The café seemed to grow quiet around Kathleen, as if even the building itself was listening to Florence’s story. “Did she...”
“From what we’ve discovered, she died that night in Sapphire Bay,” Chloe said softly.
Tears blurred Kathleen’s vision as she thought about Florence’s final hours—alone and more than likely in the house where Kathleen now lived. She was protecting the secrets of women who had trusted her with their lives. Women who’d been abandoned by their families and friends.
“Kathleen? Are you okay?”
“I’m just thinking about Florence,” Kathleen said. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Did Florence’s aunt die on the same night?”
“I asked Sarah the same question,” Chloe replied. “It looks as though Miriam lived for another decade. Sarah said there are also sketches of some of the women they helped in the journal.”
The thought of looking into the faces of the women who had found sanctuary in Kathleen’s house made her heart race. She stood and walked to the café window, looking out at the lake where the setting sun painted the water in shades of gold and amber. Farther along the shore was her Victorian house, where Florence Buckley had lived, worked, and ultimately died for the women she’d sworn to protect.
“There’s something else,” Chloe said. “The journal contains detailed descriptions of your house—the layout, the secret room, even the hiding places Florence and Miriam created for emergency situations. But most importantly, it includes the names and stories of the local people who helped them. Shopkeepers who provided supplies, a doctor who assisted with difficult cases, even a lawyer who helped create the false documents.”
Kathleen bit her bottom lip. She’d wondered how Florence and Miriam had created new identities for the women, as well as feeding and supporting them. “We always thought Florence must have had help.”
“And now we know,” Chloe replied. “Before Florence arrived, Miriam had a community of people who understood what she was doing and chose to help, even though she was risking her own safety.”
As the implications of what everyone had done sank in, Kathleen felt a profound connection to her home that went far beyond ownership. Every woman deserved the chance to control her own destiny, and Florence and her aunt had understood that better than anyone else.
“I’ll be at work by seven o’clock tomorrow,” Chloe said. “If we’re lucky, I’ll still be there when the scanned pages are emailed to me. We could look at them together after we close the café.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Kathleen told her friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
After ending the call, Kathleen remained by the window. Tomorrow, she would read Florence’s own words about the work that had taken place in her house. She’d see sketches of the women who had found safety within those walls, and she would understand the magnitude of the legacy she’d accidentally inherited.
Chapter 20
The following evening, Kathleen stood at her kitchen window, watching a flock of birds fly across Flathead Lake. Despite the warmth radiating from the wood-burning stove, she picked up her sweater and pulled it on. The house felt larger somehow when she was alone, each room holding space for memories and conversations that hadn’t yet happened.
Susan had gone into town earlier, intent on making the most of her last day in Sapphire Bay. Kathleen would miss her when she left. It was wonderful sharing the house with her, slipping down to the hidden room when they were alone, and imagining what it must have been like in Montana in the late nineteenth century.
The soft chime of her doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and she hurried to answer it, grateful for the arrival of her friends. Lynda stood on the veranda holding a bottle of wine and a covered dish that smelled like her famous herb bread. Behind her, Isabel carried a bouquet of wildflowers from Frank’s garden, while Susan balanced a white bakery box that undoubtedly contained something decadent from her catering supplies.
“Perfect timing,” Kathleen said, stepping aside to let them in. “I just finished setting up the living room.”
Like she had many times, she’d arranged cushions on the floor around her coffee table, creating a cozy circle near the fireplace. Hopefully, the contractors would soon be finished in the dining room. But for now, having their last evening together beside the fireplace felt more right than sitting in a formal dining room.
“This is so much better than meeting at a restaurant,” Susan said as she sat on the floor. “We can spread everything out and take our time.”
Isabel arranged her flowers in a mason jar, then settled onto one of the cushions with a slight wince. “I’ll have to get back to my pilates classes if we’re going to do this all the time.”
Lynda laughed as she attempted to find a comfortable position. “I spent yesterday examining a very uncooperative Great Dane, and every muscle in my body is protesting.”
Kathleen poured wine into four mismatched glasses—a collection that had grown organically over the years, each piece carrying its own story. “Don’t worry,” she assured her friends. “The dining room will be up and running next week.”
Susan accepted her wine with a grateful smile. “It’s a pity I won’t be here to see the room finished.”
“You can always come back sooner than you think you will,” Kathleen said, settling onto her own cushion. Susan had decided to sell her business, but so much was still up in the air that she wasn’t sure when she could leave Georgia. “Tell us about your conversations with the broker. How are you feeling?”
“Everything’s been surprisingly positive,” Susan said. “Both potential buyers seem genuinely interested in maintaining the quality and reputation I’ve built. They’re not looking to change everything straightaway.”
“That must be a relief,” Isabel said gently. “When you’ve put so much of yourself into building something, it’s hard to imagine someone else taking it in a completely different direction.”
“It is, but I have to accept that someone else will have ideas that are different from mine. I keep reminding myself that change is good.” Susan took a sip of wine, and some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease. “At least they understand that providing exceptional service has made the business successful.”
Kathleen studied her friend’s face, recognizing the mix of excitement and apprehension that came with major life changes. “Are you having any second thoughts about selling?”
