CHAPTER 1.
The first rays of dawn gently touched the horizon as Wilma Baker stepped outside her home. The front door creaked, prompting her to swing it open and shut a few times, reminding herself to oil the hinges later. She was determined to become more self-reliant, even though she had plenty of people willing to help.
Wilma wouldn’t be perceived as one of those helpless women incapable of doing anything. Of course, she wouldn't refuse assistance when it came to chopping wood; that was a task she happily left to others.
Throughout the previous night, she couldn't shake her thoughts about Obadiah, replaying the decision to let him go over and over in her mind. Decision-making had always been a struggle, and she often found it easier when others made choices for her. This time, she had to trust her judgment.
Wilma inhaled deeply of the sweet aroma of ripening apples. The harvest season was drawing near, and the orchard's fragrance was a reminder of the fruitful days to come. It was a time when the air seemed to carry the promise of new beginnings.
“Ah, another splendid day,” she whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Glancing over, she noticed her porch was empty, making it all the more perfect. Ignoring Matthew must have done the trick, or perhaps he had already moved on from Krystal. Nevertheless, a heap of his belongings remained scattered on the porch, a silent reminder of his presence. She hoped he would soon return to retrieve them.
Red, her faithful companion, pushed his way out the door and stood by her side. With everyone still asleep, she seized the opportunity for a brisk walk. As they strolled down the rows of trees, Red kept pace with her, his loyal presence providing comfort.
“Good boy,” she said, patting his head affectionately. There was something about Red that she couldn't fully explain. Somehow, he seemed to understand her, and in return, she felt an inexplicable connection with the gentle creature. He, too, was searching for his place in the world, just as she was finding her own.
The breeze gently swayed the tree branches, causing the laden fruit to sway like pendulums. Each apple served as a testament to the love and care poured into the orchard over the years.
“Ah, Josiah,” she murmured softly, her fingers gently tracing the initials she had carved long ago into the weathered trunk of an old tree. “You were taken away too soon. Too soon for me, anyway.” She looked up at the vast expanse of the sky above. “Lord, I know You have Your reasons for taking Josiah and then Levi from me, but sometimes... sometimes it's hard to live with this emptiness.”
Wilma steadied herself, wiping away her tears with the edge of her apron. She knew it was far less painful if she didn’t dwell on the memories of her late husbands. But how could she not think about Josiah when she walked through the trees? This was his place, and something of him seemed to linger among the trees he had planted. The orchard still bore his name, a testament to his labor and love. And as for Levi, the orchard held countless memories of him as well.
Looking out at all the apples, she was pleased for the upcoming harvest. Fairfax had worked tirelessly, and Florence had made the right choice in appointing him as the manager.
Wilma reached up and plucked an apple from the tree, holding it up to the morning light. Its rosy skin reflected the golden rays, casting a warm glow over her face. “I'll need someone to start making cider. And I'll make apple pies for the shop. Maybe even try a new recipe for jelly,” she mused aloud. She turned to Red, who was sitting nearby with his soulful brown eyes fixed on her.
“What do you think, Red?” she asked with a smile, though she knew he couldn't respond with words.
Red merely blinked, understanding in his own way.
Wilma fashioned a makeshift pouch by looping up her apron and began moving from tree to tree, her hands expertly plucking apples and gently placing them into her apron. The rhythm of the orchard and the rustling leaves enveloped her, bringing a sense of peace and purpose.
This was where she belonged — amidst the whispering leaves and the sweet scent of ripening fruit. It was in the orchard that she found solace and strength, cherishing the memories of her beloved husbands and embracing the hope for a bountiful future.
