‘It’s beautiful here,’ I said, taking in the picturesque scene. Cold Spring was perched along the river, walkways, small boats and huge old weatherboard homes lining its banks. I stared across the river into nothing but greenery. The view was so natural – untainted by human development.
‘There are towns like this up and down the Hudson,’ Lincoln said, an ease in his voice that reflected our environment. ‘I used to try and get away from the Academy and explore whenever I could. I never made it to this place, but I think it’s popular for its antiques.’
We walked back through an underpass beneath the train line and into the centre of the town.
‘I can believe that,’ I said, taking in just how many quaint little shops edged the street.
‘Look,’ Lincoln said, pointing across the road to where a window glowed and, above, soft plumes of smoke escaped a vent. ‘Can you smell that?’
I sucked in a deep breath and almost moaned. ‘Fresh bread.’
He grinned. ‘Yep.’
We made our way over to the bakery and pressed our faces against the windows until we caught the attention of the tiny man pulling first-of-the-day bread from the ovens. After he had recovered from the fright he opened the door.
‘Travelling through?’ he bellowed in a deep voice that seemed far too powerful for his size.
We nodded. ‘Any chance we could buy a few loaves of bread?’ Lincoln asked.
A few minutes later we walked out with a bag of five-grain rolls, a loaf of sourdough and a slice of still-warm pumpkin bread hanging from each of our mouths.
Delicious!
While we were there we had asked the baker if he knew what time the general store opened. He told us we had another hour’s wait ahead, and looked amused as he warned us that the owner, Merri, wouldn’t take kindly to us leeching onto her windows.
But we were done waiting and headed to the shop anyway, knocking on the weathered green door, rattling its glass pane inserts.
A light came on in the upstairs window and we heard some moving around. Footsteps sounded and finally came to the front door. Lincoln put a hand on me as if to move me behind him. I cut him a look. He dropped his hand.
I should think so.
‘You realise you can be very difficult,’ he whispered.
‘I do,’ I replied, batting my eyelashes and making him laugh.
A slim woman answered the door. Her grey wiry hair was heaped in a messy bun, an old yellowed robe was wrapped around her and a very pointed scowl was focused on us.
‘We ain’t open for another hour,’ she said, pointing at the trading hours sign.
‘We’re sorry to bother you …’ I started. But somewhere in those words she straightened, her eyes narrowing.
‘You look awfully like someone I used to know.’ She studied me a moment longer, her expression suspicious.
‘My name is Violet. Are you Merri?’
The woman coughed as she nodded, a hacking, unpleasant sound.
‘I believe you knew my mother, Evelyn.’
She surveyed us for a moment longer, staring at Lincoln then back at me. She shook her head and opened the door for us. ‘You’d better come in.’
We followed her up the stairs and into a small kitchenette, where she dropped her robe on the chair, revealing that she was fully dressed in brown pants and a white shirt. She smirked when she saw my surprise and sat down before a cup of tea.
‘If folks round here knew I was up and about at this hour I’d have people expecting me to open the store earlier. Sit. I’ve got tea and I can smell you’ve already got the bread.’
We sat, accepting her offer of tea and handed her our loaf of bread. Merri put butter and jam on the table, passing us each a knife. We didn’t hold back.
‘So, you’re Evelyn’s daughter?’
I nodded.
She smiled at that, as if pleased by the idea.
‘You headed to her place up here, then?’
I nodded again. ‘She told us to get here and that you’d be able to tell us the rest of the way.’
‘Why didn’t she tell you the way herself?’
I shrugged. ‘Things have been complicated. She had to be careful what she said. She knew if we could get this far, you’d help us with the rest,’ I said, hoping that was the case.
‘Humph, things were always complicated with that woman. You have a car?’
‘Yes,’ Lincoln replied. ‘An off-roader.’
Merri nodded. ‘Good.’
‘You wouldn’t by chance have a map to her house, would you?’ Lincoln asked.