Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [0]
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
July 7, 1952
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
July 7, 1952
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
July 7, 1952
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
July 7, 1952
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
July 7, 1952
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
July 7, 1952
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright Page
For Elizabeth Gunn,
a woman of wonderful courage and energy,
a great writer, and a not-half-bad talker
Therefore the land mourns,
and all who dwell in it languish,
and also the beasts of the field,
and the birds of the air;
and even the fish of the sea are taken away.
—HOSEA 4:3
July 7, 1952
It was a warm day in Pepin County, Wisconsin, so warm it was hard to tell where your skin ended and the air began. Although it was late in the afternoon, the sun was still high above the treetops. The clouds curled in the sky as if they could grab the blue of it.
On the Schuler farm, the chickens circled the trees in the front yard, scratching for seed. Cicadas cracked out their gentle, grinding song, the undertone of all summer nights. A soft wind stirred the sheets on the line.
The farm was located four miles from Fort St. Antoine and seven miles from Plum City, up on the edge of the bluffs. Standing at a high point in the fields, you could see Lake Pepin stretched out far below, shimmering in the sun.
For dinner there would be a pot roast, new potatoes creamed with sweet peas, radishes fresh from the garden, salad, and, of course, German chocolate cake for Arlette’s first birthday. She was the youngest of the five Schuler children. Denny was ten, Louise eight, Schubert six, and Elisabeth three.
The table had been set by the children. Bertha Schuler was finishing up in the kitchen, the baby underfoot. The rest of the children were scattered around the farmhouse, reading or playing. Except for Denny. He was out in the barn with his father, helping with the milking.
Then the quiet was broken. The baby reached up a hand and jerked at the tablecloth. A spoon hit her on the head and she started to cry. Bertha stuck her head out the door and called that dinner was ready. The clock in the hallway struck the half hour.
And the first shot was fired.
CHAPTER 1
Rich fingered the small package in his pocket as he walked down the hill with Claire to the farmer’s market in the park—his mother’s diamond engagement ring. His mother had given it to him a few days ago with her blessings.
Meg ran ahead of them, skipping and leaping over imaginary boulders in the road. Her legs looked as long as the rest of her body. She was shooting up. Eleven years old. Not the little girl he had first met almost three years ago.
Claire held his other hand and carried a big colorful plastic satchel that she claimed was her shopping bag. At the bottom of the bag was her cell phone. Claire was on call to the sheriff’s department this weekend.
Meg was going to a friend’s house for a sleepover tonight—and Rich had invited Claire to his house for a romantic dinner. He had it all planned out. He would ask her tonight.
He was slightly nervous because they hadn’t really discussed marriage. But, he assured himself, their lives were intermingling as easily as the St. Croix flowed into the Mississippi, twenty miles to the north. They had been seeing each other for long enough. He knew he wanted to live with Claire.
He squeezed her hand. She turned and smiled at him. She had let her dark hair grow and today was wearing it loosely braided. A thread or two of silver hinted at her age. She was wearing cutoff jeans, yellow flip-flops, and a big T-shirt that she and Meg had tie-dyed yellow and blue. He wanted to be connected to her in a tangible way. He never wanted to lose her.
The farmer’s market was held in the park every Saturday morning during the summer months. It was organized by a few of the local farmers who grew transitional