by Tracy Donley
“I’d love to take some apples to my friends’ house. Of course, I know it probably can’t be these. But maybe one of the other varieties? And some of the donuts, too,” said Rosemary.
“Going to a friend’s house, are you?” Mrs. Potter nodded, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “Well, I have a knack about knowing people, and I have a good feeling about you.” She gave a little wink. “If you’ll keep it between us, I’ll let you take a few of Maggie’s Pride.”
“Really? Thank you!” said Rosemary. “Maybe you can help me figure out where I’m going. I’m a little lost.”
“I don’t really believe we ever get lost,” said Mrs. Potter matter-of-factly. “You’re where you’re meant to be, my dear. But where is it you think you’re going?”
“To a village called Paperwick. My friend Jack lives there.”
Mrs. Potter smiled broadly. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re here, my darling girl. This is the edge of the village. You must be Jack’s friend Rosemary. In that case, I’m sending one of my caramel apple pies along with you, too. The boys love them.”
“The boys? Jack and Charlie, you mean? So, you know them?”
“Everyone knows everybody in Paperwick. And we Potters have been here for so long, we know everybody and their uncle!”
Mrs. Potter laughed heartily as she hurried along the path back toward the little roadside market stand. Rosemary was surprised to find she was getting out of breath trying to keep up. As they moved through the trees, Mrs. Potter gathered apples, choosing different varieties and muttering to herself—or maybe she was talking to the trees, for that matter. She gingerly placed about a dozen apples into a cloth sack, then nested them into a cardboard box alongside a brown paper bag filled with warm donuts and a pie which she’d carefully chosen from one of the shelves.
When Rosemary tried to pay for everything, Mrs. Potter waved her away.
“Nope. I will not accept your money. Just come see us during your stay in Paperwick. And be sure to find us at the Founders Day Festival this weekend. We’ll be the ones with the prizewinning pumpkin—that is, of course, if Mayor Wright decides we have another winner. Oh! And come out to the farm, and bring the boys. We’re doing our annual corn maze and there will be hayrides and marshmallow toasting all weekend.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. And how handy, that the town’s mayor is also a good judge of pumpkins.”
Mrs. Potter laughed. “Samuel Wright is a good judge of just about everything. He’s one of the reasons our town is so great. I’m sure you’ll meet him.”
“Really? I’ll look forward to that.”
“He’s always out and about. A fine man. Active in every community organization and a member of almost every club. A friend to all,” she sang cheerily. “His family’s history goes back almost as far as ours. In fact, just between you and me—” At this, Mrs. Potter glanced around as if she was about to divulge some great secret. “The Potters and the mayor’s family haven’t always gotten along as famously as we do nowadays. But that’s all water under the bridge, of course.”
“Really?” asked Rosemary, intrigued. “A family feud, was it?”
“Many generations ago,” Mrs. Potter said, nodding.
“I’d love to hear more about it while I’m here. History is my bag,” said Rosemary with a smile.
“Well, I should hope so,” said Mrs. Potter. “You being a history professor and an author and all.”
“Wow. Jack told you all that?”
“Yep. He’s been bragging on you—and it’s well he should be. Come back when you have time to chat. Our family has a long-standing tradition: We never throw anything away! I can show you old birth certificates, land deeds, photographs. You name it!”
“I would love that. I’ll definitely be back.”
Mrs. Potter proceeded to give Rosemary clear instructions on how to get into the village and find her way to the university. Just as she was hefting her box of goodies to take to her car, another car pulled up and a family got out, stretching their legs. Rosemary smiled as a man, a woman who was clearly expecting a baby, and a toddler came ambling in the direction of the stand—probably there to pick apples. Rosemary felt a familiar little pang, looking at the way the little boy was holding onto his mother’s hand—a strange mix of happiness and hope that she’d been noticing she was experiencing more and more these days.
“I’d better be on my way,” Rosemary said, and was surprised when Mrs. Potter gave her a quick hug.
