An Autumn Stroll

by Leah Atwood

  An Autumn Stroll

  An Inspirational Novella

  Leah Atwood

  Copyright © 2017 by Leah Atwood

  Cover Design © Covers by Ramona

  Cover Image © Adobestock.com

  Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the HCSB®, Copyright ©

  1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. HCSB® is a

  federally registered trademark of Holman Bible Publishers

  Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB),

  Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,

  1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

  Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Letter from the Author

  About the Author

  Other Available Titles

  Chapter One

  Paige Hopkins cradled the warm cup in her hand and blew through the vent on the lid—her first hot caramel apple cider of the season. Every year she celebrated the first cold day of autumn with the sweet drink, but fall weather had arrived late this year. For the only time she could remember, she’d had to wait until after the fall equinox to indulge in her tradition. Only by a day, but a solid two weeks later than normal.

  The wait had been worth it. Today’s temperature peaked at fifty-nine degrees, and a gentle breeze rustled the turning leaves. Soon, those trees would blaze with shades of red, yellow, and orange. The warmer summer had delayed the peak season of fall foliage which brought many tourists to Covington, Vermont.

  She left the parking lot and crossed the street to the park that had a two-mile walking path. Ever since Clyde’s Coffee opened several years ago, Paige made a habit of walking the circle after getting her drink whenever she had the time.

  After this weekend, her free time would be virtually non-existent. All next week she’d stay busy with the final preparations that came with opening Hopkins’ Farms Pumpkin Patch. Although she’d miss time to herself over the next several months, she loved being a part of her family’s business.

  Stepping onto the paved path, she ran down a mental list of tasks to complete when she went home. As the activity coordinator for the farm, she was responsible for planning activities which provided each guest with an experience to remember. The pick-your-own pumpkin patch and corn maze remained the large draws year after year, but the small attractions set the farm apart from others in the area.

  She had to check the pumps for the rubber duck races. When she’d tried them earlier in the week, two pumps were stuck, and her brother Josh—in charge of maintenance—was to fix them yesterday. Mom also wanted her to help decorate after she picked up the florals from the nursery this afternoon.

  Paige smiled. Even as she reviewed what tasks still needed completion, no stress mounted. She loved every aspect of her job and considered herself fortunate. How many people had the luxury of gainful employment in a career they loved without leaving home?

  A gust blew, loosening leaves from the branches above. They fluttered across the path, some catching on nearby limbs and others finding their way to the ground. Paige stooped down and picked up an oval-shaped leaf which had already turned yellow with several brown spots dotted between its veins. When another breeze cut across the way, she released the leaf and watched it glide away.

  She sipped her cider, enjoying the peaceful setting. Although she loved the bustle at home, she also enjoyed the tranquility of a solitary walk through nature. This was her time to gather her thoughts and refresh her soul without the tug of responsibilities calling. Once she went home, she’d be immersed in work, which she loved, but there would be no quiet at the farm. Not until late in the night when everyone had gone to sleep, including her.

  Humming as she walked, she glanced up at the sky. She’d always loved the image of leaves against the backdrop of cerulean blue. Vivid greens in the spring and blazes of fire in the fall. If she ever had the time, she’d like to take an easel and palette into the woods and capture the scene. She smirked, remembering the last time she’d painted—eleven years ago in a high school elective class. All it took was one semester to teach her she’d never be a Van Gogh or Picasso.

  The sound of hard-hitting footsteps tore her attention from the sky. She looked forward and saw a man running toward her, his phone held to his ear. Apparently unaware of her, he made no attempt to step aside and bypass her.

  How rude. Can’t anyone do anything without their phones attached to them? She had her phone in her pocket, but only as a safety precaution.

  Left with no other choice to avoid a collision, she moved to the edge of the paved pathway. Unfortunately, the man preoccupied with his phone conversation chose that moment to reach into the pocket of his track pants and veered off his straight line.

  He pulled out a set of keys moments before Paige could process his detour, and they collided.

  Her left arm that held her drink took the brunt of the force, and her cider splashed out of the cup before falling to the ground and spilling onto her new suede boots. The liquid seeped through her Pima cotton shirt and warmed her skin. A quick glimpse of her boots showed a three-inch stain with splash marks.

  The man lowered his phone. “I’m so sorry.”

  Before she could respond, he replaced the phone to his ear and ran off. No inquiries as to how she fared. No offer to help her clean the mess. Not even the courtesy to retrieve her empty cup from the ground.

  Annoyance built, starting in her stomach and working its way to her chest then mouth until she wanted to turn around and shout at the man, inform him of his barbaric behavior. Instead, she clenched her fists as though gripping a rail which would prevent her from turning, and she counted to ten. What a sad state we live in when a phone conversation trumps basic manners.

