Page 28 of The Pumpkin Patch Promise

“I honestly didn't expect it.” She looked around at the expanded market space. “Thank you for giving us room to spread out this year. It makes such a difference.”

“We're honored to have you here,” Prue said. “The whole place looks so much better when everyone has space to show what they make.”

A few paces farther along the orchard path, a textile artisan selling hand-loomed wool scarves stood, adjusting her display racks.

“Business has been good?” Prue asked.

“Better than good.” The woman held up one of the scarves. “Having a busy festival stall like this has opened some new doors for me. I met somebody who was so impressed with the quality of my work that they offered to stock the scarves in their shop in Pittsfield.”

“That's fantastic.”

“At this rate I’ll be able to afford rent on a small workshop. It means I don't have to work out of my kitchen anymore.”

Listening to her story, Prue reflected on how economic independence was the foundation of true personal safety, a principle she intended to embed directly into the transitional housing program at the cottage sanctuary if she had her way.

Past the textiles, Teddy was supervising a group of visitors near the historic timber press, explaining the traditional cider extraction process.

“And this is where the pressing actually happens,” Teddy was saying. “I know the machinery inside out, but how to get the best results for the actual apple cider product is my sister's department.”

Prue smiled as she passed. Near the hot cider tasting booth, a sudden influx of tour buses produced a dense line. It was creating a bit of a problem with traffic flow. Prue noticed Dahlia across the yard, adjusting her notepad as she started toward the crowd. Prue caught her eye and raised a calm, steady hand.

“I've got it,” she called.

She moved smoothly to the head of the line, greeting the waiting families with a warm, welcoming tone.

“If you're here for the cider tasting, there's another station open behind the barn,” she told them. “There's no wait back there.”

She directed half the visitors toward the wooden walkway. Within two minutes, the bottleneck dissolved, and visitor traffic moved evenly through the market aisles. When Prue glanced back, Dahlia had stopped near the barn doors. She lowered her notepad and gave Prue a small nod before turning back toward the stalls.

A short while later, a minor supply hiccup occurred near the baked goods pavilion when a delivery truck dropped off fresh sourdough loaves and cinnamon pastries from the local bakery without individual paper wrapping. Junie hurried over from the main farm stand.

“What happened?” she asked, looking at the open crate.

“They didn't wrap any of it,” one of the volunteers said.

Junie reached for the wax paper. “I'll handle it.”

Prue caught her hand before she could lift the roll from the table.

“You need to be at the cash register.”

“I can spare five minutes.”

“You'll have more than five minutes if that line starts growing. The farm stand is busy.” Prue picked up the wax paper herself. “We've got plenty of hands here. Go.”

Junie hesitated, then smiled.

“Fine. But if we run out of cinnamon rolls, I'm blaming you.”

“Fair enough.”

Junie returned to the farm stand while Prue passed the wax paper to the volunteers and helped them get the pastries wrapped and onto the display at the baked goods pavilion before restocking some of the supplies at the farm stand.

Near the cider barn, Sam stood watching Prue direct the afternoon crowd. When their eyes met across the lawn, he smiled and lifted a hand.

“Five o'clock?” he called.

Prue smiled back.