Estelle stared up at the arched windows. They weren't as large as she remembered, but she supposed that everything looked larger when you were only about three feet tall. The world was different when seen from a child's point of view. She transferred her gaze to the triangular transom above the door, then to the door itself. It had always seemed massive when she lived here as a child. Now it was just a door. A large heavy door, perhaps, but still just a door. She turned the key in the lock and pushed it open.
Taking a deep breath, Estelle stepped over the threshold and looked around. Everything looked the same as she remembered, the same as it always had. The richly colored walls, gleaming wood floors, and antique furniture hadn't changed. Even the pendulum clock in the hall ticked off the minutes with the same steady 'tock, tock, tock'. Glancing at her watch, she noticed that it still ran slow.
She had been surprised when her father called. They had been in touch over the years since she'd left, anger from that tempestuous night long spent. They had made amends, even laughed over the town gossip Estelle's "sudden departure" had provoked. Estelle had even talked her parents into spending the holidays with her in France. But she had never returned to the Village, until now.
Her father understood. He had been an artist himself once, long ago, before he found his true talent in the stock market. The inspiration of the French countryside had enthralled Estelle and it was there that she was at her best in her art. He and her mother missed her, she knew, but they understood and accepted her decision to stay overseas.
He hadn't called at the usual time. That was the first clue that something had changed, and at first Estelle was worried. But he was cheerful, ebullient really. They had decided to spend the winter in Arizona, claiming the climate was "better for their old bones." And wouldn't she like to join them for a quick trip to see the sights? Grand Canyon, anyone? How could she refuse? So, she had packed her bags and headed home, to someplace in Arizona that she'd never been before, and after spending several weeks with her parents, she realized that they had finally found their France.
At her father's suggestion, Estelle decided to take a short detour before heading back overseas. It had been years since she'd seen Anne, and she couldn't miss the opportunity to see her old friend. They'd grown up together, and were still closer than many sisters ever were.
It was Anne that came ripping through the field that day, gleefully screaming her name. The bus had dropped Estelle at the end of the Meeting House road, and she had to walk the last half mile into town. Time, and the new highway, seemed to be passing the Village by.
Someone had planted a small vineyard at the edge of the village. Newly planted, by the looks of the vines, Estelle noted. She had picked up some knowledge of viniculture over the years. At one time, the French countryside had been absolutely choked with grapevines.
Then she saw him, not even straining as he hauled heavy buckets of water along the rows of vines. She had a moment to study him before he noticed her along the road, and she decided the years had been very kind to dear old Ben. From his reaction, Ben must have thought Estelle had aged pretty well herself. He stopped too suddenly, and water sloshed all over his legs. He was speechless. His chin dropped and he stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Hello, Ben," Estelle smiled, not even trying to keep the accent from her voice. Her father had warned her that half the town had been buzzing with gossip about 'that French woman' coming home.
"Let 'em talk," Estelle thought to herself.
She enjoyed being a bit mysterious now and then...especially when an old romance was involved.
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