Laverne
Social calls had been far down on Francis Estep's to-do list as of late. Having suffered two werewolf attacks, stumbled upon his missing parents lost in the woods, and reunited with his estranged sister, his plate was full (and in truth, nothing piled on it was particularly appetizing). Today, though, he was making an attempt to sweep the setting clear and do something that might offer a few moments of peace in the chaos that had become Briar Ridge. 

He was off to visit an old friend. 

Marianne Wilburn had been such a vibrant child, and Francis remembered her well from their early years together in the orchard. She'd been observed like a rare comet that arked across the sky, if only you should be lucky enough to catch a glimpse-– which is to say, she made visits to her grandparents' cottage in Briar Ridge from time to time. From childhood to teenage years, she and Francis would pass the long visits of their parents by walking the orchard or nearby woods: eating apples right from the tree in fall and dipping into the creek nearby in the summer months. He'd taken to her like moss on a log, but whether she'd ever noticed or appreciated his attempts at flirting was beyond him– Marianne had always been difficult to read. 

Since the tragedy that had brought her into the holler permanently, Francis had only seen her in town where they exchanged superficial greetings. With each polite "Hello, how are you?" Francis only wanted more: he wanted her eyes on him as he watched a spring breeze pick up the ends of her auburn curls. He wanted to make her laugh over a table laden with sweets, a crackling fire warming them through on a cold winter night. 
_ _

The cold truth of what Francis *Really* Wanted, though, was that Marianne was only a stitch in the fabric of his true desire. He desired a return to innocence, and simpler times. He desired an ego that was not so hungry. In his mind, reconnecting with Marianne would restore his position at a crucial crossroads of his youth: one where the fork left was the choice to alienate those he loved, and the right was the pursuit of pure, organic relationships. Before that choice was made, he hadn't been a monster. Before he veered left, he could have grown to be a happy man. 

Short of a spiritual reawakening, he hoped at least to share some laughs with an old friend as he sauntered down the path to the Wilburn cottage. Dotty had sent him with a basket of hickory cakes once she heard he was visiting with Marianne, though she made it explicitly clear that the treats were not meant to have Francis appearing as a thoughtful guest, only as a gift to the young Miss Wilburn from her, Dorothy Estep. 

Francis' trips off the orchard property were rare these days, and so he'd dressed for the occasion. From crown to soles he wore a charcoal gray wool golf-style cap with a wool coat and fitted vest to match, a deep blue flannel shirt, gray slacks, and shined black leather boots. His typical gold rings were absent, and he noticed the empty indents from the missing jewelry as he brought his fist up to rap three times at the cottage door. 
_ _
Nicole
A fresh chill in the air had brought with it new frost overnight, and Marianne could only be glad she'd had the foresight to bring in the logs the day before, because when she'd awoken that morning there had been ice on both sides of the glass, the kind of day that could only be salvaged by a roaring fire in the hearth, a heavy woollen blanket and a tattered old novel to read in the quiet of her sitting room. Feet tucked beneath her and her hair pulled up with a white ribbon at the nape of her neck, she'd settled in for a rare moment of peace only perhaps an hour ago, when the insistent knocking came at the door. 
Had she arranged a delivery and forgotten about it? Surely not, for her coal and wood shed was stacked almost to the ceiling, she'd visited the butchers' and the general store only two days before, and the season for fresh flowers was far ahead, in a springtime that was beginning to feel as though it might never come. Perhaps, then, a social call, one of the women from the town calling in for passing conversation or simply to borrow some sugar or flour. She couldn't begrudge anyone a little thing like that, and well they all knew it. That front door welcomed anyone that felt the need to come to it, and thus, she gathered herself, leaving the blanket folded on itself as she crossed the house in stockinged-feet, wondering what familiar face might brighten the threshold.

