1
The chain-link fence was the only thing standing between Abby Merkley and freedom.
She picked up the bolt cutters with trembling hands and hacked away at the metal. Judging from the way the sun cleaved through the bare trees, casting long skeletons of shadow, it was close to noon.
Which meant she had to hurry.
Peeling back the chain link wasn’t easy the way she was shaking, but she managed to do it without cutting herself. Thank the Lord, else Isaiah would wonder what she’d gotten into and send someone after her.
In order to get through the hole, Abby had to remove her wool coat and carefully avoid the gleaming edges of fresh-cut metal. She paused, out of breath. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she undid the ties at her chin and shoved her bonnet back through the hole before standing up.
“Good heavens,” she whispered, shocked by how close everything looked without the chain link’s honeycomb filter—how clear and bright and full of possibility. She clutched at the metal behind her, needing it to counteract this dizzying wave of hope.
After a moment, she set off through the vines, gazing at row upon row of bare branches. Would Grape Man have work for her without grapes on his plants?
He had to. Hehadto.
What if he wasn’t here? He could easily have left in the half hour it took her to walk here from the Center. The thought had her racing messily between the army of dry, brittle-looking plants, crucified on the mountainside.
The smell of woodsmoke was the first sign that he wasn’t far. He was home, at least, thank goodness.
Past a woodshed and through the open picket gate she went. She climbed the three porch steps, breathless, sopping hem hugging her calves uncomfortably. Before she had time to stop herself—because if she stopped, if she thought this through, she wouldn’t do it—her knuckles rapped the door.
Out of breath, face prickly hot and the rest of her body chilled, Abby waited.
Nothing. No shuffling, no footsteps, no sound at all besides the creaking floorboards beneath her feet.I’ve made it this far, she told herself.Keep going. Keep going.
She turned and scanned the buildings: the henhouse with its little yard full of chickens, two older sheds, and that big, refurbished barn to crown it all. Was he all the way up there?
Abby tromped back down the sagging steps with a renewed sense of purpose, ignoring the chafe of shoes that had seen better days—shoes that weren’t made for running.
Ladies aren’t meant to run, Hamish used to say. She swallowed back the memory. He’d been gone for weeks now. And a good thing, too. Nobody deserved the pain he’d endured in those last days.
Nerves buzzing, she circled the cabin—which looked a lot worse up close—went through the back gate, and up the steep slope to the barn. Everything felt strangely off, like stepping through a mirror and seeing things the wrong way around.
The barn, it appeared, was the only building Grape Man had worked on since taking over—the only thing, besides the vines, that he seemed to care about. It was enormous and built right into the boulders that crowned the mountain, with fresh boards and a perfectly straight door that hung slightly ajar. Tentatively, Abby knocked on the thick wood. Too quiet. He wouldn’t hear a thing from inside, but she felt hesitant, weighted.What if he doesn’t give me a job?
Just a few months ago, while Hamish was dying, the place had been a hive of activity. She’d barely had time to glance outside, much less spy on the neighbor.
This place, so silent now that she desperately needed help, intimidated her. But nothing would be worse than going back without accomplishing her goal.
“Hello?” She hated how small she sounded.
“Anyone here? Mr…” Halfway through the door, she stopped. Mr. Grape Man, she’d been about to say, but that would be strange, wouldn’t it? It was time to adjust to the way people spoke outside. “Hello?” she called louder, urging herself to move farther in. One step, then a second brought her through a dark vestibule hung with metal equipment. Tall boots lined one wall, and across from her stood a door, which proved to be locked.
This roadblock gave the turmoil in her belly nothing to do, nowhere to go. Weighted by hopelessness, she turned and walked back outside.
All the while, precious time passed. When would they send someone after her? Not for a couple hours at least.
From this height, everything splayed out beneath her looked like toys. The cabin reminded her of something she’d played with as a child, the chickens as artificial as the squat, happy animals from that same foldaway barnyard.Oh, gracious, there he was. She stood frozen for a few seconds, eyes fixed on the man who looked nothing like the plastic farmer from that long-ago toy.I’m doing this. This is real. He’s real.
Her stomach twisted as she finally forced herself to move and scrambled down the rocky slope, half-excited, half-nervous.
She was close when the man finally noticed her. Close enough to feel tiny in comparison to his towering, long-limbed frame. Close enough to see how graceful his movements were, despite his imposing size. Close enough to see his eyes widen in surprise and his high forehead crease into a scowl. From the top of his unruly hair and unshaven face, over faded work clothes—which strained immodestly on his shoulders and arms—to the tip of his muddy boots, everything about this man loomed as darkly foreboding as the mountain.
She took him in for a beat or two, waiting for some sign of welcome from this man whose size did nothing to allay the fears she’d plowed through to get here. The hope she’d depended on to counter the many, many risks.
He offered no kindness at all, no neighborly hello or hand raised in greeting. Abby almost stepped back, intimidated. But there was no choice. There’d be no leaving here without a job. Judging from the entrenched look of his frown, she’d have bet those immobile lips hadn’t twisted into anything resembling a smile in years. As she forced herself to step forward into his shadow, the lines around his eyes deepened.Make that decades.
