Chapter 2
Delivering twenty quilts to the fairground was not as easy as it had sounded. First, as Wes predicted, they were heavy. Second, a few of the quilt makers had such specific, painstaking instructions that Brynn tried not to roll her eyes. When she thought of everything her own quilts had been through—quilts were pieces of art, yes, but they were also sturdy, reliable ways to keep warm.
The fairground edged outside of Shenandoah Springs proper. The fields were coming alive with tents and buildings and carnival rides. As Brynn pulled up the car to unload, she noted a crew of men hanging lights around a small stage. She exited her car and Wes followed. They scooped the quilts up out of the back seat.
“We must make a few trips,” Wes said.
Even folded, the quilts were colorful and impressive, and as she carried them Brynn thought about the hours the quilters had put into them. Such patience.
She and Wes delivered the first batch to the craft hall and traveled back for more. She spotted Tom Andrews, another member of the CSA and a neighbor, talking with a younger man, dressed to the hilt. Tom looked up at her. “Hey, Brynn. Wes.”
“Hi.” Brynn stopped walking in front of a broad, tall man, probably in his forties. He wore his graying hair with bangs; Brynn tried not to stare at the bangs falling across his forehead.
“This is David Reese. He owns the tractor shop off Route 240,” Tom said.
Brynn extended her hand. He shook it. “Nice to meet you.” His eyes scanned the length of her, prompting Brynn to fold her arms. Wes stepped forward, offered his hand, and they shook.
“We’re in the middle of delivering these quilts, so we don’t mean to be rude, but we have to keep moving. I need to get to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Tom asked. “Everything okay?”
“You haven’t heard? There was a tractor accident. Josh. I know nothing else. I’m sorry.”
Tom paled. David shifted his weight. “He bought a tractor from me. I best get over there and see what’s going on myself.”
“Let me help you with the rest of the quilts,” Tom said, following Brynn and Wes.
When Brynn first met Tom, she didn’t know what to make of him. First, he called her sweetie, which she didn’t like; second, he attempted to ruin one of her business connections. Attempted. But after she confronted him and they had a talk, they’d gotten along well. She understood she was an outsider and in a place like Shenandoah Springs that used to mean something. But the trend was clear—more and more people were coming to farm, craft, and enjoy a community of like-minded people. It was difficult for locals to see change.
“Thanks, Tom,” Brynn said as they dropped off the last quilts.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. He nodded.
Brynn changed the subject. “How are the pies coming?” Tom’s wife, Elsie, was in charge of the pies for the fair—both the ones for selling and serving fair attendees and the ones for the pie contest—the crown jewel of every country fair.
“She’s busy. Some people take their pie very seriously.”
Brynn laughed.
“I know I do,” Wes said with a grin.
Tom cleared his throat, tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can’t imagine Josh having an accident. I mean, I know accidents happen, but . . .”
“He knows his tractors, doesn’t he?”
“He’s been driving them since before he should. I remember when he was a kid.” Tom looked off into the distance. “He always scored high with the tractor pull, too.”
“The what?” Wes asked, wide-eyed.
“It’s a contest. We hitch a trailer on the back and load it up with people on it and see who can pull the most. It’s a lot of fun.”
Brynn was not a mechanical, tractor person. But she conceded it sounded like fun.
“I’ll check it out this year, if I can. I’ll be so busy with the new cheese shed.”
“Can’t wait for that,” he said, grinning. Tom had become one of her biggest fans, which Brynn considered a victory of sorts.
After they said their good-byes, Brynn and Wes hopped into the car and headed for the hospital to see Willow and check on Josh.
“Tom’s turned out to be cool,” Wes said.
Brynn nodded. “Sometimes first impressions aren’t accurate.”
“Sometimes I imagine him and my gram in the same room together, though, and it makes me laugh.”
Wes was the grandson of Nancy, the woman killed in the church fire a few months ago. Nancy was Brynn’s closest neighbor. She’d planned on renovating the church and turning it into an upscale farm shop, but it burned and Nancy died. Brynn swallowed the grief creeping into her throat. She missed Nancy and their daily teas.
“She did have a problem with a few locals, but she never went into detail about which ones.” Brynn stopped at the stop sign, looked both ways, then lifted her foot from the brake.
“I wonder what she’d think of what they are doing to the church now.”
Brynn shrugged. “If she were here, it’d be a hopping farm shop.”
“She despised organized religion.”
“I remember.” Brynn turned into the hospital.
She drove around the crowded, zigzag parking lot and found a place to park.
* * *
When Brynn and Wes found Willow, a man had his arm wrapped around her. Her head was tucked in the crevice between his neck and shoulder. When he studied Brynn, it was almost as if she were gazing at a male version of Willow—same mocha skin, brown eyes, and high cheekbones. He must be her father.
Brynn lifted her chin to him. “I’m Brynn. How is she?”
Willow didn’t lift her head.
“She’s in shock.” Her father tucked a blanket closer to Willow. Her brown hair covered most of her face. “But she’s asleep now. So that’s good.”
His eyes skirted behind Brynn to Wes.
Hospitals were odd places to meet people for the first time. He looked askance at Wes and Brynn wondered why.
Brynn moved forward, keeping her voice down. “What can I do to help?”
Willow’s father looked up at Brynn. “It’ll take time for her to get over this. But in the meantime, pray for Josh.” He was a big, hulking man, and the word “pray” coming out of him only endeared him more to Brynn.
Brynn’s heart sped. She’d thought Josh was fine. “Is he okay?”
“Oh yes, he’s fine. But he may face murder charges.”
Brynn’s hand covered her mouth as she gasped.
“The young man he hit died.”