It was probably just a black bear rooting through someone's compost bin, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He was concerned about the sheep, mainly, but Abe and his father were seeing to those two while Mina looked after May. He thought he'd heard someone out in the corn, so he took out with his rifle in search of whatever the fuss could be at this hour.

In tramping through the fields, he could hear the early-autumn crickets singing and the stars glittered by the thousands. He'd heard tales of the town not more than a mile or so away before where the lights along the roads shone bright all night and you couldn't hear he crickets or see the stars. What made a person choose such a life as that? Cain couldn't imagine it at all.

His Mina was pregnant. The thought crossed his mind all the time and he was frequently harassed in the fields for smiling like an idiot about it, but he couldn't wait to be a father. He couldn't wait to pass on the traditions of their ancestors to a little boy or girl. It delighted him. Anyone could give him hell for it and he wouldn't act poorly in his own defense. He was giddy and well-aware of it.

But the stars made him think of the thousand things he wanted for Mina and for their unborn child. Most of all, he wanted their happiness to be everlasting. He knew he'd been terribly lucky when the council and her father had agreed to his marriage proposal. Lucky to be deliriously in love with her, and she with him.

They could have been like the Abbneys, and for all that was worth, he was thankful they weren't.

He was going to give up the chase and assume he'd scared off a fox before the corn started to clear a bit up ahead. Unusual, he thought, with his brow furrowed. He knew these fields well—even if he were half-asleep, he didn't think they ended here. He picked up his pace and moved closer before seeing a wide, open patch of land where the corn had once stood tall.

Cain slung the rifle over his shoulder and knelt, studying the stalks. They weren't broken. They were woven. No part of the stalk had been damaged. Not even the finest machine money could probably buy could do something like this. He followed the circle, curiosity getting the better of him. He was awed and frustrated all at the same time.

Something rustled in the stalks behind him, he turned abruptly and raised the rifle like a reflex, searching for a target before he fired.

Up near the house where Frank was inspecting the chicken coop and Abe was securing the gate to the sheep pens, there was talk of going in for the night. The shot from a rifle thwarted the idea and immediately Frank and Abe were bounding off into the fields. "Stay inside!" Abe called to the women waiting at the back door, all three of whom promptly went inside, closing the door behind them and locking it to be safe.

Frank shouted his son's name a few times before he could get an answer.

"Here!" Cain called back, tramping through the corn until he found them.

"Are you hurt, son?" Frank asked, laying a heavy hand on Cain's shoulder.

"No, I'm alright. Are the women safe?" He looked to Abe and gave a nod.

Cain sighed and a smile of relief came over his face. "Good."

"Did you find anything out here?" Abe asked.

"No, but I'm certain the shot scared it off."

"Good lad," his father clapped him on the shoulder and smiled a broad, proud smile. "Back to bed then. Before we've all got to be up in a few hours." The three Marshall men returned to the house and went back to bed without so much as another word.

She dropped the last of the laundry into the basket at her feet before stooping to pick it up. She glanced over at Sara in the garden picking green beans wondering when her baby had grown into such a pensive scowl as the one presently on her face. "Pull some potatoes too, you can make the ones your father is so fond of," Eliza called, offering a smile.

Sara barely turned up one corner of her mouth, squinting in the sun before she resumed picking as Eliza headed into the house through the back door to distribute clothes to their proper owners. It wouldn't be long before they'd have to harvest the rest of the vegetables in the beds outside; the greenhouse blooms had already started in preparation for the coming colder months.

Quietly she took the stairs to the bedrooms with her basket in tow.

There were three of them, all relatively the same, with beds made of wood harvested from the mountains, quilts that had been made for births and weddings and the like, sparsely decorated with rope rugs made from the scraps of old clothes worn thin. She passed the first door without looking in and entered the second. Sara's, The neatly folded blouses were piled into a dresser drawer beside the skirts, dresses hung with care in the wardrobe, and the same process repeated in the bedroom she shared with her husband Hamish.

She entered the previously untouched room with a stiffness about her. Inside it sat a wooden rocking horse and a handful of other innocent toys. The crib looked ready for a child, but it had been waiting for years for a child that would not return. She pulled the window closed before leaving again, the entire time, her character refusing to take stock of anything in the room, before she locked the door and deposited the key into the pocket of her apron and went back down to the kitchen.

Eliza placed the basket for the wash on a chair by the back door and checked the roast in the oven.

"What were you doing upstairs?"

She nearly jumped through the ceiling before she turned on her heel. Hamish had a habit of sneaking about so quietly he might as well be a ghost. "I was putting the laundry away," she offered a smile that was nothing more than a polite gesture of welcome. "Your favorite shirt is clean again, and your woolen sweater. Those socks with the holes in them are mended too," she turned again, opening the stove one more time to baste the roast inside.

