Epilogue
ASPEN FARMERS’ MARKET
SEPTEMBER 24, 2011
There is no more glorious time in the Roaring Fork Valley than late September. The aspen leaves turn gold, setting the mountains aflame with color with every breeze. Snow dusts the peaks, powdering the gray, rugged rock. Locals make bets on whether all the ski slopes will open on time.
Silver glints on the water of the Roaring Fork River, rippling through the valley, winding around huge boulders and wader-clad fisherman. Red-tailed hawks soar and dive in the cobalt skies, playing the wind currents flowing over the mountains. The solemn spruce trees, their shadows stretched long and ominous, hint at the winter to come.
Daisy and Morgan walked together, inspecting the bright apples at the Aspen Farmers’ Market on East Hopkins Avenue. The smell of roasting green chiles wafted through the streets, making the mountain air smell more like Santa Fe than a Colorado ski town.
Betsy spotted them in the crowd. Daisy held an apple by the stem, twirling it in front of her sister’s eyes. They both laughed at some private joke. Morgan reached out, resting her hand on Daisy’s wrist, a gesture of affection.
Sunlight sparkled on Daisy’s canine tooth as she smiled.
“Her mother told me that she had braces at six,” Betsy told John. “Apparently she had fully formed teeth at birth.”
“That’s freakish.”
“It happens, I guess. That last wild tooth came in when she was twelve. She refused to have it straightened.”
“You want to go over and say hi?” he asked.
She gazed at the sisters. “No, let’s leave them alone. We’ll see them this afternoon at the wedding.”
“It’s good to see them doing so well,” said John.
They watched the two sisters raise a hand in greeting as Daisy called to a blond teenager in a baseball cap at a vegetable stall.
Kyle loped over to them, slinging his arm around Daisy.
“Your mom, too,” said John. “I’ve never seen her look so happy.”
“She just got a royalty check,” said Betsy, laughing. “The book’s doing better than she ever dreamed.”
John took her hand. “The Countess is finally doing some good.”
“And she got a letter from the bank. The Bathory Reparation Trust is getting contributions from all over. More than she expected. Mom thought giving half of her royalties might be most of the money, but she was amazed how many Bathory relatives want to purge the stain of the Countess from their name.”
“Can you blame them?”
“At least the descendants of the victims will have some retribution for the horrors their ancestors suffered. Not a bad legacy for my dad. It’s the best memorial he could ever have.”
John pulled Betsy against him, cupping her chin with the palm of his hand. He tilted her head up gently, looking into her eyes.
“Ready to change your name back to Bathory?”
“I’ll always be a Path, John,” she teased. “Even after the ceremony.”
They watched as the two sisters drifted off into the crowd arm in arm.
Betsy took John’s arm, and they wandered over to the basket of apples.
“I’ll take this one,” said Betsy, picking up the apple Daisy had touched. John reached for his wallet, taking out a dollar. The farmer nodded, digging in her apron for change.
“Take a bite,” said Betsy, rubbing the fruit on her red flannel shirt. She held the apple up to his mouth.
He closed his hand over hers and bit hard into the apple.
“You have always led me into temptation, Elizabeth Path. I have never been able to resist.”
She smiled, biting into the other half.