welcome.” Crossing arms over her comfortable girth, she winked her brother’s way. “You too, Walker. Though you are standing there looking like a tree taking roots, you’re always welcome here.”
He laughed. “ Danke. Sorry for the tree impersonation. Guess I’m just tired.”
“You don’t need to be anything but how you are, Walker,” Grandma Francis said sweetly, starting to usher them inside, her gray dress brushing against her ankles..
Though Walker looked at ease, Abby knew she had more to ask. “Um, Mommi , I was also hoping that maybe I could spend the night, too? Would you mind terribly if I slept over and then Mom or someone could take me home tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Her voice slowed as she looked over Abby with a steady gaze. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. I, um, just wanted to get away for a little while.”
After a pause, Grandma Francis nodded. “If you are seeking to get away, I think you picked a perfect place to get to. Now, where is your bag?”
“In the back of Walker’s truck. I could go get it.”
“I’ll help Walker get the bag, Abby,” Grandpa James said as he stepped out of the shadows. “I’m not so old that I can’t do that. But you have to give me a hug first.”
She stepped into his embrace. While her grandma always smelled like cookies, the scent of leather and horses always clung to her grandfather’s skin. She inhaled deeper and felt the muscles in her shoulders relax. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I know,” he said simply. “But we’re together now, jah ?”
“Jah.” She nodded when they parted.
He turned to her brother. “Now, Walker, how about you show me where your shveshtah ’s suitcase is?”
“Sure, Dawdi ,” Walker replied and walked with his grandfather to his truck.
Grandma Francis led Abby toward the house and curved a soft hand around her arm. “Now, how about I show you where you can sleep?”
“All right.” As they walked, Abby noticed that Walker and her grandfather’s voices had lowered. Their tones sounded hushed and private-like, speaking about things they didn’t want her to hear.
Three cement steps brought them up to the front door. When her Grandma opened it, Abby walked into the dim entryway, smelling the familiar scents of vanilla and lemon oil and embers. Immediately, a sense of calm engulfed her. “Your house always smells the same, Mommi.”
“Well, I should hope so. My James and I have lived here for years.”
Abby chuckled. “No, I mean it always smells like you’ve just been baking something and just tamped down a fire in the fireplace.”
“Most likely that is because that is what has usually happened! It is a rare day that I don’t bake something new, and with this damp March weather, I find my bones yearning for the heat of a fireplace.”
Abby bent down and pulled off her flats, preferring to feel the wood floor under her bare feet. “Maybe I could bake something with you tomorrow? It’s been a long time since I’ve made cookies with you.”
Grandma Francis paused. “You’re not going to be anxious to head home?”
“I was hoping to stay here until Friday afternoon. Or Saturday. If you don’t mind?”
Resting a hand on her shoulder, her grandmother shook her head. “I don’t mind . . . but I sure would like to know what provoked this impromptu visit.”
“I just wanted to see you both.”
“And I just happen to like peaches in the summer, but it don’t mean I go gallivanting around orchards in March. What’s going on?” Her brown eyes narrowed through her glasses. “Are you still having nightmares about finding Perry?”
She was, but she hated to talk about them. She far preferred to ignore the dreams that visited her every night. They seemed to be as inevitable as being talked about at school.
“The dreams aren’t too bad,” she lied as they walked upstairs.
“Something is, though, yes?”
Abby felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
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