As we settle into one of the white, boxed pews, I notice the baskets of purple hydrangeas hanging from the arched rods that stretch across the sanctuary. The smell is light, like summer rain, just the right balance of floral and fresh. I release my skirt. Even Goldie, who usually can’t sit still for five minutes, seems to take a deep breath, her fidgeting finally slowing, as her eyes touch on each one, counting.
The service is simple and familiar, the kind of steady rhythm that makes you forget the passing of time. When it ends, the hush lingers before conversations begin again, spilling warmth into the space.
Several locals introduce themselves, all friendly, but a couple of men with smiles just a bit too polished hover near Mom. Gazing at her bare ring finger, they suddenly seem very eager to give her personal tours of the island.
I brace myself, but before Mom even has a chance to respond, a familiar face elbows her way through, looping her arm through Mom’s like they’ve been best friends for years.
“You’d think they’d never seen a pretty woman before,” Mrs. Mayhew declares, steering her away. “Most of the people here are lovely, but God didn’t give those two enough sense to tie their shoes.”
Goldie bursts into laughter.
“But it’s wonderful to see all the Gardner girls here this morning. How are you getting settled?”
“Just fine,” Mom says, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I really enjoyed the sermon, and the church is even more beautiful than I imagined. I’d love to hear more about its architecture—I mean, the trompe l’oeil design on the ceiling alone is stunning.” She looks up. “I took an art class years ago and fell in love with the way artists can use paint to create that kind of illusion. It’s all flat, but it looks like you could reach up and touch carved stone.”
Mrs. Mayhew beams. “It is a beautiful church, that’s for sure. I don’t know all the details about the building myself, but I’d be happy to introduce you to someone who does.”
Mom’s face lights up. “I’d love that.”
Mrs. Mayhew nods. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take Goldie over to meet some of the other kids first. We’ve got a handful her age, and they usually gather out back to play tag and red rover and such.”
Mom looks down at Goldie, who practically vibrates at the idea. “That sound good to you?”
Goldie nods so vigorously her braid nearly comes undone, and a second later, she and Mrs. Mayhew are off, leaving Mom and me to wander through the sanctuary as she continues studying the space.
“What do you think about adding chunky trim like that to the windows at the house?” she muses, pointing. “It’d be more historically accurate than the simple kind we have up now.”
I nod, grateful that she’s giving me an opportunity to bring up the topic. “Sure. Actually, can I talk to you about the house?”
“Just look at the crown molding,” she says, still lost in thought. “It’ll take a little longer, but I’ve got my miter box. I could do it.”
I step in front of her. “I need to talk to you about something, and it kind of affects the house.”
That gets her attention. “Oh no, please don’t tell me you found a leak in the ceiling.”
“No, nothing like that,” I assure her. “It’s more of a request.”
Her brows knit together.
“You know how I found Dad’s notebook and have been trying to figure out all his research?”
She nods slowly. “You tried to get a couple of museums in town to help, but it didn’t work out.”
“Right.” I exhale. “Only, it turns out one of them might be willing to help me after all—”
Her expression shifts, the tension lifting. “They are? Lili, that’s great.”
“—in exchange for me volunteering there for the summer.”
She stops walking.
I take a couple more steps before turning back to her.
She isn’t frowning, but she isn’t smiling either. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.
I don’t say anything.
She catches up to me. “What about renovating the house? We’ve barely started.”
