Page 40 of Wildwood

I spend the day buzzing around the house, peering out the front window, anxious for the party to start.

“Think it’s going to be a rager?” Topher asks, coming up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Probably,” I reply.

“You seem really excited.” I can feel Topher smiling at me, and the hopeful note in his voice brings a pang of guilt. He must think I’m looking forward to letting loose and maybe meeting more people. I don’t have the heart to tell him my true motives. That I’m hoping to meet people who might know something about what happened here. While the Brooks and Bishops have been here the longest, surely there are other older families as well. It’s Vermont, after all. Better yet would be Alice herself, not that I’m sure I’d recognize her.

I spread my lips into a smile and turn to my husband.

“I am.”

At seven, we make our way up Cold Book Drive. Cars pass us, directed by valets to park on one of the side fields. I crane my neck to see if I can get a peek at what others are wearing. The invite said “Vermont semiformal” or “thematic attire” for the dress code. Topher is wearing dress pants, a suit jacket, and a crimson collared shirt.

“Easy peasy,” he’d said, smiling at himself in the bathroom mirror.

I don’t have any dressy maternity clothes, so I’m wearing the oversize cashmere sweater that Madeline had told me to keep, a pair of leggings, and heels, for the first time in months. The sweater feels glorious on my skin, the perfect warmth for a September evening. I have to admit, as I gazed at myself in the mirror, with my hair brushed smooth, makeup done, and cashmere sweater hugging my skin, I liked how I look in it. I felt elegant and, I hate to admit it, rich. My thematic flair, however, is a burnt-orange feathered fascinator I’d ordered on Etsy. And when I put it on and did a little twirl for Topher, his lips twitched in amusement, which confirmed my suspicion that it looks ridiculous.

When we arrive at the top of the hill and see the crowd that has already gathered, I breathe a sigh of relief. Some women are dressed in long gowns, others in what look like Renaissance costumes. I see men in suits and men in Lederhosen. I even spy a pirate. And then there are men and women in jeans and sweaters of red and gold, all of which I’m assuming are made from Cold Brook wool or cashmere.

“Anything goes.” Topher reads my mind.

“Anything goes.”

We do a lap to take in our surroundings and to say hello to Mr. Warnick, who we run into with his wife. All the while, I keep my eyes alert for Alice, though distractions are everywhere. There are cocktail tables set up with beautiful rustic centerpieces. Caterers mill about, offering people glasses of hard cider, beer, and even mead. A massive banquet table stands directly behind Madeline’s house, and upon it is a literal cornucopia, a large wooden cone with apples, pumpkins, and ears of corn spilling out of it. A stunning and mouthwatering array of food is laid out on elaborate tiered platters. Cheeses of every kind. Corn bread. Plates of venison, sausages, stuffed acorn squash, fancy roasted carrots and parsnips. And of course, apple pies, pumpkin pies, apple cakes, and candy apples. Unexpectedly, there’s also a raw bar with oysters, cherrystone clams, and sushi. My mouth waters and I momentarily forget my mission. And my witch.

I groan and throw my head back in dramatic fashion. “A mountain of fucking oysters.”

“The curse of the woman with child.” Madeline’s voice floats musically from behind. I turn around, about to apologize for my foul language, but find myself speechless.

Madeline is radiant. She is wearing a long-sleeve crimson dress that plunges at the neck and flairs dramatically at her feet. Her long, normally straight, hair falls in cascading curls. An enormous floral crown of peaches, reds, and golds, and sprigs of eucalyptus and wheat sits atop her head.

She kisses me lightly on both cheeks and does the same to Topher. Her perfume tonight has notes of sandalwood and spice.

“Look, we are practically twins,” Madeline says with a wink.

The statement is ludicrous, but I smile dutifully. “You look amazing. I’ve never seen your hair like that.”

She smiles and tosses a lock behind her shoulder. “Thanks. I went au naturel tonight.

“Here.” She hands me a champagne flute. “It’s fine. We requested a few bottles of nonalcoholic mead. It’s full of adaptogens. You’ll feel great.”

I don’t know what an adaptogen is, but it doesn’t look like Madeline will take no for an answer. I take a small sip. It’s sweet and bubbly and I can feel it in my nose.

“Cheers.” We clink glasses.

“Oh, Kyle, come here, I want you to meet someone,” Madeline waves over an older-looking Black man.

“Kyle, I want you to meet Elinor and Topher, they’ve just moved to the area as well.”

“Oh, great to meet you both.” He smiles broadly and shakes our hands.

“Kyle is a fabulous psychiatrist. John just poached him from a hospital in Boston to come lead the psychiatric unit at Green Mountain Medical.”

“How are you liking it here?” asks Topher.

“Surprised by how much I love it,” Kyle answers with a laugh. “I would have thought it would be more of an adjustment than it has been. The Brooks have been so incredible at welcoming me into the community.”

“Same with us,” Topher agrees and I smile tightly.