The Northbound Train of Thought
As the car wound deeper into Dutchess County, the steel and glass of the city gave way to rolling meadows, stone walls, and vast canopies of red oak and golden birch.
Julian had not visited the Rhinebeck property in nearly four years.
The estate—known historically as Blackwood Orchard—had belonged to Julian’s maternal grandfather. It was sixty acres of rugged apple trees, a 19th-century timber-framed farmhouse, and a weathered red barn overlooking the Hudson River. When his grandfather died, Julian had kept the property on a quiet retainer, paying for property taxes and maintenance while he pursued fame and skyscrapers in Manhattan.
"Where we going, Daddy?" Lily asked from the back seat, holding a small plastic toy horse.
"We’re going to a place with trees, Lily," Julian said, looking at her through the rearview mirror. "A place where you can run without worrying about carpets. A place where you can get dirt on your knees."
"And no cakes?" she asked innocently.
"Only cakes we bake ourselves with apples from the trees," Julian promised.
As he drove down the gravel driveway flanked by overgrown sumac and ancient oaks, the farmhouse came into view. It was white with dark green shutters, showing signs of neglected paint but structurally magnificent—built with honest mortise-and-tenon joints that had survived a century and a half of northeastern winters.
Smoke was drifting from the stone chimney.
Julian tapped the brakes, his eyebrows furrowing. He hadn't notified the caretaker of his arrival.
As the car stopped, the front screen door creaked open. A young woman in a faded denim chore coat, muck boots, and an oatmeal-colored knit cap stepped onto the porch holding an iron garden trowel.
May you like
Julian’s breath caught in his throat.
It was Elena.
