and a half Meg began to wonder if she should worry about Seth. Sure, he knew his way around, but she’d read stories of Arctic explorers who got disoriented in the snow and lost all sense of direction—and sometimes their frozen corpses weren’t found for decades. That was not a comforting thought. Still, up until now, if Seth said he was going to do something, he did it, with a minimum of muss and fuss. And usually three other things at the same time. Besides, she had no idea what she would do if he didn’t reappear soon. Call the police? Then there would be multiple people wandering around in a blizzard, which only increased the chances of someone getting lost, with possibly fatal consequences.

Stop it, Meg!
Why was she getting so morbid? A minute ago she had been cheerfully chopping vegetables; now she was envisioning frozen corpses in the snow. Seth knew what he was doing—didn’t he? She trusted his judgment. If he said he could walk home and back in a howling blizzard, she was going to believe him. Until when? Two hours? Three?

Her increasingly frantic thoughts were interrupted by a stamping at the back door. Seth looked like an abominable snowman, his winter jacket and hood covered with an inch or so of the white stuff. The image was exaggerated by the large pack he was wearing on his back. How much dog food had he brought? Was he preparing for a long siege?

She pulled open the door as he was brushing the last of the snow off his legs. He took off the snowshoes and left them leaning against the house outside the door before stepping in. “Something smells good.”

“You took long enough.”

Something in her tone made Seth look at her more closely. “Sorry. Were you worried? I was making sure my place was closed up tight, and I checked Mom’s, too. Oh, and when I was coming back I noticed one of your cellar windows had come loose. I didn’t notice that when I looked at the furnace earlier. But it was probably held in by one of those old hook-and-eye rigs, and since the wood is old, a good gust of wind could have knocked it loose. I wedged it closed, but I’ll take a look at it from downstairs. Hi, Max—you being good?”

“He’s been asleep, mostly—you woke him up. Have you seen or heard any updates on the storm?”

“The weather forecasters are having a great time outlining disaster scenarios, but they’re paid to make news,” Seth said. “Why don’t we turn on the TV and check on the latest?”

Meg flipped on the small television she kept in the kitchen. Not surprisingly all channels were running continuous coverage, and she watched in fascination, flipping among channels, as each outlined details of a storm that exceeded anything she—and they—had ever heard of.

“Wow. They’re saying it could go on for another day, with record snowfalls. So, what now?”

Seth smiled. “You want me to show you how to build a fire in your fireplace?”

“Oh, goodie. Yes, please. You’re sure it’s safe?”

“The biggest risk for chimney fires is when you have a buildup of creosote inside. Since nobody seems to have used this for years, and since I’ve already made sure there are no obstructions, I’d say we’re good. You
do
have a fire extinguisher, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She noticed he was smiling. “Oh, you’re joking. Okay, big man, make the little woman a fire.”

“Piece of cake,” he said. Coatless, he went out the back to the adjoining shed and returned with an armload of split logs and smaller pieces of wood for kindling. “Get the door, will you?”

Meg obliged—and was shocked at how much colder the dining room was than the kitchen. She led the way through to the front parlor and stood and watched as Seth laid a fire.

“You have any newspapers?”

“I thought that was cheating.”

“It’s not my favorite method, but they’ll do in a pinch. Yes or no? Otherwise I’ll have to start using those historic records you’ve been sitting on. I bet they’d catch fast.”

“Don’t even think it. Yes, I have some newspapers. They’re even stacked up for recycling.” Meg went back through the kitchen and collected a stack of papers, marveling again at the differences in temperature. She returned to the parlor and thrust them at Seth. “Here. Will these do?”

“Just fine, thank you,” he said, turning his attention back to the fire. In a couple of minutes he had a nice small fire going, and he watched it carefully to make sure the smoke was going up the chimney. Finally he said, “It’s drawing nicely. The old builders knew what they were doing. Of course, if this was your only heat, you kind of had to get it right. Now, close off the doors to the hall and the dining room to keep the heat in. We don’t have a whole lot of wood, and we don’t know how long this storm might last.”

“Surely not more than a day?” Meg said.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on anything.”

“This is kind of scary,” she said, shivering.

“Why?” he asked. “We have food, heat, electricity, and companionship. What more do you want? Do you happen to have any oil lamps handy?” When she stared blankly at him, he went on. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You’re thinking we’ll lose power?” she said.

“It’s possible. I think there are some old lamps out in the barn. The question is, is there any kerosene for them? Only one way to find out.”

“What, you’re going out in that again?”

“It’s going to get dark soon. It’s better to be prepared now than to fumble around later.”

“By any chance were you a Boy Scout?”

“How’d you guess? Look, you stay here and I’ll go check in the barn. I’ll take Max along—he probably needs to go, and he can burn off some energy.” Seth went back toward the kitchen, whistling.

He
was
actually enjoying this! Meg stood in front of the fire as it began to cast some heat into the room, her arms wrapped around herself. She was pretty sure that the house would survive; at least she knew it was structurally sound. The barn? The roof was pretty iffy, but the skeleton was good—Seth had checked when he installed the apple holding chambers. So she might be cold, but she wasn’t in any danger, and there was plenty of food. And companionship. She was going to have a sleepover with Seth. Sure, they’d spent nights together, but not prolonged periods of time with little to distract them. They’d actually have time to talk, unless Seth went into his manic fix-it mode. Was this good or bad?