This was the official beginning of my new, happier future.
The words of one of Emily’s poems danced and twirled in my thoughts.
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
I opened my eyes, took a few more sips of tea, then relocated to the study. I sat at the little desk with a biography about Emily’s life I’dbrought with me, and began to read. When I’d finished my tea and felt properly inspired, I made my first entry in my journal.
I jotted the date at the top of the page, then made a list of things I could do today.
Explore the grounds
Read
Try my hand at poetry
Start a garden
Walk to the bookshop and thank Grace for her kind note and care basket
Do not mention burning the gifted stationery
Do not ask for details about her nephew or his relationship status
I wouldn’t stick this list on the refrigerator.
I pressed the memories of Davis’s clear gray eyes from my mind, along with the strange, crackling tension I’d felt in his presence. A result of the old Emma’s lifelong focus on finding love, no doubt.
“Out with the old,” I said, giving a dramatic swing of one hand. “In with the new.” I studied my list. “Now. What will I do first?”
It was barely 9:00 a.m., and I was restless. Itching to get busy somehow. I returned to the book at my side, eager to check reading off my list when I finished.
I skimmed the opening pages about Emily’s family. I’d always struggled with the fact Emily wasn’t especially close to either of her parents. She cared deeply about so many things. I wished that she’d been close with her mom or her dad. Sadder still, she lived in the family home until she died of a stroke at age fifty-five. I cringed. That was six years younger than my parents, which was far too young.
Emily had a younger sister named Lavinia, whom she often called Vinnie. Their personalities were drastically different, much like Annie’s and mine.
Maybe all sisters had some points of contention.
I turned the page, moving on to the attachment Emily had to her older brother, Austin, and her deep and abiding friendship with Austin’s wife, Sue, to whom Emily had written more than two hundred fifty letters.
My thoughts moved easily to Cecily, and I reached for my phone. Then I remembered I’d have to walk down the lane if I wanted to text her.
I pursed my lips and carried on. A moment later, I grinned at the mention of Emily’s favorite book, Charlotte Brontë’sJane Eyre. “Just one more thing we have in common,” I told the pages.
I closed the book when I reached the end of the chapter.
The manor was far too quiet.
The silence a weight on my chest and shoulders. Grace hadn’t put that in the brochure.
I let my thoughts drift to Annie, hating the way life had come between us somehow and wishing I knew how to fix it. I’d stepped in to care for her when she was a toddler. When Mom had been too sick and exhausted from chemo treatments herself, and Dad had been forced by medical bills and a mortgage to go back to the bookstore and work. Distracting Annie, dressing her, feeding her, and combing her hair, along with a dozen other chores, had become my responsibility. Even at ten years old, I’d known I couldn’t cure Mom’s cancer. But I could keep my little sister happy so Mom had one less thing to worry about. And that was what I’d done.
Jeffrey’s mention of Annie’s upcoming early-morning doctor’s appointment returned to mind, along with her overreaction about my absence. I had no way of knowing if those things added up to something, or if I was just a nervous auntie. Not that it mattered. I’d have to wait and see what happened, because Annie wasn’t big on sharing with me these days.
I turned back to the list in my journal and suddenly knew exactly what I needed to do next. Like with Annie’s pregnancy, the clockcounted down my time here, and that meant I had to move quickly if I wanted a garden. Thankfully, I’d seen a small nursery on my way into town.
I stuffed my feet into comfy sneakers, then grabbed my sunglasses, purse, cell phone, and keys.