"I saw you in his room."

Eliza stood again and closed the door. "Oh that," her voice was absent of any remote sort of care. "I was airing it out, it smelled musty up there."

"Did you air the other rooms as well?"

She was sour at the idea of another of Hamish's irritating inquisitions, but fought with herself not to show it. "I did. The whole house, as a matter of fact." In nearly eighteen years of marriage she'd gained little more than a child and a skill for telling a good lie. "There won't be many days left to do that, you know."

"No, of course not." His gaze finally fell.

She turned and reached into the drawer for a wooden spoon when he grabbed her wrist suddenly and tightly. She would not give him the satisfaction of avoiding his eyes.

"You forget, Eliza, that I know everything that goes on around here. If you are lying to me, which I trust you are not, I will find out about it." His touch then became uncomfortably tender against the soft inside of her wrist. "May I have your key, please?"

His manner was so polite she could scarcely stand him for it. To get him away from her, she reached into her apron and procured it for him, watching with a slight scowl as he walked away.

"God sees our sins. Never forget it."

If she had possessed any courage, she might have killed him then. Instead she swallowed the spiteful feelings and prayed silently in her head as she lifted the pie from the window ledge and onto the trivet.

She stood on the porch, a bit wild-eyed, her children shielded behind her. "Go away. Get back in that beast you came in and go away!"
She might have been a little less fearful if the second man had not immediately pulled out a camera.

Silas broke away from her protection; he was the man of this house, after all. He approached the stranger with his arms folded. "State your business."

"I'm a reporter for the Grove County Gazette and I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the crop circle." James straightened his tie a bit and brushed a bit of dust off the shoulder of his jacket.

"Gazette?" Silas asked, his brows knitting together.

"The newspaper?"

Silas' eyes widened slightly.

"He's here because he's curious about the thing in the corn," Jane spoke softly, pulling her shawl tighter around her. Both her mother and brother turned to look at her.

"What thing in the corn?" Georgia asked, bewildered, turning back to the strange man.

"The crop circle. It's...it's a paranormal phenomenon," how did he explain something like this?

"I saw him in my dreams last night," Jane explained. "He doesn't mean harm, mother."

Silas looked from Jane to Georgia. "Mother, summon the council to the church."

Jane stepped casually off the porch. "I'll lead them there, mother." She offered a friendly smile to the strangers. "Best you leave your contraptions in your…" she gestured to the vehicle behind them, unsure of what name to give it. "You'll scare 'em. They don't like newfangled things. Follow me."

"How do you know so much?" James asked, catching up to her stride.

"The visions," she said softly, as if it explained all.

"What visions?"

"The ones given to me by the grace of God. They are not always pleasant, sir, but it is my cross to bear." After a moment of walking, Jane looked at him. "You're skeptical," she smiled amicably.

"No, I'm…"

"It wasn't a question," her smile grew, showing her pearly set of teeth.

He hadn't expected that. Or anything, really. He'd never even heard of this place. From the looks of it, it seemed so back-woods. James was certain they were all Amish hicks by the look of it, but they weren't the same. Not by a long shot.

"What is this place?" he asked finally.

"Home," she offered, walking along lazily. "Back in the late eighteen-hundreds, a group of folks decided they wanted a much simpler life for themselves and their children, so they picked a spot in the middle of the corn and built a village with only one route in and out."

"I don't follow."

"No. You wouldn't," her words were not malicious, but she continued on anyway. "Everything we have is built on the hard work of our community. Everything is shared, traded. We don't leave our place, sir. It's where we feel safest."

The crumbling white chapel sat ahead of them, its roof sagging on either end as to look like it was frowning.

"And if you threaten that safety," she stopped and turned to the man with harsh eyes. "They will decide what becomes of you. Be warned. People have been put to death out in these parts. It's nothing like you civilized folk."

She walked toward the church, a little more determined, some of the members of their little society filing in as well.

A big storm was coming. Jane Palmer could feel it in her bones.

"Silence!" Hamish called amidst the nervous chattering that filled the single room in the chapel. The Elders sat in a row at the altar, peering out over the citizens of their secluded commune.

The families of the elders always sat in the first pews. Chairs had been placed to the side for the strangers where they now sat, confused and fidgeting.

The chatter died off and Hamish, standing dead-center, looked over to the men who had invaded his commune. They had forsaken everything.

"The Council of Elders has decided to give you the opportunity to state your business. Please elucidate your circumstances." He sat, waiting to hear what they had to say.

James stood, glancing out at the small crowd with his throat running dry. "We…er…we received word that a crop circle had been sighted in the fields out here. I work for a local newspaper. I would like to write a story if I may."

There were frenzied whispers in the back, to which Abberline responded. "Silence. Silence now. Let the man speak."

