Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

Kristen took off, laughing, and slowed her strides so Sadie could catch up and eventually pass her. Specks of dirt flew up from Sadie’s stomping sneakers, the tang of clay rushed into Kristen’s lungs, and the breeze picked up, soothing their sweat-slicked skin and rustling leaves on the trees.

“I win,” Sadie shouted before doubling over by a tree and breathing hard.

“Woo,” Kristen laughed, dragging the back of her hand across her hot forehead. “You wiped the floor with me.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

Kristen followed the direction of Sadie’s outstretched arm and narrowed her gaze on a small clearing just visible between the trunks of several trees.

“I don’t know.” Kristen shielded her eyes and headed in that direction. “Let’s go poke around.”

They reached the clearing, a brief stretch of green ground that received a hefty dose of sunlight. An overturned rusty wheelbarrow rested on the grass by a small metal shed. High weeds grew around it, but there were a few broad leaves and small white flowers tangled within the thick growth. Beyond this, in a brown pile of litter, several rotten gourds slumped into the hard ground.

“Joe’s place,” Kristen said, smiling.

She walked to the shed, carefully sidestepping green vines and motioning for Sadie to do the same, then tugged on the dented metal door. It swung open with a squeak, revealing several wooden tables cluttered with leaves, debris, and . . . gourds. Dried brown gourds of all shapes and sizes, some peeling, some rotten, and some in absolutely perfect shape for an artistic hand.

Sadie edged over to a table and poked one brown shell with a fingertip. “What are they?”

“Gourds.” Kristen joined her, gently brushed aside a pile of twigs and leaves, then ran her palm over a particularly large one, admiring the dark markings. “Like the one hanging from your nana’s rack by the driveway.” She smiled wider. “A few of these are whole, cured, and in great shape.”

Sadie wound her hand around Kristen’s upper arm and leaned close, eyeing the gourd. “Great shape for what?”

“For painting.” She traced the natural markings with her thumb. “See these? They give each shell a life of its own. You can paint them, and once you hollow them out, they’re perfect for birds—especially purple martins.”

“You can make it into a birdhouse?”

“Yep. Native Americans used them that way to attract birds and keep insects down. And art . . . Oh, they m

ade beautiful art with them. Still do.” Kristen picked the gourd up, lifted it into the light streaming in through holes in the metal roof and examined it from different angles. “I think this one would make a perfect birdhouse.” She envisioned a combination of red, yellow, and blue paint filling in the natural markings to complete a solid image. An image she had seen in so many of Emmy’s photographs and could replicate—if Mitch was willing to help her secretly borrow a few of the pictures from Emmy’s shoebox. “And it’d make a perfect birthday gift for Emmy.”

“Can I make a birdhouse for Nana, too?” Sadie grabbed a gourd from the table and held it up. “Out of this one?”

Kristen nodded. “That’d be wonderful.”

“How will we do it?” Sadie asked. The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth as she narrowed her eyes at the gourd.

“We’ll wash, scrub, and cut an entrance hole and a place for hanging it. Then we’ll scrape out the seeds and let it dry. We’ll soak it in a preservative, let it dry again, then paint it. After that, it’ll be ready to hang.”

“And the birds will come?”

“Yes.” She pointed to the center of Sadie’s gourd. “They’ll make a nest right there.”

“Once it’s empty?”

Kristen nodded.

Sadie’s eyes sparkled with glee. “For the baby birds?”

“That’s right.” The excited delight in Sadie’s expression mirrored her own. Kristen reached out and smoothed a hand over the little girl’s soft hair, the motion a practiced one from her past.

Something heavy returned inside her with the action. Something that had been replaced in recent days with Mitch’s kisses, Sadie’s and Dylan’s laughter, and Emmy’s approving comments. It surged forth with renewed vengeance, pricking at her conscience and welling in her eyes. It warred with the peace struggling to take root in her heart.

Kristen forced herself to speak past the thick feeling in her throat. “The hollow inside will be a perfect place for them to grow.”

CHAPTER 10

Mitch gripped the handle he’d just installed on the new screen door he’d purchased for Emmy’s porch, clicked the black push button latch several times to make sure it worked, then opened and shut the door to check the alignment.