Francis Estep might well have been the last man on earth she'd expected to see there, true, but Marianne couldn't help the smile that came as she looked up to greet him - an easy head taller, he towered over her, had done since they were children chasing one another into the creek and up the apple trees. Francis had been a good friend to her then, and something squeezed tight in her chest as she met his gaze. Though they'd greeted one another in passing countless times over the years since her return, those encounters had been few and far between of late. Could it be possible she'd missed him? Could you miss someone you no longer knew?

Regardless, she made haste to step aside and allow him to pass into the kitchen. "Why, what a darling surprise it is to see you, Mr Estep." The title rolled off her tongue like sugar water - she wasn't sure she'd ever *Actually* Called him that. "I mean- goodness. Francis. It really has been a while. Come on in, we'll be letting all the winter in. To what might I possibly owe the pleasure of a visit? You've walked an awful long way to be here, it seems. Did you know you have snow on your hat?"
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Laverne
That open door was an instant balm to Francis' troubled heart, further soothed by how he saw himself reflected in Marianne's eyes. She was nothing but happy to see him. Her expression lacked the disdain of his sister, the vacancy of his father, the suspicion of his mother. The tension in his chest that had been a constant fixture for the past few months finally released, at least a stitch, and he let in the air he'd been desperate for. 

"*Mr. Estep* Is my father," He teased, hastening indoors and closing out the cold behind himself. Passing into the house, he let his eyes wander. It was a charming home: warm and inviting. He should be careful not to relax too fully into it, there was a danger of becoming too comfortable here. 

His old friend's words came quickly, tumbling over him as the warmth from her hearth closed in. 
"It *Has* Been a while." He affirmed, "Too long." Laughing as she pointed out the snow on him, he chose not to remove his cap, instead brushing the wet wintery decor off the top of his head and into the basin in her kitchen. Turning back to Marianne, he lined up the words of his coming lie on his tongue so they would fall naturally from his lips. 

"It's been a ragged few months around here. I've just been doin' my rounds to the folks I care for, checkin' ta see how they're faring." He offered, a sweet smile marking his expression before he glanced around the place again, "But shoot, you look like you're doin' fine as ever, Miss Marianne." He saw the rumpled blanket in the sitting room, and the abandoned novel. He was nearly sorry he'd interrupted her peace, but her delicate and familiar attention prevented him from feeling *Too* Apologetic. 
_ _

He brought forth his basket, filled with still-warm hickory cakes. 
"I didn't come empty handed," He laughed, turning back the towel that covered the sweets, "I make these about once a year, when the hickory nuts drop. There's a stand of trees east of the orchard, makes for a good haul every season." Dotty would be beyond livid if she knew her brother had taken credit for the gift, but with luck, she'd never find out. 

Other than the unabashed lying, Francis was on his best behavior. He made no assumptions of being invited to sit and stay for tea, and stood firmly just in the threshold, still done up in his coat and scarf. 
_ _
Nicole
It had been a while since Marianne had smiled quite the way she did when Francis revealed the cakes, a little giggle tumbling from her lips. They smelled wonderful, sweet and rich and familiar, and she was sure she remembered the taste from childhood trips to the Esteps' home, no doubt a family recipe. And those were the days she missed, though she couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old in her clearest memories, the days they'd run in from the snow in soaked mittens and scarves, into the warmth of a kitchen with a blazing fireplace and a sweet treat to warm tiny, numbed fingers. "I would've never guessed you were a baker, Fran. But I've no doubt they're delicious. Will you stay a little while? I don't want to keep you from your friends, of course, but it's a damn awful day to be out there in the cold."

The thought of letting him disappear again didn't sit so well with her. Too often in the years gone by had she seen him so briefly and let him go without so much as a goodbye, let alone a plan to meet again. No doubt they had so much to catch up on - how were things? His siblings, his parents, the estate, the orchard they'd played in with the trees they'd climbed... Marianne knew very little of any of it, these days. And with all that was going on lately, uncertainty a permanent shadow over the little town they all called home, she was growing tired of a life on the outskirts. Francis was here. Francis was something - **Someone** - to hold onto.

