Free Tucker’s Grove by Kevin J. Anderson

or thereabouts if you ’ re walking.”
    He held out his hand, flashing a broad smile. “ Andrew Danforth Johnson, Ma ’ am .” He bowed. “ Dentist.”
    “ Elspeth Sandsbury… farmer ’ s wife.” She took his hand. “ Pleased to meet you, Mr. Johnson. Would you care for a cold glass of water?”
    Elspeth started for the well pump before he could answer. She drove the pump-handle until a stream of cold water poured from the spout. She lifted the ladle toward the thin stranger, and he drank, thanking her more enthusiastically than was necessary.
    He sat on the step of the porch after she had resumed her seat in the old rocking chair. “ Tell me, Mr. Johnson, what brings you on the road to Bartonville, and walking , yet! Where do you hail from?”
    “ All the way from Boston, Ma ’ am. I heard that these parts of Wisconsin are quite pleasant, especially the small towns. Just having finished my schooling as a de ntist, I thought it ’ d be a good idea to come out here to set up my practice.”
    “ You came from Boston to get to Tucker ’ s Grove? Well, mister, if you ’ ll pardon me for saying so, that ’ s about the most pure idiot thing I ever heard of!” She smiled at him disarm ingly, she hoped.
    He laughed. Elspeth clapped her hands together suddenly, as if she knew exactly the thing the dentist was waiting for. “ Say, have you ever tried gooseberry wine, Mr. Johnson?”
    “ Can ’ t say that I have, Ma ’ am.”
    “ It ’ s just what you need to im prove your stamina, heighten your spirits, and get you primed for the last leg of your journey. Besides, it ’ s the hottest part of the day out there. You just set here in the shade while I go pour a glass.”
    “ Aren ’ t you having one yourself, Ma ’ am?”
    “ I don ’ t drink spirits, Mr. Johnson. Not since my husband died, anyways.”
    She disappeared into the house, then returned with a crystal goblet of a murky, purplish wine. “ Here you be, Mr. Johnson. Just the thing.” She handed it down to him. “ Drink up.”
    Then she rock ed back in the creaking old chair, glancing down the road to make sure no one else might be coming in the hot, lonely afternoon. With a smile, Elspeth saw the comical shock on the dentist ’ s face as the potent sleeping powders hit him.
    Andrew Danforth John son pitched forward into unconsciou s ness. Elspeth grabbed his collar and deftly caught him just before his face grazed the dusty porch. It would have been cruel to let the man break his spectacles that way.
    She took a long drink from the well herself, quenching her thirst, then turned to her new victim. Time to get to work.
     
    After she had mounted the dentist up on the scarecrow bar, Elspeth spent the night in the intimate company of nigh t mares — visions of dark wings and expressionless ebony eyes, ominous shadows. She was convinced she ’ d received an ho n est-to-goodness sending from the Dark Ones, but was at a loss to understand its meaning. She found it confusing.
    Why didn ’ t the Old Ones just speak in plain, simple English that a body could understand? They always sent murky images, dreams, flashes of inspiration… if she hadn ’ t known better, she might have thought they were just products of her own imagin a tion.
    Elspeth woke a t dawn, her ample body tangled in damp sheets that weren ’ t half as twisted as her stomach felt. She wondered if she had eaten something bad the night before. Or maybe the D.O.s were upset about something. Elspeth swallowed hard, tr y ing to figure out how sh e could appease them. She ’ d better make the new sacrifice quick.
    The man would be awake by now, stiff from hanging on the crossbar all through the night. When she had hoisted him up the day before, she noticed with some curiosity that all the crows but the big one, the leader, were watching from the oak boughs.
    The dentist ’ s gangly arms had flopped and flapped in all the wrong directions as she wrestled with his limp body. The strong