Frank leaned forward. "Sir, if you would please, do enlighten us. What is this 'crop circle' you speak of?"

James sighed. "It's a paranormal phenomenon often thought to be linked to intelligent life from outer space."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Abberline spoke up, her brows knitted slightly in curiosity.

"Aliens," the photographer spoke up. "Aliens are thought to be the creators of these crop circles."

This sparked even greater commotion in the audience, the general hushed whispers tinged with discomfort and fear.

"Enough!" Georgia got to her feet, her mouth pressed into a thin line. The chapel went silent. "I don't know who you people think you are, but you have crossed a line. This is an independent, peaceful community and I see through your fear-mongering ways. Either you leave this place never to mention it again, or we silence you ourselves."

No one spoke for a long moment after that.

James swallowed. "Ma'am, if I might suggest it, may we show you where these circles were sighted?"

The entire commune weaved through the corn in the Marshalls' field to get a look at what the outsiders were on about.

Nearly a hundred yards in, the Elders came upon it and it was a sight ti behold. The rest of the denizens spread out around it, everyone at first seemingly confused, but it was the lay of the corn that shocked them. Not a single stalk of corn broken. Some of the children ran off through the off-shoots of the bizarre circle. Eliza discharged Sara and Silas to collect them.

The photographer passed a photograph of the crop circle from above to Hamish, who studied it carefully. The pattern seemed strange. Even if someone were to do this, it was too complicated for one man and their community as a whole never could have achieved something so bizarre.

Hamish pressed his eyes closed, the image seared into his mind. "Attention!" he called out as Silas and Sara returned with the littlest of the children in arms and the older ones following behind. "We will reconvene in an hour back at the church. The Elders and I must discuss what will be done."

The crowd dispersed, leaving the reporter and his photographer a bit stunned. It was Eliza who invited James back to their house for tea. Silas agreed to attend this affair as a chaperone while his sister's husband was away. It wouldn't do to leave a woman vulnerable to outsiders in a time like this.

Sara sat beside the photographer, transfixed by his camera. "It…it captures moments?" she asked, both awed and frightened as she looked through pictures of her village. She could even spot herself in the garden in one of them. The shock of it made her gasp and promptly return the camera to the photographer.

He laughed good-naturedly. "It's nothing to be afraid of, here. I'll show you how to use it," he placed the camera back in her hands correctly and guided her aim toward her mother at the kitchen sink. "Now push this button, and…"

The flash sent a burst through the kitchen that spooked the three who had never before seen a camera. Sara immediately dropped it and hurled herself into her mother's protective embrace.

Silas scowled darkly. "Put that thing away," he ordered, his voice tinged with force.

"I apologize," James spoke up. "Thank you for the tea Mrs. …?"

"Abbney," Eliza added softly. "Eliza Abbney."

"Your husband is the…er…leader?"

"That's observant of you. Yes. He is one of them." She nodded, looking at him with a soft kind of affection in her eyes. "Hamish." His name always left a bitter taste in her mouth that even time could not erase.

James smiled, charmed by her warmth. "Observation is half of my job."

"What exactly does a reporter do?" Eliza asked, attempting to make polite conversation.

"They talk to people and write about what they say. Usually what they write is published in magazines and newspapers."

"Ah." Eliza sat at the table, holding her warm mug of tea between her hands to warm them. "I should warn you if you're looking to write about that thing in the corn out here, it won't go over well." She forced a slight smile. "With any of the Elders."

"Yes, I see they're very set in their ways."

"We all are," she said without missing a beat. "Your presence here is an unwelcome one. They view you as a threat to the stability of our village. You'd be better off getting in your metal beast now and going back home."

"Unfortunately, I do have a job to do." His smile became less charming and more unrelenting and Eliza did not like it.

She smiled a little on her own. "Then I certainly hope you're prepared for what might happen next."

In the distance a bell rang signaling the end of the hour-long recess. Sara was quick to slip into her wool sweater before heading out into the crisp gloaming, leaving the others to follow behind.

Silas waited for the outsiders to step out into the night before he followed, securing the door behind him.

"Let all those in attendance bear witness to this verdict," Hamish spoke calmly. "The Council of Elders has reached a decision regarding these outsiders and what is to be done with them."

It seemed everyone was holding their breath now in anticipation.

"As it is always our wish to act peacefully and without bias," Abberline stood next, "we offer these…visitors…two options."

Georgia stood as well and looked darkly at the foreigners in her midst. "The first: you will both leave this place and never speak of what you saw again. You will tell your people it was nothing more than a mistaken hoax. That there is nothing to see out here."

James opened his mouth to speak.

Frank stood next and raised a hand to silence him. "The second option is assimilation. You will relinquish your vain and luxurious lifestyles in exchange for our own. You will adopt our ways and become one of us."

