Chapter 6: The Winter Market

By dusk the square was full of wooden stalls and string lights.

The Harlow Creek Winter Market ran every night until Christmas Eve, with hot cider, knitted hats and a brass band on the gazebo.

Caleb and I walked in at six, holding hands, and every conversation in the place caught on us.

"Heads up," he muttered. "Incoming."

Lacey came across the snow with four women in matching red scarves.

She wore a white fur hat and carried a paper cup.

"Nina!" she called, loud enough for the whole square. "We were just talking about you."

"I bet you were."

"Girls, this is the nurse."

She said it as if it were a diagnosis.

"Caleb's wife. She's trying to buy her way into the family with pancakes."

Titters from the red scarves.

A stall owner selling candles paused, mid-sale, to listen.

"I'm sure you think we're snobs," Lacey went on, sweetly.

"But you can't blame us. Caleb ran off with church money."

"And now he turns up with a wife who bought her coat in a bag."

"Second-hand shop," I said. "Eleven dollars. It's very warm."

"Well. It's the Reichert family's name you're wearing now, and Dale's worked very hard to make that name mean something."

"Has he?"

"He's the only Reichert who ever amounted to anything."

I took a sip of Caleb's cider and let her wait.

"Lacey," I said, "this morning your husband charged mine triple at the hardware store."

The candle seller laughed out loud.

It was a short, surprised bark, and she clapped a mittened hand over her mouth.

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