“She shouldn’t have been in the road,” Charlie said.
“No, she shouldn’t have been. But she’s a nice old lady. She’s Mom’s friend, the one who gives her that tea she likes. She must have gotten lost.” They were almost to the Crofts. The county road ascended just before their turnoff.
“She looked sick like Grams,” Charlie said. “She looked hungry.”
Midway up the gravel drive, Ben saw the lights from the south end of the house. For the first time, the place almost felt like home.
The kitchen was warm and smelled of the soup Caroline had simmered through the afternoon. Jake sat by Bub, trying to coax a spoonful into the baby’s mouth. Ben was relieved to see the young man there. The Wolf rarely made an appearance when they had company.
“Bub tired himself out with a meltdown, and I wanted to get some food into him before putting him to bed,” Caroline said. “What took so long?”
“We watched soccer practice for a while,” Ben said. “And almost hit Mrs. White. She was wandering down the middle of the street.”
“Are you serious?” Caroline asked. Her hand went to her heart.
“Yeah. It was close. She must have gotten disoriented. A guy—her son, I guess—is taking care of her.”
“She seemed a little off this morning,” Caroline said. “I thought maybe she was coming down with something. She’d told me she gets confused at night. But wandering in the dark and cold—and on the road!”
Charlie hoisted his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor. As he neared the table, Hudson let out a low growl.
“Hudson, do I need to put you in the hallway again?” Ben asked him. Hudson bared his teeth for moment, then settled back down to the floor. “She put you on dribble detail?” Ben asked Jake.
“I think some of it’s going to the right place,” Jake said.
Caroline ladled soup into bowls, while Ben began sawing through a loaf of peasant bread. She’d made potato-leek and garnished it with rashers of bacon.
“Did you ask your dad about dinner?” Caroline asked Jake. From the brittle smile stretched across her face, Ben knew she was trying to change the subject from poor Mrs. White.
“He was tickled. Said he hasn’t been up here in years.”
“Tell him that we’re really excited to have him,” Caroline said. Their dining room furniture was arriving any day now, and Caroline felt obligated to invite some of the locals up to the Crofts for dinner. She’d never taken to many of the villagers, other than Mrs. White, but she thought showing them the renovations and treating them to a nice meal would be a smart way to strengthen their ties to Swannhaven.
“Is he feeling better?” Ben asked. Jake’s widower father often seemed to be ailing.
“His back doesn’t seem as bad. Was down at the Picket place last week, helping with the cleanup.”
“Would you take him some soup from us?” Caroline asked.
“Thanks; it’s real good,” Jake said. “And the shed should be finished tomorrow for sure. Got to get that roof on before the weather turns.”
“Then what? Back to the orchard?” The pained smile was still on Caroline’s face, and she had bolted her soup with frightening speed. Still, it was good to see her eat.
“Better leave that till spring. I cleared the big brush, and the cold should take the fight out of the rest. I’ll clear what’s left after the snowmelt. You gotta decide what to replace the dead trees with. Got about twenty that are still kicking.”
“And the lake?” Caroline asked. She never let up, but it didn’t seem to bother Jake.
“Don’t really know where to begin with the lake, is the honest truth. But you could lay the lines for the herb garden. Could take a look at some of the outbuildings, too,” Jake said. “See if anything can be saved. The old stables could be fixed up if they’re not too bad off. Maybe the shed by the road, too. Probably too late for the others, though. The cider house and the chapel were wrecks last I saw them, but that was when I was a kid.”
“There’s a chapel?” Caroline asked.
“What’s left of it is pretty deep in the woods now, north of the cemetery,” Jake said. “Visited it once in school, back when the Swanns were here.”
Ben remembered stumbling upon the ruins of the chapel over the summer. When he thought of the terrible creature he’d found carved on the plaque there, it reminded him of the man in the smoke from Charlie’s drawing.
“Did you know the Swanns well?” Ben asked Jake. The young man had been a good source of information about Swannhaven, but Ben had learned to spread his questions around. The villagers tended to clam up in the face of too much curiosity.
“The aunties?” Jake asked. “They were good women. Eleanor, the younger one, was still beautiful, right to the end. And Miranda was so old you’d think she was born that way. Used to deliver their groceries,” Jake said. “Didn’t leave the Crofts too much, not after the fire.” He stood up to clear his dishes.
“When the Swann boys died,” Ben told Caroline. “Mark and Liam.”
“Horrible,” Caroline said. Ben had told her Father Cal’s story about the night of the fire. “They had foster children, too, right? What happened to them?”
“Moved to other homes, I think—I only heard, because I wasn’t even born yet. Then there was that one that was sent away.”
He meant the boy who’d set the fire.
“What happened to him?” Ben asked.
Jake shrugged. “Wherever they put the bad ones, I guess. A hard lot the Swanns had to shoulder,” he said. “Real saints, though. Were always nice to me.”