Page 100 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Molly offered a lopsided smile. “I don’t think you’ll have much luck.”
“I won’t.” Gemma was so matter-of-fact, it made Molly both jealous and uncomfortable that someone could be so at peace with the murder of her sister.
Gemma met her confused eyes. “Don’t forget, Molly. My mom was a Wasziak, which means Wasziak blood runs through my veins. We may have a reputation for being aloof and harsh and even uncaring, but sometimes—” she looked away—“sometimes that just hides the truth.”
“What truth?” Molly asked, seeing Trent in her mind’s eye and wondering if he would relate to Gemma’s words.
“The truth that we care so deeply it hurts to even show happiness. Because we know that even the smallest of joys is a gift—a momentary gift from God—but that this world will inevitably steal it away, because that’s what happens in a broken place. So even joy hurts because we love hard.” Gemma rubbed her dry eyes as if they were flooded with tears. “Wasziaks are tough people. But not emotionless. We’re toughbecausewe feel so deeply, and it’s the only way we can survive.”
“Ummm, ladies?”
Sid’s call snapped the moment between Molly and Gemma like a rubber band. For the first time, though, Molly had sensed a genuine understanding between them. While there were differences in who they were and how they were made up, they had connected in a profound way. All was okay.
Molly wanted to text Trent. It was impulsive—the old Molly. The Molly who didn’t mind that Trent lived behind a reasoning self-confidence of calm, while she was a hurricane of emotional torrents. They needed each other, perhaps for those very reasons.
“Get down here!” Sid called again.
Gemma was already climbing down from the attic, so Molly followed suit, but not before she tugged her phone out and sent Trent a quick emoji text. A smiley face with hearts for eyes. Too much? Sheesh. She felt as if she were dating all over again.
Her feet landed on the straw and dirt floor. Gemma was rubbing her tennis shoe-clad toe in the dirt to remove some chicken poop she’d stepped in.
Izzy and Sue ruffled their feathers and scattered, leaving Sylvia and Chloe behind, who seemed rather oblivious to the world for chickens. The rooster chortled his warning that Molly and her friends were usurping his territory.
“It’s okay, Orville.” Molly waggled her finger at him, knowing better than to pet him. “I won’t steal your girls—even if they like me better. Besides, I think Sue has a crush on you,” she couldn’t help but add.
“You gave your chickens human names?” Gemma’s pretty face struggled against a smirk.
Molly raised her nose in the air a bit but softened it with a smile. “Animals deserve dignity too.”
“Until they’re made into chicken nuggets.” Gemma’s sarcasm stung a little, but Molly gave her the benefit of the doubt that she meant to be funny.
“Shhh.” Molly bent and placed two fingers at the sides of Chloe the chicken’s head as if the hen had ears there. “Don’t listen to her. You’ll never be a nugget.”
“Stop chatting with the chickens and get over here.” Sid sounded a bit more urgent as she posted herself at the far end of the coop.
Gemma and Molly exchanged looks and made their way to her in a few quick steps.
“What is it?” Gemma asked.
Molly was distracted as Sue waddled after her, her feathers ruffled.
“Look at this.” Sid leaned her metal detector against the wall, then kicked straw away from the floor. She kneeled and used her hands to clear the area. “I found a coin—a 1922 quarter.”
“That’ll be worth something,” Gemma inserted. “Back then, quarters had silver in them.”
Sid looked uninterested. “When I picked it up, my detector was still going off. So I poked around and found this.” She fingered a round metal loop on the floor. “When I went to pick it up, it didn’t budge. See?” She demonstrated for them.
“And?” Gemma didn’t seem to follow, but Molly did.
Molly dropped to her knees, ignoring the way the dirt and straw pressed into her bare skin. Sweat ran in rivulets down the small of her back from the midmorning heat swamping the chicken coop. Sue pecked around Molly’s feet, then flustered and took off, clucking in the opposite direction.
“Is it a trapdoor?” She helped Sid to clear the area around the ring.
Sid nodded. “I think so.” There was excitement that twinkled in her eyes, but also a hesitation that reminded Molly this wasn’t a treasure hunt anymore. It was linked to a missing-person case from forty years ago, a hundred-year-old murder, and arson.
Gemma was more cautious as she knelt, getting a piece of cardboard that was lying in the corner to rest her knees on. “A trapdoor. Was that common in an old shed like this?”
“Maybe,” Sid replied. “Back in the day, a lot of old buildings had cellars or earthen basements. Odds are, this wasn’t always a chicken coop.”
