add. Not many left like her, that’s for sure. She was like someone from another time.”
Abby nodded slowly. She could not have described Leila better herself, she thought, as she loaded the bags into the car with Young Foster’s help. Leila, with her elegant, soft clothes and her courtly grace, her strict observance of afternoon tea, her penchant for white gloves and hats in all seasons. Someone from another time, indeed.
After driving slowly into the narrow lane that ran next to Leila’s house, Abby came to a stop and peered out the passenger-side window. The gas station attendant had been absolutely correct, she noted with a sinking heart. The porch was pulling away from the turret. What else was ready to take a tumble? She would make a thorough inspection this afternoon. Right now, she was going to prepare a proper lunch for Belle.
The old woman was like a child on Christmas morning, peeking into bags and exclaiming her delight upon finding something of particular preference.
“Seedless grapes … and bananas! I haven’t had them in … well, who could recall?” She withdrew the favored items from the bag. “And you bought chicken, and, oh my … pork chops! And sugar. I’ve sorely missed sugar in my tea, the truth be told.”
Good Lord, Abby thought, her face turning slightly red at the woman’s unbounded joy. This poor lady must be on the brink of abject poverty, if she can't afford a bag of sugar once or twice a year. Her family should be ashamed, letting her live like this. Alone in this big old house, no money, little food.
She recalled Belle’s comment about having been afraid she’d not have heat this winter. If I hadn’t come when I did, she might have frozen to death.
Abby slammed the refrigerator door. Wait till I get my hands on them. Krista and Alex and Josie, their mother. I have a few very choice words for all of them.
The ringing telephone startled her. She followed the sound into the front hall, where Belle had picked it up.
“Why, yes, I am quite well. Thank you for inquiring,” she was saying. “Yes, indeed, she is. Would you like to speak with her?”
Belle held the receiver out to Abby. “It’s Mr. Tillman, Leila’s attorney.”
Word does travel. Abby grinned as she took the phone. “Mr. Tillman, I was going to give you a call this afternoon … Yes, I had a good trip … Yes, it is good to be back in Primr ose after all these years… Well, I think w e need to talk about that… Yes, that would be fine. Ten tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
Abby went back to the kitchen, thinking about what she might tell the lawyer. He’d asked if she was planning on keeping the house and making her home here. The answer was a definite no, but first she had to figure out what to do about Belle.
The woman has a family, she reminded herself. She is their responsibility, not mine.
Except that Aunt Leila had made Belle a promise and had bequeathed that promise to Abby along with the house.
6
B elle all but hung over Abby’s shoulder as she prepared a lunch of chicken noodle soup and tuna salad. The woman ate slowly, savoring each bite, her eyes dancing with the sheer happiness of having a simple meal that was something other than tea and toast. For dessert, Abby presented her with a bowl of fruit and a few slices of cheese. Belle was in heaven.
“It must have been difficult to sell your house,” Abby said over tea when the meal had finished. “I know it was terrible for me when my home—my parents’ house, that is—was sold.”
“Well, yes.” Belle dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin. “I’d had better days. At least Granger wasn’t alive to see it. Would have killed him, I think. He always set such store by that house, you know. Proud as a peacock, he was, the day he carried me over the threshold as a bride. Always romantic, my Granger was.” Belle’s eyes glazed, remembering.
“Couldn’t Josie and her husband have helped?” Abby
Abby nodded slowly. She could not have described Leila better herself, she thought, as she loaded the bags into the car with Young Foster’s help. Leila, with her elegant, soft clothes and her courtly grace, her strict observance of afternoon tea, her penchant for white gloves and hats in all seasons. Someone from another time, indeed.
After driving slowly into the narrow lane that ran next to Leila’s house, Abby came to a stop and peered out the passenger-side window. The gas station attendant had been absolutely correct, she noted with a sinking heart. The porch was pulling away from the turret. What else was ready to take a tumble? She would make a thorough inspection this afternoon. Right now, she was going to prepare a proper lunch for Belle.
The old woman was like a child on Christmas morning, peeking into bags and exclaiming her delight upon finding something of particular preference.
“Seedless grapes … and bananas! I haven’t had them in … well, who could recall?” She withdrew the favored items from the bag. “And you bought chicken, and, oh my … pork chops! And sugar. I’ve sorely missed sugar in my tea, the truth be told.”
Good Lord, Abby thought, her face turning slightly red at the woman’s unbounded joy. This poor lady must be on the brink of abject poverty, if she can't afford a bag of sugar once or twice a year. Her family should be ashamed, letting her live like this. Alone in this big old house, no money, little food.
She recalled Belle’s comment about having been afraid she’d not have heat this winter. If I hadn’t come when I did, she might have frozen to death.
Abby slammed the refrigerator door. Wait till I get my hands on them. Krista and Alex and Josie, their mother. I have a few very choice words for all of them.
The ringing telephone startled her. She followed the sound into the front hall, where Belle had picked it up.
“Why, yes, I am quite well. Thank you for inquiring,” she was saying. “Yes, indeed, she is. Would you like to speak with her?”
Belle held the receiver out to Abby. “It’s Mr. Tillman, Leila’s attorney.”
Word does travel. Abby grinned as she took the phone. “Mr. Tillman, I was going to give you a call this afternoon … Yes, I had a good trip … Yes, it is good to be back in Primr ose after all these years… Well, I think w e need to talk about that… Yes, that would be fine. Ten tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
Abby went back to the kitchen, thinking about what she might tell the lawyer. He’d asked if she was planning on keeping the house and making her home here. The answer was a definite no, but first she had to figure out what to do about Belle.
The woman has a family, she reminded herself. She is their responsibility, not mine.
Except that Aunt Leila had made Belle a promise and had bequeathed that promise to Abby along with the house.
6
B elle all but hung over Abby’s shoulder as she prepared a lunch of chicken noodle soup and tuna salad. The woman ate slowly, savoring each bite, her eyes dancing with the sheer happiness of having a simple meal that was something other than tea and toast. For dessert, Abby presented her with a bowl of fruit and a few slices of cheese. Belle was in heaven.
“It must have been difficult to sell your house,” Abby said over tea when the meal had finished. “I know it was terrible for me when my home—my parents’ house, that is—was sold.”
“Well, yes.” Belle dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin. “I’d had better days. At least Granger wasn’t alive to see it. Would have killed him, I think. He always set such store by that house, you know. Proud as a peacock, he was, the day he carried me over the threshold as a bride. Always romantic, my Granger was.” Belle’s eyes glazed, remembering.
“Couldn’t Josie and her husband have helped?” Abby
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