Chapter 8 - The Apple Orchards of Rhinebeck
The country house in Rhinebeck was a beautiful, wide-set colonial built of white fieldstone and old cedar shingle, situated on a high ridge that looked out over the sweeping, blue expanse of the mid-Hudson valley. It was a house that smelled of cinnamon, fresh woodsmoke, and the clean, cold air of the autumn harvest.
Logan parked his Bentley near the low stone wall of the orchard, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. The afternoon sun was low and golden, throwing long, warm shadows across the grass where the red apples had fallen from the heavy branches.
Nova was running through the rows of trees, her honey-blond hair catching the light like spun silk, her hands full of small wicker baskets. She was being followed by the old pediatric nurse, who was currently laughing as the girl tried to balance an apple on top of the stuffed rabbit’s head.
Luna sat on a low wooden bench near the well-house, a massive white sketchbook open in her lap. Her pencil was moving with that same intense, beautiful focus, her head tilted, her tongue peeking slightly from the corner of her mouth—the exact gesture Nova had inherited from their mother.
Logan walked over across the grass, his boots making no sound against the clover. He dropped to his knees beside the bench, his hand coming down gently over her small shoulder.
"What are you drawing, Luna?" he asked softly.
The girl looked up, those gray-green Marchetti eyes bright and clear, entirely free of the terror that had shadowed them on the porch of Greystone Manor. She turned the page toward him, revealing a full-color pastel drawing of the white stone house, the apple orchards, and a tall, dark-haired man standing between two little girls with his arms crossed.
"It’s us," Luna whispered, her small fingers tracing the drawing of his face. "Mommy said if we found you, we’d never have to run from the rain again."
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Logan felt a physical tear open in his chest—a sudden, blinding wave of absolute peace that washed away eight years of blood, dust, and corporate war. He reached out, lifting her into his arms, pulling her small body against his chest while Nova came running across the grass, throwing herself into his lap with a loud, joyful laugh that echoed through the quiet valley.
"You're home, girls," Logan whispered, his eyes bright with tears he no longer had to hide as he held both of his sister’s daughters against his heart. "You're home."
