Chapter Thirty-Two

Rue

My body was still humming, and I was feeling a contended glow over me as I latched Clementine into her car seat and settled beside her. I knew eventually I was going to go back to riding in the front seat of the car like a normal adult, but for right then I wasn’t a normal adult. I was a new mother and there wasn’t anything that was getting me out of the seat right beside my tiny daughter. If I was sitting in the front seat and I peeked around back, all I would be able to see would be the back of her seat. I needed to be right there beside her where I could look down into her seat and see her perfect little face. Sometimes I thought about the bright pink plastic mirror that I had gotten at my post-baby shower a few weeks before. It was designed to hook onto the handle of the car seat so that if I was sitting in the front I could look back and see the reflection of her. It seemed like a good idea in concept, and like one of those things that I would have raved about before I got pregnant and would probably have even gotten for a pregnant friend and puffed up my chest in pride at having given her something so very useful. Now that Clementine was here, however, there was no way in living hell I was going to rely on a reflection to feel confident that my baby was alright.

What if she was choking?

What if her harness gave out?

What if a giant spider crawled out from under the seat and started climbing around on her wanting to lay its eggs in her soft spot?

I wasn’t going to be able to take off my seatbelt and fling myself backwards over the seat to get to her in time. Nope. I was going to keep my place firmly beside her until I was sure that she was going to be safe during the entire trip or Richard started teaching her to drive. Whichever came first.

As we drove toward the orchard one county over we passed by the old wooden sign for Galloway’s Farm. The paint was faded now and if I didn’t know that’s what it said, I might not be able to read it. Old Man Galloway, who had been called that since before I was a child and was probably now more like Close to Dust Man Galloway, hadn’t ever seemed too motivated to refresh the sign. Everybody in the tri-county area knew where the farm was, so they didn’t really need a sign to direct them. Unfortunately, it seemed in recent years that even knowing where to find them wasn’t enough to get many people out to the farm. I could still remember when I was younger and every year we’d go out to Galloway’s Farm to pick pumpkins and eat the hot doughnuts that Mrs. Galloway would serve out of the little wooden stand she set up near the front of the pumpkin patch.

The popularity of the patch had waned over the years, though, and recently the farm had stayed mostly quiet all through the autumn months. This year, though, things seemed to have taken a bit of a turn. As we drove by I noticed several trucks heading down the curvy dirt road that led to the farm and could hear faint sounds of construction work coming through the woods. I had heard rumors that there were some big goings-on over there in the last couple of weeks and it was good to see, at least for now, that they weren’t just mutterings like old Samson Greene’s Great Ghost of Whiskey Hollow Lake hubbub from a few years back. That one happened after a particularly moonshine-filled evening and involved a missing goat, three petticoats from a clothesline, and a couple of teenagers who I dare say will never go skinny-dipping again.

The drive to the orchard was peaceful with Clementine nodding off to sleep a few minutes in and the golden late morning sun making the fall foliage seem even more magnificent. When we reached the gravel parking lot of the orchard it seemed that nearly everyone else had had the same idea as we had. We had to park all the way in the back of the lot where we ended up somewhat tilted into an old tractor track.

“I bet you’re missing your limo and driver now, aren’t you?” I teased as I watched Richard climb out of the car and come around to my door to get Clementine and me out.

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re the one who said we didn’t have anything to be late for. If we had left when I said we should, we would have a front row parking spot and be up to our eyeballs in honey crisps right now.”

“And you would have wanted to leave right then?” I asked, giving him a suggestive look.

I held the baby close to my chest as I got out, and Richard wrapped an arm around my waist to sweep me up against him for a kiss.

“Not at all,” he repeated, his voice lower and more velvety now. “Besides, if I ever do have need, I have Abraham on speed dial.”

I smiled up at him, admiring the way that his hair was falling a little longer now and the tense lines around his eyes had relaxed in the time that he had spent in Whiskey Hollow with me. He still had his house in the city and his business dealings were only on hold, not permanently gone, but I would take every one of these calm, quiet moments with him that I could.