“Give Jack and Charlie my best and don’t be a stranger,” she said, before cheerily turning and walking toward the family. “We’ll see you and the boys at the festival!”
“Good luck with your pumpkin!” Rosemary called. Mrs. Potter smiled and held up crossed fingers, and Rosemary gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, then headed to her car, arms loaded with good food, enveloped in the smell of apples.
2
Rosemary bit into a second warm donut as she headed down the road, confident she’d find the university using Mrs. Potter’s excellent instructions.
“Let’s see . . .” she said, looking to the right of the road. “Yep. That’s got to be Little Mill Creek. Hello again,” she said, giving a nod to the babbling brook, which could be seen weaving through the thickening trees that grew along the roadside, glinting here and there in the sunlight. She’d been here several times already today.
Ahead, a three-pronged fork in the road led off in different directions. Rosemary’s confusion on her other attempts to find the tiny village of Paperwick was rooted in Jack’s directive to go to the right of a tree with “a large rock next to it that looks like a possum.” There were lots of trees and plenty of rocks around, but the tree with the possum rock was definitely on the left side of the left-most fork prong . . . which meant that all three roads were technically to its right. Rosemary had assumed that Jack meant the road that ran closest to the possum.
But now, she took the gentle rightmost curve, which ambled along into the trees. The road took her to a covered bridge that crossed the creek—and sure enough, just before the bridge was the aforementioned huge maple tree with a swing hanging from one of its branches.
Rosemary felt as though she’d entered another world as she exited the bridge on the other side of the creek. Shaded lanes crisscrossed the road, and peering down them, she could see cozy New England cottages set in among the trees. Further along the main road, she came to the village green, which was shaped like an odd, slightly lopsided rectangle, around which shops and leaf-strewn brick sidewalks were neatly arranged. The green in the center looked like a park with a little pond, where a couple of mothers sat on a bench chatting and watching their children throwing bits of bread to the ducks. Rosemary peered at Mrs. Potter’s hand-drawn map, took the first left next to the bandstand on the green, went down past a row of shops, turned right at the village market, and found herself entering the grounds of Paperwick University, which was, according to the sign, home of the oddest school mascot Rosemary had ever heard of, the Fighting Trout.
The grounds of the school were intimate and beautiful, generously sprinkled with trees in the height of their fall finery, old brick buildings, and black lampposts festooned with swags of orange, gold, and brown. Students hurried about, backpacks slung over shoulders, cell phones in hand, some of them proudly sporting t-shirts or sweatshirts that featured an angry-looking trout on the front.
Rosemary texted Jack, letting him know she was on campus, and then found her way to Langner Hall, where Jack’s office was located. She pushed open a large wooden door that creaked on its hinges, stepped inside, and breathed in the smells of books, pencil shavings, and chalk dust, and let her gaze travel up the great, wide staircase to a balcony that overlooked the lower floor. She could already hear her best friend’s voice. And there he was, just arriving at the top of the stairs, enthusiastically debating something with a very tall and handsome man who had to be his hus
band, Charlie.
The three of them had made plans to stroll around the campus a bit, and then have “linner”—which was Jack and Rosemary’s silly word for late lunch/early dinner—together before going over to Jack and Charlie’s farm.
As the old oak door groaned shut behind Rosemary, it creaked loudly again, and Jack glanced down and spied her.
“Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” he called with a big grin.
“Hey!” Rosemary called back, in a mock-offended voice.
The two men came down the stairs and Jack caught her up in a big bear hug before she could say another word. He attempted to twirl her around a little, too, but as Rosemary was almost the same size as Jack, the twirl didn’t go far.
“You’re finally here, you gorgeous thing!” He stood back to look at here. “Glad you found the village.”
“No thanks to your directions,” Rosemary teased. “Mrs. Potter alone is responsible for my finding this place. The possum rock threw me off. Big time.” She rolled her eyes and caught Charlie chuckling and nodding in agreement as if he understood completely.
