Jocelyn saw an ice cream parlor that looked like something off a movie set and a store of used books. “Gold mine!” she said aloud. Out-of-print books were some of her favorite things in life.
She saw a little grocery with produce in a bin in front, and a woman wearing a long skirt with a tasseled belt. There was a bandana tied around her head and her shirt had been tie-dyed. “Wonder if she went to Woodstock?” Jocelyn muttered.
There was the usual store full of old furniture and some other businesses.
And in the middle, on a big, grassy circle, was an enormous oak tree. There were half a dozen benches under its shade and two teenagers were kissing, while some younger kids were laughing at them.
The last two houses before the road disappeared into overhanging trees were the ones in the photos on the Internet. They were big, white, and looked inviting. In front of one a woman was sweeping the porch, and as though she knew who Jocelyn was, she halted her broom and stared.
Jocelyn was so absorbed in looking back at the woman that she almost missed the turn at the end of Lairdton. One block down was a sign that said TAM WAY. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that the woman was no longer on the porch. She probably went inside to start the gossip line. What would they say? That the outsider is here to take over our beloved Miss Edi’s house?
Jocelyn drove slowly down the country road. There were only three houses along the way, and unless she missed her guess, they’d once been part of the plantation of Edilean Manor. She could see that there were old sections on the houses, but they’d been remodeled and expanded over the years.
When she came to some stone columns that were nearly hidden by vines, she knew she’d reached it. There was a little marble plaque in one of them and she could see enough letters to know what it said.
This is it, she thought, and pulled into the drive. There were so
many huge trees that she could see nothing, and it occurred to her that maybe what she’d seen were photos of the house before it was torn down. She knew from the research she’d done at school that you had to read the fine print under the pictures to see if the house still existed.
Suddenly, the trees parted and she saw the house, and it was exactly like the photos. Because she’d visited many old houses in her life, she immediately saw that the house was in pristine condition. There were houses less than a year old that weren’t as well kept as this one was. Every window, shutter, and rain gutter was perfect.
On each side of the house was a wing with its own little porch, and for a moment Joce thought about knocking on the doors and asking permission to go inside. But that was ridiculous.
With her eyes on the house, looking at every inch of it, she got out, opened the back of the car, and took out her suitcase. She pulled it behind her as she climbed the wooden steps up to the small porch in front of the door.
She took the key out of her jacket pocket, inserted it into the old lock, and when it turned, her heart began to beat quickly.
“Hello? Anybody here?” Jocelyn called as she opened the old door. From the look of it, the door was original to the house, which made it over two hundred years old. She left her big black suitcase by the door and slowly walked farther inside, her heels echoing on the bare wooden floor.
She was in the entrance hall, and as she’d hoped, it went all the way through the house. To her right were two closed doors and to her left on either side of the staircase were two more closed doors. She hoped the house hadn’t been altered and that behind the doors were big rooms and not little cubicles that had been cut up by centuries of owners.
The staircase was magnificent, and she felt sure that the banister was one piece of mahogany. Turning, she looked up to the top of the stairs and saw more closed doors—and, just like in the hallway, there wasn’t a stick of furniture to be seen.
She walked to the far end of the big, bare hallway and looked through the window. Outside were giant trees that might be as old as the house. She wanted to walk under them and sit on one of the little white-painted iron chairs.
As she watched, a young woman walked from the right side of the house with what looked like a dress wrapped in a towel and a sewing basket in her hand. Joce blinked a few times, thinking she’d walked into a time warp. Who sewed today? Who carried a big basket with what looked to be a pincushion top? Had Miss Edi sent Joce into a place where time stood still?
She smiled at the idea, then, instantly, the smile was gone. Even though it had been months since her friend died, Joce still wasn’t ready to let her go. No more funny e-mails, no more telephone chats that could go on for hours. No Miss Edi to run home to whenever she had a chance. No more sitting together over a steaming pot of tea and confiding all her worries, fears, and triumphs. Never again would she hear those familiar words, “Of course it’s none of my business, but if I were in your place, I would—”
Joce blinked back tears and gave a glance at the closed doors leading off the big hallway, then back at the woman sitting under the shade tree. There were rooms to explore and she should see about groceries and whether there was a bed for the night. But she looked back at the woman—and she won.
Joce had to use her key to unlock the back door, then she went out into the fresh spring air and toward the woman. She was so absorbed in her sewing that she didn’t seem to hear anyone approach, so Joce had time to look at her. She was quite young, early twenties, and she looked like a poster child for Innocence. Her face was a perfect oval and her skin like porcelain. Her brown hair had golden highlights that looked natural, and she wore a dress that could have come out of a Kate Greenaway drawing.
Joce didn’t want to startle her so she said, “Hello” from several feet away, but the young woman went on sewing and didn’t look up. It wasn’t until Joce was just an arm’s length away that she saw the woman was wearing earbuds. Smiling, Joce pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down.
“Hello,” the woman said, not at all startled. She pulled the earbuds off and turned off her iPod.
“Let me guess,” Joce said. “Enya.”
The pretty young woman blinked, then smiled. “Oh, I see. I look like I’ve never seen a dirty movie in my life, so I must play angelic music.” She pulled the earphone peg out and turned it back on. Out blasted ZZ Top. “I have a hippie mother,” she said. “My father’s a doctor and as conservative as they come, but my mother likes hard rock and plays it as loud as she can—when my father’s not home, that is.”
“The neighbors don’t complain?”
“One of them did, but my mom poured her a margarita, and when my dad got home they were dancing together. There haven’t been any complaints since.”
Joce laughed, still looking at the pretty young woman. “Do you get your face from your mother or your father?”
“My Great-aunt Lissie. Or so I’ve been told. She used her looks to snare the richest man in town, had half a dozen kids, then proceeded to spend all her husband’s money.”