The ice cracked ominously as she ventured forth, staying as close to the shore as possible, but it held and she gained confidence as she proceeded. A small spit of land covered with brushy growth extended into the pond and she made her way along it, grabbing onto overhanging branches for safety. Once she got to the end of the spit she figured she would have a better vantage point from which to spot Scruffy.
She was almost there when a patch of reeds forced her farther from the shoreline. There was a sudden loud crack and the ice beneath her gave way, plunging her into the frigid black water. Her cries for help were loud and strong, shattering the early morning calm, but no one answered.
CHAPTER 1
So the deep frost had finally come, thought Lucy Stone, stepping onto the back porch of her antique farm house on Red Top Road and surveying the withered mums that had been so bright and colorful only a few days ago. This recent long, extended spell of warm weather had been strange, even unsettling, she thought as she stretched her hamstrings. But today was more like it, she decided, grasping one ankle and pulling her foot to her bottom. This crisp weather was great for a run, a sentiment also shared by Libby, the family Lab. Libby was ready to go, and even though her black muzzle was now fading to white, she didn’t need any warm-up exercises. She was circling eagerly, throwing expectant glances to Lucy as if to say “Enough of this nonsense. Let’s go!”
“Okay,” agreed Lucy, skipping down the porch steps and crossing the frosty lawn in an easy jog. She picked up speed once she reached the old logging road that wound through the woods behind the house, pushing herself to improve her speed. This year she was training for the Tinker’s Cove annual Turkey Trot 5K race, and she thought she might actually have a chance of winning in her age division.
There were not many runners signed up in the women over-forty category, and those who were running were mostly casual runners interested in burning calories before they sat down to a big Thanksgiving dinner. That had been Lucy’s attitude in the past, but this year was different. This year she wasn’t going to be cooking a big turkey dinner for the whole family. This year, well, to be honest, she wasn’t sure what she and Bill were going to do. Since it would be just the two of them perhaps they’d eat out in a restaurant, or maybe one of their friends would include them in their celebration.
Her feet pounded along the pine needle strewn path in a regular rhythm as she reviewed the various plans her children had made without consulting her. Of course, she hadn’t expected Elizabeth to come home for Thanksgiving; her eldest daughter was busy with her job as an assistant concierge at the upscale Cavendish Hotel in Paris. It also wasn’t practical for her only son, Toby, to sit down at the usual groaning board. Toby, his wife, Molly, and son, Patrick, had returned to Alaska where Toby had a government job working to increase and improve salmon stocks. It had been wonderful having the young family living in the old homestead while he took graduate courses at nearby Winchester College, and Lucy had really enjoyed spending time with her grandson, but that was a temporary arrangement. Now she stayed in touch with Patrick via Skype, setting aside a half-hour every Sunday afternoon.
But, she thought as she allowed a certain sense of resentment to carry her over a rather steep patch of trail, it had been rather inconsiderate of the two daughters who remained home to make separate plans for the holiday. Sara, who was studying earth science at Winchester College, had signed up for a field trip in Greenland led by one of her professors, arguing it was a once-ina-lifetime opportunity and would strengthen her graduate school applications. Okay, muttered Lucy, huffing a bit from exertion, she understood. It wasn’t her preference, but she could live with it. No, it was Zoe, her youngest, who had really driven in the knife with a nasty twist. Zoe had announced only days before that her friend and neighbor Renée La Chance had invited her to spend the Thanksgiving break with her at Concordia University in Montreal. Montreal, in Canada, where Renée was a freshman.
“Oh, well,” said Lucy, speaking to the dog running beside her with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. “We can’t always get what we want, can we?”
Libby didn’t answer, but she was clearly enjoying herself, letting her drooping, silky ears flap behind and holding her tail aloft in an exclamation of doggy joy.
Realizing they were drawing close to Blueberry Pond where Libby might expect a drink of water but would find ice instead, Lucy decided to use the leash she had wrapped around her waist. She’d heard of too many dogs that had gone out on thin ice and fallen through. It was a story replayed every year when lakes and ponds began to freeze. Sometimes the owners were able to call for help from the fire department. Sometimes they were foolish enough to venture out on the ice themselves, which was usually a tragic mistake.
“C’mere, girl,” she said, and Libby obediently approached, allowing her to snap the leash onto her red leather collar. Then they were off again, running side by side at a rather more sedate pace. The newly frozen pond would be pretty in the morning light and Lucy wanted to take time to appreciate it. This was something new, suggested by her friend Pam, who was a yoga instructor.
“Live mindfully,” Pam had advised. “Be in the moment.”
This was the perfect opportunity, thought Lucy as the pond came into view. It had frozen overnight, and the ice was smooth and glistening. The pointed firs on the opposite shore were a dark green, piercing