"Refusal of either of these," Hamish added finally, "will result in a penalty of death."

The photographer laughed loudly. "You can't be serious! Have you all gone mad?" He stood and started for the back of the chapel. "You must be joking. Leave, assimilate, or death?" He laughed again, but no one else did.

Instead, Morris Fletcher, one of the strongest among them, stood from the pew he was sitting in, grabbed the man in a headlock and dragged him outside.

They sat in silence as distant struggle was heard before a loud scream and finally a snap ended it. Morris returned to the chapel and regained his seat.

"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Kasenberg?"

James swallowed. The photographer was dead, no mistake about that. "I choose the first option." His throat was dry and his palms were sweaty and shaking.

He would get in his car and leave without thinking twice. He would not hesitate any longer.

"Very well then," Hamish said with chilling calmness. "Abraham. Kindly escort Mr. Kasenberg to his…thing. And see that he does not stick around."

Abraham nodded and stood, waiting for James to join him. James took a final look around at the faces who stared him down.

"Adjourned," Abberline dismissed before the crowd followed the men out into the dusty streets.

Eliza shielded Sara's eyes as they walked past the dead photographer, but she couldn't keep herself from looking. She gave a fierce shudder until she felt her husband's steady hand on her back, leading them both away from the sight of the body before Morris could haul it away and bury him in an unmarked grave.

He woke in the night to the all-too familiar squeak of the floorboards. Hamish was a light sleeper by nature, an attribute he was glad his daughter had not inherited. Perhaps he did not treasure the girl as much as he might have in a better world, but Sara did not need to bear witness to her mother's ghastly midnight episodes.

Hamish slipped quietly out of bed and down the hall, checking first that his only child was asleep, and then proceeded further down to where he knew he would find her. What he could never figure out was just how Eliza was getting into Henry's room without a key. He kept it with him always, but there she stood at the window in the pale moonlight, rocking a stuffed bear the size of an infant.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…" She sang like an angel. He lingered in the doorway listening for a while. "Please don't take my sunshine away."

The end of her song prompted him to enter quietly and gently squeeze her shoulder. "Come Eliza, back to bed," he told her, his tone gentle. He'd been through these fits with her half a million times in eighteen years. He considered himself an expert on the situation.

But Eliza didn't budge. If anything, she froze, stiff as a board.

"Come now, it's late." He would have to start strapping her down again until these fits subsided. Hamish cursed himself. He should have known the body of that delinquent man would disturb her. Very slowly, he attempted to remove the bear from her grasp, but she resisted and turned to face him.

"You killed him," she snapped. Her eyes were blank and devoid of emotion. "You killed him!" She dropped the bear suddenly, throwing weak punches at him.

He grabbed her wrists firmly and pulled her arms across her chest to keep her from hurting him or herself in the scuffle. She was sobbing, putting up more of a fight than usual.

"You pulled my son from my arms and killed him right before my eyes!"

He wrapped a stiff arm around her and covered her mouth with his free hand. "Shh. You'll wake Sara." He sat with her and rocked her in attempt to make her calm. When she stopped wrestling, when her tears had stopped, he carried her to bed and restrained her before going back to the room to tidy up the toys she'd disturbed.

He picked up the bear last and stared down at it. Its black button eyes looked up at him cheerfully. He could remember Georgia presenting it to Henry for his first birthday, and the boy being so delighted by it.

The bear was innocent enough to the naked eye, but to Hamish it was his every regret. Henry had not lived to cherish the thing and finally to outgrow it. Part of Hamish knew it was his fault. He had done nothing when he so easily could have. Eliza had never forgiven him for it.

He wasn't sure he could forgive himself either.

"Jane Palmer, will you marry me?"

She clutched the gathering basket self-consciously to her middle and shrank back. The others behind her—Lilah, Mina, and Anna—whispered excitedly and one of them squealed with delight, but Jane recoiled.

Samuel was handsome and kind, and these were the things Jane knew to be true, but she couldn't bring herself to answer. Why was he asking at all? Why bother? She would have sooner preferred not to have the choice instead of this embarrassing scene in the garden for all to see.

She opened her mouth as if to speak and promptly closed it before walking hurriedly away to avoid him.

Instead he chased after her. "Will you, Jane?"

She didn't want to marry anyone. She knew they considered her strange for her visions; it was Father Abbney who had to convince them she had been given a divine gift from God and even then Jane hadn't been sure they believed her.

Jane knew the truth. Her mother had asked it of him.

She pulled her shawl a little tighter around him as he cornered her against the house, now barely a foot from her.

"W-why would you wanna marry me?" she asked softly. "I'm only a cut above Michael Edleburn. Ain't worth the trouble."

Samuel smiled in a charming way. "No. I don't believe that at all." Her gaze fell to the ground for a moment.

