Rustic Hearts

Sophie

After a morning filled with a six-year-old outru

We grab a slice of warm apple strudel topped with homemade vanilla-bean ice cream from one of the vendor tables and head toward the coffee shop.

Downtown looks idyllic, like it’s frozen in time. The same little shops and boutiques of my faded childhood memories line Main Street. Even the quaint gazebo still stands proud in the center of the lawn of Town Hall Square. Dallas and I used to spend long, lazy afternoons picnicking in that gazebo while Mom visited with Mrs. Henderson at the Bountiful Harvest Bread Company, a bakery Dallas’s mom has owned and run forever.

“I swear, it feels like I’m walking on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie,” I muse as we pass a couple of dueling banjo players.

Dallas tosses a few dollars in their case. “Right?” She stops and looks around for a moment. “Who doesn’t love a good Hallmark movie though?”

“Don’t you wish there were more development around?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Restaurants, hotels, shops, bars, just … more things to do?” I ask because I truly want to know.

She thinks for a moment. “Not really. I mean, for the most part, we like cooking and eating at home with our families. We have Butch’s Tavern and Fast Breaks pool hall when we want to drink and blow off a little steam or shoot a cutthroat game of billiards. They aren’t fancy, but everyone knows each other, and you can get shitfaced without worrying someone will drag you off because we look out for each other. Plus, you always end up home safe and sound because either Butch calls your parents or your brother to come and get you or one of your neighbors drives you home. The schools are great. Beau is happy as a pig in mud on the farm with all the critters and his Pop-Pop. As far as stuff to do? We have the lake for boating and swimming, pastures for bonfires. We four-wheel, fish, hunt, ride horses, play cornhole and horseshoes, tube down the river. We have snowmobiles and an ice-skating rink when the lake freezes over. What exactly more do you think we need?”

“Museums? Theaters? Ballet?”

She wrinkles her nose. “We have the cinema plex and the drive-in theater. Miss Lucy still teaches dance at the old ballroom. But, honestly, Sophie, who enjoys walking around a museum or sitting through a dance recital all damn day? Those things are what middle school field trip nightmares are made of.”

“I like ballet and opera, and I thoroughly enjoy Broadway.”

She nods. “I guess those can be fun for some people, but I’d rather watch a good chick flick by the moonlight while eating a hot dog and chili fries.”

“That does sound good.”

“Plus, you can wear your stretchy leggings and a comfy sweatshirt instead of a girdle and high heels.”

I giggle.

“Besides, Denver has all those things and great shopping, and it’s only a day trip away. You don’t have to live all the way up in New York to look at a bunch of dead folks on a canvas, you know. We can be just as sophisticated as you, and we do it on our terms without turning Poplar Falls into a bunch of crowded streets full of franchises.”

“Touché.”

Just as we reach the end of Main, Braxton and Emmett appear, carrying a table and a tent.

“Hey there, ladies,” Emmett greets.

“Hi. What are you two studs doing down here?” Dallas asks.

“Doreen and Ria are setting up a table to sell their apple butter and fried apple pies for the church,” he replies.

“You need any help?” I offer.

“You guys can grab the chairs in the back of the truck,” he says as he nods toward the loading area.

I hand the remainder of my strudel off to Dallas to throw in the trash and lick the melting ice cream from the side of my hand.

Braxton’s eyes follow my movement before he comments, “First, coveralls, and now eating with your fingers? Careful, Princess, people might confuse you with one of us.”

“I wasn’t eating with my fingers.”

He smirks at me and walks off, following Emmett.

Ugh, he is infuriating.

“Hey, Braxton. I’ve been eating with my fingers. I could use a little help, licking myself clean,” Dallas calls after him.

“Ew.”

“What?” she asks me i

“I hate how much you like him.”

“Why? Honestly, what’s not to like? You see those eyes and those lips and that five-o’clock shadow right? Plus, he’s a good man, hardworking, loves his little sister, and dotes on her. He’s the whole package.”

“They stole my daddy, my life,” I mumble the accusation under my breath as we start walking toward the setup.

She must have heard because she stops in front of me, and I almost collide with her back.

Then, she turns and lays into me gently. “No, they didn’t. They were forced from their home, just like you were. Do you think for one second they didn’t wish they were at their own house with their own mom and dad? I know you are dealing with a lot of pain from what went down with Vivian and Jefferson, but don’t lay blame where it’s not supposed to be. They were just kids, Sophie. Just like you were.”

Then, she turns back around and heads to where Emmett and Braxton are assembling the tent. I let what she said sink in for a minute, and I’m a little embarrassed by my words. She’s right. They were kids. I might be envious that they had Daddy all those years, but they didn’t steal him away. The only people I have a right to be angry with are Daddy and Madeline. I decide to try a little harder with Braxton and Elle.

We get the table set up and tent in place just as Aunt Doreen, Ria, and Madeline arrive with boxes full of mason jars filled with my aunts’ homemade apple butter and a large insulated tote full of individually wrapped fried pies. I snatch one from the top, unwrap it, and take a bite.

Aunt Ria shoos us away. “You rascals go on now before you eat all our profits.”

My eyes roll to the back of my head as I finish the delicious pie. I lift the wrapper to my lips and shake the excess ci

“What about the diabetes and heart disease you were going on about this morning?” Braxton asks as he watches me in amusement.

I finish chewing and wipe the back of my hand across my face.

Then, I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs.

“I never said you couldn’t enjoy a treat from time to time.”

“Just not in your coffee?”

“If my coffee were a treat, then I couldn’t have the pie. It’s a compromise. The eighty-twenty rule. If I eat a salad for lunch, then I can have a steak for di

He comes in closer and whispers against my ear, “And what do you do to work off strudel and ice cream and pie for lunch? Physically?”

“Um, go for a run or something.”

“Or something, huh?”

I look up at him, and his eyes are dancing as he teases me. I try to think of a smart retort, but before I can come up with anything, Dallas walks up.

“What are you two whispering about over here?”

“Sophie is just giving me a nutrition and physical education lesson.”

“Yeah, right, says the guy who literally tosses around tractor tires for fun.”