11. Teddy
TEDDY
The mid-morning air was crisp as Teddy ascended the winding dirt path toward Hannah’s cottage.
She held the handles of a woven willow basket firmly against her waist, balancing three glass jars of spiced apple-cinnamon preserves and a loaf of warm pumpkin bread.
The physical weight of the basket provided a welcome anchor against the persistent agitation that'd settled in her shoulders since Sunday.
Every timber header inside the farm cider building seemed to echo with the quiet, unyielding warning Kent had delivered, while the fierce rebuke from Nell in the kitchen remained fresh in her memory.
Teddy adjusted her grip on the basket handles, her features locked in a tight, determined line.
She'd spent two restless nights staring at the ceiling of her former bedroom, attempting to reconcile the conflicting demands of her pride and the farm's legal precariousness.
In her mind, cataloging the sets of carved initials on the white oak support beam was an act of logical preservation.
The contested six-acre parcel required clear, documented evidence if the property was going to survive the probate audit.
Yet for the past two years, every attempt to bring order to the past seemed to provoke sharp resistance from everybody around them.
The cottage emerged from the golden canopy of mature maples.
Smoke drifted in a thin, fragrant ribbon from the stone chimney, carrying the deep scent of burning wood.
Teddy paused near the outer border of the stone flowerbed, taking a slow, deliberate breath to steady her pulse before approaching the door.
She hadn't come to start an argument. She'd volunteered to deliver some of the weekend baking to Hannah as a deliberate gesture of courtesy, hoping the task would calm the sharp ache that seemed to have gripped her since the weekend harvest dance.
As she moved past the tall hedges bordering the veranda, the gentle cadence of voices drifted toward her.
Teddy stopped. They were on the porch and she was hidden from view by the thick shrubbery.
She didn't intend to eavesdrop, but the gravity in the voice she recognized saying her own name made it impossible not to.
"Teddy found a list of women’s names," Kent said.
“The cottage was never quiet for long,” Hannah remarked, her words carrying the dry, raspy cadence that marked her speech.
A soft clink of ceramic against wood signaled her setting down her teacup on the wicker table.
"Not really. Even when it looked empty. Before we were there. While we were there."
Kent remained silent for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. "I remember."
A brief pause followed, filled only by the whisper of dry leaves skittering across the porch floorboards. Teddy held her breath, careful not to move.
"There were women who came after us too," Hannah continued softly. "And sometimes they stayed only a few days. Sometimes longer. Then one morning they'd be gone."
"The Marchetti sisters know what the cottage was used for," Kent said. "And they know about you, but they don’t really know much about the others."
"None of the others?"
"Not from me," Kent replied.
"Do you think they're ready?" Hannah’s raspy voice replied.
"For what?"
"For the truth." Her voice was low, but there was an unmistakable weight behind it. Before Kent could reply, Hannah continued. "They've already found the names. Once you've found names, you start wondering about the lives behind them."
Kent didn’t respond for several seconds.
"Do you think they'll really want to know the full truth?"
"I think they deserve the chance to decide." Hannah said, and Teddy could hear the clink of the teacup again. "The question is whether they're ready to hear about the others. Because the cost of knowing is keeping silent."
Teddy stood frozen, the blood rushing in a hot, turbulent surge behind her ears.
The cool morning atmosphere seemed to vanish from her lungs, replaced by a heavy, crushing weight inside her chest. The words reverberated through her mind.
The others. The phrase carried an unmistakable weight, revealing a vast, undocumented reality that extended far beyond the carved initials on the oak pillar.
Her knuckles bleached pale against the reed rim of the basket as the full realization took shape in her mind.
Kent hadn't just stumbled upon her mother's secret network during their barn renovations.
He'd known about the other women and about the broader scope of the clandestine sanctuary operation for years.
His own family had been an active, conscious vault for the very history Teddy had been trying to piece together.