"I've seen you," he said softly, producing a flower from behind his back. A yellow coreopsis. The last of the summer blooms. "You play with the little ones and tell them stories. They make you glow like a firefly. You treat your mother's garden like a child to be cared for. I've watched you living in your own little world for a while now."

Jane held her breath, staring at the coreopsis intently.

"I've wanted to marry you since I was fifteen years old." He placed the flower in her basket. "I thought someone would steal your heart away before I got the chance."

"Why are you asking me?" she looked up.

He shrugged. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

"But if you're asking then you already have permission," she countered. "Why bother? You're making a scene."

Samuel took her hand and stroked the back of it with his coarse thumb. "I respect you too much not to ask what you think." He let her hand drop and took a few paces back. "You don't have to answer right away. Just let me know when you've made up your mind."

Her heart thumped in her chest like a scared rabbit caught in a trap. She thought of Eliza and how she'd been forced to marry Hamish, and she consented, but not willingly. Their marriage had been a nightmare. These were things no one spoke of, but Jane and Eliza shared more than just garden crops. Eliza's situation was the reason for her disinterest in marriage. Jane counted herself fortunate that no one had bothered.

But if she didn't accept Samuel, what might happen next?

"Sam—Samuel, wait!" she chased after him as he was heading back to the field. He stopped and turned to look her in the eye. She could see his nervousness. How afraid he was that she would reject him. She swallowed thickly and lowered her eyes. Jane gave a slight nod and met his eyes again.

His face lit up like a bonfire and he grabbed her, causing her basket to fall and the garden crops to spill everywhere. He spun with her in his arms, laughing infectiously and it started her laughing too. Whatever she was stepping into, she hoped she'd made the right choice.

"I wanna kiss you, Jane," he said, finally returning her feet to the ground.

She stooped to recover her basket and stood again once she'd collected everything. "Now that, you'll just have to wait for." She smiled and turned, walking back to the garden, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Silas sat on the porch drinking ale with Cain, listening to him talk of Mina.

"I think we're having a girl, but Mina's convinced it's going to be a boy," Cain chuckled.

Silas smiled half-heartedly. He thought of Anna and considered once again the idea of appealing to the Council about a marriage between the two of them. He was certain Abberline would approve, but he couldn't be sure. She seemed to have a fondness for him, but he wondered if that fondness hadn't been influenced by his mother. Silas was sure he wasn't alone in this line of thinking; the other elders had children—one of whom was his niece. They weren't supposed to show bias, but some did anyway.

"What about you though? Have you asked for anyone's hand yet?" Cain asked, draining his cup. "Or did they reject your proposal?"

Silas shoved him with a playful laugh and plucked the leather ball from beside his chair. He bounded off the porch and tossed the ball to Cain before the man returned it to him. "It's a tough business. Gotta make the right choice. The rest of your life depends on it."

Cain joined him in the yard, tossing the ball again. "True. You could ask May. She's taken a real shine to you."

Silas smiled and looked down. "She's a nice girl." He threw the ball to Cain. "Not so sure she's my type."

"And Hamish Abbney is your sister's type?"

Silas caught the ball again, his brows furrowing deeply. "You shouldn't talk about that." He sat on the porch step.

"It's not like it's some big secret. Everybody knows they're unhappy." Cain joined him. "He's stubborn as iron and she's fragile as glass. Those things don't mix well, Silas."

He had a point, but it didn't feel right to hear those things out of someone else's mouth.

"If you had to ask the Council tomorrow, who would you marry?"

"Anna Connors," Silas replied, somewhat sheepish.

Cain nodded. "Not bad. Little plain though. And ginger."

"I like that about her." Silas wasn't afraid of what he'd say. "The whole Commune and how many redheads do we have? Abberline, Lilah, and Anna Connors."

The screen door behind them screeched open as Jane stepped out onto the porch in her nightdress and shawl, a lantern in hand. "Mother and I are going to bed. She wanted me to tell you both not to be up too late. I hear Hamish wants an early start tomorrow."

"I was just going to come in," Silas stood, Cain joining him.

"Mina and I send our congratulations, Jane. Sam's thrilled."

Jane smiled in the glow of the candlelight. "Thank you." She looked Cain directly in the eyes and noticed something different in them, something not altogether human. She forced her smile to stay put, however uncomfortable his gaze made her, but it filled her with a kind of nervous dread she couldn't understand.

"Tell Mina I've said thank you too." She held her shawl a little tighter around her. "I'd love to stand and talk but if I don't go now I'll be exhausted in the morning. Goodnight." She went inside as naturally as possible, but she promptly raced up the stairs and drew her curtain closed.

Whatever was wrong, she wanted no part in it.

