Page 3 of In Her Wake
She stepped out of the car, September air warm against her skin.The scarecrow swayed slightly in the breeze, an eerie figure against the blue sky.Jenna turned in a slow circle, scanning the landscape.Fields, trees, the distant rooftops of Irvington.But no white farmhouse with a red roof.
A truck rumbled past, the driver lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in the casual greeting of rural communities.Jenna nodded back automatically, her mind still sifting through the implications.The scarecrow was here, just as Patricia had described.But where was the farm?
She climbed back into her cruiser, disappointment warring with a stubborn spark of hope.How many scarecrows had she passed in the last four days?Dozens, probably.Each one a momentary surge of anticipation, followed by the familiar crash of letdown.
Still, this one was different—positioned exactly at a crossroads.She hadn’t seen that configuration before.
Jenna drove into Irvington proper, a single main street lined with brick buildings that she thought must date back to the early 1900s.A diner, a hardware store, a post office, and on the edge of town, a gas station with a faded blue sign: MORTON’S GAS & GROCERY.
Her fuel gauge hovered just above a quarter tank.Good enough reason to stop, ask questions.She pulled in beside a pump and cut the engine.
As she entered the store, a middle-aged man with graying hair looked up from behind the counter where he’d been reading a newspaper.
“Afternoon,” he said, folding the paper.“Help you?”
Jenna approached the counter, badge visible on her belt.She saw the man’s eyes flick to it, his posture straightening almost imperceptibly.
“I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves, from Genesius County,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt at the implied official nature of her visit.This wasn’t county business—this was personal.But the badge opened doors, loosened tongues.“Just passing through, thought I’d fill up.”
“Pump’s all yours,” the man said.“Pay before or after?”
“After.”Jenna hesitated, then reached into her pocket for the folded sketch she’d made after waking from her dream.“Actually, I was also wondering if you might recognize this place.”
She unfolded the paper on the counter.The drawing was amateurish—she’d never had much talent for art—but the essential elements were there: a farmhouse with a steep red roof, white clapboard siding, a large barn nearby, and rolling hills surrounding the property.
The man studied it, his brow furrowing.“Huh,” he said finally.“Lots of white farmhouses out here, and barns.But that red roof on the house isn’t common.Most houses out here still have those old gray tiles or aluminum sheet roofs.”
“It was described to me as being red on the house I’m looking for,” she replied.
“Well then,” he muttered and took another look at Jenna, then made a decision.“Then this kind of looks like my family’s place.Dad’s farm, out on Route 16.”
Jenna’s pulse quickened.“Yourfamily farm?”
"Yeah.I'm Clyde.Clyde Morton."He extended a hand, which Jenna shook."Dad's place has been in the family for over a hundred years.Still looks pretty much like that, though the barn's seen better days."
“The house has white siding?Red roof?”
Clyde nodded, curiosity evident in his expression.“That’s right.Why you asking about it, Sheriff?”
Jenna’s mind raced.Could it be this simple?After days of searching?“I’m looking for someone who might have worked there at some point.A woman.”She didn’t elaborate, didn’t mention Piper or dreams or ghosts.
“Dad keeps to himself mostly these days,” Clyde said.“My boys help him work the land—Amos, Tyrone, and Ross.They’d know better than me who’s been through there.”
“Could you tell me how to get there?”
Clyde gave her directions—straight through town, left at the Baptist church, five miles out on a gravel road.Simple enough.
“Thanks for your help,” Jenna said, folding the sketch and returning it to her pocket.
"No problem.Tell Dad I said hello if you see him.His name is Samuel.Samuel Morton."
Jenna nodded and went out to fill her tank, her mind spinning with possibilities.The farm matched her drawing.It existed.But did that mean Patricia’s vision was real?Had Piper really been there?
She filled up her gas tank and paid the bill, thanking the proprietor again.Twenty minutes later, Jenna turned onto the gravel road that led to the Morton family farm.Dust billowed behind her cruiser as she drove, her eyes scanning both sides of the road for another scarecrow, another sign.There was none.
The road curved, dipped through a stand of trees, and then the land opened up again.And there it was—a white farmhouse with a red roof, a gray barn standing nearby, fields stretching in all directions.Just like her drawing.Just like her dream.
But as she pulled into the dirt driveway, a sense of wrongness settled over her.The proportions weren’t quite right.The barn was on the wrong side.The hills didn’t rise in exactly the same way.It was close, tantalizingly close, but not exactly the farm she’d seen in her dream.That image was still strong in her mind, but had it gotten scrambled somehow?Or was she in the wrong place?
