ten

Francine wondered how they could have a lot to discuss when she’d only just met him. They walked the long gravel driveway back to his house. Even Charlotte didn’t complain, though she hung onto Francine as they walked. Good thing we’re all wearing the shoes we’ve been preparing food in, Francine thought. They were comfortable and allowed for better navigation on the slick gravel. The driveway drenched by the rains earlier in the week still hadn’t dried out.

The driveway curved to the right, but before it did, they passed under a stately wooden arch. A sign beneath it grandly proclaimed Matthew 1844 Ranch. Francine wondered if it had really been around since 1844. It was possible. Indiana became a state in 1816, and land was being claimed and deeded in all parts of the state. She almost said something, but Zed was quite a ways in front of them.

It wasn’t long before they’d lost sight of Wheat Farm Road altogether. The late afternoon sun danced in and out of the towering trees. As they approached the house, the trees thinned out and the sun drenched her in a long spell of sunshine. It made her feel warm. All the women seemed to enjoy it.

Zed’s house was a log cabin. “The original part of the house was constructed in the late 1800s,” he said, “but it’s been added to since then. It’s now a three-bedroom, two-bath ranch home. I’ve tried to modernize it but still stay true to the first owner’s vision.” He held the door open for them.

As Francine entered she noticed cameras under the eaves of the house. He must have a security system, she thought. But she decided not to mention it.

She felt surprisingly calm as she followed the other women into the home.

What could Zed possibly know of the original owner’s vision? she wondered once she got inside. They didn’t file house plans with the county back then. She was pretty sure while the original owner might recognize the ambiance, that would be about it. The interior resembled a hunter’s lodge, with knotty pine paneling that gave the house a slight woody scent. More noticeable were the mounted game heads, which she found a bit gruesome. The feature that most startled her was a taxidermied young buck standing majestically in the back of the room. It has a small crown of antlers and looked like it was ready to take on all challengers, despite its youth. She approached it, repulsed and yet fascinated. Charlotte stuck to her side.

“I see you’ve noticed Bucky.”

Francine ran her hands over the deer’s beautiful coat. “I’ve never been this close to a wild animal before.”

Charlotte tentatively touched the antlers. “He’s not that wild anymore.”

Francine thought back to the shots that drove William out of the woods and hit the bridge near where she had been standing. Zed only said that he’d heard shots and expressed a vague sympathy for William’s condition. He hadn’t denied being the one to do it; of course, they hadn’t asked him, either. She said, “You’re a hunter.”

“Have been all my life, but I don’t do much of it anymore. I find the chill of the morning and the requirement of holding still for long periods of time tough on the old joints.” He smiled. “I can tell the prey makes you uncomfortable. Let’s go into the kitchen for that tea I promised you.”

Zed’s kitchen was light and inviting. Located at the back of the house, it had large windows which allowed the afternoon sun to warm the room. Zed indicated they should sit at the square, eat-in kitchen table. Though it was not large, they could all sit there if they crowded together.

To Francine’s surprise, two loaves of some kind of quick bread lay on a cooling rack on the counter, almost as though Zed had expected company. The smell of dates was strong and her mouth began watering almost immediately. They’d skipped the cookies and scones after the séance due to the fire news, and it was getting toward suppertime.

“You’re a baker?” Mary Ruth asked, spotting the bread.

Zed smiled. “I am. I find recipes to be rather like formulas. If you follow them exactly, you’ll get the same results. It’s scientific. At the same time, baking is an art form because the conditions vary every time you make something, and sometimes you have to make substitutions in ingredients. I imagine you feel the same way.”

Mary Ruth chuckled. “No. That feels more like an Alton Brown explanation. But I do like to experiment and make up new recipes.”

“There’s a bread knife in the knife block. Would you do me the favor of slicing it up while I prepare tea? It’s date-nut bread.”

Zed made tea the old-fashioned way, with loose, black tea he placed in two Brown Betty teapots, each holding enough for several cups. While he put the kettle onto boil, Mary Ruth expertly sliced up the first loaf. Zed showed her where the dishes were, and she put a slice on each of six plates. She distributed them at the table.

For some reason Francine remembered the mythological story about Persephone and the six pomegranate seeds she’d eaten when in the Underworld with Hades. The story ended badly, with Persephone forced to live in the Underworld for six months, making the world go into winter. Francine put it out of her mind. Zed was no Hades and she was no Persephone. And she would most certainly not eat six slices of date-nut bread. Though, if the bread were as good as it smelled, she would be tempted.