"Please," She continued, a little softer than before, as she allowed her gaze to drift back up to his face once more, "Hang up your coat. Let me make us some tea, find a plate for these *Beautiful* Cakes, and indulge me in someone to talk to? I promise I'll do all I can not to keep you until dark." Another smile, because she had something of a habit of keeping her company much later than might be deemed "Acceptable" Or "Proper". While it mightn't have been becoming of a lady to have gentlemen in her home after nightfall, nobody would know they were here. And if Francis were to tell? There were enough rumours lingering about Marianne's whereabouts and affairs to last a lifetime. One or two more could do no harm.

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Laverne
"Well, now you know my secret." He grinned, almost having convinced himself by this point that he *Had* Baked the cakes. He'd lit the oven. That must count for something,

When Marianne invited him to stay, he played it down humbly. 
"No, no my friends'd only be keeping *Me* From *You.*" He insisted, unlooping his scarf from around his neck. *Friends.* All Francis' friends in Briar Ridge were either folks he'd only had a few words with, ones he was lyin' to (see present company), or ones too afraid to distance themselves from him should they lose the benefit of his meager wealth. He'd never really let someone see who he was and let them decide for themselves whether they wanted to stick around, except maybe his siblings. They hadn't stuck around. 

"I'd be delighted for some conversation. Especially with you. It's mighty kind of you ta let me make a nuisance of myself on such short notice." He swept his coat off and over the back of a chair at the kitchen table along with his scarf. He chose not to remove his hat. Sitting down politely, he folded his hands on the tabletop, studying the open basket of cakes. Dotty had really done an excellent job with them. 
_ _

So. 

He was here. He had his warm welcome in hand. 

Now what?

Francis cleared his throat. 

"How was the garden this year, Marianne? Did it give ya enough to put up for winter?" A weak start, but a start nonetheless. So unused to making genuine connections (which, despite how much he may deny it, was what he was really chasing here), the young Estep did not know where to make the first cuts. To jump directly into childhood reminiscence was too gauche; bringing up current events would ruin the mood. Her family was well underground, so he couldn't use them as leverage, and she had no profession to ask after. Flirting would be reserved only once the gates were lowered further, and he hadn't consumed much literature or art lately to leave him with something elevated to bring to the table. This left him with small talk, which, for a small person such as himself, may just as well be considered plain old "Talk." 
_ _
Nicole
A nuisance of himself? Francis, it appeared, had no idea just how welcome his presence was at the kitchen table. His smile warmed her from the inside out in a way that the wood in the fireplace could not, reminded her of days she couldn't often bring to mind, of laughter and birdsong and the crisp of leaves underfoot. She couldn't fathom a face she'd have rather opened the door to. There was something to be said for a taste of familiarity. 

And the cakes, it turned out, tasted just as sweet as his name on her tongue. She'd brought two small plates from the cabinet, bone china ringed with delicate pink flowers, and couldn't wait to try one for herself, looking across the table at Francis as she bit into the treat. Nutty and rich, still warm thanks to the careful way he'd packaged them for the journey, and every morsel catapulting her further back into memories that had lain untouched for the best part of a decade, memories that raced through her mind just as she'd raced the Estep children through the apple trees, that rang in her ears as his teasing once had. She'd never thought it possible to miss something so much as she missed those days right in this moment, and at the same time, there was nothing to miss, because he was right here, just across from her at her table, close enough to reach out and touch should she have wanted to. And lord, as she licked stray sweet frosting from her lips, she wanted to.

Her hands, though, stayed kept to herself. 

He'd asked her a question, she realised, and all she was doing was gazing dumbly back at him, like some kind of fool. "The garden? Oh... Of course. More than enough," She promised. "Potatoes to feed an army! And then there were the turnips, pumpkins... I should have a fine winter, though I'll admit I'm tired of the frozen ground now. A girl can only take so much ice and snow." She missed the springtime, the brighter mornings and warmer air, with the opportunity to take a dip in the lake or waterfall pools if the desire struck her. It was simply too cold for such frivolous endeavours this time of year - half the time she passed the water's edge, ice covered the top like a sheet of glass. 

