Defective

kitchen in the back. Baskets filled with a few loaves of bread, some cookies and biscuits lined the shelves behind the counter. Shelves on the other walls held a variety of books, utensils, garden and farm implements, baskets, and jars filled with preserves and pickles. Three small tables, each with four chairs crowded around them, took up the rest of the room.

  "Mrs. Baker?" he called.

  "Back here!" she hollered.

  The Constable swung through the door.

  "Anything left? I could sure use some supper."

  "Have you ever known me to run outta food? Have a seat. Lemme just dry my hands."

  Mrs. Baker filled a bowl with stew and turned to set it before the Constable.

  "My goodness! You’re soaking wet! Why didn’t you say anything? Upstairs. Now. Change first." She held onto the bowl and flicked her fingers at him. "Go on, I’ll keep it warm."

  PC Pierre took the back staircase to his rooms, changed then returned to the kitchen.

  "So...where’s that stew?"

  Mrs. Baker set it down in front of him along with a basket of fresh baked rolls.

  "I'm just gonna keep doing the dishes, hun. But you catch me up. How've you been keeping?"

  "Pretty well. This rain, though. Never seen so much."

  "Must make it hard for old Josephine, eh?"

  "Oh she can take care of herself," the Constable said. "I never worry too much about her."

  "Ha! You worry about everyone, hun."

  "It's my job, Mrs. Baker," he said. He paused to chew some gravy-soaked bread. "Speaking of jobs, do you know if the Landlord’s back from the auction?"

  "Not a clue, hun. Probably be any day now, though. Won't be soon enough. Those two he hired for the bar this summer are almost as bad as the lumbermen. I’ve already set three broken arms and had to pop somebody’s shoulder back in since they came."

  "Okay," he said. "Seems pretty quiet over there now. I’ll go and speak with them. "

  The Constable put his bowl and plate into the sink.

  "You know me, hun, I'll be in bed by the time you get back. See you in the morning."

  "Goodnight, Mrs. Baker."

  ___

  The Landlord blindfolded Marvellous for the last two hours of their journey so that she wouldn't know where he was taking her. She smiled to herself thinking of how pointless that was.

  As the journey had worn on, the scenery around Hap had started to look more and more familiar. Trees, rock outcroppings, and especially an old road sign that he couldn't read but somehow knew read Hap Road. Marvellous had told him that their mother had named him after the road his father took out of town.

  At a fork in the road the Landlord steered his cart left, heading west. Hap pedalled for the bush, searching for the trail he instinctively knew was there. It ran parallel to the road. Riding through the thick tree cover he could see that he was easily overtaking the tired horses. The trail continued through an old stormwater culvert that ran beneath the road bed; it was high enough to stand up in and he easily pedalled through it. Coming out of the culvert on to the trail on the other side Hap's heart was pounding hard and he could almost taste what he was about to see.

  And then there they were: row after row of pearl apple trees just about to bloom. The light green buds hid the delicate pinkish-white flowers beneath and bobbed in the damp breeze.

  In a rush, it all came back to him. He dropped the bike and leaned back heavily against a tree. What had happened to his wife, his children?

  From his vantage point he saw the Landlord pull the cart in close to the press house door and hurry his sister inside. Hap sank to the ground. Tears rolled down as his cheeks as the faces of his children came to him.

  ___

  Once the rain finally stopped it was too late for the Landlord to return to Battery. He showed Marvellous the press house and pointed out the other buildings to her through the windows. He pulled up the boards that covered the cold storage dugouts in the floor, one filled with apples, another with potatoes. The Landlord handed her a ham hock and some onions and told her to make some stew.

  "Let's see if you can cook," he said. Marvellous set to work as the Landlord sat at the kitchen table and watched her.

  Marvellous chopped and sliced and added spices from a pocket in her jacket. In a while, the Landlord stood up and joined her at the stove.

  "Smells good," he said then made a noise of discovery. "I knew there was another one around here somewhere."

  He walked over to the shadowed corner beyond the stove and pulled up a handle in the floor. It swung back on hinges and from inside, the Landlord withdrew a ceramic jug.

  "Cider," he told her, knocking the handle shut with his foot and returning to the table.