Francine looked out the windows at a long and wide backyard. While the entrance to the house had been nothing more than a narrow driveway dominated by the woods, the back was grassy all the way to where the cornfield began. From there, the cornfield looked like it went on forever. The yard was dominated by an ancient greenhouse and two gardens. One garden was clearly for vegetables, since she recognized the cool-weather plants that still looked good, like spinach and broccoli. Droopy tomato plants stung by the recent frost were dying. Tall, withered cornstalks, likely the remnants of his sweet corn harvest, were still in the ground.

“Is that an herb garden?” Francine asked of the second, smaller garden. “The bush looks like sage and the leggy plants look like basil, but I don’t recognize the others.”

“Very astute of you,” Zed replied. The kettle came to a boil at that moment and he poured the water into the Brown Bettys. As it steeped, he said, “I put that in. The vegetable garden came with the property when I purchased it from Doc Wheat’s estate after he died.”

Francine was accustomed to the wonderful baked goods Mary Ruth made, and most people’s didn’t compare. But the date-nut bread had smelled tempting from the moment they’d walked in the kitchen, and now that Mary Ruth had set a piece in front of them, she had to exercise willpower not to wolf it down. She picked off a corner and popped it into her mouth. It was melt-in-your-mouth good. It had a rich, buttery taste she had not expected, which she let linger on her tongue. Mary Ruth could not have made better.

Everyone but Charlotte nibbled nervously on the date-nut bread. Charlotte devoured hers in a few bites and greedily eyed the remainder of the loaf. But she seemed to decide otherwise. She looked at the old-style greenhouse. “The greenhouse must have come with the property too?”

Zed gave her a wry smile. “It looks like it, doesn’t it? I haven’t kept it up as well as I should. It still produces marvelously, though. I keep telling myself I should tear it down and replace it with one of those modern shelter-like structures with plastic windows, but I can’t bring myself to lose that bit of history. If the Historical Society ever saw it, it’d probably be declared a historic building.”

“How old is it?”

He poured tea for all of them, using a strainer to catch the loose tea bits. “I’m guessing it was built in 1930, about the time the Depression took hold. After we finish our tea, I’d be happy to show it to you.”

They all agreed they’d like to see it.

Zed had managed to relax Francine with his hospitality. The kitchen and the conversation felt so friendly she almost wanted it to last into the evening. But they needed to get back to Rockville, so she felt compelled to move things along. “You were saying about William …?”

“Yes. William has been here many times before, several in just the past year or so. He seems to be obsessed with the legend of the Doc Wheat fortune. Are you familiar with it?”

“I’ve heard his name a couple of times. My family’s farm was near here, but I grew up in southern Indiana, near Evansville. My mom and dad moved there when I was young. My father didn’t like farm work and my mom couldn’t persuade him otherwise. He got a job in the Whirlpool factory. Grandpa’s farm was sold not long after he died.”

Zed nodded as if he were already familiar with her history. “Doc Wheat was an eccentric farmer who purchased this land back in 1921. During the Depression he developed an interest in herbalism, studying native plants for their healing powers. He became convinced that just about any disease could be cured by finding the right combination of plants. At one time his home remedies were popular and shipped all over the world. He gave himself the title ‘Doc Wheat.’ But the birth of modern pharmacy put him out of business.” He indicated Francine’s teacup, which she hadn’t touched. The others were already half through theirs. “Don’t let your tea get cold. It’s a special blend I make. The base is Oolong I order off the Internet, but I like to tinker.”

She sipped the tea. Like the bread, it had some extraordinary qualities. She could taste a peach-like sweetness to it, but it had a hidden bite that wasn’t quite revealed until the finish. For some reason she thought of tarragon. She almost laughed at her own description; she sounded like Mary Ruth describing a wine. She wanted to ask Zed more about it, but she reminded herself it was more important for him to continue the story. “So what was William looking for, Doc Wheat’s formulas?”

Zed leaned forward as if confiding a secret to them. “More likely he was looking for the fortune. Rumors were rampant at the time that he’d made a lot of money from his formulations. Now, I don’t know about any fortune, but I do know Doc Wheat didn’t trust banks. Probably a result of the Depression. Anyway, even before he died people were sneaking onto his land digging around for buried treasure.”

The women hung on his every word. Charlotte asked, “Did anyone find it?”

“No one found anything.”

Francine popped the last of her date-nut bread in her mouth. Again, she appreciated the mouth feel of the bread and the richness of the dates and nuts. But then she realized it had the same hidden bite at the end, like the tea. She wondered what it was.

Charlotte continued her questioning. “Then why would William think there was a fortune?”

