Chapter 3
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,
It’s home from work we go. . .
Song lyrics from “Heigh-Ho”
Sung by Dwarf Chorus in
Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1938)
Noah’s teasing rankled a little, but it also excited Scarlett.
Could a small-town pumpkin patch launch her portrait career?
Stunning backdrops, M’Kenzee and Maree had said.
Her mind whirred with ideas. She’d need a bench for the family setting; perhaps she could find an old couch at a thrift shop. Did Green Hills have thrift shops?
Scarlett envisioned bursts of beauty layered in the frame, placed to add richness and ambiance without competing with or drawing the eye away from the portrait subject.
Clay pots of chrysanthemums, asters, sunflowers, and dahlias would provide bold strokes of fall colors.
She’d balance those with clusters of ornamental kale and cabbage.
. .a few strategically placed tall, native grasses to add height.
She’d need something to soften the edges. M’Kenzee mentioned lighting equipment over the phone; she needed to check that out. Could she hang decorative lamps for a muted effect? Or Christmas lights to mimic stars twinkling in the evening sky?
Scarlett needed to see the pumpkin patch.
That realization halted her runaway train of thoughts.
“I have a lot to do,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
“Where would you like to begin?” Noah asked. “Your apartment, Malone’s Hardware, or perhaps Steep for a cup of tea or coffee before jumping into festival chaos?”
His list of options ratcheted Scarlett’s anxiety several turns tighter.
So much to do!
Scarlett folded her arms across her churning stomach.
“Hey. . . Breathe,” Noah instructed, clasping her arms just above her elbows with a slight squeeze. The pressure helped to ground Scarlett’s frenzied nerves. “Remember that army of energetic youth I mentioned? You’re not alone here. . . I promise.”
She smirked at his overemphasized pledge.
Scarlett fought waves of uncertainty still coursing over her. Tamping them down, she noticed a distinct tingle where his hands held her arms. She met his gaze.
The depths of his dark brown eyes soothed like that first sip of hot coffee in the morning. Drowning in the effect, she made the mistake of glancing down to his lips.
Their soft yet crooked curve sent a message of encouragement, like he believed in her even though he didn’t yet know her.
Somehow, despite her frazzled nerves, Noah managed to impart a weird calming effect. She nodded in agreement. “I think I’d like to see the pumpkin patch first.”
“A wise decision,” Noah said with a hearty nod. “It’s always good to know what you’re working with,” he ended with affirming solidarity.
Again, his benign demeanor cast a peaceful effect.
“Plus, the drive out to Twin Oaks takes us through town, so you can get a glimpse of Green Hills. . .see what you signed on to and all.” He grinned as he said it, but his words unbalanced some of the peace she’d only scarcely grasped hold of.
“Should I be worried?” Scarlett wondered aloud.
“Worried?” Noah repeated. “No, I wouldn’t say worried.” Then he paused, as though searching for the perfect term. “More like forewarned. Yeah, I think forewarned about sums it up.”
Scarlett eyed Noah, expecting him to expound, but he didn’t.
Instead, he led Scarlett to the door from which he’d appeared, opened it and gestured for her to go first, and then walked her to a truck — presumably his truck since he opened the passenger-side door for her before climbing into the driver’s seat and turning a key, which had been hanging in the ignition just waiting for someone to claim the vehicle.
Who in their right mind leaves a car unlocked with the keys in it? No one! That’s who.
“What’s Twin Oaks?” Scarlett asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and made a quick right turn onto Church Street.
“The oldest land parcel in Green Hills and home to the Sharp family.”
“How old?”
“Quite old,” Noah replied. “Tobias von Sharp arrived in 1881. He, along with two other founding families, established Green Hills.”
“And his descendants still live here? Still own the same land?”
“In the same house, to be exact.”
“That’s some real Gone with the Wind kind of stuff, huh?”
Noah chuckled.
“In some ways, I guess,” he agreed. “Twin Oaks never used slave labor. No one in Green Hills was allowed to — based on governing docs Tobias made into law from the start — but Twin Oaks has seen its share of glory and drama, to be sure.”
“A hundred and forty-five years is a long time to stay in one place,” Scarlett said, looking out the window as they drove. She couldn’t imagine being in one place for forty-five days anymore. It seemed like the minute she felt comfortable, something always pushed her on down the road.
