| Romance Fiction posted September 2, 2025 | Chapters: |
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The Search Begins
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
The Forgotten Dress Chap 3
by Begin Again
The next morning dawned gray and restless, clouds dragging their shadows over the fields as Emily packed the letters into her tote bag. She hesitated at the attic ladder, glancing upward, but forced herself to leave the dress folded where it lay. Not yet, she thought. Not until I know.
Marcy pulled into the drive a few minutes later, her little sedan purring quietly. "You ready?"
Emily slid into the passenger seat, her stomach twisting. "As ready as I'll ever be."
They drove in silence at first, the tires humming against the blacktop as fences, fields, and barns slid past. Emily clutched the tote in her lap, her thumb brushing over the frayed ribbon around the letters.
Finally, she said, "What if this leads nowhere? What if all I find is dust and empty storefronts?"
Marcy kept her eyes on the road. "Then we keep looking. But, Em — what if it doesn't? What if someone there remembers? Don't you want to take that chance?"
Emily stared out the window. The landscape rolled into gentle hills, clusters of old houses and weathered barns scattered across the fields. She thought of the letter, of Will's handwriting steady even as his hope faded.
It wasn't long before a wooden sign appeared at the roadside — FAIRHAVEN - Est. 1951. Painted wildflowers curled around the letters, the wood weathered but proud.
Emily's breath caught. "We're here."
Main Street stretched ahead, a mixture of the old and new — cafes with chalkboard menus, antique shops, faded brick storefronts. Some windows bustled with life, and others stood empty, blinds drawn, with For Lease signs taped to the glass.
Marcy slowed the car, scanning the numbers. "One-twenty-five, one-twenty-seven —. There it is, Em."
They stopped in front of a boarded-over storefront. The faint outline of painted letters still showed above the door — BENNETT & SON.
Emily pressed her hand to the glass, her heart hammering. "It was real. He wasn't lying. He dreamed of bringing her here."
Marcy touched her shoulder. "Now we find someone who remembers."
*****
The bell above the antique shop door jingled as Emily and Marcy stepped inside. The air was warm with the scent of lemon oil and dust. Shelves overflowed with relics of other people's lives.
The bell above the antique shop door jingled as Emily and Marcy stepped inside. The air was warm with the scent of lemon oil and dust. Shelves overflowed with relics of other people's lives.
Emily drifted down an aisle, her eyes tracing teacups and faded picture frames, until something on the bottom shelf stopped her breath.
A small wooden train. Time and small children's hands had worn its edges smooth. The paint had faded to dusky red and black. She lifted it carefully, solid and familiar in her hands.
The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter. "Ah. Found yourself one of our local treasures."
Emily turned, her voice barely steady. "Local treasures?"
He came closer, wiping his hands on a rag. "That train's not just any toy. It was made right here in Fairhaven. A man named Bennett. His family had a woodworking shop on Main Street years ago — Bennett & Son."
Emily's grip tightened. "Bennett —"
The man nodded. "The father ran it, but the son was the real craftsman. Went off to war, though, and came back a different man. Lost his legs. Kept to himself after that. But every once in a while, a piece turns up — a train, a puzzle box, a toy chest. You can always tell his work. Solid. Simple. Made to last."
Emily's eyes blurred. She whispered, "Will."
The shopkeeper tilted his head. "That's right. Will Bennett. Some say he still carves things from time to time. Rumor has it that he's opened a small shop in his home at the edge of town, where he donates toys to the children. Can't say for certain, but folks around here know where to point you if you're looking."
Emily clutched the train against her chest. Her father's hands had sanded its edges, painted its wheels, set it rolling for some child long ago.
Marcy touched her arm, her voice hushed. "Emily, this is it. Here is where we begin."
*****
Emily and Marcy left the antique shop with the paper-wrapped train pressed tightly against Emily's chest. They hadn't gone far before they spotted a woman kneeling by the bakery window boxes, her apron streaked with flour and her fingers dark with soil.
Emily and Marcy left the antique shop with the paper-wrapped train pressed tightly against Emily's chest. They hadn't gone far before they spotted a woman kneeling by the bakery window boxes, her apron streaked with flour and her fingers dark with soil.
"Excuse me," Emily asked softly, "do you know Will Bennett?"
The woman straightened, squinting at them. "Course I do. Everyone in Fairhaven knows Will. Or knew him. Why do you ask?"
Emily froze, her throat tightening.
Marcy stepped in smoothly. "We heard he makes toys. Emily, here's a collector. Thought maybe we could find a few pieces."
The woman's face brightened, her curiosity turning to pride. "Well, now, you've heard right. Will's work is some of the finest I've ever seen. Solid as the man himself once was." Sadness appeared in her eyes. "Why, I remember years back — I stopped by his father's shop, and Will was bent over a carving. Two hearts joined together, delicate as lace, with a little clasp. He told me it would hold a picture. When he opened it, sure enough, inside was a woman's face. Don't know who she was, but she must have been special."
Her gaze softened. "I'll never forget the look in Will's eyes as he worked on it — so full of love, but sorrow too. A broken man, yet every bit of him went into that piece."
Emily's breath caught, tears stinging her eyes.
The woman sighed. "He came back from the war without his legs. But truth be told, it wasn't the legs that ruined him — it was what the war did to his head. He kept to himself after that. Still does. But now and then, I see him on his porch. He always gives a wave."
She pointed down the street. "White house on the edge of town, past the old mill road. You'll find him there."
Emily nodded numbly. "Thank you."
As they walked away, Marcy whispered, "A double heart. With her picture inside. Em, that has to have been your mother."
Emily pressed the train closer to her chest, her voice breaking. "He loved her, but why didn't he come back to her? To me?"
They walked on in silence. The town shifted around them — a mix of whispers from the past and echoes of the present. Children darted out of the bakery with paper bags of sweets, their laughter ringing against the shuttered windows of the old storefronts. For a fleeting moment, Emily imagined her mother walking here too, young and hopeful, her hand laced with Will's as though the war had never come between them.
The thought ached deep in her chest. She tightened her grip on the train, grounding herself in its solid weight. Not just a relic, she realized. A piece of him. A piece of their love that somehow survived.
Marcy glanced at her, quiet for once, and slipped her arm through Emily's. Together, they kept walking, the road ahead pulling them closer to answers neither of them was sure they were ready to face.
"Note: A big thank you to Julie H. for being a sharp-eyed reader and pointing out a timeline issue in the first two chapters. (WWII made Emily and Marcy in their 70s, and Will 100+) Oops!
I've made some adjustments, moving the backstory forward to the Vietnam era. The heart of the story is the same, just placed in a time that allows for a more believable present-day search."
Thanks again, Julie!
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