When she was sure the rest of the house was sleeping, Sara climbed out of bed and pushed her door closed, careful of the squeak in the hinge. She then stooped before the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened its latch, fishing under the quilt and afghans laying inside, producing the camera that the dead man had left behind. She had been the first one back into the kitchen when they'd arrived home from the verdict and had smuggled it away before her father could dispose of it.

Sara creeped toward the windowsill looking out at the starry night and the glowing moon above. Could she capture the stars the way the man had captured her? Autumn nights like these were so beautiful…

She did as the man had instructed her to do before, lining up the image and pressing the button. The flash popped, startling her again, but she didn't cry out as she had the first time. Finally, she looked down at the little screen. The image was unfortunately a blur of red and orange leaves on one side and pitch blackness on the other, save for a white smear she could only assume was the moon. But then she squinted, noticing something else there between the branches.

It was the size of a large raccoon, but it didn't look like one she'd ever seen. Its skin was waxy and gray, and it had a row of tiny, sharp teeth that grinned like a possum. But it was the eyes that unsettled her.

Large, black, and glossy. It looked sinister.

No, not sinister.

Hungry.

Sara hastily pushed buttons in attempt to make the thing go away, and she felt a moment of relief when the screen finally went dark, but her gaze slowly drifted out the window again. The uneasy feeling of being watched crept into her stomach and up into her throat. She threw the curtain closed as fast as she could, shoved the vile thing back into the depths of the trunk, and dove headlong beneath the covers, hiding her head under the bed sheet, whispering frantic prayers. Whatever that creature had been, God had certainly not made it. Worse still, it made her doubt the existence of a God at all.

The following morning was overcast and it threatened to rain, but Hamish was determined to get out in the fields and destroy the existence of this crop circle. It would mean harvesting a bit earlier than expected, but it was a small price to pay to protect his people.

Eliza sat at the table half awake and in a bit of a stupor as Sara slid the pancakes onto her plate. Hamish was warmed by Sara's care when she knelt beside Eliza and attempted to cheer her up. It was met with little more than a catatonic sigh.

"Mother looks pale. Perhaps Aunt Jane would bring some of grandmother's herbs over to help her sleep."

"That's a rather fine idea, but perhaps your grandmother would come instead. I believe her care might be of comfort to your mother at present." Hamish touched Eliza's hand and it caused her to shudder and recoil. "Why don't you run along and fetch her now."

Sara hesitated, but realized the chances of being attacked in broad daylight were slim. She coiled the knitted scarf around her neck and stepped out into the frosty morning, closing the door behind her.

Hamish stood from his place at the table and carefully helped his wife out of hers. She was dazed in a trance, her wrists purple from fighting against the leather straps at night. She had thrashed beyond the point of either of them getting good sleep. It would make the task of harvesting that much more difficult today, but he hoped the crisp morning would invigorate him as it did when he was still a much younger man. He led her back to bed and covered her up, glad that Georgia was no stranger to Eliza's fits. It would do them all a bit of good to have the woman around. "Sleep now. The work will wait. Whatever it is, I'm sure Sara will manage."

He grew so weary of looking after her. He was no babysitter and he found such care as this irksome, but he deigned not to show this.

As he came back down the stairs, his daughter re-entered their home, letting the cool fall air in.

"You go and fetch the herbs I told you from the greenhouse and we'll have her good as new in no time," Georgia kissed the girl's forehead.

"She'll be alright, won't she father?" Sara asked, her brown eyes gleaming with hope.

"I'm certain of it." He rubbed her arms. He was fortunate to have such a dutiful daughter, though of course it never escaped his wondering mind what Henry would have been like.

"Perhaps I'll bake an apple pie. It's mother's favorite."

Hamish chuckled fondly. "Mine too."

A cry came from upstairs and caused his smile to fade into a grimace.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. We're gonna cook your mama's favorites, see if we can't cheer her up a bit. Now you run along to the green house. Your father and I need to speak in private."

Sara nodded, glancing up at the ceiling before she made her way out.

Hamish led Georgia upstairs to the bedroom where Eliza lay sprawled and sweaty in bed, her chest heaving. Immediately her mother was beside her, holding her hand. "I trust you've tried poppy extract in warm milk with the honey and cinnamon like I told you? That helped in the early days."

"I have, although I've not got the womanly affinity for brewing remedies."

"No matter," Georgia waved it off. "You be on your way. This job requires a woman's touch. We'll have you right as rain in no time," she stood and tucked the blankets around Eliza. She caught sight of the strap hanging from under the mattress, and then her daughter's bruised wrists before she took her hand and kissed Eliza's fingers a few times. "Don't you worry. We're gonna get you help."

