Until the day she finally accepted that she was pregnant.
That day, she took the cook’s frying pan to her room with her. And when night fell, she stood behind her door and waited.
After she hit him, an odd thud that sounded like something being dropped in the next room, she just stood there, as if waiting for everything to go back to the way it was. She began to tremble. Nothing was different. She was still pregnant. And she had just hurt Tucker, maybe even killed him. Her father would never understand. No one would understand. Except …
“Show him to me,” Agatha said after Georgie had run to her house in the mist, tripping and falling along the way so that when she finally got to Hickory Cottage she was covered with dirt and scratches. She knew the way into the house that led to the back stairs, the stairs they’d used to sneak past Agatha’s parents many times. She’d woken Agatha up and begged her to listen, begged her to help. She trusted Agatha more than anyone in the world. And what had happened this summer couldn’t possibly have erased a lifetime of friendship. It didn’t just go away like that. At least, she prayed it didn’t. She’d lost so much already.
Agatha was strangely quiet as Georgie led her back up to the Madam. Tucker was right where she had left him, on the floor of her bedroom. The frying pan was sitting on his chest, like a weight keeping him from floating away. Agatha knelt by him, muttering something Georgie couldn’t understand. She put one of her hands on his head, then jerked back as if she’d been burned. She stood and said, “We have to do this quick. He’s not all gone. And he’s angry. We have to dig a hole close by. We can’t carry him far. It has to be in the yard here. If we do it on the hill, it’ll wash. Hurry, Georgie, let’s get started.” This was what Agatha was so good at, taking charge, organizing, breaking things down into manageable bits.
They worked by candlelight. In the kitchen, Georgie sifted together pepper and sawdust the carpenter bees had created when they’d burrowed into the porch. The cook had once told her that if you sprinkle sawdust and pepper in front of a door, no one would be able to leave that room. She put it in front of the doors to her father’s and brother’s bedrooms, hoping it would give her and Agatha time to do what they needed to do.
They dug in the yard for hours, as far away from the house as they could but not so close to the precipice that the hill would give way. She would never forget how quiet it was. The mist below them hid the town from sight but also muffled everything. It felt as though they were the only people in the world, two young women about to bury the symbol of their helplessness, as if that’s all it would take to make them whole again.
The half-moon had fled across the night sky by the time Agatha said the hole was big enough.
They had to go back into the Madam to get him. They dragged him to the window in Georgie’s room and pushed him out. Then they took him by his arms and legs and half carried, half dragged him across the backyard, leaving a trail of black as though lightning had scorched the earth.
After they were done, they stood there as the sun rose over the mist. They were dirty and shaky and mostly numb.
Agatha finally turned to Georgie and embraced her. It took a moment for Georgie to realize that Agatha was crying, and Agatha never cried.
“Oh, Agatha,” Georgie said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” Agatha said, pulling back. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This is my fault. What kind of friend lets this happen? I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
“What am I going to do?” Georgie asked. “Tell me what to do, Agatha.”
“We’ll get through this. Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’m here for you. I’ll never let you down again.”
“What if they find out it was me?”
Agatha took her hand. “As long as I’m alive, Georgie, no one will ever know it was you. I promise.”
And seventy-five years later, Agatha had kept that promise.
NINETEEN
The Dream
Their dresses swished in the darkness as Willa and Paxton walked up the steps to the portico. What a strange and lovely evening this had turned out to be. Imagine, Willa thought, a few weeks ago she’d had no intention of attending this gala. She’d also had no intention of falling in love, or finding a new best friend, or unearthing a lot of crazy family secrets.
Her life, she’d thought, had been perfectly fine the way it was.
Colin and Sebastian were waiting for them on the portico. Sebastian was leaning against the doorframe of the open door, a cocktail glass in one hand, light from inside haloing him. Colin was leaning against the wall nearby, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets. Willa went to Colin, and he immediately wrapped her in his arms and held her head against his chest. Paxton stopped in front of Sebastian. He handed her his drink, then put one hand around her waist, pulling her to him and kissing her.
