Chapter 5 - The Autumn Harvest
Despite the cold, the highland community gathered for the final harvest of the year. The chapel farm produced dried herbs, lavender oils, and honey, which they sold to support the local orphanage and the elderly of the glen.
Sienna stood in the small communal hall, helping the local women bottle the golden heather honey. The room was warm, filled with the sweet, rich scent of honey and the sound of laughter and chatter.
"You've got a good hand with that, Sienna," Mrs. MacDonald, a robust woman with kind eyes, said, patting Sienna's shoulder. "Aiden tells us you've been a great help in the greenhouses."
"I enjoy it," Sienna said, a genuine smile on her face. "It's the first time in my life I've felt like I'm doing something that actually matters."
"That’s because you're working with your heart, dear," Mrs. MacDonald said. "In the city, people work for the numbers on a screen. Here, we work for the person standing next to us. It's a simple life, but it's a good one."
Later that evening, the community gathered in the warm hall for a simple harvest supper. There was no expensive catering, no champagne towers, and no formal dress code. Everyone brought a dish—homemade potato soup, fresh oatcakes, and roasted root vegetables.
Aiden sat next to Sienna, his hand occasionally brushing against hers. When the local fiddler began to play a lively highland tune, the children and the elders danced together on the wooden floor, their laughter echoing off the rafters.
Sienna looked around the room, her heart swelling with an emotion she had never felt in the grand ballrooms of Florence. This wasn't a calculated social gathering designed to make connections; it was a family.
"They don't have much," Sienna whispered to Aiden, watching an elderly couple laugh as they tried to keep up with the dance.
May you like
"They have everything they need," Aiden replied softly, his eyes locked on her face. "They have peace, they have community, and they have love. That is the wealth of the kingdom, Sienna."
Under the warm, golden light of the oil lamps, Sienna realized that she had already crossed the bridge. She could never go back to the cold, transactional world of Florence. She had seen the light of simple things, and she was finally ready to fight for it.
