Carolina Mist by Mariah Stewart Page B

thought perhaps to turn the conversation to the absent family.
    “Josie and Jack divorced about ten years ago,” Belle told her. “Then Josie died—heart failure, they said—about two years later. If her heart failed, it was because that scoundrel of a husband of hers had taken off with his secretary. Little older than my granddaughter, she was.” Belle shook her head sharply, her voice filled with bitterness.
    “I had no idea.” Abby felt stunned. “But surely her children could have helped you.”
    “Krista has about as much sense now as she had when she was nine. Probably less. Married some fool who can barely support her and the children. Four of them, she had, one right after another.”
    “And Alex?” It had been years since Abby had spoken his name aloud.
    “Alexander is a lawyer.” Her chin jutted out slightly. “The only one left in this family who’ll ever live up to the Matthews name.”
    “Where is he living now?”
    “Boston.” Belle put down her cup and faced off with Abby. “But I’ve no mind to go running to that boy with my problems, missy. Alexander has had things tough enough, what with that fool father of his running off just when he was about to enter college, and his mother dying. He worked his way through school, law school, too. I imagine he’s still paying back his loans. All those years, I thought I’d be able to do that for him.” Her voice softened, almost as if she spoke only to herself. “I thought I’d be able to help him through school. All that boy ever asked of life was to study law and go fishing. No.” Belle shook her head vehemently. “I’d not ask him for help. Not that I ever dreamed I’d be dependent on anyone.”
    “But you and Leila helped each other. That’s not the same as being dependent.”
    “True enough. But now Leila’s gone.” She met Abby’s eyes but did not add the obvious, and I am dependent on you.
    Abby sensed Belle was waiting for some assurance from her, some words that would put her at ease, that would promise this home was still hers, now and always. It was a promise Abby could not, in good conscience, make, and so she said nothing.
    Belle watched through narrow eyes that held questions they both wished to avoid as Abby cleared the table and carried Aunt Leila’s equivalent of everyday dishes—some lovely old porcelain—into the kitchen.
    “If Aunt Leila had fallen on hard times, why is there a new refrigerator? And a new stove?” Abby asked as she filled the sink.
    “When things wore out, she replaced them.”
    “Where did the money come from?”
    “She sold some things, when she had to,” Belle told her.
    “What did she sell?”
    “Your great-grandmother’s pearls went for the appliances, I don’t recall what else, over the years. Some garnets, I think. And a diamond watch.”
    Abby searched her memory, trying to recall what jewelry there had been. Nothing specific came to mind except the garnets, a pin and a ring, which Aunt Leila had prized. It must have broken her heart to sell them.
    “What do you do, Abigail?” Belle asked.
    “What do you mean? What do I do for a living?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, right now, I’m unemployed, I used to work for a financial consulting firm.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Advising people how to invest their money.”
    “People still have money to invest?” Belle asked wryly.
    “Some do.” Abby smiled.
    “You left your job to come here?”
    “Actually, it was the other way around.” Abby let the water out of the sink, then searched for a towel to dry the dishes that stood in the drainer. “M y job—and some others—were… eliminated.”
    Belle pondered for a moment, her eyes darting to Abby’s face. “You don’t expect to find a job like that here, do you? ’Cause there aren’t any, I’d venture. Nobody I know around here has anything to invest.”
    “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” True, but vague.
    “I see,” Belle said softly.
    “I think I’ll take a