Abberline sat in the rocking chair mending stockings while Anna knitted new ones. Now and again, she would look up at her daughter and wonder what would become of her when the house was entirely empty. She supposed Anna and her husband could easily move in here, but first that needed a proposal. Anna was somewhat plain and indubitably shy, something Abberline chastised herself for.

The girl was also mute, or was believed to be. She hadn't spoken a word her entire life, but she took instruction well and was a dutiful and dedicated worker in all the tasks she was assigned. She surpassed even Lilah in that regard. While Abberline detested her silence and repeatedly tried to chastise the girl into speaking in childhood, when her father had been alive, Anna had been cherished.

"She's not dumb, Abby, she just likes to take the world in and doesn't have much to say about it, right dearest?" he'd ask Anna and she'd nod with a smile.

Abberline looked on her now with slight disdain and an odd sense of curiosity at wondering how Anna might expect to attract a husband with such silence. But she tried not to labor on it. Perhaps it was best left up to fate. Anna would be married eventually.

"Those socks look lovely, darling. You always did have such a way with knitting needles."

Anna smiled and picked up the slate and chalk she carried around the house. "A wedding present." She wrote and then erased it with her sleeve. "For Jane."

"How thoughtful!" Abberline smiled approvingly. Perhaps it was just as well that Anna wasn't engaged at this moment. Jane surely would have overshadowed her.

Jane Palmer was a sweet girl, but Abberline wasn't fool enough to believe her own simple, demure little Anna could outshine her on her wedding day.

It seemed likely that Jane's brother Silas would ask Anna. Or it had, for a while. Silas had brought wildflowers for the Connors house and Anna had accepted them. Anyone who'd been watching knew unofficially it was a courting gesture, but he'd made no move since.

Abberline knew she was stuck in the old ways. She was the one at Council meetings who always advocated for change and divergence from tradition. Even when that strange Mr. Kasenberg had come along,

A loud knock came from the front door. She exchanged a confused glance with Anna before she set her darning aside and went to it. A muffled "Abberline!" came from the other side.

When she finally opened the door, Abraham Marshall stood before her, panting and sweaty. "Father and Hamish request you immediately. It's a council matter."

Abberline glanced back at Anna who seemed perplexed, but stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. "What is it, son? You look unwell."

"We were cutting the stalks," he explained breathlessly. "We found a body."

Unexpected indeed.

The corpse (decidedly male), was covered in dirt and maggots. It had been stripped of its skin and torso muscles as well as the organs. The head was entirely missing, and the stench was unbearable.

The Elders stood around it in varying degrees of shock and horror at the sight before them, but no one spoke.

"Do we have a murderer in our midst?" Georgia asked finally, breathless and shuddering.

"I think not," Frank offered her a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, but it did little to comfort her.

"Any of the boy and young men here are familiar with skinning. This could've been anyone," Hamish said with resolute stiffness.

"We should call everyone to the church. Take a headcount," Abberline decided, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of it. "Then we may be able to identify our victim."

"I propose we bury him first. Last thing we need is for one of the women or children to see this," Frank added.

Georgia turned away. "Forgive me. I'm going to go along back to the house."

"Do. I hear dear Eliza is ill. See to her and we'll sort it out for now," Abberline said. She squeezed Georgia's hand reassuringly before the other woman headed away.

"I'll leave the decision of what to do with all this up to you both," Abberline turned to Frank and Hamish. "Are we agreed that everyone will meet at the church in an hour for a headcount?"

Both men hesitated, but eventually Frank nodded. "Agreed," said Hamish, pulling his leather working gloves back on.

Hamish crossed the field for a shovel, but all he could think of was Eliza. She couldn't know about this.

"I hope your wife is well again soon," Frank said as he began digging with his own shovel.

"I have good faith that she will recover. Your prayers, as always, are appreciated," Hamish hefted a load of dirt onto the pile behind him.

The rest of the burial went in relative silence before both men set off to the church.

There was frenzied conversation about the motive behind this gathering. Summonings were not taken lightly by anyone.

"When your name is called please rise," Abberline commanded the procession.

They went through the entire roster of names and not one person was missing. It was vaguely disheartening, as a lead might have assured them of a victim at least.

The startling problem was that the Commune had never been faced with a predicament like the one they were caught in now. Was one among them a genuinely bloodthirsty killer? Hamish leaned over to Georgia to whisper in her ear. "Take Eliza and Sara home," he instructed. "Women and children are dismissed," was his next announcement and with some hesitation, the women herded their children out, Georgia and Abberline following behind to ensure no woman stayed.

No reason to needlessly terrify anyone.

Hamish and Frank exchanged glances. Finally Frank spoke. "Gentlemen, as some of you may know, a body was discovered in the field today. Due to the…er…nature of the crime, murder is certain. Our dilemma is that we have no leads on who would commit an act so heinous, nor are we certain of whom the victim may be."