“That it is,” Noah agreed, sort of stopping at the intersection of Main Street.
His studied glance bore into her as he rolled a right turn through the sign, which apparently served as more of a suggestion than a command.
Scarlett refused to look his way, opting instead to take in the houses with their clipped grass, trimmed trees, and weedless flower beds. . .a real white-picket-fence utopia.
“Are these homes or businesses?” she asked, reading signs like Smith, est. 2021 and The Bakers mixed in with Our Pink Palace and The White House.
“A mix of both,” Noah answered. “The Smiths, the Whites, and the Greens are family residences, the Bakers are lawyers, the Carpenters are teachers, the Lunch Box is a caboose, the Yellow Brick Road is a boutique, and the Pink Palace is a tiny house short-term rental.”
“Clear as mud,” Scarlett muttered under her breath.
“To make it worse, the Whites own the Pink Palace and the Greens own the Yellow Brick Road.”
Scarlett rotated her neck to glower at Noah.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said, chuckling.
“You jest,” she said, eyeing him with droll disbelief.
“God’s honest truth,” he swore. “I mean, you can’t make this stuff up.”
Hmph, she responded.
“Welcome to Green Hills,” he said. “Small-town USA at its quaintest.”
Noah came to a complete and lawful stop at the next stop sign, waving to the driver in the adjacent car and yielding the right of way to the older man.
“Is that Maree’s shop?” Scarlett asked as they approached the courthouse square.
“And your new abode,” Noah answered. “The bottom floor is her fabric design studio. She gutted the upstairs to build a one-bedroom apartment. . .did a phenomenal job on it. But by the time she finished the remodel, she and Rhys were pretty serious, so she hardly ever lived there. It’s basically brand-new. You’ll love it!”
“More like I’ll be a nervous wreck in it,” Scarlett said, thinking of all the things that could go wrong when living on and amongst someone else’s property. “It sounds fancy. . .like, too high-end to touch anything or sit on the furniture.”
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Noah cajoled. “And there’s no reason to borrow trouble. . . I doubt you’ll be all that rough on the decor.”
“Your lips to God’s ears,” Scarlett said.
“Amen,” he responded, although she hadn’t been praying.
Scarlett kept her thoughts to herself as Noah continued through town, passing small side streets filled with historic buildings, old-timey streetlamps, and impeccably manicured lawns.
Maybe it’s all a bizarre dream? An out-of-body experience?
This has to be what an alternate universe feels like.
“To our left is Malone’s Hardware you’ll be glad you did. ”
Scarlett made a mental note to ask Jinx if he might have a bench or even just a pile of old wood she could stack and secure for families to sit along.
If she found a thrift shop, perhaps they’d have old blankets, afghans, or quilts to drape over the wood.
Layers of fabric would add pops of color while adding comfort and warmth.
Pumpkins would work well as weights to hold the linens in place, and they had the added benefit of being easy to move and position for each unique portrait sitting.
Her mind spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl, circling around each backdrop and adding ideas to an ever-growing list of maybes and what-ifs while simultaneously spinning up, down, and around the full scope of setting up the pumpkin patch.
She’d only been to one carnival in her childhood.
The amusement rides had evoked the same gut-curdling nausea she felt the longer her brain churned through a storm of creative want-tos.
“You okay?” Noah asked, sequestering the grin reflected in his brown eyes. Somehow the shade, deep like dark chocolate, glistened. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“I have a strong desire to puke,” she answered.
“Car sickness?”
“Life sickness, I think.”
Noah smiled as he slowed and turned off the highway. Scarlett detected indulgent understanding mixed with empathy and compassion in his expression. He slowed the truck and rolled down his window as they approached a massive entry gate flanked by two enormous oak trees.
He entered a code into the intercom box, and the pipe-fence gates opened.
As though God Himself had rolled out a red carpet to celebrate their arrival, the brick drive led through a canopy of trees lining their path.
Sun filtered through the leaves in every shade of gold, yellow, orange, and red.
As they drove deeper into the trees’ tunnel, Scarlett imagined Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie’s first trip through the wardrobe and Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepping through Platform 9?.
Flames, dancing a frenzied jig over hot coals, couldn’t hold a candle to the aesthetic brilliance.