He closed his eyes and, for the thousandth time, pictured in his head the way the farm had been when his aunt was stil
l alive, with animals in the barn
and every field and garden alive with growth. There was somethi
ng disturbing about a silent barn
, about fallow fields, and gardens where weeds were taking
over. Someday, he promised himself, Pumpkin Hill would once again bustle with life. Someday. He would see to it.
Unlocking the door to his apartment, Matt stepped into the quiet rooms beyond. He paused in the kitchen to open the window, then made a quick round to make sure that nothing was amiss. Grateful that this very private space—his since he had claimed it right out of high school, his all through college— had not been violated by strangers, he opened the bedroom windows to bring in fresh air, then stripped off the shirt he'd worn that morning and folded it neatly before placing it on the end of the bed. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out an old sweatshirt, then changed from his khakis into a pair of well-worn jeans. Feeling better, he went down the steps, whistling for Artie.
Matt walked to the farmhouse and let himself in with his key. A faint scent of something led him into the kitchen, where he was surprised to find a half pot of coffee in the coffeemaker, and a cup on the counter. Frowning, he checked to make sure that the pot was turned off. It was. Without a second thought, he rinsed out the cup in the sink. His hands on his hips, he walked through the dining room, where boxes sat here and there on the floor, then into the living room, where more boxes were piled and several books had been left on the footrest near his favorite wing chair near the fireplace.
He frowned again. Laura had said that she'd found a tenant, but not that said tenant had moved in.
He picked the books up from the stool and idly
glanced at the titles.
Secrets of Gypsy Fortune-telling. Crystals and Card Reading.
Aunt Hope's books.
The tenant was reading Matt's aunt's favorite books—while sitting in Matt's own favorite chair— and Matt didn't like it one bit.
He replaced the books on the shelves and walked to the bottom of the steps and called upstairs. "Hello? Is anyone here?" No reply.
"Is anyone up there?" Silence.
He wondered what room the tenant had claimed, and hoped it wasn't his. Or his aunt's. Or Laura's for that matter. Feeling foolish for caring, Matt took the steps in long strides and peered into each doorway until he found the room with the open suitcase on the foot of the unmade bed. Grateful that the tenant had at least had the good sense to choose the guest room and
not
sleep in someone else's bed, he almost forgave him—or her, he didn't know which, he realized—the fact that the quilt was hanging half off the bed. He was sorely tempted to make the bed, but he fought the urge and went back downstairs. The tenant was obviously elsewhere.
He locked the back door and whistled for Artie
, who came flying around the corn
er of the ba
rn
, a happy grin on his big, silly dog-face.
"Ah, you're happy to be back too, aren't you boy?" Matt bent down on one knee and gave Artie a scratch behind one ear. "How 'bout if we take a walk down to the pond and see if the ducks are back?"
Artie was sniffing maniacally around the small fenced-in garden. Matt peered over the fence and sighed in disgust at the mess. He could have sworn
that Chief Monroe had said that the kids hadn't gone near the house, but Aunt Hope's kitchen garden had clearly been the object of some kind of tear. He'd make sure he mentioned it to the Chief when he stopped down at the police station later on.
"Come on, boy." He called to Artie, who sped past him, nose to the ground as if on a scent, and set off across the field. Maybe he'd make a stop at the wishing tree, though he knew in his heart that the things he had wished for that day could never come true.
It would be enough, Matt reasoned, if a few hours at Pumpkin Hill would take the heaviness from his heart. More than enough, if he left later that day having found just a touch of that serenity that had always been there for him over the years. He whistled to Artie, who'd taken off toward the woods, and the dog ran back to him, chasing down to the pond where his sudden appearance startled the flock of Canada geese that had wintered over at Pumpkin Hill. Artie scolded them for trespassing, barking fiercely. When the geese had all sought sanctuary at the opposite side of the pond, Artie lay down on the muddy bank, pleased with his success, and rolled onto his back so that Matt could rub his stomach.
"Oh, you are so proud of yourself, aren't you?" Matt laughed. "Scared those birds clear across the pond. You're some fierce guy, you are."
Ragged fronds of last year's cattails lined one side of the pond, and it was there, Matt suspected, that the ducks hid from Artie. Too early in the season for frogs, he knew, and too soon for the turtles to have emerged from hibernation beneath the warming
mud. Before too long there would be both, along with minnows and all manner of pond life. As a boy. Matt had spent endless hours here, sifting through the layers of life that gathered in, on, or near a country pond, from tadpoles and water-skimmers to dragonflies and the occasional heron, raccoons, and deer. Over the years, he'd come to know them all. His love for the wildlife that populated Pumpkin Hill had been influential in his decision to become a veterinarian.
"Come on, Artie." Matt leaned down and patted his dog on the back to get his attention. "Let's take a walk."
With Artie at his side, Matt walked the width of the back field, noting the proliferation of weeds—most noticeably dandelions—that had sprouted up where his aunt's market crops—potatoes some years, soybeans some others—had once grown. Hope would be getting the soil ready for seeding, had she lived for one more spring. She'd be cleaning up the equipment—the tractor and the tiller—that would be used to plow under whatever might have sprung to life where the cash crops would be sowed. She'd dig deeply, turning over the soil, making sure the earth was warm and ready for planting. In another month or so, Matt pondered, she'd have close to sixty-five acres set in seed, the other acres being comprised of pond, woods, and the area close to the road where the house and the outbuildings sat.
