Free Wonderful You by Mariah Stewart

the street and walked toward the white church Zoey had passed that first day she had driven through town. Up the long walk they ambled, toward a grove of trees under which long tables sporting red and white checked cloths spread out in clean straight lines. They were directed to their table by an ample lady with light blue hair and an apron that matched the tablecloths.
    “So, then, Miss Zoey Enright … ” Wally leaned back in his seat to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “What brought you back to Brady’s Mill?”
    “I wanted a pumpkin.”
    “No shortage of those around here,” he agreed. “Did you find one?”
    “Several,” she told him. “I left them back at the farm where they’re selling them… back that way.” She pointed back down past the lake.
    “Brady’s Farm.” He nodded knowingly.
    “And then I just followed the crowd. Everyone looked like they were having fun, so I wanted to tag along, I guess, and see what else was going on.”
    “Now, if I were the nosy sort—which I’m not—I’d probably be itchin’ to ask why a girl as young and pretty as you should be so lonely. But of course, I’d never—”
    “Lonely? Me?” Zoey interrupted, pointing a perfectly manicured index finger into her chest. “I’m not lonely. I have a very busy life. I have a loving family… lots of friends. What makes you think I’m lonely?”
    “Might have something to do with the fact that you’ve spent the last, oh, what, two hours or so of a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in a strange town, in the company of an old man and a number of other people you don’t know.”
    Zoey pondered a retort as another checked-apron lady set a small Styrofoam bowl of salad before her. She avoided Wally’s eyes while she dribbled pale orange French dressing—the only choice on the table—on the fresh greens, red onion, and halved cherry tomatoes.
    “I wanted a pumpkin,” she repeated.
    “Could have grabbed one and been gone ninety minutes ago, by my calculations.”
    “It looked like a neat little town,” she told him. “The kind of town I always wanted to live in. I felt it when I drove through the other day. Then this morning, when I was thinking about pumpkins, I remembered the pumpkin party—”
    “Fest. Pumpkin Fest,” he corrected her pointedly.
    “Right. Pumpkin Fest,” she r epeated, a smile curling the corn ers of her mouth. “Now, is this an annual event?”
    “Every year since nineteen thirty-nine,” he told her.
    “No way.” She put her fork down.
    “Yup. Next year will mark our sixtieth year.”
    “That’s remarkable.”
    He shrugged. “Don’t k now ’bout that. But yup, fifty- nine years’ worth of pumpkins and cider. Course, back in the early days we didn’t sell much more than that … wasn’t like it is today. Seems like every year, though, something new is added.”
    “What was added this year?”
    “Why, you were, Zoey Enright.”
    Zoey laughed, and so did he. The salad bowls were whisked away to be replaced by plates of ham, sweet potatoes, and green beans as a jolly group of six joined their table. Wally made introductions all around, and Zoey smiled at the newcomers, all old friends of the old doctor’s, as were, she guessed, ninety-five percent of those gathering in the old churchyard, waiting to be seated. After dessert—thick slices of creamy pumpkin pie—and steaming cups of pungent coffee, Zoey stood up and stretched slightly.
    “I can’t remember the last time I ate so much at one time,” she told her companion, “or when I enjoyed a meal more. But I think it’s time for me to collect my pumpkins and head on home.”
    “I’ll walk you back to Brady’s Farm,” Wally told her. “That is where you left your car, isn’t it?”
    “Place with a weathered red barn and a windmill?”
    “That would be the one.” He fell in step beside her. “One of several working windmills in this part of Pennsylvania. Named the town after it.”
    “Do the owners