Chapter 61

Three days later, the morning arrived beneath a pale autumn sky.

Breedlove Manor was awake before the sun had fully cleared the eastern hills.

Horses stamped in the stable yard. A groom carried harnesses toward the waiting carriage, while another worker loaded a small supply chest beneath the rear seat.

Beatrice stood near the front steps, fastening the last button of her traveling coat.

Nathaniel emerged from the Manor.

“Ready?”

Beatrice smiled.

“I believe so.”

Elias followed, carrying a leather satchel.

“You say that now.”

Beatrice looked at him.

“Do you expect trouble?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say it like that?”

“Because trouble has a habit of appearing after people announce that everything will be peaceful.”

Nathaniel shook his head.

“You've spent too much time with me.”

“That may be the problem.”

Beatrice laughed.

They climbed into the carriage.

The gates of Breedlove Manor opened.

For a moment, Beatrice looked back.

The Manor stood behind them beneath the autumn trees, its stone walls warmed by the morning light.

It didn't look threatening.

It looked old.

Enduring.

Home.

Then the carriage rolled forward.

The road beyond the gates was different from the paths Beatrice knew around the Manor.

It was wider, worn by wagon wheels and hooves, with patches of gravel laid over older earth. Stone markers stood along portions of the roadside, and shallow drainage channels carried yesterday's rain toward the lower fields.

They passed a farmhouse before the first hour had ended.

A woman stood outside hanging freshly washed clothing along a line.

Two children chased one another beside a chicken coop.

A dog barked at the passing carriage before losing interest and returning to its patch of sunlight.

Farther ahead, a farmer guided a pair of horses through a field.

Beatrice watched through the window.

“It's busier than I expected.”

Nathaniel looked out.

“Why?”

“I suppose I imagined the countryside would be quieter.”

Elias smiled.

“Quiet doesn't mean empty.”

They continued.

The land gradually opened.

Fields stretched between wooded rises. Apple trees bent beneath the weight of late-season fruit, and several orchards were busy with people gathering what remained before the colder weather settled in.

The smell of apples reached them even through the carriage window.

Sweet.

Sharp.

Earthy.

Somewhere nearby, cider was being pressed.

Then the road curved.

The carriage slowed.

Ahead stood a wagon tilted awkwardly toward the roadside.

A wheel had broken.

A man was standing beside it with both hands on his hips.

Nathaniel sighed.

Elias smiled.

Beatrice looked at them.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Nathaniel said.

He opened the carriage door.

“We should help.”

The farmer looked up as they approached.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Nathaniel replied. “What happened?”

“Wheel gave out.”

The farmer glanced toward the broken spoke.

“I should have replaced it last spring.”

Elias crouched beside the wheel.

“That would have been wise.”

The farmer laughed.

“I suppose I deserved that.”

Nathaniel inspected the damage.

“We can get the wagon far enough off the road to make room for travelers.”

The farmer nodded.

Together, Nathaniel and Elias began shifting the wagon.

Beatrice noticed the farmer's daughter standing nearby.

She couldn't have been more than ten.

The girl held a small basket filled with apples.

Beatrice smiled at her.

“Those look delicious.”

The girl's face brightened.

“They're from our orchard.”

“Are they?”

She nodded proudly.

“We're taking them to Blackmere.”

“For the market?”

“Yes.”

The girl lifted the basket slightly.

“My mother says we're trading some for cloth.”

Beatrice looked at the apples.

“And the rest?”

“Seed money.”

The girl said it with such seriousness that Elias smiled.

The wagon finally moved far enough from the road.

The farmer examined the damage.

“I'll need a replacement spoke.”

“There should be a wheelwright in Blackmere,” Elias said.

“There is.”

The farmer looked at the three of them.

“You're heading there too?”

“We are,” Beatrice answered.

“Then perhaps we'll see you at the market.”

Nathaniel looked at the basket of apples.

“Do you need help getting them there?”

The farmer shook his head.

“We'll manage.”

He paused.

Then he reached into the wagon and took out two apples.

“Here.”

Nathaniel raised a hand.

“No need.”

“Not payment.”

The farmer held one toward Beatrice and one toward Elias.

“Just an apple.”

Beatrice accepted hers.

“Thank you.”

The farmer smiled.

“That is how Blackmere works.”

Nathaniel looked at him.

The farmer shrugged.

“Sometimes you give. Sometimes you receive. Sometimes you work for what you need. Sometimes someone has a penny and sometimes they have a basket of apples.”

He glanced toward his daughter.

“Doesn't make one person worth more than another.”

Beatrice looked down at the apple in her hand.

Something about those words stayed with her.

The farmer climbed back into his wagon.

“Safe road.”

“You too,” Beatrice replied.

The carriage continued.

For several minutes nobody spoke.

Then Elias looked at Beatrice.

“You're thinking again.”

She smiled.

“Perhaps.”

Nathaniel leaned back.

“About the farmer?”

“About Blackmere.”

The road descended gradually.

A creek appeared beside them, its water moving over rounded stones. A narrow footbridge crossed it, worn smooth by generations of travelers.

Beyond the bridge stood several cottages.

Smoke rose from chimneys.

A woman carried a basket toward one house.

Two men repaired a fence.

A boy led a stubborn goat away from a vegetable garden.

Nothing about the scene was extraordinary.

And somehow that made it beautiful.

Beatrice looked at the apple again.

She turned it in her hand.

There was a small mark on its skin where a branch had brushed it.

Imperfect.

Still good.

The carriage climbed another hill.

At the top, Nathaniel suddenly slowed the horses.

Beatrice looked ahead.

Blackmere lay beyond the valley.

It was larger than she had imagined.

Stone buildings stood among timber houses. Smoke curled from chimneys. Church bells sounded faintly in the distance. Roads crossed through the settlement, leading toward fields, woodland, and the market district.

People moved through the streets.

Wagons.

Horses.

Children.

Merchants.

Farmers.

Travelers.

A town alive beneath the autumn sky.

Beatrice whispered,

“Blackmere.”

Elias smiled.

Nathaniel looked toward the road descending into town.

“Yes.”

For one brief moment, Beatrice felt something strange beneath her feet.

Not fear.

Not magic she could name.

Something almost like recognition.

The old road seemed to hold the faintest warmth beneath the wheels.

As though thousands of footsteps had passed this way before them.

As though the stones remembered.

Then the feeling disappeared.

Beatrice blinked.

“Did you feel that?”

Nathaniel looked at her.

“Feel what?”

She looked back toward the road.

“Nothing.”

But far behind them, where the broken wagon had stood, one fallen apple rested beside the old road.

A single leaf landed upon it.

And beneath the leaf, hidden in the earth, something very old remained undisturbed.

Waiting.

Not for them.

Not yet.