Then at the dusty floor.
Then at the wall.
"Samuel, what does any of that have to do with our supper?"
"I don't know."
But his voice told her something different.
He knew more than he was saying.
She waited.
Samuel finally turned toward her.
"When I was little, my mother used to say that if something impossible happened in this house, I should first look for the ordinary explanation."
Clara managed a faint smile.
"That sounds sensible."
"She said impossible things were usually ordinary things somebody had worked very hard to hide."
He looked toward the shelf.
"And somebody has worked very hard to make us frightened tonight."
Samuel carried the raw ribs into the kitchen without touching the thread.
Clara laid a clean cloth over the table.
Together, they examined the meat.
At first glance, the two racks seemed identical.
But as Samuel looked more closely, he noticed a subtle difference.
The new rack had been cut more recently.
Its edges were cleaner.
The bones had not developed the faint discoloration he remembered seeing on their original meat.
"This isn't the same rack," he said.
Clara looked at him.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Then where did it come from?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
He picked up the blue thread.
Clara watched closely.
The cotton was damp.
Not burned.
Not scorched.
It had been tied around the bone recently.
Samuel studied the knot.
"Someone copied it."
Clara frowned.
"How?"
"Someone saw you tie the original."
She looked toward the window.
"But nobody was here."
Samuel said nothing.
She followed his gaze.
The kitchen window overlooked the western slope.
Below it stood a small woodshed and a narrow strip of ground leading toward the old springhouse.
Anyone hiding near the springhouse could see the kitchen through the glass.
Clara felt cold despite the fire.
"Someone was watching us."
Samuel gently placed a hand against her shoulder.
"Maybe."
"Samuel, don't say maybe when you know that's what happened."
He nodded.
"All right."
He looked toward the shuttered window.
"Someone may have watched you prepare the meat. And somebody knows a way into our pantry."
Clara's breathing quickened.
"Why would they do this?"
Samuel thought for a moment.
"To frighten us."
"Why?"
"Maybe to make us leave."
"Leave our own home?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he walked to the cupboard and took down his father's old iron key ring.
Clara watched him examine the keys.
Most were ordinary.
The barn.
The grain shed.
The cellar.
But one was different.
A long black key with an unusual triangular head.
Samuel held it between his fingers.
"I found this after my father died."
"What does it open?"
"I never knew."
He looked toward the pantry.
"Until now, perhaps."
They did not immediately open the wall.