Richard took Clementine into his arms and we walked hand-in-hand toward the entrance to the orchard. Around us families were filtering through the parking lot and milling around in the little market area that the Crozet family had built up for those visiting their orchards. Here women would sell jars of jellies and preserves, the smell of hot cider filled the air, and craftsmen from all of the surrounding area would display Christmas ornaments, quilts, wood carvings, and other wares. I knew many people who got a head start on their holiday decorating and gift lists right here. Clementine cooed in her sleep in her papa’s arms beside me and I couldn’t help but sigh happily right along with her. Nothing made me happier than knowing that she was going to grow up knowing this place the way that I did, and that she would carry on even after me. The house was safe. The land was protected. The additions that Richard had made only worked to improve our lives and the lives of those who lived here, but it didn’t change it. I might have roamed a little, but in my heart Whiskey Hollow was always my home, and now that I had fully returned, I knew that there was no place that would ever compare, no place that I would rather be.

After taking a few minutes to wander through the market and mention to the people running the stands what I had my eye on, so they would hold them for me, we picked up baskets from the overflowing wheelbarrows at the entrance to the path that led down to the orchards themselves and started toward the trees. The Crozet farm boasted several varieties of apples and eager families were scattered throughout the different groves, picking the almost impossibly perfect fruit from the branches. Grass grew soft and thick among the trees and children nested in it between the rows, eating as many of the apples as their little bellies would hold. Most of what their parents picked would end up getting turned into apple sauce, apple pies, chutneys, and stewed apples, some of which would be featured prominently on Thanksgiving tables in a couple of months. Today, though, the little ones would get their fill of the fresh fruit and sit down to picnic lunches with no room for their cold fried chicken and potato salad.

Clementine opened her eyes just long enough for us to prop her up against one of the trees in her blanket, tuck an apple in her lap, and snap a picture of her. I looked forward to putting it in her scrapbook so that when she grew up and might not want to come back here every fall and pick apples with me, at least I could remember when she was this tiny and really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Ah, parenthood. Squeezing a lifetime of memories into the years when your children will go along with you and then taking what you can get afterwards.

We hadn’t brought a picnic with us so when we finished filling our baskets with apples and put them in our car, we took the trek back to the market and got in line at Bubba Ray’s food truck. He grinned out at us from the window when we got to the front.

“Well, hi there,” he said. “Beautiful day to be out picking apples.”

“It sure is, Bubba Ray,” I said. “How’s business?”

“Can’t keep up,” he said proudly. “I can’t thank you enough for this. Used to be I had to wait for people to come into the restaurant, and while I had my regulars and there were some people who would stop by for a bite after seeing my Christmas bowls, it just wasn’t all that I wanted it to be and I was starting to get a little worried, if I can be honest with you. But this food truck,” he reached out and patted the side of the shining white vehicle with all the pride of a father patting his quarter back son on the back, “this thing is making my dreams come true. You know that someone called me the other day from the Daley fair? They want me to go all the way out there and set up my truck. Prime spot, too. Right near the Ferris wheel.”

“That’s wonderful, Bubba Ray. Congratulations.”

“Well, it’s all because of you.”

“No,” Richard said, shaking his head. “It’s all because of you. This is just a truck. You’re the one with the ideas and the food.”

“Well, you’re right about that. And speaking of food,” he stepped back from the window and held out his arms as if to encompass the entirety of the truck and all that was in it. “why don’t you let me rustle you up something to eat? My treat.”

“In celebration of your ever-growing success, I think I’ll try the County Fair-jitas,” Richard said.

“And I’ll have the chips and queso,” I said.

“Make that two.”

I turned toward the voice behind me, knowing that it couldn’t possibly be who it sounded like. My heart jumped when I saw Christopher standing behind me, the tiny red and yellow apples embroidered on his shirt the perfect touch for the day. He smiled at me and opened his arms, gathering me in a hug that smelled distinctly of cinnamon.

Dear lord I loved this man and his details.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when we stepped back from each other.

“I thought I would do a little apple picking,” he said.

“Do you think that I can pull this off?”

