Chapter Six

Saturday morning, Emily’s sense of humor kicked in after she took her change of clothes from her backpack. The entire wardrobe was empty and left plenty of room for her things. Just in case, she saved half the space for Vicki to hang her clothes. Not that Em’d brought much. She sighed before she slipped on a yellow blouse and her jeans. Today she’d explore the property. Boots were a necessity despite the spiking humidity. The meadows were home to ticks and snakes, either of which could bite.

The scent of coffee and yeast drew her to the kitchen. Nate bent over an open recipe book. His usual apron protected a silver-gray T-shirt and jeans. The radio played a vaguely familiar tune.

“Help yourself to some coffee. I’m working on cinnamon raisin rolls, but can get you eggs if you wish.” He barely glanced at her before he frowned at the page. “This recipe is different than the one last night.”

“An egg would be nice,” she said. “Are the children still sleeping?”

He straightened and ran his fingers through his longish hair. “Not a peep out of them. Liz says they’re exhausted. I’m not surprised. Sara lugged that cat round most of the evening.”

“I’m planning on walking around the property before I leave. Old maps are fun to follow. They do indicate the original homestead was on this site before the inn was built.”

“Where’d you find a map that old?”

“The library in the Capital has a local history section,” she explained and slipped onto a counter stool.

Nate paused from kneading the dough with one hand. “We found old timbers where my room is located. I took pictures before we closed it up again. I can send you copies. Chestnut and oak were used and are still sturdy.”

He awkwardly resumed kneading the dough with one hand and she enjoyed the way his shoulders moved. Nate was a yummy piece of male. She swallowed a sigh. “Let me knead that while you cook my egg.”

After washing her hands, she quickly demonstrated her skill.

“Where did you learn?” He kept an eye on her.

“From my grandmother. I always loved to visit. Her house smelled like this kitchen. Fresh bread baking, spices, and the smell of soap.”

Nate scrambled her an egg, sliced fresh bread and spread it with butter. All with one hand. He moved the plate and fresh honey toward her. She patted the dough into a pan and set it next to his.

“Thanks,” she said before drizzling the golden honey on her bread. “This is wonderful.”

“Another part of the service.” He slid both pans into a warm spot and covered them with a towel. “While that rises, I can take a break. Liz says if I don’t rest often, she’ll make me take a nap. Like I’m a child. Do you want to see the family cemetery?”

Her heart leaped. Not at seeing the old carved stones, but spending time with Nate. “Let me grab my things and I’ll be right with you.” She stuffed the last bite of bread in her mouth.

****

Nate waited for Emily on the deck. He’d donned an old baseball cap and sunglasses. The open area offered a view of the surrounding hills and farm buildings. More gold showed in the leaves today. The gazebo was a pleasant place to enjoy the weather or to dine. Newly planted climbing roses promised to brighten the outside by next summer. Behind the cottages were both the hay barn and the old carriage house. When he studied the contour of the land he could see the deep depression where the fire pond had been located half-way between the outbuildings and the inn.

Emily had taken the time to listen to the neighbors and their stories. She’d had conversations with everyone last night. Her light laugh warmed the air and he couldn’t keep from watching her. Like this morning. Her yellow blouse reminded him of daffodils blooming.

“I’m ready,” she called after she exited. She had a small canvas bag in one hand and two maps in the other. Unrolling one, she pointed at the old drawing on the photocopy. “See where we are?”

Nate studied the faded images. “It looks like the original buildings are the same or been rebuilt in the same locations.”

“That was my opinion, too. I’m still hunting an older survey or map. Maybe Moses Cleveland made it this far north. He was a surveyor during the Revolution. Someone would have drawn the property lines if the land changed hands.”

“Good luck with that. Bertha said her family was one of the first settlers and kept title to the land.”

“Oh. Well, sometimes the stories are wrong.”

Nate shook his head. “Bertha seemed very sure.”

“So do we have time to walk to the granite quarry, too?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t been there myself. And the kids have been warned away. From what I was told, the water is deep and cold. Anyway, the family cemetery is on the same path.”

Emily settled her wide-brimmed hat so it shaded her face from the sun. “Is it large?”

“Not very. Unlike many families, they had fewer and fewer children in each generation. I was planning on getting someone in there to straighten the tilted stones, maybe fence it.” He gestured at her other hand. “What’s on the other map?”

“It’s an air survey of the hiking trails, forest logging roads, and recent buildings. We won’t see much detail. Enough to hike across the county.” Emily rerolled the map and tucked it into her pocket.

They walked along the path past the cottages. Nate had gravel spread instead of pouring cement so the guests had a firm surface.

“If that’s the former pond, it was large.” Emily gestured at the nearby depression.

“The fire chief said it was fed from a pipe. Keep a lookout.”

Nearer the fields, a thicket grew. Nate pushed the branches aside to reveal an eight-inch clay pipe dripping enough water to encourage the greenery.

“Well. That answers that. That pipe must be it. Certainly large enough to feed water into the pond.”

“Why isn’t it working?”

“Neglect. Probably clogged with leaves and debris.” Nate yanked a wad of mucky leaves from the opening. “Might ask the firemen to use the hose to blow it out.”

“Let’s see if we can find the other end.” Emily pulled on his hand. His fingers curled around hers, then let go. “It’s a good reason to walk to the quarry.”

They passed the barns with Emily giving them a quick glance and noting their location on her map. The sweet scent of newly mowed hay filled the air with a faint overlay of smoke. Goldenrod grew along the fields in thick clumps. Bees hunted pollen for honey.

“Your neighbors are haying,” she said a minute before they topped the next hill. A hay mower chugged across the open field. Dust clouded the air. From here they could see several fields raked into piles to dry. A puzzled look crossed her face. “This looks like your land.”

“It is. We bartered my hay for him keeping the fences repaired.”

“He was at the potluck last night, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. His wife brought the mashed turnips. Fresh from his garden.” He brushed a hand through his hair and reset his baseball cap. “But I don’t remember her first name.”

Emily giggled. “Only you would remember the food not the family.”