Page 10 of The Pumpkin Patch Promise

She turned and headed toward her compact sedan parked along the green, her posture straight and her heart light. Date number one was complete. It had been simple, public, and entirely under her direction.

When Prue arrived back at the farm, the late afternoon sun was casting long glittering shafts of warm orange through the open barn doors and across the wide pine floorboards. Outside the open double doors, the air was cool with the scent of pine needles and crushed apple pomace. Down along the lower lane, the second wholesale delivery truck was backing up to the loading area, its diesel engine humming smoothly.

Prue drew a deep breath, taking in the calm of the barn. Her coffee outing with Sam had gone exactly as she had planned. Throughout the entire afternoon, he had respected her schedule, answered her questions directly, and made no effort to prolong the outing when she indicated it was time to leave. The contrast with her past was undeniable.

Teddy emerged from the storage shed, holding a brass grease gun and a clean rag. As she approached the cider barn she spotted Prue.

"Oh, you’re back! The afternoon picking crates are logged," Teddy said, setting the tool on a wooden shelf. "You’ll be happy to know the south orchard block yielded twenty percent more McIntosh apples than our initial estimate."

"That’s great news. That will cover our weekend farm stand stock," Prue replied, opening the harvest ledger and picking up her fountain pen. "I'll update the inventory sheets before the evening crew finishes."

Junie entered through the side doorway, carrying a basket of freshly washed linen towels for the farm stand. "The administrative work is mostly finished," Junie offered, setting the basket on a timber bench. "The Pittsfield distribution center confirmed our weekend delivery window."

Junie paused, her warm brown eyes alight with curiosity. "How was your outing in town?" she asked gently.

Prue smiled, securing the cap on her pen. "It was pleasant," Prue said, trying to sound completely neutral. "We had coffee near the green, discussed the harvest and the Fall Festival, and talked about the valley’s historic architecture. We agreed to six dates before the season closes."

Teddy stopped wiping her hands, looking over with an approving nod. "Six dates," she repeated, a faint smile touching her lips. "On your terms?"

"Entirely on my terms," Prue confirmed, meeting her gaze directly. "I choose the locations, set the duration, and direct the pace. I was worried he might run for the hills, but he agreed without hesitation."

Junie let out a soft, warm breath, her eyes shining with genuine affection. "Of course he did. I’ve seen the way that man looks at you," Junie said softly. "And it makes me happy. You deserve to be with somebody who respects you completely."

Dahlia entered the barn doorway, holding a stack of receipts. "The freight driver signed for the second shipment," Dahlia announced, setting the papers on the workbench beside the folder. She looked at Prue. "The wholesale accounts are updated for the week."

"Thank you," Prue said, reviewing the delivery weights on the top sheet. "Everything aligns with our picking totals."

Dahlia glanced between her sisters, taking in the atmosphere in the barn. "Looks like you’ll have to catch me up on all your news over dinner," Dahlia added, with a knowing smile. "By the looks of things your first date went well."

Prue couldn’t help but blush.

Dahlia laughed and headed back to the house, and Teddy and Junie followed soon after.

Prue turned back to her workbench as the quiet rhythm of the barn resumed around her. The lower packing shed doors clattered shut as the farmhands finished their work for the afternoon, and she could hear the gentle autumn breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees that lined the drive. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper from her binder, smoothing the heavy cream paper against the oak surface.

She began sketching out the details for their upcoming second date. For date number two, she planned an outing to an outdoor antiques market forty minutes away in the foothills. The market was tucked away in a country grove, far enough from Harvest Hollow to keep its resident busybodies from taking an interest in their activities. She could wander among the historic furnishings and vintage architectural pieces, enjoy Sam's company, and indulge their shared interests without worrying that someone would spot them and have the whole town speculating about their relationship before they even knew what it was themselves.

She jotted down the driving distance, parking arrangements, and preferred morning hours on her paper. Selecting an outing away from the main farm allowed her to enjoy conversation and company without the watchful eyes of the community. It provided a neutral space where she could evaluate her comfort level in his presence without outside expectations influencing her thoughts.

Prue reflected on how far she had come since returning to Harvest Hollow three autumns ago. She had reclaimed her confidence. Who would have thought sweet and gentle Prue would be directing the final harvest season with clarity and establishing a courtship governed strictly by her own consent? And yet, here she was, doing exactly that.

The evening light softened to deep amber across the orchard hills. High above the valley, the first cool breeze of twilight rustled through the maple canopy, bringing the promise of a clear, cold night. Prue placed the date plan inside her folder.

Prue was looking forward to her date, not because she was trying to make somebody else happy or be accommodating, but because the choices belonged entirely to her. She gathered her papers, feeling lighter than she had in years.

SAM

Sam sat at the end of the long timber desk, his palms resting flat on either side of Rosalind Marchetti's leather ledger that recorded all the important facts of the cottage sanctuary. Beside him, Prue adjusted a small brass desk lamp, casting a clear circle of warm light across the faded blue-ink entries recorded during the autumn of 1978. He was glad she was here with him.

Three years had passed since Sam’s mother had died and he had discovered her real maiden name. Up until that point, he had no idea that Hollis wasn’t really her last name. Yet staring at her maiden name written in another woman's firm hand brought a sudden stillness to his chest. It made it suddenly feel more real. There, listed midway down page forty-two, written in precise cursive, was the name Sarah Sterling.

"The ledger gives us a good timeline," Sam pointed out, his thumb tracing the clean outer border of the cream parchment page. "She arrived in Harvest Hollow in September that year."

Prue leaned closer, her hazel eyes scanning the detailed notes written along the outer margin. "And the entry records that she was assigned the hidden cottage for her postal address," Prue added, pointing to a neat notation beside the name. "The record indicates that mail was received at the secondary postbox."

Sam turned the heavy page with careful deliberation, listening to the dry rustle of the parchment against the wooden tabletop. Tucked securely between the binding seam was a narrow slip of yellowed paper, its edges worn soft and thin with age. He lifted the paper gently between two fingers, revealing a printed bus transit receipt from the Pittsfield regional terminal, dated September 28th, 1978. Beside the printed fare price was a handwritten code: HH-ARR-0928.

"Eleven days," Sam stated, examining the departure stamp on the lower margin of the stub. "According to these two entries, she remained at the cottage for that long before departing on an outbound regional coach."