Dahlia
Resting in the dark space was a single sheet of brittle parchment.
She looked at the named owner on the deed. The text clearly stated that the six acres'd been transferred to a woman named Hannah Hillion.
She touched her mother's signature, her fingers tracing the faded ink. Rosalind hadn't ever mentioned this property to her daughters. She'd kept the six acres entirely off the farm's public books, leaving it hidden behind this false bottom.
Beckett
Beckett hauled the final crate of cedar shingles toward the tractor shed, his muscles stretching under his flannel shirt.
The midday air was crisp, carrying the scent of dry pine and incoming frost. The harvest festival had passed weeks ago, leaving the fields in a peaceful rest. Teddy was near the main barn doors, using a hand plane to smooth a sticking pine frame.
He paused near the workbench, wiping his palms with a dry rag as he looked toward the farmhouse.
Through the clear pane of the kitchen window, he spotted Dahlia.
She was standing completely still, her hands pressed against her cheeks as she stared out at the northern ridge.
Her posture was tense, her shoulders rigid beneath her wool sweater.
There was an unfamiliar look on her face that instantly made his chest tighten.
She didn't move, nor did she look toward the yard where he stood.
She was simply frozen, staring at the empty orchards.
Sensing her distress, he tossed the rag onto the bench and moved toward the house. He didn't rush, maintaining a steady approach as he ascended the low porch. He opened the screen door, letting the latch click softly behind him, and crossed the threshold into the warm kitchen.
She didn't turn when he entered. She remained near the window, her fingers clutched around a brittle piece of parchment that was trembling in her hand.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and gentle in the quiet room.
Dahlia slowly turned to face him, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and shock. She held out the document, her hand shaking slightly as she offered it to him.
"I found a false bottom in the desk," she whispered, her voice carrying a tremor. "This was inside. It's a property deed."
Beckett reached out, his fingers catching the edge of the fragile paper.
He held it flat, his gaze scanning the looping ink lines.
His heart thudded against his ribs as he read the description.
The document detailed a transfer of six acres along the northern ridge, sitting directly beyond the farm's legal fence line.
But it was the signature at the bottom that made his breath hitch.
It was her late mother's looping script, clear and undeniable.
And the named recipient of the land was a woman none of them had ever mentioned.
"Who is she?" he murmured, looking back at her. "Who is this woman?"
"I don't know," Dahlia replied, her palm resting flat on the wooden table to steady herself. "I've spent my entire life studying this farm's records, and I've never heard her name. There's no record of a transfer in any of the ledger books."
Beckett watched her, his protective instincts flaring as he saw the analytical wall she'd built since her return begin to crack.
He set the document on the table and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
Her skin was cold, but her grip tightened instantly around his, seeking his steadying warmth.
"We'll find out," he promised, his voice firm as he squeezed her hand. "You're not facing this alone."
Dahlia looked at their joined hands, her breathing finally slowing to a peaceful rhythm.
The panic in her eyes dissolved, replaced by an unyielding resolve that made his chest swell with pride.
She wasn't running back to Chicago, nor was she trying to solve the puzzle behind protective walls.
She was standing her ground, ready to fight for the truth with him by her side.
"We need to ask her," she declared, her tone firm, gesturing toward the folder of their godmother's old paperwork on the counter. "She spent decades working on the estate. If anyone knows what secrets were concealed on those six acres, it's her."
"I'll help you gather them," Beckett replied. "We'll call everyone inside and get the answers we need."
Dahlia
Dahlia sat at the oak table, the cool evening air drifting through the screen door.
Beside her, Beckett stood quietly near the kitchen counter, his arms folded against his chest, a solid and supportive presence.
Her sisters were seated in a tight semicircle under the warm glow of the single light fixture, their tea mugs completely forgotten.
Across from them sat their godmother, Nell Vance, her posture unusually rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Dahlia reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the brittle parchment deed she’d discovered in the false bottom of her father’s desk. She laid the document flat in the center of the table, her palms smoothing the curling edges of the yellowed paper.
