Page 12 of The Pumpkin Patch Promise

"She must have used that name while she stayed on the property and only changed it when she left," Prue said, pointing to the matching entries recorded on the facing ledger sheet. "Every delivery receipt and postal record from that autumn lists the same name."

Sam traced the smooth edge of the wooden table, his expression thoughtful as he processed the detail. "If the letter came back unclaimed, and was put in Rosalind’s box, it means my mother had already departed on the regional coach before the post office delivered it to the box."

Prue turned the envelope over carefully. The reverse flap remained sealed, the original adhesive intact despite the passage of nearly five decades. Written across the upper crease in precise hand lettering was a return address originating from a legal office in downtown Boston.

"This came from a firm on Congress Street," Prue noted, reading the corner imprint aloud. "I recognize the name from some other documents. The firm specialized in estate trusts and private property conveyances during the late seventies."

"I remember my mother mentioning lawyers on Congress Street in Boston," Sam said. "I remember thinking it strange that she communicated with lawyers in Boston when we actually lived in Vermont."

Prue looked from the Boston postmark back to Sam. "She wasn’t running blindly when she came to the Berkshires. She had a professional contact or a legal representative communicating with the farm management before she arrived."

"That explains why the travel arrangements were so precise," Sam said. "She knew exactly which bus to take from the city, which stop to request, and where to collect the key to the cottage. It was not an impulse decision. Maybe that’s also why it was such a short stay."

Prue nodded slowly, taking satisfaction in how every record they uncovered brought clearer structure to what had once seemed an intentional mystery. "My mother never seemed to allow open-ended arrangements for very long. Most women who stayed at the cottage arrived with a verified plan and a clear destination once their time here ended, and for those who didn’t have a plan, my mother’s network put one together quickly."

"I suppose if everything was planned out, eleven days was all she needed," Sam said. He met Prue's eyes, his posture relaxed despite the weight of the discovery. "She secured her paperwork, confirmed her privacy, and moved forward into her new life in Vermont."

"Where she built a safe life for both of you," Prue said gently.

Sam smiled at her. "Thank you for showing me these pages. Finding the truth here makes everything feel solid. I still have questions about what she was running from, but at least I know a little bit more than I did before."

Prue slid the envelope back into its protective sleeve inside the ledger cover, then closed the heavy volume with a firm, satisfying thud. She set the leather book neatly beside the other files and journals on the shelf in the cabinet.

"We have two hours before the afternoon wholesale trucks arrive," Prue said, turning back to face him with a clear, comfortable smile. "Which gives us plenty of time to confirm the final details for Saturday morning."

Sam nodded, his eyes lighting up in a way that made her heart beat a little faster. "The outdoor market?"

"The outdoor market," Prue confirmed. "We leave at nine o'clock. There’s so much to see so I have no idea how long it will take. We’ll end the outing whenever we decide we're ready."

Sam stood up from the table, adjusting his coat with easy grace. "That sounds like a perfect arrangement."

They walked together to the barn doors, and Sam stopped before stepping outside.

“I'll see you Saturday?”

Prue nodded. "Definitely."

He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. "Good."

Then he headed across the yard. Prue watched him go, trying not to smile and failing miserably. He climbed into his truck, and Prue remained where she was until he pulled away. Only then did she turn back to the barn, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Saturday suddenly seemed a very long way away.

PRUE

It was a beautiful morning for an antique market, Prue thought as she adjusted the side mirror of her green sedan. Beside her in the passenger seat, Sam leaned back against the headrest, holding a paper cup of warm black coffee.

They had left Harvest Hollow at nine o'clock, heading north toward the fairgrounds in Shelburne Falls where the tri-county autumn antiques market was open. The drive took forty minutes along winding two-lane roads flanked by sugar maples in full burgundy color. For Prue, crossing the town line brought a subtle physical relief. In Harvest Hollow, every turn of her vehicle drew familiar nods from neighbors who had watched her grow up, leave for Boston, and return three years ago. Here, surrounded by early shoppers in wool jackets and flannel caps, she was simply an anonymous visitor browsing Saturday stalls.

She parked near the outer fencing of the fairgrounds, where rows of wooden tables and open-sided canvas tents stretched across the grass. The air carried the sharp scent of roasted kettle corn.

"We have plenty of ground to cover," Prue said, setting her canvas tote bag over her shoulder as she turned off the ignition. "The architectural preservation vendors usually set up near the livestock barn at the far end. I was thinking, regarding the six acres, it might be nice to rebuild the cottage. It’s part of a greater plan I have to rebuild the sanctuary. And if we do that, I’d like to be as faithful as possible to the original architecture."

"Lead the way," Sam replied, exiting the vehicle onto the firm turf and closing his door with a solid click. "I am here to carry heavy ironwork and offer technical opinions only when asked."

Prue smiled as she joined him near the rear bumper. His easy tone set a comfortable pace. They crossed the entry gate and moved past rows of vintage glassware, brass table lamps, and framed farm prints. The morning crowd hummed with conversation, but no one turned to stare or ask about the Marchetti family. Living in a small town like Harvest Hollow had its benefits, but sometimes it was nice to get away.

"What specific materials are we prioritizing today?" Sam asked as they paused near a display of reclaimed barn doors.