"And yourself? The orchard?" It had been too long since she'd tasted one of his apples, but she was sure each was still as crisp as the ones they'd stolen as small children and eaten among the branches, little feet swinging freely in the air as they rested from their games and talked. "I'll have to visit again some time. We were happy there, weren't we? Long ago, I know."
Laverne
Francis was glad to hear she was keeping well. Genuinely, he was, and it was a relief to let himself feel it. There was no performance here, besides the white lies. The purity of the interaction threaded a funny kind of inspiration between his ribs. A future of relationship reform briefly glittered behind his eyes. Would the shape of a kind man button neatly into the rough skin he'd sewn himself? That glittering future quickly scattered, but in its place he beheld the glittering present. 

"The summer suits you," He finally agreed, setting his lips in a smile as he appraised her. Whenever they'd caught up in town here and there, she tended to be laden with seed packets, garden tools, or fresh flowers. She was of Earth, like he wanted himself to be: her eyes the color of the river, her hair a summary of autumn. Francis, though he hated the cold, was more of ice: sharp angles and blanketed by unreadability. 
"Maybe a trip south is in your future? Though the roads from town are a headache right now." The visit was getting the better of him, and he quickly shook off the vision of the two of them, escaping to warmer weather in his Model T. 

"The orchard is steady." He nodded, "Though I sold most our harvest local this year instead of– well. Instead a shippin' it north like I usually would. Needed the money sooner, to... Support the town." He was talking about the Anti-Werewolf Coalition, but he dared not reference it clearly, should the mood be darkened. 
_ _

"The gates are open to you at any time. I kin show you the nursery– we've had about a hundred new trees putting down good rootstock in the greenhouse for the last six years or so. They'll finally be ready to graft onto in the spring." Francis wasn't one to speak at length about the technicalities of operating an orchard, but in the company of a woman with such a green thumb, he felt like he could confidently predict her interest. He sighed as her final statement settled in. It had been long ago. He'd grafted a different soul into himself since then. 

"We were happy." He agreed, the warmth of his smile honest, "Feels like that all happened somewhere else. To different people." Too wistful, perhaps, he quickly gathered himself, "But maybe that's just the winter wind talkin'."
_ _
Nicole
For a brief moment, as Francis talked of a journey further south than here, Marianne allowed her thoughts to wander again. There was no denying she'd thought about it, time and time again since returning to Briar Ridge all those years ago. The whisper of a life she might have missed out on, had things turned out differently... It called to her from far beyond the mountains and the trees. There was so much of the world out there that she'd never even heard of, not to mention the far-off lands that Papa had so often come home bursting at the seams with stories about - natural wonders far beyond imagination, rolling green fields stretching past what the eye could see, the vast blue ocean bedecked in sailing-boats and merchant ships, and that was without mentioning man's greatest creations; grand palaces and libraries,and the churches with paintings on the ceilings and stained glass casting rainbows over parquet floors. 
But where would she go? And how? If the holler could hold such horrors as those Marianne had seen, who was to know what the wider world might have in store for a lone woman without the sense nor guidance to even know what the sunrise would bring?
No. The time for those fantasies had long since passed. Marianne was as bound to Briar Ridge as her parents' bones were to the earth. It was enough of a task to survive without allowing for daydreams about adventures in the great unknown.

"How would I take the road, Fran? I've neither a car nor a carriage, and my feet can only carry me so far." She sighed, and then that smile was back, as she stretched her leg out under the table and poked him lightly in the shin with her toes. "We don't all have those shiny Model Ts out back, you know. And I have plenty here to keep me busy, as I'm sure you do too. I'd love to see the nursery... And the orchards themselves." It would be bittersweet, she thought, to walk with him where once they'd run. To know now what lingered beyond the walls and the sunlight. As he said, their childhood selves might well have been strangers. 

