The Farm

Gordon flipped out his cloth napkin with a flourish. Katy had never used cloth napkins in Charlotte, considering them an extrav agance, the kind of thing that led to a premium charge at a fancy restaurant. But Gordon had showed her the drawer that held the table linens, and explained how Rebecca had always kept three clean sets of the same off-white color. He didn't exactly order Katy to lay out cloth napkins with each dinner, but if Rebecca was able to do it, then why shouldn't Katy? So what if it meant extra laundry and another three minutes of her day wasted?

'These dumplings look plumb delicious,' Gordon said. He speared a lump of cooked dough with his fork, brought it to his nose, and sniffed. He took a bite.

Jett picked up a sprig of broccoli with her fingers, tossed it into her mouth, and began chewing noisily. Katy didn't even think to ask Jett to mind her manners because she was so intent on Gordon's reaction.

'Mmm,' Gordon said. 'Acceptable. Most acceptable indeed.'

Acceptable? What in the hell did that mean? That Rebecca's were better? But all she said was, 'I'm glad you like them, dear.'

'Maybe we should tell him about the scarecrow now,' Jett said.

'Scarecrow?' Gordon reached for the white wine. Katy would never have dared select a suitable wine. She was a gin girl, at least on her infrequent opportunities to imbibe. Since Jett's drug prob lems began, though, she had denied herself the dubious pleasure of alcohol. Gordon didn't seem to care about intoxication. He rarely drank more than a glass or two. To him, it was an affectation, like his pipe, the requisite habit of a tenured scholar.

'The scarecrow in the barn,' Katy said.

'Oh, that old thing? What about it?'

'Yesterday, it was out in the cornfield. Now it's hanging on the wall.'

'Maybe Odus Hampton brought it in. He was doing some work for me a few days ago, while you guys were shopping in Windshake.'

'It was on the wall, then it was gone yesterday. And it was back again today.' Katy didn't want to tell the other part, about how the goat had dragged it away, about how she thought it had moved under its own power. And how it must have put itself together, climbed the wall, and snagged itself on the hook again.

'Just like the story you told us,' Jett said. She didn't seem as en amored of Katy's dumplings as Gordon was. She worked on the broccoli and her milk, then dipped into the bowl of cinnamon apple slices that Katy had prepared as a side dish.

'The scarecrow boy,' Gordon said breaking into a grin. His cheeks were flushed from the wine.

'I saw it, too,' Jett said. 'The night I'—she shot a glance at Katy—'freaked out in the barn.'

Gordon's eyes narrowed, and Katy saw a hint of cruelty in his lace. 'You haven't been messing with drugs, have you? I thought I made it clear to your mother that I wouldn't tolerate that business in my house. It's bad enough you have to go around dressed like a prostitute at a funeral.'

Jett slumped in her chair, jaw tightening. She fingered the stud ded leather band around her throat as if it were cutting off her oxy gen.

'Gordon, please,' Katy said.

Gordon sipped his wine. 'Rebecca would never have allowed such foolishness, God rest her soul.'

'Jett's not doing drugs anymore,' Katy said. 'She promised. We both promised.'

Gordon patted his lips with the cloth napkin, and Katy won dered if she'd have to spray Spot Shot on it later. 'Sorry. That was n't fair. I did accept you for better or worse, after all.'

Katy flashed a pained smile at Jett as if to say, See, I told you he's not so bad. We all just have to get used to each other. Except part of her was thinking, If Rebecca was so wonderful, why didn't she bear Gordon a perfect child, one who wasn't individual and human and as achingly beautiful as Jett?

She squeezed her own napkin under the table until her fingers hurt. Jett said, 'It's okay, Gordon. No sweat.'

Gordon didn't know Jett well enough to detect the sullen defeat in her voice. Gordon raised one eyebrow at Katy in a When is she going to start calling me Dad? expression. Katy wondered when they were going to quit communicating in unspoken words and ac tually talk to one another. But that was silly, because Gordon wouldn't even talk to her in bed when the lights were out and her heart was beating hard with expectation. Perhaps Rebecca had suf fered the same neglect. The thought brought a sudden smirk to her face.

Jett pushed her plate away. 'I've got homework, folks.'

'You didn't finish,' Gordon said.

'I'm not hungry.'

Jett stood, her chair scraping across the floor. The sound cut the silence like a scythe through a tin can. Katy waited to see how the power struggle would play out, praying she wouldn't have to take sides, mentally exploring a way to broker a peace settlement.

'You shouldn't waste what God's blessing has brought to our table,' Gordon said.

'I'll put it in the fridge and she can have it for a snack after school tomorrow,' Katy said.

'I don't want it tomorrow,' Jett said.

'Honey, we've all had a long day,' Katy said. 'Why don't you go do your homework and we'll be up to talk about it later?'

She knew Gordon wouldn't join in on the talk. He had rarely been in Jett's room, apparently considering it some sort of den of iniquity. Rock posters, a black light, a tarantula in a small aquarium, melancholy music playing constantly, at least while Gordon was home. No, Gordon hadn't yet reached out to his stepdaughter, though he expected automatic respect by sole virtue of Jett's resi dence under his roof.

'Sure, Mom.' Jett left the room and Katy took her first taste of the chicken and dumplings. Too salty. Rebecca's recipe had called for two tablespoons. Or was it teaspoons? The recipes were handwritten, and Katy could easily have made a mistake.

'Do you really like them?' Katy asked.

Gordon was staring out the window at the darkness that had set tled on the farm as they ate. The crickets chirped, katydids rubbed their wings together, and moths fluttered against the window screen.

'They were fine,' Gordon said absently.

'Can we get rid of the scarecrow?'

'The scarecrow?'

'The one in the barn.'

'What about it?'

'I don't like it hanging in the barn. It spooks me.'

Gordon laughed. 'That's been in the family for years. I put it up for the winter so it doesn't rot.'

'I thought you said Odus Hampton put it up.'

'Yeah. I guess he did.'

'It's out there now. I saw it.'

Gordon reached across the table and took her hand. He smiled, his eyes bright, cheeks crinkling in the manner that had first at tracted her. 'Let's forget about the silly scarecrow.'

'You shouldn't be so hard on Jett.'

Gordon drew his hand away. 'It's just that I care about her. About both of you. I want you to be happy here.'

Katy was about to say she would be a lot happier if she didn't feel the invisible presence of his first wife. But as she opened her mouth, a brittle clatter arose from the kitchen and something broke on the floor.

'Sounds like you have some work to do,' Gordon said.

David Tester cut over Lost Ridge, taking the shortest route from his house to the church. Though it was dark, David knew the path well and carried a flashlight. An owl hooted in the unseen treetops and other nocturnal animals scurried on their way to put up winter supplies. The leaves were still crisp underfoot, though dew was starting to settle on the ground. A sodden wedge of moon tried to break through the canopy overhead.

He was on the upper edge of the Smith property, a forested hill top that Harmon Smith had owned and that now belonged to Gordon Smith. Rush Branch started as a trickle between some worn granite boulders near the peak, but gathered momentum and a few stray springs before churning into a frothing waterway by the church.