Tessie’s voice was distinctive in the bustle of the market and I turned to see her coming toward us. Her arms were laden with packages and bags from the various vendors and she wore an enormous hat with a pale blue blusher, satin ribbon, and what looked like a cluster of frosted cherries.

Dolly Simpson made that. I would know her monstrous creations anywhere.

“It’s gorgeous,” Christopher said. “You could wear that to church.”

“I will,” Tessie said, coming to my side. “I’m going to wear it to the Homecoming picnic with my blue pantsuit. Jesus will like it. I will wear it for his glory.”

I loved when Tessie suddenly reached down into roots and got deeply spiritual for no particular reason.

I shook my head and hugged her, trying to duck out of the way of the brim of the hat so that it didn’t hit me in the eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again. “I’ve never been able to get the two of you out here without dragging you kicking and screaming.”

“Not true,” Christopher said. “We came to your post-baby shower.”

“Via satellite,” I said. “Beaming you into the room through a laptop screen doesn’t count as you actually being there.”

“We recreated all of the decorations and games in Tessie’s living room,” he protested. “Besides, it’s not our fault that we weren’t technically invited and that the one that we planned for you was going to be so much better that we didn’t want to waste any of our merriment.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but it still doesn’t answer my question as to what has dragged the two of you out of your concrete playpen and into my neck of the woods.”

“So, so literal. So literal,” Christopher said, shaking his head. “Where’s my child?”

I gestured toward Richard, who handed Clementine to Christopher before accepting our plates of food from Bubba Ray. I noticed that he had snuck a couple of orders of Choreos in and was now trying to lift his plate up to his mouth to take one without aid of fingers.

“We missed you,” Tessie said.

“I missed you, too, but you’ve been missing me for weeks. Why now?”

“I invited them.”

The slightly muffled sound of Richard’s voice told me that he had managed to get the cookie and was munching his way through it as he tried to talk. I had to laugh as I reached up and brushed a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t too long ago that he never would have done something like that. The thought of eating a deep-fried Oreo would have been enough out of his comfort zone to make him shudder, but to do so while speaking and wearing clothing that didn’t have his monogram inside would have been just too horrible to fathom. While I never would have wanted him to be a totally different person than the one I met, after all, it was that man who I fell in love with, it was nice to see him soften up and discover the simpler pleasures of life. And to be fair, I wasn’t exactly frowning about the upgrades he had made to the house, the second, much larger house that he was building just behind it, or the new closet that I was steadily filling with clothes. We had blended into each other, and it was more wonderful than anything I could have imagined.

Almost.

“You did?”

He nodded and gestured for us to follow him.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

We walked past the market and beyond the old farmhouse that had been converted into a year-round Christmas shop when the Crozet family built another house on the other side of the orchard. Soon we were away from the bustling of the market and into an open area that I could imagine was once a pasture for the animals that would have worked the farm when it was still in operation many generations before. There was a truck sitting in the middle of the pasture, and for a second I thought that it was just an abandoned vehicle, or possibly one of the trucks that Billy Crozet used to gather up the apples that fell on the ground and bring them around to the neighboring farms to use for feed.

When I looked a little harder, however, I realized that it was the same beaten-up old truck that Richard had bought from Cletus and brought to my house the night of our first real date, the night Clementine was born. It had been painted completely white, though none of the dents or scratches had been filled up or fully covered. Richard smiled at me when I looked up at him curiously and continued toward the truck, the rest of the group in tow. As we approached I realized that the bed of the truck had been spread with a quilt and a picnic basket was sitting on the tool box at the back. He settled the plates of food onto the wheel well and helped me up into the bed before climbing in after me. I expected Christopher and Tessie to come in as well, but they hovered back several yards away from the truck, talking to Clementine as though they had become her parents and for a few minutes they were their own little family.

A bizarre, bizarre little family.

“What’s going on?” I asked, turning my attention from them back to Richard.

He was sitting on his knees beside me and staring at me intently.

