Charlie nodded and ran for the plaza. Only an eruption of trembling fern fronds marked his way.
It was warm outside, but the inside of the church was stifling. Although the windows were open, there was little breeze. There were only ten rows of pews, but that was more than enough for today’s crowd. Three women sat at a table facing the congregation, and four others occupied the front bench.
A large middle-aged woman rose from the table up front when she saw them enter. Ben moved to greet her, and Caroline guessed that this was the diner owner he’d been telling her about. Another of the women at the table stood up soon after the first. Mary Stanton, Caroline remembered. The chief of police’s wife. She’d dropped off an apple pie as a housewarming present.
“So good to see you again,” Mary said as she clasped Caroline’s hands in her own. “Look how big he’s gotten! What a beautiful little boy.” She ran a finger across Bub’s cheek. “Lisbeth said that your husband might come by, but I’m glad you came, too.”
“Ben’s eager to learn more about his family history, and I’d love to learn more about the village.”
“We’re so glad you’re interested,” Mary said. “Our history’s very important to us. Do you know Lisbeth?” she asked. The heavy woman was still talking to Ben, and Mary put a hand on her shoulder.
Lisbeth turned around and Ben began to introduce them. The next thing Caroline knew, the older woman was hugging her. Embracing strangers wasn’t high on Caroline’s list of favorite things, but she allowed herself to return the hug. Making connections with the villagers was important, she told herself as the woman enveloped her. The success of their inn depended on it. Everything depended on it.
One by one, the other women introduced themselves. Mary Stanton seemed the youngest of them, and Caroline saw that she’d been correct to dress casually. They all said the right things, but Caroline couldn’t help but think that some of them were more sincere than others. She didn’t like the way their eyes held her gaze for only a moment before looking the rest of her over. Paranoia, she reminded herself; something I must be vigilant for. After a few minutes, everyone took their seats.
“We’re very happy to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Tierney to our meeting today,” Lisbeth said. “Mr. Tierney’s grandmother was Alice Lowell,” she said.
The woman who sat between Lisbeth Goode and Mary Stanton at the front table nodded at that. She was a wisp of a thing, and Caroline couldn’t imagine her being a day younger than ninety. In a paper-thin voice, she’d introduced herself as Mrs. White. Caroline thought she might be the only one in the room old enough to have known Ben’s grandmother personally.
“It’s a rare thing to get fresh blood in this village, and rarer still for it to be blood of a familiar brand. Now, let’s begin with a reading from Corinthians.”
Lisbeth moved to the lectern while everyone else pulled out their Bibles. Caroline surreptitiously glanced at Ben. She hadn’t mentally prepared herself for a religious component. Lisbeth began to read.
“Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain—”
Caroline didn’t consider herself a religious person, but neither was she irreverent. It just seemed to her the kind of thing politely kept in private.
Yet there was something soothing about hearing biblical passages read aloud. It reminded her of the poetry that Ben used to read to her years ago. Depending on the mood or season, he’d recite some Eliot or Frost or Keats. His voice would sound fresh and robust as he tried to get the inflections just right. But mostly it was the words themselves: worn and old, and stronger for it.
“Now, then, Mary, you brought the diary?” Lisbeth asked once she’d finished.
“I did,” Mary Stanton said. She rose to take Lisbeth’s place at the lectern.
“Most of you have heard this before,” Mary said. “But this seemed like a good first step for the Tierneys to take with us. This is the diary of my Bill’s ancestor, Margaret Stanton, who was only twenty during the Winter Siege.” After clearing her throat, she began to read.
Caroline had never heard of the Winter Siege, and she wondered if this was one of the things Ben had been trying to tell her about on the drive down. The papers Mary read from were yellowed and loose. Caroline could hear them crackle as she turned the pages.
The diary chronicled a Native American attack on the village of Swannhaven during the Revolutionary War. The villagers who were able to flee escaped to the Crofts, of all places. There, they weathered a treacherous winter during which they were plagued with starvation and other misfortunes.
The material was chilling; each page brought a new horror for the people starving between the mountains. Margaret Stanton wrote with an unadorned prose that captured the terror of that season well. There were moments when the story was hard to follow, as if some pages of the journal had been lost. But none of that affected the tension of the narrative. Still, the story had to have a happy ending, Caroline thought. If their descendants still lived, then someone must have made it off the Drop. But in the part of the diary that was read, no such resolution was reached. The passage ended with a haunting description of the villagers huddled by a fire in the Crofts, listening to the screams of the forest caught in a winter gale.
“That always catches me short,” Lisbeth said a few moments into the silence that followed. “What did you think, Ben?” she asked.