Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Harmony shrugged.
“Well, it was just a thought.”
They stood to go, gently folding their yarn and tucking it into baskets I hadn’t noticed before but which now sat neatly on a shelf. They were both leaving their projects here, intending to work on them more during our next lesson.
I walked them to the door and they pulled on their coats. But before they left, Harmony turned to me.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, digging in her pocket. She pulled out three large gold coins and placed them in my palm.
Sarah did the same.
“Is this enough? I hope so, but if not we can bring more next time,” she said.
“What are these?” I asked, staring down at the glittering coins—they were really heavy, and I wondered if they were real gold.
“Payment for the lesson,” Harmony said. “Sarah and I aren’t moochers.”
“Oh no—I can't take your money!” I protested, trying to give the money back. But neither of them would take it.
“No—your time is valuable,” Sarah insisted. “Plus, you gave us yarn and needles. You should be paid.”
I tried to protest again, but they were adamant. Finally, I closed my fingers around the coins and waved them out the door. As it shut, I felt a small surge of joy. I might not be rich, but I was no longer penniless.
Maybe it was time to do some shopping.
23
DANNI
The gust of wind I’d felt as Harmony and Sarah were leaving convinced me I needed more than just my sweater to go out. I looked in the front closet and sure enough—there was a coat just for me. It was soft, woolen, and sky blue with bright red buttons and a satin lining the color of cherry lollipops.
It looked exactly like the one I’d worn as a child, right down to the little embroidered acorns on the pockets. Except now it fit my adult curves perfectly, as though the cottage had conjured up a grown-up version just for me. I found that wearing it made me as happy as it had when I was little—I couldn’t help smiling as I explored the embroidery on the front pockets with my fingers.
But the coat wasn’t the only thoughtful gift I found. There were thick wool socks folded neatly on the bench by the door and a pair of buttery-soft, brown leather boots standing ready on the welcome mat. They came up to my knees and hugged my calves like they’d been custom-made just for me. I pulled them on and felt wrapped in warmth and love and caring.
Grandma would have approved, I thought. Maybe it’s her spirit in this place, still looking after me.
I slipped the six gold coins into my coat pocket—they felt satisfyingly heavy and warm against my fingertips—and stepped outside into the crisp embrace of a Hidden Hollow afternoon.
The air was brisk and clean, scented with chimney smoke and the earthy perfume of fallen leaves. Red, gold, and flame-orange trees lined Main Street like fireworks frozen mid-burst, their branches tossing gently in the breeze with a low, musical rustling sound. Pumpkins and gourds clustered on every porch step—getting ready for Halloween, or “All Hallows Eve” as they called it here.
As I crossed Main Street, I saw a group of women who must be witches laughing outside The Red Lion. They were wearing flowing velvet cloaks, and one had a cloud of living bees orbiting her head like a halo. Another levitated a silver spoon in lazy spirals around her teacup.
Now those were real witches, I thought to myself. But surely I wasn’t one of them…was I? I remembered the many memories Goody Albright’s tea had brought to the surface of my mind. Could I do something magical if I tried?
I decided not to try—not yet, anyway. I was still getting used to the town and its ways. Right now, I just wanted to enjoy the magical scenery all around me.
Further down the street, I could see the frosted windows of The Lost Lamb Bakery, its door swinging open to let out a puff of warm cinnamon-sugar air. A tiny pixie with shimmering, gossamer wings stood on a step stool in the doorway, waving a sugar-dusted croissant at passersby.
Okay, I thought, if I don’t get to the grocery store now, I’ll blow all six coins in that bakery.
So I kept walking, boots crunching on crisp leaves, breath fogging just slightly in the cool air. A few more steps brought me to the old slate sign that read Goodman Kreeches Grocery in curly, old-fashioned letters. It looked like something out of a 1920s storybook—arched windows, painted trim, and a green door with a brass bell that jingled merrily as I pushed it open.
Warmth rushed out to meet me, thick with scents—fresh-cut hay…roasted coffee beans…smoked meats…cinnamon…and something musky and wild that reminded me faintly of the woods. The aisles were a charming chaos of strange products on mismatched shelves—things I’d never even heard of before, all there for sale.