The House on Creek Road. Caron Todd

find you a comfortable spot and a hot drink. Jennifer, there you are. Salad safely stowed? Good. Will you look after your aunt? Just take her around the yard and help her mingle until she gets her bearings.”

      Liz could sense anxiety in the air, and restrained excitement, as if people were waiting to see the Queen, or Santa Claus at the end of a long parade, and thought someone might get in their line of vision. Was she the source of all that feeling, or had it just been too long between parties? She watched her aunt and grandmother walk away so she could avoid looking at anyone else. There was a barrier between herself and the people who’d come to welcome her, and she didn’t know how to cross it. She didn’t want to cross it.

      “Who do you want to meet first?” Jennifer asked.

      “How about your dad?”

      “You had breakfast with my dad. Anyway, he’s barbecuing.”

      Liz could see Tom across the yard, lifting the lid of one of four gas barbecues, tongs in hand. A spicy, smoky smell she’d noticed earlier intensified. Teriyaki something.

      Jennifer lowered her voice. “Everybody’s looking at you, like they’re waiting.”

      Her niece’s discomfort made Liz ashamed of her hesitation. “Let’s just go into the fray and talk to everyone at once.”

      Pleasant faces and friendly voices greeted her. Liz found it easy to respond the same way. Part of her even began to enjoy the evening. She spoke to the couple who’d sold her mother eggs and cream, and to the repairman who’d nursed her family’s appliances through mishaps years after their warranties had expired. There was her Sunday School teacher, completely unchanged, and her grade-one teacher, unrecognizable, and in a wheelchair. Second and third cousins who’d never made the trip to Vancouver dived right into the middle of family stories, as if she’d only been away for a few weeks. Parents of young children told her which of her books they’d borrowed from the library and which they’d bought. Someone brought her a cup of cocoa, a few people mentioned her dented car and everyone agreed she’d done well for herself. Through it all, Jennifer followed along, saying hello to each person by name, in case Liz had forgotten.

      As she moved away from signing a book one father had thought to bring with him, a pair of arms came around Liz from behind and a chin rested on her shoulder. “Gotcha!”

      Liz recognized the voice and the freckled arms. She turned to smile at her sister-in-law. “Pam. I wondered where you were.”

      “In the kitchen, of course. Why is it that as soon as I manage to get out of mine I find myself in someone else’s? Emily and Aunt Julia are still there, keeping the cocoa going.”

      Interpreting her mother’s arrival as permission to abandon her aunt, Jennifer ran off to join the other children at the far end of the yard. They were holding out brown grass to three sorrel mares, and even though the horses could graze the same grass themselves, they reached eagerly over the fence to take it.

      Pam pulled Liz’s elbow. “Look. There’s the new cutie.”

      Jack McKinnon stood a few yards away, holding a pie in each hand. His deep voice reached them. “Sorry I’m late, Edith. Pumpkin pies, just as you asked.” A picture formed in Liz’s mind, a silver-eyed fairy king going to market, a string of pies floating behind him…

      Definitely Tara, rather than Saturn. Not the pretty, child-friendly kind of fairy, though. The primitive kind, with nature’s beauty and force and heartlessness. Dressed in dry fall leaves. No, not dressed…part of the leaves, nature personified. Liz’s hand ached for a pencil.

      “I just love him,” Pam said, in a near whisper. “He’s your grandma’s new neighbor.”

      “I met him last night.”

      “Imagine, he grows pumpkins. He wants to grow Christmas trees.”

      “Appealing, isn’t it? There’s something about him, though—”

      “I’ll say.”

      Liz looked at her sister-in-law doubtfully. “Does Tom mind all this appreciation?”

      “He values an innovative farmer as much as I do.” Pam caught the eye of a white-haired man standing nearby. “Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

      “Isn’t what right?” Daniel came closer, his step slow and stiff, so different from the energetic stride Liz remembered. He might not be able to outmuscle a misbehaving horse anymore, but he hadn’t lost the ramrod bearing he’d picked up as a Mountie, or his air of authority. “Good to see you, Liz. Thought you’d never come back.”

      “I wasn’t sure I would, either.” She smiled. “Now that I’m here, I’m glad I did.”

      Daniel nodded. “So, we had some excitement last month.” He waited until Liz started to prompt him, then continued, “Your cousin came through town with her new husband.” He paused again, and Liz remembered that he’d always talked that way, stopping as if to wait for a response, but then going on if you tried to make one. “I saw him through the car window when they were driving back to Winnipeg to catch their plane. Your poor aunt planned a whole get-together for them. Thought she could have a sort of reception, at least, if not the wedding. Managed to get the family together, I hear, but they only stayed for an hour, just long enough to introduce the husband, and then they were gone. Wouldn’t you think a daughter would make time?” He stopped to take a breath.

      Quickly, Liz said, “I’m sure Susannah would have, if she could.”

      “She would have,” Daniel said, nodding pointedly, “if it had been up to her. I guess there’s not much chance she’ll ever move back home now, not with a husband like that, always gallivanting around the globe digging up dinosaurs.”

      “Sue’s always digging up dinosaurs, too.”

      “Doesn’t seem like real work, does it?” Daniel’s gaze wandered past her, and with a nod he moved on, joining some friends beside one of the small fires.

      Jack had deposited his pies on a picnic table. Liz watched him wander through the yard, speaking to a few people, politely accepted, but not really welcomed. It would be years before anyone believed he belonged in the community. Years, or never. He might always be the guy who’d bought the Ramsey place.

      Pam dropped her voice suggestively. “Got your eye on Jack?”

      “Of course not. I’m just sorry for him. This isn’t an easy place to fit in.”

      “Half the people around town say he’s growing marijuana.” In response to Liz’s surprised glance, Pam explained, “City guy, failed business, money to spend. Talks about organic farming. Case closed.”

      “I don’t think his business failed. Grandma told me he wanted a change.”

      “My dad says a businessman from the city wouldn’t choose to farm unless he was crazy or desperate. That’s the way most people see it.”

      Jack had come to a stop under a maple that looked soft with age. He was alone, and suddenly Liz felt the need to protect him. Murmuring to Pam that she’d talk to her later, she hurried over, intending to offer a real welcome. Instead, she found herself saying accusingly, “Why didn’t you tell me my grandmother gave you permission to take soil samples from that field?”

      He took a careful sip from a disposable cup full of steaming cocoa before answering. “She did more than give permission. She suggested I test it.”

      “You let me think you were trespassing.”

      “I didn’t want to take the wind out of your sails.” Jack gently swirled the cocoa around his cup, catching bits of froth clinging to the sides.

      Liz’s cheeks warmed at his description of her behavior. “She told me if the field’s right for evergreens, she’ll rent it to you, not sell it.”

      “I wouldn’t think of trying to take it away from your family after all these years.”