Lavender Morning by Jude Deveraux

said over her shoulder. “I think maybe Southern is a state of mind as much as a place.
    And haven’t such a lot of people moved from up North down to Florida?”
    Joce couldn’t help smiling. They’d reached the screen door of the east wing, and yet again she paused to
    look up at the house. There were no oddly shaped windows, no rooms that jutted out, nothing that in modern
    terms made a house “interesting.” Edilean Manor was as plain and therefore as beautiful as a house could be.
    Sara stepped into the coolness of her side of the house, Joce behind her. They were in a kitchen that
    looked like it had been put in in about 1965, and although it had been maintained, it certainly hadn’t been
    renovated. “Is that Formica? And is that…?”
    “Avocado,” Sara said, looking at the drab green refrigerator. “Personally, I think the Smithsonian would be
    interested in this place. They should move it just as it is into a museum.”
    Joce looked at the big, white enamel sink under the window and agreed. The kitchen wasn’t old enough to
    be charming. It was just ugly.
    “I think I’ll complain to my landlord,” Sara said.
    “You should,” Joce said, looking at the old stove. It matched the refrigerator. Her head came up. “Oh!
    Wait. I’m your landlord.”
    Sara laughed as she went to the refrigerator and got out a big pitcher of iced tea. “Took you long enough.”
    “This whole idea of owning a house hasn’t sunk in yet. I haven’t even seen the inside.”
    “You’ll have time to explore. There are some old buildings outside too, but maybe you know that.” Sara
    nodded toward the little chrome table against the wall. It had a red surface and matching chrome chairs with red
    seats and backs.
    Joce sat down and watched as Sara poured two glasses of tea and put what looked to be homemade
    cookies on a plate.
    “I know very little. All of this is new to me,” Joce said. “I’m still recovering from…from…”
    “Miss Edi’s death?” Sara asked softly.
    Joce nodded. “Did you know her?”
    “No, I never met her. But I’ve certainly heard enough about her.”
    “Have you?” Joce drank deeply of the tea. She hadn’t realized she was thirsty, then she ate a cookie in two
    bites. When she started on the second one, she looked at Sara’s wide eyes. “Sorry. I’ve been driving for days
    and I guess I forgot to eat.” The truth was that she’d been so nervous last night she couldn’t eat her dinner, and
    this morning she’d skipped breakfast.
    “Now that is true concentration!” Sara didn’t say anything else, but went to the refrigerator, took out a
    bowl of something, then got some lettuce, mayonnaise, and bread. She put it all on the counter, then held up the
    bread. “Look! It’s Yankee bread. No Wonder Bread allowed in my house.”
    “Does it have pineapple in it?”
    Sara looked confused.
    “No pineapple, no bread. At home in Florida we put pineapple in everything. Or coconut.”
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    It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “Okay, I’ll stop stereotyping. It’s just that Edilean is so near Williamsburg that
    we get more than our share of tourists. They think we fry everything.”
    “You don’t?”
    “Not since we heard the word cholesterol. ”
    As Joce took the sandwich on a plate, she said, “You don’t have to do this. Really. I can feed myself.”
    “You have a lot to learn about us Southerners. We feed people. I think it’s in our DNA,” Sara said. “Do
    you mind if we take this outside so I can finish that dress?”
    “Gladly,” Joce said as she carried her glass and plate and followed Sara out to the table. When they were
    seated, Sara with the dress across her lap, needle in hand, Joce took a bite. “Did you make this?” It was chicken
    salad and had sliced grapes and apples in it. It was delicious, like something from an expensive deli.
    “No, my mother did.