by Leah Atwood
Mom elbowed him. “How much do they cost per pound?”
“More than I’d ever spend on one for myself.” He guffawed and shifted his eyes to Myla who sat on the floor, hugging the pumpkin. “But low enough I’ll gladly pay it to keep that smile on her face.”
“Coming here was a great idea.” Leaning against the red-painted metal frame, she sighed. “We all needed the diversion.”
“There’s still more to come.” He pulled the welcome sheet from his pocket. “I didn’t realize they had so many activities. If I’d have known, we could have come earlier.”
“We’ll have time. If not, that’s an excuse to come back when your dad’s home.” A soft smile settled on her mouth. “He loved this time of year and doing all the activities with you and Jenna. When Myla was born, he was so excited to have a kid around again.”
“I remember all the fun we had.” The memories set him down a path he tried not to wander.
His parents had done everything right, had given them a balanced childhood full of love and adventure without spoiling them. Jenna had everything going for her, so why had she fallen into a lifestyle of substance abuse? In his heart, he knew she was responsible for her own actions, but as her big brother, he couldn’t stop questioning if there was anything he could have done to protect her.
The tractor brought them to where they had first lined up, bringing their hayride to an end.
Myla still had an arm wrapped around her pumpkin and peered at Wes with a toothy grin. “Thank you, Nana and Uncle Wes, for bringing me.”
Wes grinned. His niece could be a spitfire some—most—times, but she was also full of sweetness. “You’re very welcome.”
He bent down and lifted the pumpkin, carefully stepped down from the wagon. Since his hands were full, Mom climbed down on her own and helped Myla out. He hadn’t forgotten what he said he’d do afterward, though it possessed no allure. Did anyone ever enjoy apologizing?
Shifting the pumpkin to a more balanced position, he made eye contact with his mom. “Are you taking My to the craft barn now? I’m going to have this behemoth weighed and pay for it, then find Paige and apologize.”
Mom winked. “Good luck.”
“Funny.” He groaned, then looked at Myla. “Behave for Nana.”
“I will. Promise.” She shifted her attention to her grandmother. “Can we get some popcorn? I saw it when we walked here.”
Watching his mom and niece walk toward the popcorn tent, he laughed and envisioned Myla with a bag of popcorn, sticky fingers from a caramel apple and cotton candy, and a souvenir mug of cider by the time he met up with them again.
He carried the pumpkin to the scale, suppressed his shock at the total price—a fair price per pound, but the pumpkin was even heavier than he’d guessed—and carried it to his car. He popped the trunk, then changed his mind and placed it in the backseat, knowing Myla would want it next to her.
Drawing a long breath, he mentally prepared himself for the conversation to come. He’d barely registered knocking into Paige the day it happened, but now that he’d been made aware, he felt horrible. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have treated her that way and would have ensured he hadn’t done any harm before moving on. Knowing himself, he probably would have exchanged contact information with her and offered for her boots to be professionally cleaned.
Likely, he wouldn’t convince her he wasn’t the jerk he’d come across as and that he wasn’t glued to his phone, but at least he would have done the right thing. Two weeks after the fact, but better late than never, right?
He strolled toward the entrance and flashed his wristband for readmittance. Once the employee waved him through, Wes made a right and began his search for Paige. Ten minutes later he spotted her leaving the restaurant. He sprinted to catch up with her before she got lost in the crowd.
Her face tensed when he stepped in front of her. “You again.”
“It’s me.” He grimaced. Not off to a good start. “Wes Caldwell, but I’m sure you caught that when my mother chided me for my behavior.”
She smirked and accepted his outstretched hand with hesitation. “Paige Hopkins.”
“Hopkins, as in Hopkins’ Farms?”
“Yes. It’s been in my family for generations.”
He didn’t miss the break of ice in her expression. He’d found her soft spot. “This is a fantastic place. My family is having a great time.”
“Good.” She shifted her gaze from side to side, as though seeking an escape. “Was there anything I can help you with? I don’t want to be rude, but I have a lot of work to get done.”
So much for the soft spot. He had to hurry or lose his chance. “I wanted to apologize for what happened on the walking path. That’s not indicative of my usual behavior.”
“It’s fine.” Her bored expression indicated she had her opinion of him set in stone. “As I said, water under the bridge.”
“It’s not fine. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I’d like to explain.”
“You don’t have to. Your apology is already accepted.”
Frustration surged through him, spawned by pride. He should accept her forgiveness and let it go, but he wanted her to know there had been extenuating circumstances that day, that he was a decent guy at heart. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she’d already turned to leave.
He expelled a long sigh and stared after her for a second. What else could he do? Unfortunately for him in this case, it seemed his first impression would, indeed, be a lasting impression.
Chapter Five
Dust covered the furniture in Paige’s small cabin. Her housework had been long neglected, but today she’d get her home in order.
The first three weeks of the season had been a success with field trips from local schools every day. Good for the farm, but the extra guests kept her busy to where she hadn’t had a social life, or even time to herself since they’d opened the first weekend in October.
