Chapter 6: The Pilgrim in the Dust
In late October, when the sugar maples around Lake Sunapee were blazing in brilliant shades of scarlet, amber, and gold, an unfamiliar rural passenger bus stopped at the crossroads two miles from the cabin.
A lone figure walked down the winding dirt road, carrying a single canvas bag.
It was Meredith.
She was unrecognizable from the arrogant woman who had stormed across the lawn four months earlier. She wore a faded wool coat, dark denim trousers, and worn leather walking shoes. Her blonde hair was tied back in a plain knot, her face thin, pale, and lined with the deep, exhausting grief of total public downfall.
She reached the wooden split-rail fence marking the boundary of the Cole forest.
Through the tall white pines, the rhythmic, clear ring of adzes and framing mallets echoed into the crisp autumn air.
Standing in the open framing bay of the restored boat shop was Hannah, holding a wooden framing square, checking the plumb line of a massive white pine king-post truss.
May you like
Meredith stopped at the gate, her hands clutching the rough cedar rail, her shoulders shaking with the sudden, crushing realization of everything she had lost.
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