Page 59 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘Beneath the ancient oak’s protection, where lovers carve their names with care,

The secrets of our hearts lie waiting,

For those with courage to meet them there …’

The mention of the oak tree in the lyric registered with sudden clarity, and Molly stiffened a little in Jack’s arms.

He drew back, confusion replacing the warmth in his expression. ‘What?’

‘The song,’ she explained. ‘The oak tree … that’s your oak, isn’t it?’ The melody continued around them, building toward its final chorus, but the intimate spell had been broken. They still moved together in the gentle rhythm of the dance, but the charged moment of potential had passed, replaced by a different kind of energy.

‘And here I thought t’was my devastating charm that made you gasp,’ Jack replied dryly, though the humor in his eyes softened the words. ‘And it’s not my tree,’ he continued. ‘It’s been around for generations, long before my time, Patrick’s too.’ The song reached its conclusion, the final notes hanging in the air. Around them, the crowd applauded appreciatively, their enthusiasm causing the band to bow with evident pleasure. ‘Uh … speaking of which, I should check on him,’ Jack mumbled, though he made no immediate move to step away.

Molly nodded, understanding, but also disappointed. ‘Of course.’

Jack hesitated, then added with careful casualness. ‘Since you’re so interested, I could take you out to the oak tomorrow, if you’d like. Make up for hounding you off that first day. Meet you there after my deliveries, say, around midday?’

The offer sent a surge of emotion through her – excitement at finally gaining access to her grandmother’s beloved oak, mixed with guilt for not telling him the whole truth.

‘I’d like that,’ she replied, hoping her voice didn’t betray the complexity of her feelings.

Then Jack hesitated and added, ‘Whatever happens next, with the loan I mean, I wanted to thank you. For your help with that, yes, but also for …’ He paused, searching for words. ‘For seeing Goldenridge the way I do. For understanding what makes it worth fighting for.’

‘It is worth fighting for,’ Molly assured him. ‘And we’re not done fighting yet.’

Hearthland announced that they would take a short break, and Jack finally stepped back, his hands releasing her. ‘See you tomorrow, then,’ he confirmed.

Molly nodded, already anticipating the moment when she would finally stand beneath The Wishing Oak.

The tree that, for reasons still mysterious even to her, was so central to Aoife’s last wish.

Chapter 31

Mid-morning mist clung to the valley as Molly picked her way through the dew-soaked orchard rows, her boots leaving dark imprints in the silvered grass.

She’d risen early, unable to sleep through the anticipation that hummed beneath her skin. Light filtered through the eastern hills, casting long shadows across Goldenridge.

Today was the day.

Jack had said midday, but Molly couldn’t wait that long. The need to see the tree alone first, to experience it herself and all it represented, had pulled her from sleep and out into the morning.

The orchard appeared transformed in this nascent light – rows of apple trees standing straight, their fruit gleaming with dew. As she walked deeper, the trees seemed to watch her passing. The air smelled of earth and apples and something greener, more primal – the scent of growth and decay entwined in perfect balance. Her pace quickened as she rounded the final bend, anticipation tightening her chest. And then, suddenly, it stood before her.

The Wishing Oak.

Molly stopped. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it up close – this ancient giant rising from the earth like something born of myth rather than nature. Its massive trunk twisted upward in gnarled majesty, splitting into enormous limbs that reached toward the sky. The canopy of leaves spread outward in all directions, creating a cathedral that filtered the morning light into dappled patterns on the grass below.

‘Oh,’ she whispered, the sound escaping without conscious thought.

She approached slowly, almost reverently, as if drawing near to something sacred. The tree commanded such respect by its mere presence; a silent witness to centuries of human drama played out beneath its branches. How many generations of Golden Valley locals had sheltered in its shade? How many lovers had whispered promises against its bark?

Closer now, she could see the countless markings etched into its trunk – initials, dates, hearts, and symbols carved by lovers, and friends. Some were fresh enough, the wood still pale around the edges; others had been smoothed by time until they were barely visible, just ghosts of past connections. Names and dates spanning decades, a physical record of human connection in this place.

Molly ran her fingers over the carvings, feeling the indentations against her skin. The bark was rough and cool beneath her touch, deeply furrowed with age.

She circled the massive trunk slowly, taking in the full circumference with wonder. On the far side, where mid-morning sun now illuminated the bark more fully, she found older carvings, their edges softened by decades of growth. Her fingers traced these more tentative etchings from another era, wondering about the hands that had created them, the hearts that had felt compelled to leave their mark.

Had her grandmother carved her initials here too, she wondered. And if so, with whom?