It’s one of Lanternwood’s traditions. Every year, once we’re done with Gram’s apple pie, we come and see the lighting ceremony. Every year, someone from the village gets chosen to plug in the lights on the village hall, and then, one by one, everyone else in the village switches their Christmas lights on. There are always a couple of Hanukkah houses, too, all done up with blue and white.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Emma?” Gram had whispered last year, putting her arm around me and tilting her head against mine. “This is why I love this time of year. It’s when the world finds out how resilient it is. It may be dark and cold, but we band together and we hang lights and sing songs. And before you know it, spring is right around the corner!”

Her breath hung in the air like an echo.

I didn’t know yet that she was sick. That it was our last Thanksgiving together.

“Some things just don’t change,” Ruth is saying now, tipping forward to make sure we turn our attention to her. “But most everything does. You girls will learn that soon enough. Oh, your bones are fine now, sure. But one day they’ll get to aching like mine, and then you’ll think of old Ruth and say, ‘She knew what she was talking about’!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Gloria says with a sigh. “So nice of you girls to come and help us.”

“Just out for a walk on this fine fall morning?” Old Joe asks.

“Actually, no,” I say. “I was wondering if you could tell us something.”

“Any old thing?” Old Joe asks. “Because I’ve got a nugget or two of wisdom still rattling around in this old clunker.” He taps the side of his head, and Gloria clucks her teeth.

“Maybe another time,” I say, shooting him a smile. “I wanted to know about somebody who lives in the village. Or at least, I see her here sometimes. But I don’t know her name or anything about her.”

“Well, go on, then.”

“I’ve always called her the Apple Lady,” I say. “Because I’ve only ever seen her out in the mornings picking fruit.”

Old Joe nods. “Ah. You mean Madeline. Madeline Mitchell.”

“Madeline Mitchell,” I repeat. At last, my pen pal has a name. One I’ve never heard before.

“She’s an odd one, and there’s no denying it,” says Ruth.

“Been in this village as long as any of us,” Old Joe adds, adjusting his cap.

“So, she lives in Lanternwood?” Fina asks.

“Well, technically she lives just outside it,” Old Joe replies. “She lives in the house on Briar Hollow Lane. The only house on Briar Hollow Lane, all the way down at the end.”