  Still reeling, she knelt down and cleared her boots of the remaining drops of cider. She’d clean them when she got home and soak her shirt. The cup, propelled by a low wind, rolled several feet away. She hurried to grab it, then another gust blew it further.

  Paige exhaled. Not funny. Her good mood and day had been ruined by a careless moron. If she continued her walk, she might be able to recapture the serenity of minutes ago, but the stickiness on her arm proved too big of a distraction. Best to get home, change, and then work on her mood.

  She caught the cup and tossed it into the nearest trash can. By the time she made it back to her car, she’d calmed down. For the most part. A fleeting irritation popped up every time the fabric of her shirt stuck to her arm, but she wouldn’t let a brutish stranger steal her joy.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m not wearing a jacket.” Six-year-old Myla stomped her foot and pressed her hands against her hips.

  Wes Caldwell recognized the stubborn set of her jaw. Had seen it many times on Myla’s mom. If he didn’t regain control now, all bets were off. “Then we’re not going to g
et a pumpkin today.”

  “Oh well.” Myla gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders.

  “Fine.” He took a deep breath and silently recited the state capitols until he could respond without frustration. “If you don’t want to go, then you can clean your room. I’ll call Nana and tell her we’re not going.”

  “But I don’t wanna clean.” Her tiny lips started trembling. “I want to see Nana.”

  Had he been too harsh? He stunk at this parenting thing. “If you want to go to the farm and choose a pumpkin, then you need to wear a jacket. It’s too cold today for only a shirt.”

  He’d explained it to her already—no less than five times. Even went so far as to open the door and let the cold air blow in.

  She’d still insisted she didn’t need to wear a coat.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, the fight in her eyes evident. “Can I wear my princess sweatshirt?”

  This is what my life has come to—negotiating with a child. A smile tugged at his lips. Myla was a handful, but he loved her to pieces. “Yes.”

  The tension eased from her small body, and she ran to him and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Wes. You’re the best.”

  “So are you, My.” He returned her hug then patted her shoulder. “Go on, now, get your sweatshirt on. If you’re good, we’ll eat dinner out on the way home.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “From the yellow M?”

  He laughed at her name for the popular fast food joint. As a toddler, she’d had her own names for different places, and over the years, they’d stuck. “I had something a little nicer in mind.”

  “But what’s better than their cheeseburgers?” She scrunched her nose. “Mommy always got me extra ketchup to dip it in.” At the mention of her mom, Myla’s face fell. “When’s Mommy coming home?”

  How did he answer? To a child, a year was forever. “Just as soon as she’s well enough to take care of you again.”

  “I miss her.”

  “Me too, squirt, but she’s in a place that will help her get better.”

  “So she doesn’t sleep all the time?” Myla looked up at him with innocent fawn-brown eyes. For all she’d gone through in her short life, she’d blessedly came out unscathed.

  “Yes.” His chest constricted when he thought of his niece alone in the house with her passed-out mom.

  His sister.

  Jenna’s battle with drugs and alcohol came to a crashing climax two weeks ago. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the image of the ambulance speeding away from her house as he pulled onto her street.

  He’d found his mom inside, her arms wrapped around Myla who was crying and afraid she’d never see her mother again. Although he’d wanted to rush to the hospital, he’d stayed behind with Myla so Mom and Dad could go and be with Jenna. He’d dealt with the police reports and social worker who’d shown up.

  By the next morning, once Jenna pulled through, she checked into a six-day detox facility, and Wes had accepted temporary guardianship of Myla. A week later, Jenna had been admitted to a year-long recovery facility, and Wes agreed to take Myla for the duration of that time.

  What a crazy few weeks it’s been. Caring for Myla wore him out—he didn’t remember having that much energy and attitude as a child—but he didn’t regret his decision. Dad often traveled for his job as a compliance inspector, and Mom helped when she could, but her lupus flare-ups limited her. She did provide a freezer full of meals, for which he was grateful.

  Too long a bachelor, he’d become accustomed to takeout meals and sandwiches. He wasn’t a parenting expert by any means, but even he knew a child couldn’t thrive on corndogs and chicken nuggets. And cheeseburgers from the yellow M, of course.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Uncle Wes?” Myla stared at him with her head tilted. Everything about her appearance took after her mom and the Caldwell side of her, from her chocolate brown eyes to her hair that matched. None of her physical qualities could be attributed to her deadbeat dad.

  “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you living here with me.” He winked and grinned. “Go get your sweatshirt on so we can leave.”

  She ran down the hallway and into her room. Several minutes later, after Wes was about to check on her, she emerged into the hallway wearing her prized princess sweatshirt. “Do you like princesses, Uncle Wes?”

  He tweaked her nose. “You’re a princess, and I like you, so I guess so.”

