Mrs. White had been treating Mose Johnson’s sons for fevers, and they were coming along well. In her papery voice, she also reported that two of the farmers’ wives were pregnant and that she thought one of them would have twins. Ben was surprised such things were discussed at a village council meeting, but he guessed that in a place so small, everything was of interest.
Lisbeth turned next to Walter Harp. He gave her a sheet that detailed how much milk the dairy farms had produced last month, where it had been sold, and for what price. He provided similar details for Swannhaven’s chicken and eggs, corn and vegetables and fruit. Lisbeth and the chief compared this year’s figures to last year’s. Corn was up; chickens, eggs, vegetables, and fruit were about the same; milk was down. From what Ben gathered, most farmers who worked the valley floor rented their acreage from someone else—presumably from one of the families at this table. He didn’t know if they paid rent but figured there was some arrangement. Walter Harp appeared to manage sales of milk and corn to purchasers outside Swannhaven. The rest of the production was sold via Harp’s store to other villagers. In that way, the village seemed self-sufficient.
This brought them to Roger Armfield, who nervously related a spate of cattle deaths across the valley.
“A sickness tore through the milk herds back in the eighties,” Lisbeth told Ben. “Lost half the herds. It began turning up again last winter. Hasn’t gotten too bad so far because we’ve been careful to quarantine the infected,” she said.
The discussion then moved on to a problem that some of the farms on the north end of the valley were having with well water.
The Swannhaven Trust meeting was like nothing Ben had expected. He was surprised by how interlinked all the families in the village were, but what really struck him was the way the village’s services and economy were organized. It seemed to be a combination of feudalism and farming cooperative. He’d never heard of anything quite like it.
The meeting ended with a prayer, and the trust members began to leave. Lisbeth was quick to take Ben aside.
“That’s how it’s done in Swannhaven,” she said. “What did you think?”
“I have to admit, that’s not how I imagined a village council meeting,” Ben said. “I didn’t realize you’d be so involved in every aspect of the village. I guess I thought people just sat around talking about potholes and stop signs.”
Lisbeth laughed at that. “We do things a little differently here,” she said. “But only because we need to. Trading in kind and sharing what we can is the only way a small farming village like ours can survive these days. Gotta save what money we have for gas, electricity, heating oil, and the interest to the banks.” She shook her head. “You can bet that no one in this village will hop into bed with a bank again. We need nobody but each other and the Lord. Speaking of which, you should come to Sunday service.”
“I’ll definitely come by,” Ben said. He knew the Swanns had been religious folk, and he wanted to get a better sense of what that part of their lives had been like. “And I like that you all look out for one another.”
“We’ve been through more together than most towns. Going all the way back to the Winter Siege during the Revolution so long ago. If you’re trying to figure out this strange little village of ours, that one hard winter is all you need to know. Folks came out of it as close as family—closer than most, I’d wager.” She suddenly smiled. “Speaking of families, I was right when I guessed that yours would be beautiful. Two handsome sons and a lovely wife for the full set. You should know that Caroline’s welcome at all our meetings.”
The others had already left the church, but Ben could still hear their voices.
“I’ll tell her. She just wasn’t feeling well today,” he said. “She gets these headaches.”
“That can be hard,” Lisbeth said. “My late husband used to have something similar. The winters were always especially hard on him. Mrs. White used to fix him up with teas from her garden. It worked wonders on him.”
“Really?” There was some commotion outside: shouts from excited voices and the rumble of cars accelerating.
Lisbeth’s eyes also flicked toward the door as she spoke. “I know Mrs. White would be pleased to put something together for Caroline, if you like. See if it works? Always says that’s what she was put here to do.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” Ben said. He didn’t know how Caroline would feel about homemade therapeutic tea, but he’d try anything.
“Mr. Tierney.” Roger Armfield had burst through the church door. “They need you,” he said. He pointed through the doors.
“They?” Ben asked, as he walked outside.
He shielded his eyes against the sun as he stepped out. Something outside had changed. Loud voices came from Harp’s General Store, and there was a vacant place where the chief’s police cruiser had been. He could discern Deputy Simms’s voice but not the words he shouted.
Two pickups had pulled in front of Harp’s. Men from town squeezed into the seats and others piled into the back. Ben had never seen so many people gathered at one time on Swannhaven’s streets. He wondered where they’d come from. Deputy Simms saw Ben and began to run toward him.
Ben didn’t know what was going on, but he got the sense that he should be moving faster. He quickly untied Hudson’s leash from where he’d fastened it and was about to lead him to the Escape when he felt a sharp rap against his shoulder.
Deputy Simms stood behind him. “Aren’t you gonna follow them?” Simms asked, twitching his head in the direction of the two pickup trucks.
Ben frowned at the deputy, and the younger man pointed east. Ben followed his gesture to the place between the mountains, where a maelstrom of black smoke billowed from where his house was supposed to be.
21
The Escape shook from the irregularities of the broken roadway, and its tires shrieked on every turn.