  "Could I use some of that for the stew? It'd be better than water. Just a little?"

  The Landlord poured a small amount in a mug and passed it to her. She poured it over top of the hot food creating a steam cloud. Her nostrils twitched; the smell of the cider and onions completely overpowered the other spices she'd used.

  Over dinner, Marvellous asked the Landlord no questions and he offered no information. He ate quickly and with obvious pleasure. After dinner, he tied her to a bed in the loft upstairs then returned downstairs and emptied the cider jug. He fell asleep where he sat.

  In the morning, after a breakfast of apples and biscuits, the Landlord went outside to see to the horses then returned with a crate of food. He set it down, told her to expect him again in two weeks then climbed into the wagon and started up the road.

  Marvellous stood at the press house door and watched until she could no longer see or hear him. She scanned the horizon but could see no movement, no sign of her brother. He must be out there somewhere, listening and waiting for his chance to appear.

  ___

  Even though it was the lumbermen's payday, his most profitable of the week at the Piggy Gristle, the Landlord took it slow back to Battery. He didn't want to tire out the horses; they were too valuable. Their easy, regular pace made his attention wander. He was tired. He'd woken up to the smell of apples and a sense of ill ease. He'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Hadn't he tied the woman to the bed last night? He felt sure he'd done that. But she'd been up and cooking when he awoke. He'd quickly excused himself and gone outside. In the outhouse he checked his pockets and his wallet and, on his way back, the wagon to make sure she hadn't stolen anything. All was in order.

  She was a looker, that was for sure, he thought. Maybe a bit too smart for her own good. He had a fleeting thought that he'd made the wrong choice, but dismissed it. She was like any other woman. All women — and many men — wanted security. He could give her that. Get someone addicted to security and you could make them do just about anything.

  He’d have Pierre check on her in a week or so. At the thought of the Constable, the Landlord thought of the children. He'd never asked Pierre what he'd done with them, other than to make sure they didn’t end up in one of his camps. Still, he wouldn't mind knowing what had happened to the blonde one. She continued to pop up in his dreams from time to time.

  ___

  The Landlord spotted Josephine grazing with Chester in the field behind Baker’s Yard when he returned. His barkeep stabled his horses and started to unload the wagon. He spoke with the man for a while, learning what had gone on in his absence.

  "Fine, fine. When you’re done here tell Pierre to come and see me," the Landlord told the barkeep.

  In due time the Constable arrived and the Landlord told him about the new orchard worker.

  "I would appreciate it if you could check in on her in a few days, Pierre."

  "Of course. Although if you don’t mind my saying so, it seems like a lot of work for one person."

  "That’s what I told her. But she seemed to think she can do it."

  The Landlord shrugged. Some of his best labourers were women. They were easily cowed, typically didn’t drink, and almost never stopped working. Perhaps if this Marvellous woman doe
s need people, I ought to hire a few strong young girls, he mused. One in particular came to mind.

  "I meant to ask you, Pierre, what happened to all the children from the orchard?"

  "A relative took them," PC Pierre said slowly.

  "Relative? Didn’t think those two had any."

  "Hap’s father is still alive."

  "Really? Live around here?"

  "More north."

  PC Pierre made a vague gesture with his hand. He didn’t owe the Landlord an explanation. It was perfectly legal for a relative to take orphaned children.

  The Landlord didn't want to appear too eager for information. As a County employee, Pierre was one of the few people he couldn't control. As the Landlord for the area he used the Constable's services more than most but he couldn't order him to divulge police business.

  "Glad to hear that they've landed on their feet."

  "Yes sir."

  PC Pierre thought that if the new woman at the orchard did end up needing help, the Landlord might consider taking the family back. Much would depend on the woman. He had time to check on her before returning to his summer cabin.

  "Oh, and I talked to the lads you hired for the Gristle," he said to the Landlord, his hand on the doorknob. "They shouldn’t give you any more trouble."

  PC Pierre hated fighting but if someone took a swing at him he would defend himself. The barkeep had told the Landlord that one of the bouncers had gone after the Constable the minute he’d walked through the door. Pierre ducked the punch, came up underneath him and tossed the man into a corner. When the second one saw that, the barkeep said with a smile, he near