"You are encouraged to take extra measures to secure the safety of your home and family. We will be enacting a curfew at sundown. No one is to leave their homes. We will also be assigning a watch team to patrol the area as soon as the fields are turned over," Hamish finished.

"Adjourned," Frank added, allowing the traffic to disperse as the last of daylight faded from the edges of the earth.

He and Hamish walked along, watching a fog roll in from the mountains.

"It'll be fine. I'm sure it had nothing to do with any among us, Hamish," Frank was attempting to be reassuring, but he wasn't so sure he believed it.

They bid each other good night and went their separate ways, but as Hamish entered his home, he was certain he was being watched.

No locked door could shake a feeling like that.

Abraham and Lilah had decided to come and stay with them, as neither Abberline nor Anna could protect themselves against an attacker. The married couple took the master bedroom while Abberline relocated to the one down the hall next door to Anna's.

It felt safer than usual to have a man in the house. How many years had it been since she'd last felt comfort such as this?

It was a welcome change, to be sure.

Arguably, no one had lost more than Abberline had. Her mother, Mabel Abbney, had died younger than expected, but had passed on her elderly duties to her sole remaining child.

Abberline had lost two brothers, a husband, and a daughter to the Choosing. Their losses had aged her considerably. Of course, there was still Cousin Hamish, who had always been kind, but she was not as particularly fond of him as she had been her brothers.

Empty houses reminded her of all the things she had lost until she was so weighted by grief it threatened to crush whatever remained of her spirit. She had Anna, yet, and since the death of her husband seven years earlier, and Lilah's marriage two years before now, she'd taken more comfort from her youngest than she could possibly hope to draw from any of her other endeavors.

She turned over in the bed that had once belonged to her Ellabeth. Lilah's twin sister. Ellabeth had been thirteen and brave when she died; were it not for Lilah's face, so identical to her sister's, Abberline might have forgotten her completely in everything other than name.

Still, she hated to think too much about it. She was no different from anyone else. At one point or another, everyone had lost someone to the Choosing. And she so disliked to think of herself becoming a shell of a person as Eliza was. The child had always been a kind girl, but one with a disposition as delicate as good china.

Abberline tossed again. She was supposed to be unbiased. She faked it well.

As she was finally drifting to sleep, she heard the creak of floorboards and it roused her immediately. She stepped out into the hall, confused in the dark, old eyes searching for something or someone to explain the source of the squeaking. Doubtless everyone's minds were ill at ease at a time like this.

Seeing no one down the hall, Abberline ventured down the stairs to the kitchen and living room, inspecting the locks on the doors, neither of which had been touched. The curtain to the kitchen window had been left open, but otherwise nothing seemed too amiss.

She drew the curtain closed, but her chest filled with a heavy sensation of unease. In the shadows, she was certain something was watching. She lit a candle and inspected the rooms again, but found nothing that would warrant concern. Unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling of an unforeseen presence, she took her candle and ventured back upstairs.

Anna stood at the end of the hall, her back to her mother. She appeared to be staring at the closet at the end of it, but Abberline couldn't imagine why. "Anna, dear. Go back to bed, it's late."

Anna turned to face her, but it was not Anna's face whom she looked upon. It was Lilah's. Abberline blinked for a moment, confused. "Oh…sorry dear, the light… I didn't notice."

Lilah seemed to stare scrutinizingly at Abberline before giving two slow nods. She turned and went back into the master bedroom.

Abberline re-entered the bedroom noticing the curtain had been opened. Her brows furrowed as she went to the window to draw the curtain shut again.

Something was standing on the roof.

It made her stumble backward into the bed frame, the scooting noise spooking both she and the creature on the roof. It turned back to look at her before scurrying away in a fluid, jointless movement.

"Abberline? What's going on?" Abe stood in the doorway, half awake and half asleep, Lilah behind him.

Abberline looked at them, her mouth open to speak, but she looked back out to the rooftop. Nothing there. She closed her mouth, pursing her lips into a thin line. "I'm sorry, dears. Go along back to bed. I've just had a moment of clumsiness."

How exactly did one explain such a thing anyway?

"Did you open the curtains, mother?" Lilah asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The curtains in the bedroom have been opened. Lilah closed them before we snuffed the candles," Abe said.

Abberline shook her head. "No I didn't. I'm terribly sorry. Perhaps the curtain rod is crooked. But might I suggest we all go back to bed? It'll be time to rise before we know it."

This seemed to satisfy Abe. He led Lilah away, and Abberline drew her curtain closed again.

In the next room over, something was not quite right at all.

Anna sat on the edge of her bed, staring out at the moon, wide awake.

At her feet a girl struggled for her life. Anna knelt down beside her, pressed a finger to her lips, and very delicately hushed her before slitting her throat in the dark of the night.