CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THE VILLAGE FAIR
The air was sweet with fried dough and roasted corn when we reached the village square. I hadn't seen Calderhallow this lively before every corner was draped with bright banners, and the square buzzed with chatter and music.
As afternoon turned to early evening, the colors of the fair softened. Strings of warm fairy lights flickered to life, winding through the trees and stalls. The musicians returned for a final set, this time slower, more melodic tunes that invited couples to sway gently in rhythm. Lanterns were lit, casting soft glows over the faces of families gathered on picnic blankets, enjoying their last bites of the day.
Dinner was served picnic-style. People carried paper trays filled with grilled meats, vegetable skewers, and buttery corn on the cob. The village women had laid out a long table with homemade dishes potato salad, pies, pickled vegetables, and pitchers of cold lemonade. Strangers shared plates. Children traded desserts. Everyone ate like family.
Near the center of the fair stood the carousel an old but well-kept wooden ride with hand-carved horses, each painted in vivid colors and trimmed in gold. It spun slowly, its cheerful organ music mixing with the hum of voices and distant laughter. Grandparents watched with soft smiles as toddlers rode in wide-eyed wonder, while teenagers leaned on the railing, too cool to ride but not immune to its charm.
A juggler dressed in bright blue and yellow entertained a growing crowd. He tossed flaming torches into the air with practiced ease, occasionally pausing for dramatic effect as gasps rippled through the onlookers. Not far off, a group of musicians played upbeat folk tunes with fiddles, tambourines, and a weathered accordion. People clapped in rhythm, and some even broke into spontaneous dances on the grass.
Each stall was a little world of its own. Local craftsmen displayed handwoven baskets, wooden toys, and embroidered linens. There was a booth where children could dip candles in hot wax, guided by an elderly woman with gentle hands and twinkling eyes. Next to her, a teenage boy ran a stall with handmade jewelry, his fingers stained from weeks of dyeing beads and threading silver wire.
As night settled over calderhallow, the fair ended with the traditional fireworks display. Families gathered in the field, looking up as the first whistle sounded. A burst of gold bloomed in the sky, followed by red, green, and silver explosions that reflected in wide eyes and smiling faces.
"Stay close, girls," I said, holding out both hands.
Lila clutched my right hand, Isla my left, their little feet skipping as they tried to keep pace with the rhythm of the fiddler playing near the entrance.
"You're fine," Liora said, grinning at me. "Nobody here bites."
Easy for her to say.
But when Lila squealed at the sight of the colorful ribbons strung between the stalls, some of my tension eased.
The fair was a patchwork of scents and sounds spiced cider, hay bales, music drifting from the corner stage. Children darted past us, laughing, pulling at their parents' sleeves.
Lila tugged on my hand. "Mama, look! Apples!"
I followed her gaze to a stall where shiny red apples were stacked high in baskets. The vendor smiled when we approached.
"New faces," he said warmly, handing Isla a small apple. "First fair?"
I nodded, smiling. "Yes."
"They've got curious eyes," he said with a chuckle. "Looks like trouble."
Liora laughed. "You have no idea."
Further down, a group of children were handing out ribbons in exchange for coins for the church fund. One little girl reached into her basket and handed me two.
"For them," she said.
Lila clapped her hands as I knelt to tie a ribbon into her curls. Isla leaned into me, quietly watching until I tied the second ribbon for her too.
"There," I said softly, brushing their hair back. "Now you really look like you belong here."
The fiddler struck up a lively tune, and before I could stop them, Lila and Isla were twirling in little circles, their giggles ringing through the square. I stood there watching, my chest aching in the best way.
"You're smiling," Liora teased.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't deny it. "I guess I am."
When evening came, lanterns were lit and strung overhead, glowing like stars caught in a net. The crowd gathered, warm and close, and I found myself laughing with strangers, tasting new food, even letting the girls try their first candy floss.
By the time we walked home, Lila was asleep on my shoulder and Isla was drowsy in Liora's arms.
"We stayed until the lanterns," Liora said softly, as if not to wake them.
I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat. "And it felt… good."
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just surviving.
We were living.