Dread of Winter by Susan Alice Bickford

Author:Susan Alice Bickford [Bickford, Susan Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-09-09T00:00:00+00:00

23

Bitter Stew

The suspension in Francine’s backseat did not make for a restful nap. After the car jolted over what felt like the fourth or fifth major pothole, Sydney sat up, yanked back into the present.

To her surprise, she felt wide-awake, her head cleared. On the one hand, she was pleased to be back in her own skin—in control and thinking logically. On the other, she could still feel the black poison of exhaustion hovering. She had been pushed to an edge by stress and lost her resilience. This was a wake-up call. She needed to watch out for her own mental health.

“Welcome back, Cinderella,” Francine said.

“That’s Snow White. Or Sleeping Beauty.” Sydney yawned and stretched her hands up to the roof of the car and pushed as she arched her back.

“Yeah, well, those require a kiss from Prince Charming. Which I am not.”

Sydney couldn’t recognize anything outside. The whole world was pitch-black as they passed along bleak white tunnels.

“So, when does this pumpkin arrive, Fairy Godmother?”

Maude snorted. “We’re almost there. It’s right around the corner.”

Francine rolled through the next stop sign and turned left. As promised, Elway Farms loomed ahead, brightly lit, inviting them to enter.

Unexpected tears sprang to Sydney’s eyes. This had been one of her only safe havens back when. If she’d been able to drive, she would have spent even more time here, under the stern, watchful rule of Cassandra’s parents. They always welcomed her.

Now they were gone. Cassandra’s father was dead, her mother living elsewhere, and Caleb was wherever Sheriff Carver had put him. Only Cassandra remained.

*

Even in the dark, lit by a few outdoor lights and shrouded by falling snow, the Elway farmhouse loomed clear as day, burned into Sydney’s memory. The driveway swung past the front of the 1830s structure to a well-lit, broad, open area between the house and a set of barns. The deep summer porch beckoned for a visit, and the back door swung open, silhouetting a waiting figure. Cassandra.

They were swept inside, greeted by a large and enthusiastic black Lab, a mutt of uncertain parentage, a gray tabby cat, and a roaring fire. The smell of bread in the oven and something with beef and garlic filled the mudroom.

“Moon Dog, Roscoe. Down.” The dogs settled onto their haunches at the sound of Cassandra’s firm, low voice. “Yarrow, stop rubbing Sydney’s ankles.” She bent over, picked up the cat, and dropped him outside.

“Isn’t it too cold outside?” Sydney asked, tracking Yarrow through the glass storm door as he raced toward the barn.

“He’s got a nice, warm place out there with the horses and a bunch of other barn cats,” Cassandra said.

“Aren’t you down a dog or two?” Francine asked. To Sydney, she said, “Cassandra’s our local pet and livestock whisperer. She takes in lots of animals in need.”

“Dogs, cats, horses, and goats. Sometimes sheep. I don’t do cows. I treat them, get them healthy, teach them manners, and find new homes for most,” Cassandra said.

“Sounds like teaching high school,” Maude said in a low mutter.

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