“Ooh, you met Mrs. Potter. Charlie and I adore her,” said Jack.
“She sent a pie,” Rosemary said.
Jack clapped gleefully. “Her caramel apple pie? Did she show you the special apples?”
“She did,” Rosemary nodded.
“That means you’re in. Mrs. Potter’s approval is everything in Paperwick.”
“What a relief!” Rosemary laughed. She turned to Charlie. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person, Charlie. And wow—you’re even more handsome than you look in pictures.” She held out her hand, and he took it warmly.
“Thanks. Do you really think so?”
She did think so. In photos from the wedding, Charlie had, of course, been wearing a suit and his hair was neatly combed to one side, and he wasn’t wearing glasses. Today, his dark hair was slightly messy, and he was wearing a pair of wire spectacles. He had deep green eyes and a smile that was both charming and lopsided, which made Rosemary trust him instantly.
“He’s quite the hottie, isn’t he?” Jack agreed.
“Well, Jack, I’d expect nothing less. And it’s good to see you so happily matched,” said Rosemary, smiling at her friend, still holding Charlie’s hand.
Except that he turned out not to be Charlie.
“Oh, by the way, this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Seth McGuire. Anthropology,” said Jack with a snort. “He does look a bit like Charlie, now that you mention it.”
Rosemary’s jaw dropped just a little bit, and even as she regained her composure, she felt her cheeks burning. Betrayed by those confounded cheeks again! She had learned over the years to affect a polished and professional demeanor when she needed to. But she could never figure out how to keep herself from blushing.
“Jack’s right about Mrs. Potter, by the way,” said Dr. McGuire. “It took me months to get on her good side. I’m amazed you’re already approved.”
“She seemed pretty friendly to me,” said Rosemary, who was feeling a giddy mix of embarrassment and amusement at the moment. “Wonder where you went wrong.”
“I made the mistake of turning down a donut on account of them being deep-fried,” said Dr. McGuire, shaking his head dolefully.
“No wonder!” said Rosemary. “And I inhaled a donut immediately upon meeting her, and then got a dozen more. So that must’ve been what tipped her off that I’m okay.”
It was at that moment that Rosemary and Dr. McGuire simultaneously noticed they were still shaking hands and quickly let go.
“Well,” Jack said, clapping Dr. McGuire on the back, “See you later, Seth. We’re off.” Jack took Rosemary’s arm and pulled her along with him.
She cleared her throat and looked back at the man who still stood at the foot of the stairs.
“It was nice meeting you, Dr. McGuire,” she called over her shoulder. “Sorry about the mix up.”
“It’s Seth,” he called back. “Nice meeting you, too!”
Once outside, Rosemary shot a deadly glance at Jack, who was smiling cheerfully.
“What?” he asked, all innocence.
“You know what,” said Rosemary. “You said you and Charlie were meeting me here. And that guy wasn’t Charlie.”
“Well, Charlie had to work. He’s meeting us for linner,” said Jack. “And you know, I really do see the resemblance, now that you’ve mixed them up. Seth and Charlie are both tall and dark-haired and good looking.” He leaned in and admitted, “But even if I were available, Seth is not my type.”
“I’m mortified,” groaned Rosemary, as they walked along the brick sidewalk that wove its way through the campus.
“Why? Just because you mistook Seth for Charlie?”
“No. Because I gushed on about how handsome he was. Is. And then turned as red as a beet, like I’m thirteen years old.” She slapped Jack’s arm. “Why didn’t you introduce us right away?”
“Trust me, Rosie. No man takes offense when a beauty such as yourself calls him handsome. Or pretty much when anyone calls him handsome. He’s probably still smiling.”
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and never see him again,” said Rosemary.
“Not likely. Everyone knows everybody in Paperwick.”
“So I hear,” said Rosemary with a roll of her eyes.
“And besides, Charlie and I invited Seth over for dinner tomorrow night.”
