Chapter 6: Trouble at the Banquet

A few months later, the Prescotts threw a proper southern-style banquet—long tables under the oaks, pitchers of sweet tea, a spread to make any neighbor envious. And sure enough, someone green with envy showed up.

I was sitting with Mrs. Prescott, trying not to spill gravy on my dress, when a young woman in a pink dress—eyes red from crying—stared daggers at me.

"Did you really… with Danny by the riverbank…"

My cheeks went hot. I played shy, looking down, fiddling with my napkin, hoping she’d just leave me alone.

She only got more worked up, glaring at Luke and Lily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"I don’t see any resemblance to Danny. You must’ve seen the Prescott family’s wealth and deliberately tried to scam them, right!"

Every eye at the table pinned me like a bug. I could feel the whispers crawling up my spine.

Right on cue, an older man—tall, gray at the temples—stepped up behind her, his gaze icy.

"Mrs. Prescott, I too think this girl’s story is very suspicious."

"This matter should be investigated thoroughly."

My stomach twisted. Something about his voice tickled the back of my mind, but I couldn’t place it.

Mrs. Prescott’s face went stone-cold.

"If anyone dares insult my daughter-in-law or question Luke and Lily’s identity again, don’t bother coming to our home ever again!"

The crowd went quiet. People looked at me differently now—some with pity, some with fear—but nobody dared say another word.

Afterward, Mrs. Prescott noticed how rattled I looked and sat me down on the porch swing, a gentle hand on my arm.

She explained the situation: the young woman was Natalie Shen, Danny’s childhood friend—almost like family.

"Don’t blame her, Natalie is just too devoted to Danny."

The older man, her father, was Mr. Shen—the one who’d gone to Silver Hollow to bring Danny’s body home.

"Your Uncle Shen, the Prescott family business is huge, he helped your father a lot, and watched Danny grow up. He’s just too concerned about the Prescott family and Danny. Don’t take it to heart."

I nodded, feeling a bit lighter. That explained the voices, the harshness—family ties run deep in small towns.

After that, the Prescotts doted on the twins even more. They treated me like a daughter—inviting me to family meetings, teaching me family recipes, buying me little things I never dared dream of as a child.

The Prescotts’ house was a far cry from my old world, but they never forced me to fit some fancy mold. They were warm and down-to-earth, proud of their roots.

Mr. Prescott would beam when he saw me tending the backyard garden—tomatoes, beans, pumpkins sprouting in neat rows.

"Your grandfather loved these things too. You know, our Prescott family started from the land."

"Tara, you really are one of us!"

His words made me blush. I told him about the locusts and how my parents had been real farmers, working the land with their own hands.

Even now, well-fed and safe in the Prescott house, I couldn’t shake my fear of another locust swarm. I wanted to understand why it happened, maybe stop it from happening again.

He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Such swarms of locusts are rare, but I vaguely remember your grandfather mentioning it when I was young. I don’t recall clearly, but your grandfather left a handwritten notebook. I’ll have someone find it for you."

My eyes lit up. "That would be wonderful!"

When I finally got my hands on Grandpa Prescott’s notebook, I found a few cryptic lines about locusts—nothing concrete, but enough to give me hope.

It said locusts come after great droughts, and everything has its counter—fire, water, something to drive them off. But how to tell which kind, or how to really stop them? That part was missing.

So I spent my days out in the fields, studying the earth, catching bugs, planting and replanting, searching for answers from sunrise to sunset.

Luke and Lily grew fast. Soon enough, they were toddling through the pumpkin patch, tiny hands tugging on vines and dirt smudged on their cheeks.

The kids’ laughter tangled with the smell of cut grass and sun-warmed earth. One afternoon, both came running—Luke clutching a pumpkin, Lily a handful of green beans—offering their treasures to the Prescotts.

"Grandpa, Grandma, eat!"

Mr. and Mrs. Prescott scooped them up, laughter echoing down the garden path.

"My Luke and Lily really are looking more and more like their father!"

"Yes, they’re like they were carved from the same mold!"

I watched them, my heart growing soft. Maybe—just maybe—I could stay another year.

After Mrs. Prescott’s porch swing reassurance, I watched the fireflies blink in the dusk, wondering how long before the truth caught up to me.

Until, well, until…