Once Halloween came, the pace would slow down until Thanksgiving. The farm would still open on weekends for their fall festival, but November only saw a fraction of the business October did. It gave her family a small breather to prepare for the Christmas rush. Little would change activity wise, except their visitors would come for trees instead of pumpkins. Most of the other offerings of the farm remained the same, except with a Christmas theme rather than autumn.
Motivated to get the house clean, she set her favorite worship station to stream and got busy. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tied a bandana around her head. Once she started moving and was kept warm by her actions, she turned down the heat.
After she’d mopped the floors and vacuumed the area rugs, she grabbed the furniture polish and a rag. She sprayed the oak TV stand and wiped it down, rubbing in circles until no dust remained and the varnish shined.
Two hours later, the cabin was spotless from top to bottom. Only a small pile of laundry remained left to do, along with making her bed once the sheets finished drying. She collapsed onto her sofa and sprawled her arms over the top.
She stole a glimpse of the time on the outdated satellite box. 12:09. An entire afternoon and evening ahead of her with nothing pressing to do. Free time was a foreign concept in the fall. What to do, what to do?
Deciding on Bible journaling, she went to the hall closet and brought down the tote of supplies from the top shelf. She wasn’t an artistic person, but Missy had dragged her to a Bible journaling workshop last summer, and Paige discovered she enjoyed it. Her pages didn’t look anything like the ones she saw online, but that didn’t matter to her. It gave her a creative outlet while deepening her walk with God.
She’d been working through the book of First Timothy, but she hadn’t journaled in over a month. Before she started on the next passage, she reviewed what she’d already done. Her block lettering had improved, but her drawings made her laugh. Still, she could glance at the columns and her notes and know what the verses had said.
Before
she could start any new work, her phone rang from the kitchen counter. The temptation to ignore the call pressed hard. She let it go to voicemail, reasoning if it were important, whoever the caller was would leave a message. Today was her day, a chance to relax and catch up on me-time.
A minute passed, and Paige didn’t hear her voicemail alert beep. She picked up a purple marker and began writing SERVANT in script lettering. After exchanging the marker for a pen, she summarized the first lines of chapter four in her own words. She’d only written two lines when someone knocked on the door.
“Are you home?” her mom called.
“Yes. Coming.” Setting down her pen, she pushed back from the table. If she had to be interrupted, she was glad it was from her mom—she and Missy were welcome to visit anytime.
She opened the door and greeted Mom. “What brings you over the river and through the woods?”
The saying had become a joke among the family since Paige’s cabin sat nestled in a grove of trees just past a stream.
“I have a huge favor to ask. I tried calling, but when you didn’t answer, I figured you had your music turned up and couldn’t hear so I dropped by instead.”
“What do you need?” Don’t let it be anything time consuming, please.
Her mom wrung her hands. “I know this is your first day off in weeks, but is there any way you could run into town for me and deliver several pies?”
That could take an hour. Or three. “Where to?”
“Mrs. Bryant from church. Her civic group is having a bake sale tomorrow, and I volunteered several pies.” Mom pressed her lips against each other, pleading with her eyes for help. “I’d planned on taking them myself, but Dad wants me to go with him to the equipment auction in Henderson.”
“What time do they have to be there?”
“Any time after two.” Her mom flashed an apologetic smile. “And Dad wants to leave here no later than a quarter after one.”
“That’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure? I hate asking you on your day off.”
“Completely sure. I’m always up for a visit with Mrs. Bryant.”
Mom clasped her shoulder. “Thank you so much.”
***
Paige rang the doorbell at Mrs. Bryant’s house at four o’clock. She’d planned to be there right at two, but the kitchen staff hadn’t finished all the pies yet. Come to find out, when her mom had said the farm was donating several pies, she’d meant thirty—all pumpkin—which gave her twenty minutes of aromatic bliss on her way to town as she inhaled the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.
She waited, but when no one came to the door, she pressed the doorbell a second time. Mrs. Bryant’s car was parked in the garage, so she had to be home or visiting a neighbor.
The voice of a young child came from inside, followed by laughter.
“Don’t you dare open that door, Myla,” Mrs. Bryant instructed in her firm but compassionate tone. “We’ve been through this twice today.”
Seconds later, the door opened, and Mrs. Bryant appeared. “Paige, what a surprise. I was expecting your mom.”
“I hope you’re not disappointed.” She winked, followed it with a grin. “Mom went somewhere with dad and sent me in her place.”
“It’s always a pleasure to see my favorite former Sunday school student.” Mrs. Bryant pulled her into an embrace. “I’ll help you unload the pies in a second. I’m babysitting for a family friend, and the little girl is sweet as molasses but just as precocious. Let me find something to keep her occupied for a few minutes, so she doesn’t run out while we bring them in.”
Paige laughed. She didn’t have any children of her own but was around them enough to know how they could be. “Don’t worry about it. I can get them all, but wanted to make sure you were ready for them.”
“You’re such a dear.” The elderly woman darted a glance inside her house. “I’ll take you up on that. I hear her in my sewing cabinets again, and there are pins and needles in there that could hurt her.”
“No problem.” Paige returned to her car and loaded all the pies she could safely carry in one trip. She successfully got them all into Mrs. Bryant’s kitchen in only five trips.