Zed finished his bread in three bites and brushed the crumbs off his beard. “I love dates,” he said. “Part of the reason was Doc himself. He fueled the rumors even as he ran people off his land. Claimed he had a treasure no one would ever find. When Doc died in the 1960s, he left no heirs and I bought the land. Paid a pretty penny for it too.”

“What do you think of the legend, then, if you haven’t found the fortune, and you live here?”

“A fortune is not the same as a treasure. I’d hazard to guess whatever his ‘treasure’ was, it wasn’t the kind people expected.”

Charlotte put her teacup down. “It seems odd for a person to believe strongly in a rumor like that without some kind of impetus.”

“Have Francine ask William about that next time she sees him.” Zed leaned back in his chair and appraised Francine. “You definitely come from Miles blood,” he told her. “You favor your mother.”

“How did you know …? Oh, wait. I told you William and I were cousins.”

“You did, but from the time I saw you on Good Morning America and they said your name, I knew who you were. I hoped we’d meet.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy,” Mary Ruth said. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Zed, and I give you props for your date-nut bread. But if we’re going to see the greenhouse and get back to Rockville, we’d probably better get on with that.”

Zed scooted his chair back from the table. “Of course,” he said. “I understand you especially have work to do for tomorrow.” They all stood, and Mary Ruth began to gather up the cups and dishes. “Just leave it all,” he said, waving her off. “I’ll clean up later. It’s a pleasure to have such polite guests for a change.”

Zed opened the back door and led them across the yard to the greenhouse. The length of the black-roofed building faced south and had large leaded glass windows, one of which was cracked and needed to be replaced. The building also needed to be scraped and given a new coat of forest green paint, but structurally it looked fine. “I use the greenhouse to start plants for the vegetable garden over there,” he said, pointing, “and so I can have some vegetables and herbs during the winter.” He tried to turn the knob on the door but found it locked. “Forgot the key. Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”

The minute he was back in the house, Charlotte murmured to the group, “So what do you think?”

Alice scratched her head. “He seems nice enough. I hadn’t expected tea and bread from a man with his reputation.”

They all nodded in agreement. Francine turned to Merlina, who was still dressed in her medium outfit. “You said you know him. Is this how he has acted towards you in the past?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes and no. He’s never been unkind, but he’s never been this friendly, either.”

“So how do you know him?” Charlotte asked.

Before she could answer, Zed opened the back door and returned holding the key. He unlocked the greenhouse and turned on the overhead light, holding the door for them.

Francine was impressed with how well-organized the greenhouse was. Baskets of flowers hung near the windows, and eight long rows of tables held mostly starter plants, although there were some larger plants in pots. “I brought the flowers inside when we had the first frost a few nights ago,” he said. “I haven’t moved them back out, and I may not. I like having the color in here.”

“They’re beautiful,” Francine said. She and the others strolled through the greenhouse, walking up and down each aisle. Francine found that Zed was following her, which caused the remainder of their group to shift to other aisles. They chattered among themselves under their breaths, so it was hard to hear.

Some of the rows had tiny plants Zed must have started recently from seed. Francine recognized beans and tomatoes and others, but she stopped at a row in the middle containing things she didn’t. “What are these?” she asked.

“Native plants that don’t survive the winter. I grow them in here during the cold months so I have access to them. They do surprisingly well in a greenhouse. I’ll start more in late winter from seed and transplant them to the third garden in the spring.”

“The third garden?”

He winked at her. “Yes, the third garden. Doc Wheat’s garden. It’s not easy to find. I presume it was the source of Doc’s famous remedies. Biologically, it’s an incredible assembly of native plants, some of which I don’t think exist anywhere but here. It’s why I’ve kept it up. The interest in native species is starting to bloom again—forgive the pun—and I tell myself that one day I’ll get in touch with some of the state biologists to let them take samples and redistribute them across the state.”

“Where is the garden?”

He shifted his eyes toward a corner of the greenhouse where a cover was thrown over what look to be an all-terrain vehicle. “We’d have to take the ATV.”

Francine had no intention of getting on an ATV with a virtual stranger. “We probably don’t have time today, then.”

He seemed amused by that. “Probably not. But I hope that you’ll come back so I can show it to you. You’d love the place. It’s hidden away in a small canyon and fed by a spring that sprays into the air like a tiny geyser.”

Francine pictured it in her mind. “I’ll do that. Thank you for inviting me back.” She found herself still checking out the corner where the ATV was. There was an antique curio cabinet that contained several shelves of mason jars. Though she couldn’t be sure, they did not appear to have anything in them. The jars were lined up except for one row in the front where a single jar was missing. The cabinet had a keyhole, and she wondered if it were locked. But why would Zed keep empty jars?

