Bitter Harvest by Sheila Connolly Page A

school.”
    “But you didn’t.”
    “I didn’t. She couldn’t see that I wasn’t cut out to be an academic, and I couldn’t convince myself to try, just to please her. Maybe I wasn’t any better at plumbing, but it paid the bills. It was honest work, and I like working with my hands. With people.”
    “I think your father would be proud of you.”
    “No, he wouldn’t.”
    Meg was surprised at the unexpected bitterness in Seth’s voice. “Why do you say that?”
    “Because he was a bully, and he figured the world owed him something. He thought he wanted kids, because that’s what men were supposed to do, and then when he had them he said we were always in the way. He hated me when I stood up to him, but I was only trying to protect the younger kids.”
    “Was he abusive?”
    “No—at least, not physically. I think Mom would have called the cops on him if he’d ever hit her—and he knew it—even though that’s hard to do in a small town. But it was easier for her to just go along than to try to argue. That was another way she looked out for his blood pressure. When he worked up a real head of steam, didn’t matter over what, he’d turn red and start yelling, and she’d calm him down.”
    Meg thought about her own family and her upbringing, so restrained and proper—and emotionally distant. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times either of her parents had actually raised a voice in anger. “But you did turn out well.”
    “Did I? I spend a lot of time and energy trying to fix other people’s problems. Did you know that’s true of a lot of eldest children? We’re the fixers. We’re always trying to smooth things over. But you’re right—I don’t have a whole lot to show for it, personally. Sorry, Meg, but you did ask.”
    It wasn’t far off what Meg had thought: Seth’s outgoing, cheerful exterior hid a lot of inner doubt. “You’ve got friends. You’ve got the respect of the community. You’ve got a profession you enjoy.” And you’ve got a sister who’s made a good life for herself, and a brother who hasn’t.
    “I guess. What you said, about not being able to tell whether I was helping you just because I help everybody? That works both ways. I couldn’t tell if you cared about me, or whether you were clinging to me because I was there and you desperately needed a lifeline at the time.”
    “I wasn’t sure myself, in the beginning. Honestly, probably some of each. I’m grateful that you were there. But I’m not clinging now. It’s been a tough year, but I’ve survived. I’m proud of myself for sticking it out. I’m proud of myself for taking on new things and making them work. I couldn’t have done it without you, Seth, but now that I’ve proven to myself that I can make it on my own, I get to choose whether I want to do it alone.”
    “Do you?”
    “No.”
    He didn’t respond, but in the wavering light of the fire Meg saw him smile. He stood up and held out a hand, then pulled her out of her chair. “We should try to get some sleep,” he said. “Can you get comfortable in front of the fire?”
    “Sure, I guess. I’ll sort out the blankets and stuff.”
    While Seth stoked the fire one last time, Meg rearranged the blankets and pillows, building almost a wall to block the cold air behind them. She nestled under a quilt, and Seth slipped in behind her and pulled the quilt over them both.
    “Conserving body heat, are we?” she joked.
    He kissed the back of her neck. “More than that, Meg.”
    “I’m glad you’re here, Seth.”
    “So am I.”

6
    The night passed slowly for Meg, although she was glad for Seth’s warm presence. Despite all the padding, the floor was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. The coals popped and snapped periodically, startling her, and the wind howled around the corners of the house. When gray light slowly filled the room, Meg took stock. Seth was still asleep, his body curved around hers. Lolly had joined them sometime during