With the knife, Buck motioned toward the house. “Lead the way.”

Hazel raised her eyebrows at Maeve as they entered the gloamy kitchen. She saw Maeve taking it all in: Buck holding the knife, his other hand on Ruby’s arm.

The kettle was on a tripod over the hearth. The knives were in a drawer. The cast-iron skillet and pots were hanging from hooks on the other side of the room.

Buck looked back and forth between them. Gazing directly at Hazel over Ruby’s small head, he whispered, “Don’t even think about tryin’ anything. I’ll slit her throat as quick as I’d kill a lamb.”

Hazel was aware of each breath passing through her. Her eyes flitted over the knife in Buck’s hand, Maeve standing at the table, the green sprigs of mint behind her. “Maeve,” she sighed, “your eyesight has gotten so bad. Ye picked the wrong herb. The mint’s in a different part of the garden, remember?” She turned to Buck. “Ye asked for mint, yes? Not sage?”

Nodding slowly at her, Maeve slid the mint into her pocket. “Oh, dear. What was I thinking? Would you be an angel, Hazel, and get a few sprigs? I’ll put out the cake.”

“Nope,” Buck said. “She’s not leaving.”

Maeve set the currant cake and the slab of butter in front of him. He cut into the cake with the knife he still clutched in his hand, then roughly sliced a chunk of butter and smeared it on the cake. For a few moments the only sound was of him chewing. The click of his jaw.

“I don’t mean to blow me own trumpet, Mr. Buck, but I make a lovely pot of mint tea,” Maeve said.

“I’ll take water.”

“Cold water’s in the cistern in the shed. I have hot here. Boiled for tea.”

His mouth twitched. “Get the mint, then. You, not her.” He pointed the knife at Maeve, then Hazel. “Don’t even think about yellin’ for help.”

“She’s right, though. Me eyes aren’t what they used to be.” Maeve ran a hand back and forth in front of her face. “It’s all fuzzy. Mint looks like every other green herb to me, I’m afraid.”

“Let me do it, Mr. Buck. I know right where it is,” Hazel said. “You’ve got Ruby,” she added quietly. “Why would I try anything?”

Ruby gazed at her with her big brown eyes. Hazel gave her a tremulous smile.

Looking straight at Hazel, Buck held the knife near Ruby’s cheek, pointing the tip toward her temple. “Make it quick,” he said.

Hazel took a small earthenware bowl from the counter and went outside and down the steps. Bending over the herb patch, she collected several sprigs of mint with quaking fingers. Then she stood and turned back toward the house, toward the green bush with floppy leaves and pale pink, trumpet-shaped flowers that sat by the front door.

Maeve filled a cup from the teapot and handed it to Buck. “Sugar? Or honey?”