Zed touched her on the arm and indicated they should go outside. The move felt a little off to Francine, but she went along with it. They stood outside the greenhouse, just to the side of the open door. Francine thought she could probably be seen by the women inside, but not Zed. He was too far to the right of the door.

Zed slipped Francine a small book he took out of his jacket. “Please put this in your purse, Francine. Did you know I knew your grandmother Ellie?”

Francine was surprised. With his still-dark hair and his beard hiding aging in his face, Zed looked to be a few years younger than her, hardly old enough to call her grandmother by her first name. “You did?”

“It’s a long story how I got this diary, but I’ll skip that for now. Suffice it to say it’s hers. I had always meant to give it to your mother, but when your family moved to Evansville I lost touch. The reason I’d hoped to meet you was I wanted to give it to you.”

Francine was stunned by the appearance of this second diary, but she tried not to show it. She checked the women in the greenhouse. They were in a semicircle examining what Zed had described as native plants and hadn’t seemed to notice that neither she nor Zed were inside. She glanced down at the delicate diary in her hands. It was similar to the one William had had in his possession, except this one had a purple fabric cover with the heart graphic embroidered in it. It had a square lock holding it closed like the first diary. It was not locked, however, and she opened the cover. The binding had split from the spine. She flipped to the first page. Francine had many of her grandmother’s handwritten recipe cards, and this, too, was definitely in her grandmother’s handwriting. “You’ve read it then?” Francine asked him.

He nodded. “Many times. You’ll think it rude of me perhaps, to have read a young lady’s diary. But it has some wonderful historical bits of information in it. For instance, she tells the story of her mother’s love affair, the one that took a turn for the worse at the Roseville Bridge.”

Francine took in a sharp breath. Though her grandmother had died when Francine was still a teen, the story of her grandmother’s mother had never been accurately told to anyone as far as Francine knew. The family story was made up of rumor and innuendo. “She wrote down the details?”

“Yes, as her mother told the story to her. I find it an interesting coincidence that you were at the bridge earlier today. What were you doing there?”

Zed knew I was at the bridge? Does that mean he fired on me? Though she had no intention of telling him the truth about why she was there, she was saved from having to create a lie because at that moment her cell phone rang. The women heard it and noticed them standing on the outside.

“We’ll be back in in a moment,” he told them and pulled the door to the greenhouse closed. “Who’s on the phone?” he asked.

Francine looked at the number. “My husband, Jonathan.”

“Good,” he said, smiling. “Answer it, and be sure to tell him I’ve been a proper host.”

She tried to regain her composure, but her fingers couldn’t seem to push the green button to answer the phone. She stabbed at it twice. The phone continued to ring. She connected on the third try. She forced herself to relax, even as she saw the panicked look on the women’s faces inside the greenhouse. They were all uncertain how to react to having the door closed on them. “Jonathan?” she said into the phone.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “I told you I would call back in a half hour if I didn’t hear from you. You’re still okay, right?”

“Yes, we’re still at Zedediah’s,” she said.

“And everything is okay?”

The women were staring at her from inside. She didn’t know exactly what to say, but Zed was so near to her she decided to play along with him for now. Other than close the door, he hadn’t made a threatening move. She motioned to her phone so they knew she was on it.

“He’s been a good host. He just handed me my grandmother’s diary.”

“It’s different from the one William had on him?”

“Yes.”

Jonathan paused. “I guess it would have to be.”

“I think Zed and we are just about finished,” she said, giving Zed a quick smile to indicate she meant to leave soon. “He’s just wrapping up a tour of his greenhouse, and then we’ll be on our way. Shall we plan to meet in Rockville, then?”

“Is that a hint, or do you just want him to think I’m coming your way?”

“A little of both.”

“Call me when you’ve left.”

“I will.”

They said their good-byes and disconnected. Francine noticed the women were making their way toward the door. Francine put her hand on the knob. She hadn’t seen Zed lock the door and hoped it would open to her touch.

He put her hand over hers. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“Please let go of my hand.”

“So you don’t trust me.” He took his hand away and held both of his up in a surrendering position. “The Roseville Bridge has secrets. I’m … protective of them. Perhaps one day you’ll know and understand … I have something in the house that might convince you to trust me. I’ll go get it. Here’s the key to the greenhouse.” He handed it to her and strode quickly into the house.

Francine opened the greenhouse door. It had been unlocked, as she thought. Relieved, she joined the other women inside.

Then she heard a pop coming from Zed’s home. She looked back.

And saw the wall of the kitchen where they had been sitting minutes ago explode.