3
“And in answer to your question: Yes,” said Jack in his smug know-it-all voice, as he unlocked his small, butter yellow car—which Rosemary had affectionately dubbed “Holly Golightly” years ago, because being an electric car, it made very little noise.
“Yes, what?” asked Rosemary, climbing in and buckling her seatbelt, trying to look clueless (all the while cringing inwardly, because Jack always knew what she was thinking, which was maddening). Oh yes, he knew exactly what she was thinking. And worse, he knew that she knew that he knew—and that she was only pretending not to know. So it was perfectly reasonable, at that particular moment, for him to give her a look that said, Please. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Which, of course, she did.
“Ugh. Okay. So Dr. McGuire—Seth—the same Seth who is coming over for dinner tomorrow night, is…single, then?” Rosemary asked. But before Jack could answer, she added, “But it doesn’t matter whether he is or not because I’m not in the market for a relationship, and you know it.”
“Rosie, we’re not even contemplating a relationship. A date, though. That might be nice. What’s wrong with a date? You remember those, don’t you? I know you haven’t had one in years, but long ago, you used to enjoy them. And yes, Seth is single. Never married. Dated a woman fairly steadily before he took the job at the university and moved to Paperwick. They didn’t care to make it work long distance, so it couldn’t have been that serious. That was almost a year ago. Which means he’s ripe for the picking.”
“You’re making him sound like one of Mrs. Potter’s apples! And I’m only here for two weeks, and I want to spend all of that time with you and Charlie. Besides, we’ve got work to do.”
“Three things. First, I call ‘em like I see ‘em, so no apologies for the apple comparison thing. Second, thank you. I love you, too. And third, I can’t wait to show you around the cemetery tomorrow,” said Jack. Rosemary was relieved they were transitioning to another subject. “You’re going to think you’ve died and gone to historian heaven.”
“Heaven in a cemetery? Is that what you English professors would call irony?”
“As the case may be,” sang Jack. “It’s going to be the best Paperwick Founders Day Festival ever—and we’ll raise loads of money for the Historical Society.”
“Raising money while we ‘raise’ the dead?” Rosemary said with a giggle. “I can’t wait to dig further into the history.”
“Madam, you are the queen of puns today,” said Jack as they exited the university campus and headed toward the villa
ge green.
“I’ve done a lot of work already on New England in the 17th century, but let me tell you, it isn’t easy to find much on Paperwick itself. I’ve got some preliminary research on the list of names you sent. It’s astounding that so many of the founders’ families are still living around these parts.”
“Isn’t it, though? Charlie and I are among the few who don’t have a Connecticut pedigree. But he did once spend a summer in Mystic when he was a kid, and I’ve driven through Hartford, so that scored us a few points. I know Paperwick is a bit of a no-show in the history books. But something happened here in 1668. And it’s significant.” Jack paused for dramatic affect. “There is the history itself.” He leaned a little closer to Rosemary and lowered his voice, “And then there is the legend.”
“The legend? Tell me more.”
“Not until later, when we can make ourselves comfortable and I can tell you the whole story,” said Jack, wiggling his eyebrows at Rosemary.
“And there it is. The eyebrow wiggle. I know what that means.”
“That I’m being mysterious?”
“That you have something juicy you’re not willing to part with quite yet, and no amount of nagging will get it out of you.”
Jack pulled into a parking spot along the green, next to a charming row of shops and restaurants. “You do know me so well,” he said with a sigh.
“Out with it!” Rosemary said. “At least give me a hint.”
“Oh good, there’s Charlie’s car,” said Jack, completely evading the subject. “He’ll have gotten us a table.”
“You’re evil,” said Rosemary, shaking her head and following Jack along the sidewalk until they came to a cluster of small, umbrella-capped tables sprinkled with patrons who were sipping from oversized, steaming mugs.
“Okay. One little hint. The Witch’s Meadow. It has to do with that.”
“The Witch’s Meadow. Over by the cemetery?”
