![]() There wasn’t even any litter in Aleford, she mused wistfully as she hummed a few bars of “Autumn in New York” softly to herself so as not to awaken Benjamin. And when did she start using phrases like “time was”? She let another sigh escape into the pollution-free landscape and longed for a whiff of that heady combination of roasted chestnuts and exhaust fumes that meant autumn to her. Time was when “village” meant “the Village” and “town” was up or down. Her life was becoming terribly quaint, Faith thought. She walked up the Belfry Hill path a bit farther to a small clearing, which gave her an unobstructed view of the Aleford village green far below. ![]() And of course brisk, clean air as crisp as a bite of a McIntosh apple just off the tree. It was New England with a vengeance: riotous orange and scarlet leaves beneath enormous, puffy white clouds suspended in a Kodacolor blue sky. ![]() Her aching shoulder blades and the fact that she had been focusing on the worn path beneath her feet instead of the autumnal splendor to either side reminded Faith that Benjamin was definitely getting a bit too chunky for this mode of transportation. Benjamin, her five-month-old son, was sound asleep, securely strapped to her chest in his Snugli. “Love must not be, but take a body too …”įaith Fairchild, recently of New York City, paused to catch her breath.
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