  “I’m not a real princess.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “I only like to dress up as one.”

  His sweet, literal niece. She’d inherited that quality from her great-grandfather, though he’d died before ever meeting Myla. Wes had the same trait but had learned to tame it over the years.

  They left the house, and he buckled her into her booster seat in his mom’s Camry. His Mustang didn’t lend itself to children in the rear, so he’d switched cars with his mom temporarily. Mom hadn’t complained—she’d been thrilled to drive the Mustang. And while he wouldn’t admit it to any of his single buddies—maybe, to his minivan-driving dad friends—but he liked his mom’s car. If he ever had to give up his sporty car for a family vehicle, he wouldn’t mind a Camry.

  He drove to his mom’s house to pick her up. The house’s exterior looked bare without her usual fall decorations. Usually, they were up no later than the first weekend in October, but here they were on the second Saturday of the month with nothing to show. He made a mental note to stop by this week and help her out. Depending on how long pumpkin picking and dinner took, maybe he could do it tonight.

  Myla unbuckled her seatbelt as soon as Wes parked the car. She jumped out and ran to the front door before he had his door open. He swallowed a breath and hurried to follow her, deciding to choose his battles. Myla had a bad habit of hurrying out of the car without waiting for him. At his mom’s it wasn’t a big deal, but in public it could become dangerous. He often showed her grace since Jenna had given Myla a loose rein with very little discipline, but when it came to his niece’s wellbeing, he would do his best to instill safe behaviors in her.

  As he walked along the cement path from the driveway to the house, his mom opened the door. Myla jumped on her and gave her an enthusiastic hug.

  He saw his mom struggle with the weight of Myla hanging on her, but she kept a smile, the love for her granddaughter shining through. She gently set Myla down. “Go look on my counter. There’s a cookie waiting just for you.”

  Wes started to follow his niece into the house, but Mom stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let her go. There’s only one cookie set out so she can’t overindulge.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked, concerned by the expression in her eyes.

  “Jenna called me a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” He drew out the word, guarding his response. “How is she?”

  “Hard to tell.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Despair lurked in the depths of her eyes. “Jenna’s always been a hard one to read.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You and Dad are great parents.” Though it seemed too insignificant of a gesture, he offered her a smile. “I turned out well, didn’t I?”

  Mom laughed. “By the grace of God.”

  “Jenna’s going to be okay.” He had to believe it, for the sake of them all. “We’ll keep praying.”

  “She did ask about Myla, and I told her Myla’s in great hands with you.” She glanced into the house, to the direction Myla had run. “I’m proud of you for stepping up.”

  “It’s the least I could do.” He heard the pitter-patter of young footsteps, and Myla appeared seconds later. “Ready for a fun day of fall activities?”

  Myla broke out in a wide grin. “I’m gonna find the biggest pumpkin they have.”

  He raised a brow and sent a teasing smile her way. “How do you plan on getting it back to the car?”

  “You’re gonna carry it for me.” She stared at him as though the question needn’t have been asked.

  Her matte
r-of-fact response made him laugh but also swelled his heart. Myla trusted him to take care of her, and that spoke volumes coming from a little girl who’d been neglected far too often.

  Chapter Three

  Alec, one of Hopkins’ Farms’ seasonal part-time staff members ran up to Paige, his face tense. “We have a problem.”

  She stifled a groan. Opening week had gone off without a hitch, but then today had been full of problems. “What’s wrong?”

  “The tractor won’t start.”

  “Mark said it ran fine this morning.” She glanced in the direction of the line, but vendor tents blocked her view. “What about the one on standby?”

  “I’m not sure ma’am. I don’t think they have one ready.”

  She inhaled a calming breath. “Can Mark fix this one?”

  “Yes, but it could take upwards to an hour.”

  Her eyes widened. “We can’t have the hayride down an hour. People come primarily for the pumpkin patch, and that’s how they get there.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hopkins, but Mark thought you should know.” Alec’s hands dangled awkwardly at his side. “What can I do to help?”

  “Let me think a minute.” She closed her eyes, focused on the problem at hand, and evaluated the situation. “How many people are in line now?”

  “About forty.”

  “Were they informed there would be a wait?”

  Alec nodded. “Yes. Missy has them occupied for now, giving the speech about a pumpkin’s life cycle. When I left, she was telling them the difference between the male and female blossoms.”

  “That only buys us five minutes.” Thoughts ran rampant in her mind. “Can you grab a golf cart and meet me at the storeroom?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He turned away and sprinted toward the equipment barn.

  Paige walked at a brisk pace to the storeroom behind the newly constructed restaurant. Aggravation toward her brothers grew. Dad had told them many times to have one of their other tractors on standby, so why didn’t they have a backup? She tamped down her irritation, realizing it did no good. Maybe there was a good explanation.