Page 58 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“You deserved most of that.”

“Probably.”

Dad came back toward the bay. For once, he wasn’t holding his thermos like he planned to leave the second the conversation ended.

“Harvest Festival used to start at Marigold Ranch,” he started.

“I thought it was a town festival.”

“It was.”

“But?”

“The town did the storefronts. Main Street had vendors. June’s family handled baked goods. Whoever owned Rosie’s tavern back then did cider and food. But Marigold Ranch was where people went after.”

“For what?” Jax crossed his arms.

“Everything.” Dad pointed toward the open bay as though Marigold Ranch sat somewhere beyond the parking lot. “Hayrides started near the dairy barn. James planted pumpkins every summer, just for October. He had a corn maze for a while until Evelyn said she got tired of sending people in to find idiots who got lost after dark.”

That sounded exactly like her.

“Bonfires happened behind the south pasture. Kids carved pumpkins near the barn. Families brought blankets and stayed until midnight. James ran the closing night himself.”

“What was closing night?”

“Last Saturday before Halloween.” Dad’s voice had changed. Gone softer. His eyes reflected it. “Everybody came out. Whole town. James would light that ridiculous bonfire of his, Evelyn made gallons of soup, June’s mother brought bread, and somebody always dragged out a guitar. And Carson used to ride her horse Blueberry, giving a barrel race demonstration.”

I tried picturing the ranch I had seen yesterday filled with hundreds of people. It wasn’t difficult. The layout made sense now. The wide stretch near the barn. The open pasture. The long drive. It hadn’t just been a farm that hosted an event, it had been designed around the community.

I heard myself asking, “What happened after James died?”

Dad looked down at the hose on the bench. “Carson disappeared.”

The words were simple.

The weight behind them wasn’t.

“She was recovering from that car accident.”

“We knew that,” Jax said, and it was true because the whole town had heard of the accident that ruined her career, except none of us knew why she never rode again.

“How bad was it?” I frown. “Is PTSD why she never rode again?”

Dad’s eyes flicked to mine. “Not my story to share, son. The town tried hosting the festival elsewhere,” he continued. “Park. Fairgrounds. School field one year. It never felt the same.”

“Why didn’t Evelyn bring it back?”

“You’d have to ask Evelyn.”

“I’m asking you.”

Dad sighed. “Because it wasn’t hers.”

“That was her ranch.”

“Not what I meant.” He looked toward James’s truck. “The festival was Carson and James. James did the work. Carson brought the energy. She ran around that place every October like she owned Halloween. Used to wear an orange bandanna in her hair and boss grown men around when she was sixteen.”

I tried reconciling that with the woman who had stared through my windshield yesterday while Willow Creek’s decorations passed outside.