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Authors: Marta Perry
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inn off the ground.”
She could only hope that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice her job in order to do it.
FIVE
A ndrea hurried through the center hallway toward the rear of the house, pausing in the small room that had been first a summer kitchen, then later a playroom for her and her sisters. They’d loved the huge fireplace, big enough to roast a whole side of beef. They’d pretended they were Cinderella, sweeping the hearth. Come to think of it, Caroline had always gotten to play Cinderella. She’d been the wicked stepmother.
That was how Rachel had made her feel at her suggestion of selling Unger House—like the wicked stepmother. That stung, with its implication that Rachel cared more, understood more, than she did. She still thought selling was the logical solution, but she was smart enough to know when a plan, logical or not, didn’t stand a chance of success.
So she was heading to the hardware store with Cal, putting off the two things she was least eager to do today. Confronting her grandmother about the financial situation, for one. And then telling her boss she neededa leave of absence. Knowing him, she’d be lucky if he didn’t simply give her a choice—her family or her job.
Something winced inside her at that. She deserved that promotion. She’d worked hard for it, sacrificing everything else in her drive to succeed. It wasn’t fair that she might lose it now.
She pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Emma, do you need anything—”
She stopped, nerves jumping. Emma was not in sight, but a man stood with his back to her—tall, broad, black pants and a black jacket, his hand in a drawer of the hutch that held the everyday china.
“What are you doing?” The edge to her voice was put there by fear, but she wouldn’t give in to the feeling. Wouldn’t let herself think about the dark figure that had shoved her into the toolshed. It was broad daylight now, and she wasn’t afraid.
The man froze, then turned slowly toward her. It was like watching a mountain move. His face became visible, and something jolted inside her. The face was oddly unformed, as if a sculptor had started working on it and then walked away, uninterested in finishing. Blue eyes, rounded cheeks like a child’s…
Emma hurried in from the pantry, her white apron fluttering, eyes worried behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What are you doing, Levi? You remember Andrea, don’t you?”
“I remember him.” Andrea tried to soften her embarrassment with a smile. Of course. She should have recognized him at once. Emma’s oldest son was two years older than she was chronologically. Mentally, he was still the child he’d been long ago. “How are you, Levi?”
“Say good day,” Emma prompted, but he just shook his head, taking a step back until he bumped the hutch.
“That’s all right,” Andrea said, trying to smooth over the uncomfortable moment. “Maybe later Levi will want to talk to me.”
Levi’s round blue eyes filled with tears. With an incoherent sound, he turned and ran from the kitchen, the screen door slamming behind him.
She could kick herself. “I’m so sorry.” She turned to Emma. “I didn’t mean to upset him that way.”
“He will be fine.” Emma didn’t seem upset. “He just needs time to get used to new people.”
“Doesn’t he remember me?” Her own childhood memories were flooding back faster and faster, no matter how much she tried to block them out.
Emma shook her head. “He knows you, for sure. He just doesn’t understand about how people change. I’ll tell him a couple of times about how you’re Andrea all grown-up. He’ll be fine.”
Certainly Emma didn’t seem worried about the incident. Her oval face, innocent of makeup, was as serene as always. Whatever grief she’d endured over Levi’s condition had long ago been accepted as God’s will, the way she’d accept a lightning strike that hit the barn or a bumper crop of tomatoes to take to market
She could only hope that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice her job in order to do it.
FIVE
A ndrea hurried through the center hallway toward the rear of the house, pausing in the small room that had been first a summer kitchen, then later a playroom for her and her sisters. They’d loved the huge fireplace, big enough to roast a whole side of beef. They’d pretended they were Cinderella, sweeping the hearth. Come to think of it, Caroline had always gotten to play Cinderella. She’d been the wicked stepmother.
That was how Rachel had made her feel at her suggestion of selling Unger House—like the wicked stepmother. That stung, with its implication that Rachel cared more, understood more, than she did. She still thought selling was the logical solution, but she was smart enough to know when a plan, logical or not, didn’t stand a chance of success.
So she was heading to the hardware store with Cal, putting off the two things she was least eager to do today. Confronting her grandmother about the financial situation, for one. And then telling her boss she neededa leave of absence. Knowing him, she’d be lucky if he didn’t simply give her a choice—her family or her job.
Something winced inside her at that. She deserved that promotion. She’d worked hard for it, sacrificing everything else in her drive to succeed. It wasn’t fair that she might lose it now.
She pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Emma, do you need anything—”
She stopped, nerves jumping. Emma was not in sight, but a man stood with his back to her—tall, broad, black pants and a black jacket, his hand in a drawer of the hutch that held the everyday china.
“What are you doing?” The edge to her voice was put there by fear, but she wouldn’t give in to the feeling. Wouldn’t let herself think about the dark figure that had shoved her into the toolshed. It was broad daylight now, and she wasn’t afraid.
The man froze, then turned slowly toward her. It was like watching a mountain move. His face became visible, and something jolted inside her. The face was oddly unformed, as if a sculptor had started working on it and then walked away, uninterested in finishing. Blue eyes, rounded cheeks like a child’s…
Emma hurried in from the pantry, her white apron fluttering, eyes worried behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What are you doing, Levi? You remember Andrea, don’t you?”
“I remember him.” Andrea tried to soften her embarrassment with a smile. Of course. She should have recognized him at once. Emma’s oldest son was two years older than she was chronologically. Mentally, he was still the child he’d been long ago. “How are you, Levi?”
“Say good day,” Emma prompted, but he just shook his head, taking a step back until he bumped the hutch.
“That’s all right,” Andrea said, trying to smooth over the uncomfortable moment. “Maybe later Levi will want to talk to me.”
Levi’s round blue eyes filled with tears. With an incoherent sound, he turned and ran from the kitchen, the screen door slamming behind him.
She could kick herself. “I’m so sorry.” She turned to Emma. “I didn’t mean to upset him that way.”
“He will be fine.” Emma didn’t seem upset. “He just needs time to get used to new people.”
“Doesn’t he remember me?” Her own childhood memories were flooding back faster and faster, no matter how much she tried to block them out.
Emma shook her head. “He knows you, for sure. He just doesn’t understand about how people change. I’ll tell him a couple of times about how you’re Andrea all grown-up. He’ll be fine.”
Certainly Emma didn’t seem worried about the incident. Her oval face, innocent of makeup, was as serene as always. Whatever grief she’d endured over Levi’s condition had long ago been accepted as God’s will, the way she’d accept a lightning strike that hit the barn or a bumper crop of tomatoes to take to market
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