3. Kent #2
"I remember my mother standing talking to her at the fenceline some days.
But why was she there?" Teddy demanded, her voice rising with a sudden intensity as she jabbed a finger at the photo.
"Why was she standing outside the stone cottage with the other women? She was part of my mother’s secret network, wasn't she? "
Kent remained silent for a long moment, the ticking of the clock filling the space between them.
The heavy pull of his promise to his mother weighed on him, a pact they had made decades ago to leave the past in the dark.
He could see how much Teddy was hurting, how the feeling of being kept on the outside of her family's legacy was pressing against her chest. He wasn’t going to lie to her, but his principles refused to let him betray the trust of the woman who had sacrificed everything to keep him safe.
"The reasons behind our arrival in Harvest Hollow aren't mine to share," Kent said, keeping his gaze level and unyielding as he pointed to Hannah in the photo. "The details of that journey belong to her, and I won't speak of them without her permission."
“You're protecting a secret," Teddy said, her tone laced with disappointment.
She pulled her satchel tighter against her shoulder, her chin rising.
"Everyone in this valley seems to understand what happened here, while my sisters and I are left to guess. It feels like we’re on the outside of our own story. "
"I'm not trying to shut you out," Kent insisted, his tone gentle but firm. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers resting on the counter near the faded print. "But my mother’s history is her own, and I won't demand that she lay it bare just to satisfy a curiosity."
"This isn't curiosity," Teddy whispered, her dark eyes bright with a raw frustration.
"This is my life. This is the farm I'm legally bound to manage, and the legacy left to us.
I have a responsibility to figure out exactly what happened.
I have a right to know who was hiding on our property.
Do you have any idea how many legal issues that little secret parcel of land has caused us? "
Kent looked at her, his heart squeezing with a deep empathy.
He knew the cold ache of living in the shadows, carrying a heavy burden of silence while the rest of the world moved in the light.
He wanted to give her the answers she was searching for, but his loyalty to his mother was a boundary he couldn't cross.
"I'll tell you what I can do. I’ll ask her if she is ready to speak with you," Kent promised, keeping his voice soft but unyielding. "I'll show her the print, and I'll tell her that you came to the clinic. But I won't force her to open a door that she has kept closed for forty years."
Teddy stared at him, and he could see her tensing as she struggled with his response. She looked down at the photograph, her fingers lingering on the curling edge of the paper, before she pulled her hand away.
"I can't force you to speak," Teddy murmured, her tone sounding resigned. "But I won't pretend that I’m fine with being shut out like this. I appreciate you being willing to speak to her though."
She turned from the counter, her movements deliberate and controlled as she headed toward the door.
The brass bell chimed above her as she exited the clinic, leaving Kent alone in the clinic.
He stood in the quiet, his gaze fixed on the empty threshold, with the weight of her disappointment pressing heavy against his chest.
The cool evening air carried the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke as Kent followed the dirt path connecting property to his mother's cottage later that evening.
The yellow building sat nestled beneath the sweeping branches of two ancient maples, its windows casting rectangles of light onto the dark lawn.
He approached the porch, noting the absolute silence of the surrounding woods.
He knocked on the heavy oak door, the solid wood absorbing the sound.
After a brief pause, the distinct slide of a deadbolt and the rattle of a brass safety chain echoed from the other side.
The door swung open, and Hannah stood in the entry, her guarded posture instantly softening as she recognized him.
She wore a wool shawl of forest green over her shoulders, her dark hair pinned back with a wooden clip.
"I didn't expect you so late," Hannah said, her tone carrying a blunt but affectionate warmth as she stood back to let him enter. "I've just set the kettle on."
"I can't stay long," Kent replied, crossing the threshold as his mother closed the door behind him. He heard the metallic click of the locks turning back into place, a familiar ritual he'd witnessed his entire life.
The cottage interior was a colorful sanctuary, crowded with hand-stitched quilts draped over the chairs and baskets of bright wool skeins resting near the hearth.
Yet, despite the cozy surroundings, Hannah sat in an armchair that faced the door directly, her position offering a clear view of both entrances.
Kent crossed to the dresser, his hand resting on the smooth wood as he turned to face her.
He knew he had to be careful with his words; his mother's pride was a fragile barrier, protecting them for decades. She hadn’t liked to talk about the past, even with him.
"Teodora Marchetti came to the clinic today," Kent explained, keeping his voice steady as the kettle began to whistle on the stove.