The four of them went back to the banquet hall, saying goodbye to the last of the guests, the ones staying there that night, and they took a seat at one of the tables. They ended up staying all night, talking and laughing, while the cleanup crew worked around them.
This was the first time Willa had seen Paxton and Sebastian act like a couple, confidently and unabashedly. Watching them, she realized they made so much sense together. Every look, every touch, was a reassurance, almost electric, as if they were shocking each other with every contact.
As for her and Colin, they were acting as though they were taking it a day at a time, having fun and not taking things too seriously, but that was all it was, an act. They were far more serious than either one was prepared to admit. They had been talking a lot lately about what they wanted to do. Was Colin really ready to move back? Was Willa ready to leave? Knowing that her father had had plans to leave, even with his mother in the nursing home, made it a less complicated question than it had once been. They had decided that Willa would come with him back to New York for a few weeks, then he would come back with her to Walls of Water for another few weeks, and then stretch it out longer and longer until they both knew what was right. They hadn’t told anyone yet. They were still at that stage where they were asking each other if they were really going to go through with it. But really, the moment it first came up, they had both made up their minds. They each wanted to be where the other was, and it didn’t matter where.
The future was theirs to take.
When daylight came, Paxton and Willa were still awake, their stocking feet propped in the men’s laps, but Colin and Sebastian had their heads on their table. Colin had a silver streamer draped over his shoulders and a flower from the centerpiece behind his ear. Willa had decorated him while he’d slept. He was snoring slightly.
Paxton looked to Willa, and Willa laughed quietly. “I’ll still take him,” she whispered.
Paxton took her feet out of Sebastian’s lap and stood. “I’m going to see about getting some breakfast brought out. I’m hungry. Are you?”
“Starving. Should I wake them?” Willa asked.
“Not yet.” Paxton turned to walk away, then stopped. “Willa?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you came tonight. I’m glad …” She didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence. But Willa understood.
“I maced people for you,” Willa said. “You’ve got me for life.”
When Paxton left, Willa closed her eyes. If the future was hers to take, then she tried to imagine what it was going to be like.
She imagined that from that day on, whenever she and Paxton would meet unexpectedly on the sidewalk, or in a store, they would laugh, like sharing a secret only they knew. Grandmother Georgie would still be here, because it was impossible to think of a future without her. Willa knew that one day she would be gone, but for now, in this future she was creating, Georgie was hanging on. Agatha would continue to look after her, and they would all make sure Agatha had all the chocolates she wanted. Willa and Colin would divide their time between New York and Walls of Water for a few years, leaving Rachel to manage the
store and further her coffee studies. Rachel would probably publish a book about it one day, and would coin the term coffeeology. Willa and Colin would come home for good when Willa got pregnant. Pregnant. It was a far-off thought, but it still gave her a crazy feeling in her stomach, like planning the biggest and best adventure. Sebastian and Paxton, on the other hand, would probably get married right away and have three children in quick succession. They were kinetic that way. Throughout marriages and children, Willa and Paxton would still call each other almost every night, sometimes just to say good night. Sometimes Willa would know it was Paxton without her ever having to say a word. She would be in bed, Colin asleep beside her, and the phone would ring and she would pick it up and say, “Good night, Paxton. I’m here if you need me.”
That, they knew, was true friendship.
And they knew, if you’re lucky enough to find it, you hold on to it.
Hold on, and never let it go.
She opened her eyes and saw that Colin had woken up. His hair was tousled, and his eyes were still droopy with sleep. He smiled at her, rubbing his hands along her legs. He looked punch-drunk and happy as he said, “I just had the most amazing dream.”
She smiled back and said, “Me, too.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A bushel and a peck to Andrea Cirillo and Shauna Summers. Thank you for your support and guidance. Love to my family for putting up with me while I was writing this book, when I was often more pit than peach. And a big thanks to Daphne Atkeson for helping me see this from bud to blossom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SARAH ADDISON ALLEN was born and raised in Asheville, North Carolina, where she is currently at work on her next novel.
Sarah Addison Allen, The Peach Keeper
(Series: # )
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