Chapter 10 - The Spring Ledger
By May, the apple orchards had exploded into a white and pink sea of blossoms, the scent of the petals filling the valley until the air smelled like sugar and fresh rain.
The black sedan was parked by the old mill, its windows down, the radio playing a quiet jazz tune from a station in Montreal. The creek below the wheel was clear, the ice completely gone, the water rushing over the stones with a happy, rhythmic roar that sounded like a song after the long winter silence.
Elena stood on the stone steps of the Dutch colonial, holding her small duffel bag in her left hand. The envelope of eight hundred dollars was gone—replaced by a silver checkbook from the Albany commercial bank that carried her true name, Elena Vance.
Matteo stood beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets, his cashmere coat replaced by a simple linen shirt that was open at the collar.
“The train to Montreal leaves the station at midnight, Elena,” he said, his dark eyes watching the white petals fall from the trees onto the gravel drive. “The carriage will be empty this time of year. No students. No old men with phones.”
Elena looked down the long drive toward the iron gates, then back at the house that had kept her warm through the hardest winter of her life. She dropped the duffel bag onto the stone step, her hand reaching up to touch the silver chain around her neck.
“I don't think I’ll be taking that train, Matteo,” she said softly.
Matteo turned his head, his face softening into that rare, beautiful smile that had no iron left in it. “No?”
“The timber logs for the June delivery are entirely disorganized,” she said, her fingers closing over the cuff of his linen shirt, pulling him half an inch closer until she could smell the sandalwood and the fresh apple blossoms on his skin. “And your drivers are still using the state highway when the dirt road is completely dry. You’re going to lose four hundred dollars on the Albany route if I’m not here to check the dashboard.”
Matteo reached out, his long, scarred arm wrapping around her waist, lifting her easily until her feet were clear of the stone steps. He didn't look like the Don of Providence or the master of the northern valley; he looked like a man who had finally found the piece of the world he’d been looking for in the dark.
May you like
“The road is clear, Elena,” he whispered against her hair as the petals fell around them like a spring snow storm. “The ledger is closed. You stay right here.”
“I’m staying,” she said, her mouth meeting his as the midnight train rumbled past the valley two miles away, its whistle blowing long and loud into the dark hills, carrying nothing but empty carriages into the north.
