for a century. And whatever fantasies she might have woven around them, they could not be a part of her life.
She gathered the book and the photocopies and the debris of her lunch, then folded the blanket. Despite the self-lecture, Elisabeth knew she would cross that threshold into the past again if she could. She wanted to see Jonathan and warn him about the third week in June.
In fact, she just plain wanted to see Jonathan.
Back at the house, Elisabeth found she couldn’t settle down to the needlework or reading she usually found so therapeutic. There were no messages on the answering machine.
Restless, she took the Buzbees’ covered casserole dish, now empty and scrubbed clean, and set out for the house across the road.
An orchard blocked the graceful old brick place from plain view, and the driveway was strewed with fragrant velvety petals. Elisabeth smiled to herself, holding the casserole dish firmly, and wondered how she had ever been able to leave Pine River for the noise and concrete of Seattle.
Miss Cecily came out onto the porch and waved, looking pleased to have a visitor. “I told Sister you’d be dropping in by and by, but she said you’d rather spend your time with young folks.”
Elisabeth chuckled. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said. “I really should have called first.”
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