"I found this tonight," Dahlia said, her voice quiet but carrying a steady resolve. "It was hidden in a secret compartment. It bears her signature, and it details a transfer of six acres along the northern ridge, sitting directly beyond our registered boundary."
Junie leaned forward, her brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the ink lines. "Six acres? The farm's legal records don't mention any land along the ridge. We've always maintained the orchard within the legal fence line."
"And look at the name of the transferee," Dahlia noted, pointing to the elegant looping script on the parchment. "Hannah Hillion. Have any of you ever heard of her? Did she ever visit the farm when we were younger?"
Teddy shook her head, her dark curls swaying. "I don't recognize the name. Do you?"
Prue stared at the document, her expression blank as she shook her head in silence.
Dahlia shifted her gaze to Nell, watching her godmother's face with an analytical focus.
The older woman had gone completely pale, her cheeks losing their warm color.
Her breathing had become shallow, and her fingers were trembling as she clasped her hands even tighter.
There was an unmistakable flicker of panic in her blue eyes, a defensive shield that made Dahlia's chest tighten.
"Do you know who she is?" Dahlia asked, her voice dropping low as she addressed the older woman. "You spent decades working alongside her. If anyone understands what she concealed on those hidden acres, it's you."
Nell didn't look up immediately. She stared at the paper as if it were a dangerous threat, her jaw tight. When she finally raised her head, her expression was a mask of cold denial.
"I've never seen this document," Nell said, her voice flat and completely devoid of emotion. "And I've never heard that name in all my years assisting with the accounts. I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you."
"But her signature is right here," Dahlia pressed, her fingers brushing the dark ink. "She wouldn't have hidden a legal deed in a false drawer if it meant nothing. Why would she keep six acres of property completely off our books?"
"I can't answer that," Nell replied, her tone sharpening as she pushed her wooden chair back.
The legs scraped against the pine floorboards with a grating shriek.
"I have stayed loyal to this family for decades, but I will not sit here and be interrogated about ancient records in the middle of the night. "
Nell rose from the table, her movements rapid as she pulled her wool cardigan tight around her shoulders. She turned to leave, her defensive posture clear as she moved toward the kitchen doorway.
As she pulled the knitted fabric of her cardigan closer to her chest, a metallic ring echoed through the kitchen. A solid brass key slipped from the folds of her cardigan, hitting the pine floorboards near Dahlia's chair.
Before Nell could quickly bend to retrieve it, Dahlia looked down, her attention caught by the object. The key was unusually large, its head carved into a clover-cut bow that she recognized instantly. It was the unique shape of the reinforced lock on the secure cabinet in the cider barn.
Nell scrambled to snatch the key from the wood, her fingers shaking as she tucked it into her pocket, her face flushed with embarrassment and anger.
She didn't offer a single word of explanation.
She crossed the threshold and let the screen door click shut behind her, leaving the house in a chilling silence.
Dahlia moved out onto the low porch, her forearms resting on the wooden railing as she watched the red taillights of Nell's car disappear down the dark driveway. The crisp night wind swirled around her, carrying the scent of pine and wet earth.
She stared toward the distant northern ridge, its jagged silhouette black against the starlit sky. The truth was chillingly clear. Nell knew exactly what secrets her mother had concealed on those hidden six acres, and she'd decided the sisters weren't ready to learn the truth.
A message from Amy:
Hi friends, I decided to try something a little different this year: a fall series!
Autumn is one of my very favorite seasons, and I wanted to be able to share the sights, sounds, and coziness with you in a special way.
These sisters are very near and dear to my heart, and I hope you will join me for the next sister’s story in book 2, The Pumpkin Patch Problem!
Thank you again for being here. Readers like you make telling each of these stories worthwhile.
xoxo Amy Rafferty
Yes, I want to read Book 2: The Pumpkin Patch Problem!