“Can you stay for a few minutes? Enjoy a slice of cake and a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Bryant began pouring coffee before Paige could answer.
“I’d hoped you would ask.” She observed the stacks of baked goods filling the kitchen and dining room. “What can I do to help?”
Mrs. Bryant handed her a ceramic mug with violets painted on the side. “Nothing, but sit and relax. We’ll go into the living room where there’s more space, and I’ll put a movie on for Myla.”
Paige cast a doubtful eye at the chaos but didn’t press. Mrs. Bryant wasn’t shy about asking for help when she needed it, so she must have it under control. “Who’s Myla?”
“My daughter grew up with her grandmother who I consider a second daughter.” Mrs. Bryant patted a hand over her heart. “Goodness, that makes me feel old. Anyway, Myla’s mom is going through a few things, and her uncle has custody of her. He had to work tonight, so I offered to watch her.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
A broad grin spread across Mrs. Bryant’s mouth. “I have ulterior motives—having a young one around keeps me moving and feeling young.”
“I don’t think you know the meaning of being still,” Paige teased. “Even when you taught the junior high kids at church, you moved around the classroom constantly.”
“You know what the Bible says about idle hands.” Mrs. Bryant lifted the lid off a cake pan. “Do you still like spice cake? This one stuck to the pan so I couldn’t use it for tomorrow’s sale, but it’s still plenty good to eat.”
“One of my favorites.” She leaned over the counter to see the sweet treat. “Especially when it has cream cheese icing.”
“I’ll cut you a large slice off the corner.”
“Thank you.” That Mrs. Bryant remembered small details about her, like how she enjoyed corner pieces, always made her feel special. She had the special knack for putting everyone in her presence at ease.
“Myla, darling, would you like a piece of cake?” Mrs. Bryant propped her elbows on the counter with a conspiring gleam in her eyes. “Don’t tell her uncle I gave her dessert before dinner.”
Paige pressed her index finger to her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
A little girl ran into the room. “Yes!”
It couldn’t be. Paige observed her closely. But it was. Myla was the girl with Wes Caldwell at the farm.
Once they took their refreshments into the living room and Myla had her eyes glued to a princess movie, Paige dared ask the question burning on her mind. “Myla’s uncle that has custody—by any chance is his name Wes Caldwell?”
“Yes, it is.” Mrs. Bryant’s eyes lit up. “Do you know him? He’s such a nice young man.”
The snort barreled out before she could stop it. “I’ve run into him before.”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t care for him?”
Everything spilled out, from the initial meeting to his awkward apology. “I admit, I could have been friendlier and more receptive to his apology, but I truly was busy and that morning had been a headache.”
Mrs. Bryant clucked her tongue. “That just doesn’t sound like the Wes I know. His manners are impeccable.”
“They weren’t that day. His phone was his top priority.”
“Something had to have distracted him.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Mrs. Bryant tapped her free hand on the armchair’s edge. “When did you say that happened?”
“The week before the fall festival at the farm opened.” She calculated backward to find the exact date. “September twenty-third. I remember thinking I had to wait longer than normal to have my caramel apple cider from the coffee shop. It’s my annual tradition that I wait until the first chilly day of the year to get one.”
Mrs. Bryant scrolled through her home phone and nodded. “T
hat would explain it.”
“Explain what?”
“Hmm.” A cloud hovered over Mrs. Bryant. “I don’t generally care to share anyone else’s business, but in this case, I think you should know. For the sake of Wes’s reputation.”
“The day we saw each other at the farm, and he tried to apologize, he seemed intent on giving me an explanation.”
Mrs. Bryant glanced at Myla who was engrossed in the movie, then turned her attention back to Paige. “Let’s move to the kitchen.”
Assuming Mrs. Bryant didn’t want to chance Myla overhearing their conversation, Paige obliged and carried her plate and mug to the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool. She waited for Mrs. Bryant to resume the conversation.
Standing, the older lady ate a forkful of cake before sharing the story. “Jenna, Myla’s mom, and Wes’s sister, fell into the wrong crowd after high school. Drugs and alcohol became her life, but when she got pregnant we all prayed she’d turn her life around.”
Sorrow fell upon Paige. The beginning of the story sounded similar to an old friend’s, but that one didn’t have a happy ending. “It’s a hard life to escape.”
“Sadly so.” Mrs. Bryant set down her plate. “Jenna stayed clean for a year, but when Myla turned six months, something snapped in Jenna, and she went back to her old friends.”
“What happened with Myla?”
“The family tried to intervene, but Jenna put on quite the show for child services and was deemed a fit mother.”
“That’s terrible.” Righteous anger ignited in Paige. A child shouldn’t have to live in that environment. “What if something had happened to Myla?”
“By God’s grace, Myla made it through.” Sitting down on the stool next to her, Mrs. Bryant sighed. “I admit, I had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness many times for my thoughts on child services not protecting Myla, then I realized many times their hands are tied. I spoke with a lady who was heartbroken because she knew a child in one of her cases should be removed from the parents, but her supervisor wouldn’t sign off on it because there was nowhere for the child to go and deemed the removal non-essential.”