Yet still he smiled, in that soft bright way he always had when she'd come home at the beginning of each summer and, before even unpacking, laced her boots and run down the deerpath to the orchard house, where somehow, he'd always known to be there on the porch to greet her, more often than not with Dotty by his side. He'd changed, but the smile remained the same. His freckled, boyish face, decorated in the flickering light of the kitchen fireplace, bore the weight of years gone by, as his shoulders bore the responsibility left upon them by his parents and reputation.

But Francis smiled, and it was as though Marianne had never been away nor distant at all. 

||
Laverne
"It's a fair point," He nodded solemnly on her behalf, his straight mouth breaking in a grin as he felt the nudge of her foot. It was true cars were a commodity in the town, and he wasn't so foolish as to spring on her the sudden fancy he'd fell into about the both of them escaping together, but the lightness of his mood did tempt him. 

"And the orchard you shall see!" Frans smiled, "Whenever the weather is kind, you should come. The place looks better in the sunshine. If I'm not there, Dotty is–" He regretted saying it, knowing full well his sister would poison Marianne against him if given the chance, but it was already out, "— and I know she's been itchin' ta catch up with you, too." 

Already scheming on a way to keep his sister and his rekindled friend apart, his eyes became slightly vacant. He could hide the milk and eggs from her on sunny days, forcing her to leave for the store. He could suggest she take their parents for a walk in the air in the nice weather. He could– 

Oh, why think about it now? Here, he felt like the type of man who could lean on nothing but honesty and remain firmly upright. Of course that wasn't true, but something about Marianne inspired him in that way. In this house, under her stare, Dotty was wrong and cruel to hate him. He'd been the perfect brother, never blaming their siblings' missing allowance on her, never telling their parents she was with the Heinrichs' son behind the barn, and couldn't help with the market that morning. He especially hadn't driven her from town with rumors of a false pregnancy out of wedlock. 
_ _

Dorothy had been his steepest competition for inheritance of the orchard. He'd done what he'd needed to do. The way Marianne regarded him, and the way she watched him smile– it made him confident she'd see things from his perspective, however delusional this confidence actually was. Such was the magic of the male ego. 

As much as Marianne might recognize a change in Francis, his acknowledgment of time's effect on her was much more shallow. He saw her as the same wide-eyed, curious child she'd always been, but grown into the proportions of herself: zipped up in a woman's dress, wearing a woman's stockings. This was part of the comfort of being here with her. In her presence, he was also returned to a precocious, moldable kid. They were both reverted to prior versions of themselves, and there was something soothing about that. 

"Hope the cakes are like you remember," He commented, pulling himself from his fog and trying to muster a convincing brightness. 
_ _
Nicole
The promise to meet again rang true. *Whenever the weather is kind*, because it would be, despite the interminable winter stretching out before them. The snow would melt and the sun would shine anew upon the grass and the trees. The apple blossoms would flourish, and Marianne would walk beneath them once more, feeling the breeze in her hair and warmth on her skin. She could take off her shoes and stockings and relish in the sensation of the grass between her toes. And Francis would be there. Yes, the spring would return to the fields and the sky, and bring with it fresh hope of better days ahead. 

She would see Dotty, wind her arms around her instead of wrapping up love in letters with wax seals. 
She and Francis could walk together in the orchard, trading memories and those easy smiles beneath a blue sky, bluer than any she ever saw outside of Briar Ridge. 

She would remember how to breathe the air again, when the nights didn't seem so long. 

"They are... They truly are. Thank you, Fran." It wasn't merely a thanks for the sweets, though of course those were appreciated, and she couldn't wait to return the gift with treats of her own whenever their next meeting might be. "Thank you... For comin' all this way in the snow. Feels like about time I got to see you again proper. We ought to do this again sooner than before. You know where to find me, as I know where you are." 

She stood from her chair, wanting to find a suitable container for the rest of the cakes before the air began to lend itself to spoiling them. As she passed him by, her hand reached out, thin fingers wrapping around his much larger ones where they rested on the table, and squeezing, *Hard*. 

"Don't be a stranger to me."

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