*
Blythe usually loved pumpkin day in the village but she was struggling today. She watched the kids diligently check out all the orange squashes. They had a bumper crop this year and she knew Murray would have been proud of them. As Eden identified the pumpkins that had squishy spots and were therefore destined to be a pig’s dinner, Blythe carried them back to where Arthur was making a pile for the farmer to collect later.
‘Penny for them,’ said Arthur, appearing at her side.
‘Oh, you know.’ She forced a brief smile. ‘Murray would have been puffed up with pride at the sight of this lot today.’
‘That he would,’ Arthur agreed. They both watched one of the smaller children insist on carrying his pumpkin as his attentive father hovered nearby. These children were making memories they would cherish for a lifetime. Blythe wished sulky Sam was there to see it. Arthur cleared his throat and interrupted Blythe’s thoughts.
‘How’s the new guy settling into Murray’s old place?’
Blythe instantly felt her mood change at the thought of Sam. ‘He moved in a few weeks back. He doesn’t speak much even though I go around every night to feed Turpin. We can barely say a civil word to each other before it turns into a snarking spat. And he flatly refuses to join in with anything in the village.’
‘Is he not happy there?’ asked Arthur.
She turned to see his look of concern. This wasn’t something she’d really considered. ‘I don’t know.’ Mulling this over made her feel less irritated with Sam and back to feeling guilty about selling him the cottage without full disclosure of the nature of Holly Cross. ‘He could probably be happier I guess.’
‘And what could we do to help, do you think?’ Arthur was the loveliest.
‘I invited him to come today but he’s not turned up.’ She thought back to their mini slanging match on Sam’s doorstep. Perhaps it wasn’t the most thoughtfully delivered invitation she’d ever given out.
‘I hope he’s all right,’ said Arthur. ‘Perhaps he was a little daunted by it. Not everyone has your confidence.’
Blythe didn’t think that was an issue with Sam. ‘He’s probably just being the misery he is.’
‘That’s a little uncharitable,’ said Arthur, and she was surprised by his reprimand. ‘That’s not like you, Blythe. You don’t usually shy away from a challenge.’ Arthur’s words prodded at her but before she could come up with a response he was in demand to supervise a particularly large pumpkin.
Arthur was right; she was tenacious and normally she never gave up on a challenge. She decided right there that Sam Ashton wasn’t going to change that. And even if it was only for crackers a bet was a bet. When the others headed back to the village hall with their pumpkins, some being carried reverently, others in bags, and a selection in Arthur’s wheelbarrow, Blythe peeled off towards the green.
She’d given herself a talking-to and she was going to stay calm, not let Sam wind her up, and she would show him what an awesome place to live Holly Cross was – even if it pushed her to the limits of civility. She’d chosen a nice pumpkin, made a donation to Arthur and carried it up to Sam’s front door. She took a deep breath and knocked. Sam was smiling when he answered the door but she saw it slide from his face. She didn’t like that she had that effect on him and vowed to change that.
‘Hi, Sam, how are you?’
He eyed her and the pumpkin she was hugging warily. ‘Fine thanks. What can I do for you?’
‘How’s Turpin?’
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Stalking a fat pigeon last time I saw him. Why?’
‘I just wanted to check that you’re both doing okay.’
‘Ri-ight. Anything else?’ He nodded at the pumpkin.
‘Yes. I got you this. And I wondered if you’d like to come to the village hall and carve it. There’s also Sarvan’s speciality on offer – spicy pumpkin soup.’
Sam looked mightily suspicious. ‘I stopped carving pumpkins when I was about eleven so I’ll give it a miss if that’s okay. Thanks anyway.’ He went to shut the door.
‘What are you doing for lunch?’ she asked, hastily.
There was a long pause, but Blythe was happy to wait it out. At last Sam spoke. ‘I’ll probably make a sandwich. Why?’
‘Wouldn’t homemade soup be nicer?’
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Here’s the thing. Holly Cross is a friendly village.’ She ignored his puckered brow that said otherwise. ‘Perhaps you’ve not seen it at its best in that respect and I would like you to meet a few people. Get to know your neighbours. Become part of the community.’
‘I don’t know. I’m kinda busy.’
