CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wulfecombe

To help bring in the funds it took to keep the house running, Clare had started a small farm. The learning curve had been tremendous. She'd been raised in town and didn't know a turnip from a cabbage, but the land had always been rich in these fields, and it made sense to at least try to fund the repairs by reviving the farm.

The first years, she'd been wretchedly unsuccessful. The cabbages went in too late and bolted before they matured; she'd lost all the chickens to a raid by a fox, then faced one of the hottest summers in a decade, which burned all but the sturdiest plants. She'd had a marvelous crop of tomatoes, however, and she'd been lucky to grow some heirlooms that set them apart, so she sold those gold, deep-red, and enormous purple-black-red varieties to a handful of restaurants.

It wasn't enough to even cover the cost of the garden, but it gave her hope. Before the next season, she and seven-year-old Sage had learned some carpentry skills and built a better shelter for the chickens, then made charts of when to plant what and how to rotate them for the highest number of yields. With the profits, she built two long greenhouses and put peas in early, and started other green crops for the restaurants, providing them with a wide array of salad greens for their high-end dishes.

It was never her main source of income, but she had found healing and hope in digging, in tending the little flock of hens, in fresh air and hard work. It saved her sanity at a time when life had seemed very dark indeed.

This morning, she collected a basket of peas, saving the best for Sage and keeping the rest for the gathering on Sunday. A pale-colored cat wandered through the aisles, seeking her attention, and she bent down to give him a pat. "You're looking pleased with yourself," she said. "Been out policing the mice?"

He meowed, twirling his tail about her knee. His eyes were blue and ever so slightly crossed, the legacy of a bunch of cats in the area. She'd had several of his line over the years. In fact, she'd met Levi when one of them had developed an abscessed paw, and Sage couldn't stop wailing over him. Levi didn't ordinarily bother much with house pets, but he'd taken pity on the sorrowful little girl, drained the abscess, and given the cat an antibiotic. The next day, he came around asking Clare if she wanted to go for a tea.

A figure appeared at the doorway. Sage, holding one hand over her belly as if to keep her baby safe, said breathlessly, "I had nightmares about the bones. The ones they found at the new estate."

Clare straightened. "I heard they think it was a teenager."

"I dreamed it was an angel."

An old, old pain rustled, and Clare knew enough to tamp it down before it got up and started stomping through her life. With more calm than she felt, she crossed the space between them and slid an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "They're doing all the tests to find out who it is. It might be a Roman or a Viking or some medieval milkmaid. Let's just wait and see, shall we?"

Sage sank hard into her mother's embrace, clinging as if a storm had blown up and the winds would take her with it, tear her away.

Clare held her tight. "It's all right. It's going to be okay."