A sharp, stinging wave of betrayal dissolved the last remnants of her cautious composure.
For days, she'd struggled alone at the desk in the cider barn, comparing Sunday school rosters, examining creased committee photographs, and enduring Nell’s stern warnings about respecting the privacy of the past. All the while, he'd been standing in front of her, holding the very answers she'd been desperately seeking, keeping them hidden behind a wall of calm, protective silence.
Teddy didn't hesitate. She rounded the corner and mounted the three steps to the porch.
Hannah sat in a high-backed wicker armchair near the window, a fleece shawl draped across her back.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Teddy. Kent stood leaning against the timber railing, his charcoal canvas jacket unbuttoned over a dark flannel shirt.
He turned immediately toward the sound, his expression shifting from calm contemplation to a sharp, guarded alertness as his gaze locked onto her features.
Teddy didn’t bother with greetings.
"How much of that history were you planning to keep to yourself?
" Teddy demanded, her voice quivering with suppressed fury.
She set the woven basket down onto the wicker table with a heavy, deliberate thud, her dark eyes blazing as she faced him directly across the narrow space.
"How long have you known about the other women who came through our farm? "
“Teddy. It’s not what you think—”
She didn’t let him finish. “How long?” Teddy demanded.
Hannah rose from her chair and took the basket. “Thank you, Teddy, dear. This is very kind of you. I’ll leave you two to work this out.” She patted the hand Teddy had balled into a fist before heading inside. Teddy didn’t blame Hannah for wanting to escape her wrath.
“I lived at the cottage as a young boy. Of course I knew about the other women who came. There were always women there. Women would arrive, stay briefly, and then leave. Sometimes they’d leave for good, but sometimes they’d show up in town with a new name a few months later.”
She couldn’t listen to any more. Teddy spun on her heel and marched toward the Marchetti farm.
The crisp autumn sunlight spilled through the turning canopy of the orchard grove as Teddy traversed the dirt lane.
Every muscle in her body seemed to ache, and her pulse was hammering in a relentless rhythm against her collarbone.
She kept her eyes fixed on the cedar boundary posts ahead, eager to reach the peaceful sanctuary of the farm porch where she could process the weight of what she'd just learned. But the rush of footsteps behind her told her that wouldn’t be happening.
"You don't get to turn your back and decide this conversation is finished," Kent remarked.
Teddy stopped at the farm gate. She turned around, her chin angling upward defensively while her dark eyes locked onto his calm features.
He stood a few feet away under the golden leaves of a McIntosh tree, his charcoal jacket unbuttoned, his hands resting in his pockets.
She hated the fact that even in her anger she noticed how handsome he was.
As usual, Kent showed no sign of anger, but his posture bore the absolute determination of a man who refused to allow her to retreat into her self-inflicted isolation.
"I didn't turn my back," Teddy countered, her voice sounding perfectly controlled despite the sudden constriction in her throat.
"I listened to what you said. You confirmed that you knew about the undocumented shelter operations for years while my sisters and I worked these fields without a single clue. You chose to keep those secrets hidden. Especially now, when you know we’re trying to find out the truth. "
"You didn’t let me finish. When we found the list of initials carved into the wood and the list of names, I really didn’t know who they were.
I know my mother’s story, but when it comes to the other ladies, I know about as much as you.
I remember people coming and going when we lived at the cottage.
But those are just vague recollections. I was so young.
I don’t remember names or faces. As for my mother, I kept a secret that wasn't mine to tell," Kent replied softly, taking a single, measured breath as he met her gaze.
"My mother trusted me with fragments of her life.
That wasn't a betrayal of you. It was a commitment to women who needed safety. "
Teddy tried her best to swallow back the tears that were threatening to spill over.
"It just seems like exclusion. You stand inside a circle of shared history that my sisters and I were never allowed to enter.
You understood the true purpose of that cider barn while we thought it'd served as a storage space for wooden crates. "