Chapter 4 #2
“Perfect.” Saffron smiles at her with all the sincerity in the world, and for some reason, it makes me jealous.
“Arlo’s sister Seraphina teaches the eighth grade, and I’m sure she would love to meet you.
If you head into town, be sure to stop by.
I’ll go ahead and call her and let her know you’ll swing in at some point today. ”
Presumptuous. I wrinkle my face up, feeling annoyed with this woman, who is doing nothing but being nice to us. Clearly, I do not run on logic.
However, the tension leaves Lark’s shoulders, and she sighs in relief. Her twelve-year-old self should not feel this wound up over school, but I know my kid, and although I would have rushed at the chance to enjoy a mini-vacation between moves when I was her age, she would hate it.
This leaves me only one option to make this right for her. “All right, we can stop there first.”
Saffron chuckles. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.” She claps her hands before turning to me. “And I’ll let Arlo know you are on the way. That leaves only one question. Will you be walking or driving?”
“It’s only a mile?”
“Only a mile.”
“We can walk.” We’ve been driving for a solid week now, and the last thing I want to do is climb into another car. “There’s one problem.”
“The skunk?”
“How did you—”
Lark’s smile gives her away.
“This precious little angel told me all about the issues with your temperamental skunk.” Her lips form a thin line. People around here are not fond of skunks. “I will have to warn you, I’d prefer if he did not spray my home.”
Feeling uncomfortable, I give her a nod, unsure what to say.
“I have a leash if he’d like a walk?” Saffron offers.
“If you can convince him to put the leash on, then go for it.” I stand up to put my empty plate in the sink, but Saffron grabs it before I can and bustles over to the sink, clearly dismissing us. “Ready for an adventure, kid?”
“Are you?” she challenges with a raised brow.
I want to say no, since there’s something about this place already pulling me in, but I’ve never been one to turn down an adventure. Instead, I tell her, “Absolutely.”
“There are heavier coats in the closet, dears,” Saffron yells over her shoulder as we head to the front.
Lark’s already pulling out what looks like a parka and throwing one at me.
“Overkill,” I mutter, because I’m pretty sure an animal died in the making of this coat. Still, I pull it on and enjoy the warmth as we head outside into the crisp autumn air.
The door snaps shut behind us as a breeze warmer than yesterday’s ruffles my hair, causing a curl to spring free.
We walk in silence. The snow is already melting, and red and gold leaves fall onto the white layer. I don’t want to acknowledge the magic of this place, but I can’t help it. There is an undeniable pull here.
There are no sidewalks, just a recently plowed road to walk down.
Ahead of us, I can make out the lines of the bar Arlo mentioned.
It sits just outside of this mysterious town with what appears to be an apartment above and a lone truck sitting out back.
As we pass, I can’t help but appreciate the brick structure that has stood the test of time with a sign reading “Pub” that appears older than the building itself.
Rounded steps lead up to a corner door, where a menu sits in a glass case. I hop over a pile of snow to read through it.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Lark teases me.
“I don’t know what it is about bar food that draws me in!” I squeal. “Seasoned fries and a bacon burger.”
“I assume we are eating here tonight?”
“Absolutely!” I hop back down, excitement thrumming through me as we head downtown.
I’m not sure what to expect as the silhouette of the town comes into view on the winding road. The sight is broken by a covered bridge with a stream running under it.
“We aren’t in Georgia anymore.” Lark runs up to the old wooden bridge. Red paint peels on the roof, making it look suspicious, but the scent of fresh pine reaches my nose as we step onto the wide bridge.
“This is…”
“Magical,” Lark finishes, spinning on the wood as she hops off and onto the other side.
“I wouldn’t say that.” At least not aloud. But as I look over my shoulder, I realize the truth in her words. Snow melts from the top, dripping into the rushing stream below that dips and heads away. Turning back, I get my very first look at Silent Springs. “Whoa.”
“Yep.” Lark gazes up at me. “You convinced yet? This place is magical.”
“I see the appeal.” Yeah, no, it’s a full-on lie. Saffron, Lark, and even Arlo have me eating my words right now. Silent Springs isn’t just magical, it is unlike any other place in this world.
Granted, we’ve done nothing but drive up the East Coast for days, and we’ve seen so many beautiful sights, not to mention our home city of Atlanta.
We drove through Virginia, along long stretches of highway, and flat plains to the surprise mountain ranges of Pennsylvania that led into New York.
Each state is beautiful in its own unique way, but not one of those states pulled the giddy, childlike feeling from me the way the sight before me does.
That mountain we saw on the way here rises in the distance, with snowcaps and a cloud that hovers around its peak. The scene is set against a clear blue sky with clouds dotted here and there, making everything look more cartoon-like than real.
That’s just the backdrop. Before us, trees dot the edges of the wide road lined with little shops, while the center of town rises with a singular pine tree that appears hundreds of years old. The town itself?
The shops?
Apartments?
It’s like Lark and I stepped into a little picturesque part of the world that exists in its own personal bubble.
The sidewalk begins, and trees line the walkways with little iron fences around them.
Snow melts and drips from their turning leaves, some with forgotten apples and what I swear are plums.
As we step onto the sidewalk with not one crack, I look back at Lark.
Her eyes are wide as she takes in each little ancient shop.
The first one on the right is a flower shop.
A little parking lot rests before the solid brick that rises with the mural of a bouquet of flowers in all shades of the color spectrum—not graffiti with expletives, but a freaking bouquet.
“I’ll say it again, we aren’t in Georgia anymore.”
“We sure aren’t, kid.” The awe in my voice comes across with each word spoken. “Come on, let’s go find Arlo.”