“I wasn’t supposed to meet you,” he said, and I felt my heart sink into my stomach. “I wasn’t supposed to need a baby contract. I wasn’t supposed to have to fight so hard for someone to know that I love them. I wasn’t supposed to ever have a difficult moment in my life. I was supposed to marry Flora, have children, and live out the rest of my life in a bubble of my own creation without ever thinking about anything that was happening to those not floating around with me. Then I met you. Now I know that the only two things in life I was ever really meant to do was meet you and have Clementine. Because that’s the difference. I wasn’t supposed to meet you, but I was meant to. And for every other thing that I was not supposed to do, I thank you with all of my heart for forcing me to do them. And for everything that I was supposed to do, I thank you with all of my heart for not allowing them to happen.

You’ve taught me that paths are winding, not straight. The most meaningful choices in life are often the most difficult to make. If you don’t have to fight for someone, then they aren’t really yours. I wasn’t real until I met you, Rue. I didn’t truly have a life. I had an existence. I had things that people dream of and think will make them happy and create the perfect life for them. But what I didn’t have was so much more important than what I did, and I didn’t even know it until I met you. I have loved you for far longer than I admitted, but I will make up for it by loving you passionately and fully, without question and without hiding, every day for the rest of my existence. You have given me everything that I have ever wanted, even things that I never knew that I wanted but now know are the most precious things that I could ever have. Almost. You have given me almost everything that I have ever wanted. There is only one more thing that you could possibly give me that would make my life any better than it already is. Be my wife.”

I felt my heart soar and tears forming in my eyes. I reached out and took Richard’s hand, pulling it close to me so I could press it to my chest.

“Richard,” I murmured.

He turned and reached his free hand into the picnic basket. When he turned back to me he was holding a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies.

“I found a recipe in the kitchen. It was tucked in the back of a drawer. I don’t know if it’s the right one, but I made them for you.”

It was a strange detour in the conversation, but I couldn’t resist the warm, spicy smell of the cookies and I reached forward to take one of the cookies from the plate. I took a bite of it and sighed as the flavor melted on my tongue. It was a bite of childhood, carrying with it the feeling of my grandmother’s kitchen and the memory of my father’s hugs. I was so enraptured by the cookie that I nearly missed the hint of black velvet that was peeking out from underneath the mound of cookies. I finished the cookie I held and moved the others away to reveal the box that had been tucked beneath. Withdrawing the box with a trembling hand, I held it still in front of me, not opening it, almost afraid to as though that would somehow break the fantasy that I was almost convinced I was imagining. Richard watched me for a few still moments and then took the box from my hand. He opened the lid and turned the box toward me. I gasped at the sight of the ring inside.

The vintage piece was crafted out of white gold, the sides elaborately scrolled to hold up a massive center diamond with a cascade of smaller stones along each side. It was at once extravagant and elegant, not the gaudy over-done rings I had witnessed on some of the women who roamed around in Richard’s circle, but also not overly simple. It was nothing short of perfect and I felt breathless.

“Will you marry me?” Richard asked.

I looked into his eyes and nodded, feeling as though I couldn’t speak. Finally, I found the words.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Yes, I will.”

Richard took the ring from the box and slipped it onto my hand. It hugged my finger perfectly, telling me that he had gone through the effort of making sure that he knew my ring size and ensuring that the ring was sized to fit. I didn’t want to take it off for even a second. I stared down at it for a moment, realizing that until that moment marrying Richard had been an almost distant thought in my mind, something that I just figured might someday happen, but that I wasn’t actively seeking. Right then, though, as I felt him pulling me closer to kiss me, I felt a surge of fulfillment as if everything in my life had fallen into place.

Christopher and Tessie walked up to the truck and climbed in, each giving me a congratulatory hug before settling onto the quilt. Clementine was awake, and I gathered her into my arms to feed her, gazing down into her perfect little eyes. I knew that she would never remember this, that by the time that she got old enough to form the memories that she would look back on when she was an adult all she would remember was us being married and having settled into life as a family. As much as I loved that she would always have that sense of security and wholeness, I also wanted her to know how much both of her parents went through to create this family and this life for her. I thought to her scrapbook and looked forward to the day that I would sit with her and tell her about this day.

“Do I get to plan the wedding?” Christopher asked.

I smiled at him and tucked my hand around his cheek.

“You know what?” I said. “Yes. Yes, you do.”