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Gaslight lamp poles line the streets. Immense baskets of cascading Petunias in scarlets, pinks, white and purple, are suspended high above the sidewalks from ornate street light brackets.

Sienna gets a kick out of watching the shopkeepers trimming the glossy ivy from their display windows. It’s a job even the street planners have a hard time keeping up with as the vines entwine the historic brick buildings at phenomenal speed.

Connected to this town is a rich train history, its curse, and attraction. Sienna sees the frustration on the faces of travelers in a hurry waiting for the train to pass by. They won’t take this area as a shortcut again.

In Spring when the river spills over its banks it’s not uncommon for sandbags to line the streets. All is forgotten as warm weather sets in and the summer picnic tables and grills are put back in place for family get-togethers.

A nearby cemetery has trimmed pathways that wind between a mausoleum and a twelve-foot-tall iron Angel. For lovers of the macabre a section of the graveyard is dedicated to the passengers of a famous fallen train that plummeted into raging floodwater. The ghosts of this town are as famous as the living.

A fascinating hiking path gives intrigue and exercise for those up to it, but lately, some have gone missing. So far no bodies have shown up and the ones disappearing seem not to be from good families that get Press coverage. The disappearances go in the file of “things unsaid.”

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