The Trouble with Harry by MacAlister Katie

Author:MacAlister, Katie [MacAlister, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Company
Published: 2009-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

It was the sheerest fluke that Plum happened to be strolling through the lowest levels of the garden when she heard the scream. She was supposed to be receiving the local vicar, but she left Thom to do those honors, and went out with Burt the head gardener to look at reclaiming the last bit of wilderness in what was once a grand tiered garden.

“I believe this was an herbaceous border at one time,” she said to Burt. “If you were to clean it up and plant some—good heavens, what are the children doing now?”

Plum and Burt turned to look at the crescent of willow trees that lined a small pond filled with stagnant, odiferous water. She frowned and started toward the pond, her chin set. Burt trotted behind her. “Drat those children, I told them just two days ago they weren’t allowed to hunt frogs on that pond anymore. The last time they did, Anne pushed Andrew out of the boat, and came in reeking to high heaven.”

“Pond gets the runoff from the compost heap, it does,” Burt said.

“That would explain the stench. If I find that they’re out in that boat again, I’m going to—”

Plum never had time to complete her threat. As she and Burt cleared the trees, a sight to chill any mother’s blood met her eyes. The boat had capsized, its bow pointing upward, the stern submerged. Digger had one child—Anne or Andrew, she couldn’t tell which—under his arm, and was swimming through the algae and slime to the shore. Another child—McTavish—clung to the side of the sinking rowboat, shrieking like a banshee. The water beyond McTavish rippled, and the top of a tow-head emerged for a moment before it sank again.

Plum didn’t waste any breath on exclamations—she kicked off her slippers and ran for the edge of the pond, instinctively taking a deep breath before diving into the foul water. Dimly she heard Burt beside her, and set off for whichever child was drowning beyond the boat.

She gasped as her head cleared the water—the pond was so foul, it tainted the air sucked into her lungs, searing them as if she was breathing in smoke fumes, making her choke and gasp. Digger yelled from shore that he had Anne, which meant it was Andrew who had gone under. Plum took a deep breath, and dived. The water stung her eyes, and was so murky and filled with matter churned up by Andrew’s flailing body that she could not see. It was only by luck that her outstretched hands felt the whisper of fabric. She lunged forward, both hands trying to follow the elusive material until an arm came into her grasp, an arm that snaked itself around her in an iron grip. She grabbed a handful of jacket, and kicked upward, her lungs burning, her eyes an agony.

“I’ve got him,” she yelled as soon as she surfaced. Andrew coughed and sputtered with her, his arms and legs thrashing as she tried to keep his face out of the water.

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