Chapter One
“Ugh, Mom, please tell me we’re not staying here. Can’t we go back to a motel in Fredericksburg?”
Clover Damone turned off the car’s engine, set the parking brake and glanced through the windshield at the weathered century-plus farmhouse. Peeling yellow paint clung to the wood siding, looking more like an accent than a coat of paint. The porch railing sagged and clumps of dried grass dotted the dirt of the front yard. Seeing the house’s disintegration hurt her heart. “Relax, Hayley. I’m sure great-aunt Ginny focused more on the inside than the outside. Remember, she was 93 when she died. Not many of that age keep up with house painting.”
“Right at the interstate off-ramp, I saw one with a pool and wi-fi.” Hayley grimaced and ducked her head to glance through the windshield at the roof. “I figured there wouldn’t be a satellite dish. But I hoped at the very least for an antenna.”
If I need to, I can use my hot spot to connect with the outside world. Clover grabbed the door handle and pushed on the door. A blast of warm air whooshed inside the space. “We’ve just driven almost five hundred miles and I’m not going any further.” She stepped onto the gravel driveway and pressed both hands to her lower back. “Not until I work out the kinks. Besides, we’re here to clean out your great-aunt’s things. You’ll be so busy you won’t miss the internet.” She headed toward the porch, each step pulling her closer to memories of childhood summer visits. To slow lazy days and long horseback rides, to swimming in the creek and picking wildflower bouquets.
“Are we unpacking everything now?” Hayley stood with one hand on the car door.
Clover waved a hand and dug in her purse with the other for the house key. “Come inside and see the house first.”
Hayley heaved out a sigh and slammed the car door. “Oh, all right.” Heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs.
A screech and groan sounded as Clover jammed her shoulder against the door to shove it inward. “Hmm, that’s going to need a little work.” She stepped inside and time fell away. Aunt Ginny hadn’t made a change over the past thirty years. The wood-trimmed davenport might be faded but the floral design was the same as when Uncle Stuart so proudly presented it on their thirtieth wedding anniversary. A master craftsman, he’d carved the frame himself.
Hayley stepped inside and pinched her nose. “Ugh, this place smells like a museum. Look at all this old junk.”
Clover bit back a sigh. “They’re called antiques, sweetie. Some of this is your maternal family history. This davenport was crafted by Uncle Stuart who loved to work with wood.” Her gaze went around the room, seeing the items with a new appreciation. “That icebox is one of his pieces. And that side table with the turned legs.”
“Icebox?” Hayley moved to the blockish wooden chest. “They kept ice in the living room?”
A laugh escaped and she joined her daughter. “This was what they used to keep food cold before refrigerators. The ice went in a section on top and the food was in this part.” She grasped the handle on the front and lifted. “See, now tablecloths and napkins are stored here.” Unable to resist, she ran a hand over linen napkins edged in tatted lace, obviously handmade. Only the edges had started to yellow with age.
For the next half hour, they wandered the three bedroom house, Hayley breezing through while Clover lingered. The sight of each room bringing back memories of sharing beds with her sisters and cousins, playing in forts made with quilts that now hung on racks, or snuggling on a window seat to watch a summer shower.