He missed Hope, just as he missed his father, and his mother. Dr. Espey wouldn't be around forever, either, and Laura
…
well, he was losing her in a different way. The thought that sometimes life
seemed like little more than a series of losses swept over him and pinched him around the heart. He was still thinking about life and loss as he wandered toward the old tree. Without thinking twice, he sat down and leaned back against the trunk, trying to focus more on the many happy days he'd spent right here in this spot. It relaxed him a little, and he braced his hands behind his head, entwining his fingers, and closed his eyes. He smiled to himself, recalling how Laura had always repeated the local legend about how if you fell asleep under the wishing tree, you'd see the face of your one true love when you woke up.
"Not hardly," Matt mused. "Unless we count Artie
…"
Artie found his master fast asleep and lay down beside him, his head on Matt's lap. And there Artie stayed, until he heard the tires of the Jeep crunch on the stone drive. He sped off to investigate the intruder.
Georgia pulled up next to the farmhouse, as close to the back door as she could get. As Laura had promised, Tanner's had everything. She had purchased a week's supply of groceries along with a pair of sturdy canvas and suede garden gloves, a large bag of birdseed, and several boxes of extra large plastic lawn and leaf bags. She had called Laura on her cell phone and was telling her just that, as she turned off the engine and reached for the door handle at the exact second that the black beast attacked her car.
"Oh!" She screamed and backed away from the driver's side window. "Oh!"
The dog—it
was
a dog, she felt pretty certain, though it was acting more like a vicious bear—snarled and barked and growled through the glass. Thoroughly frightened, Georgia screamed again.
"Georgia! Georgia!" a terrified Laura yelled into the phone. "What is it?"
"Oh, go away! Go away!" Georgia was shouting.
"Georgia! What—"
"Oh, Laura! It's horrible!" Georgia unhooked her seat belt so that she could back away from the window and the snarling jaws of the killer beast. "It's the most horrible big black dog! He's trying to eat his way into my car! And it must have rabies, it's drooling and slobbering all over the window. I'm going to hang up and call Chief Monroe
…"
"Wait a minute," Laura said. "Did you say
big black dog?"
"Yes!"
"How big?"
"Oh, enormous-big! The biggest, fiercest dog I've ever seen!"
"Tell him to sit," Laura instructed her. "Open the window and tell him."
Georgia was certain she had not heard correctly. "What?"
"I said, open the window and tell him to sit."
"Are you
crazy?
Laura, if I open this window, he'll get me."
"Georgia, trust me. Just open the window a little and tell him to sit."
"Laura
…"
"Do it."
Georgia rolled the window down just a hair. "Sit," she whispered.
The dog lunged at the window.
"See?" she shrieked into the phone. "He wants in. He wants to bite me—"
"Georgia, that little whimper of yours would not get the attention of a child. Now, you tell that dog in no uncertain terms that you are the boss."
"Laura, I'm not the boss! He is! You should see this thing, it's bigger than I am!"
"I know he is, sweetie. That's why I'm trying to tell you how to control him."
Georgia paused. "How would you know?"
"It's Artie. Matt's dog. He'll intimidate for a while—for as long as you will let him, or until he tires of the game."
"Artie the water-dish Artie?"
"Yes."
"He thinks this is a game?"
"Absolutely."
"Bully the blonde?"
"Every chance he gets," Laura laughed. "Now, say, 'Sit, Artie.' "
Putting a name to the beast made it a little less fearsome.
"Sit, Artie." Georgia opened the window a little farther.
In mid-lunge toward the window, Artie cocked his head to one side.
"Again, louder. More forceful."
"Sit, Artie," Georgia commanded sternly. And to her amazement, Artie sat.
"Hey, it worked!"
"Tell him he's a good boy."
"He's not a good boy. He's slobbered all over the side of my car and he scared me to death."
"Georgia, do you want to spend the rest of the day in the front seat of your Jeep?"
Georgia rolled the window down a little more and peered down into the face of the beast. He was panting, watching her curiously.
"You're a good boy."
"Say it like you mean it," Laura prodded her.
"You're a very good boy."
"Artie."
"Artie,"
Georgia repeated. "You're a very good boy,
Artie."
Artie's tail thumped the dirt.
"What's he doing?" Laura asked.
"He's wagging his tail and his tongue is hanging half out of the side of his mouth."
"Good. Give him a reward."
"Reward him for attacking me?"
"No. Reward him for stopping. What did you buy at Tanner's?"
"The closest thing to wild-anything food that I have is birdseed." Georgia turned and leaned into the backseat, poking through bags, and frowned. "No meat, of course. Salad stuff. Eggs." Georgia paused, her hand on the egg carton.
Do dogs eat raw eggs?
"Carrots?" Laura asked.
"Oh, sure. I have carrots." She reached into the closest bag and drew out the large bunch of organic carrots that sported their long leafy tops.
"Oh, good. Break one and call him to the car."
"I really don't think it's carrots he's after. I think he'd rather have my forearm."
"Offer him the carrot." Laura laughed. "Trust me."
Georgia rolled the window down a little more.
"Here, Artie," she called tentatively. "I have a nice carrot for you
…
"
The eager animal jumped up to the window, and Georgia tossed him the carrot, lest he get too close. His tail wagging merrily, he went around the front of the car and lay down on the grass, munching his prize with obvious relish.
"How 'bout that?" Georgia grinned. "Who'd ever believe it? A vegetarian rottweiler."
Laura laughed. "Artie is a very special dog. I'm sorry he scared you, but he was only protecting his home from an intruder. You'll be fine now."
The crisis having passed, Laura was suddenly struck with the obvious: Artie. Matt.
"Ah, Georgia, I think I should warn
yo
u…"
Laura began hesitantly.