own good time, he’d said. Be patient, he’d warned. Not that she saw she had much choice.
They stepped through a tiny entryway with oval-shaped glass in both the outer and inner door. The beveled edges of the glass would refract the light and make rainbow colors on the floors and walls that children would admire.
She gave the room a sweeping glance, hoping something would trigger her mind into remembering. The front room in which they stood was welcoming. A dark green couch had a knitted afghan in variegated greens on one arm, and an overstuffed armchair sat on either side of the couch. A yellow canary sang in a cage close to a window.
Mikey noticed it and pointed. “Bir, bir.”
“Bird. That’s right,” she murmured as she continued her study. One big window overlooked the street, another on the far wall revealed a wide-branched tree with a garden table and two wrought-iron chairs beneath its leafy arches. A fine place to sit and read or sew. A fireplace, a full bookcase and a china cupboard of knickknacks all combined to make the room warm and welcoming.
But nothing triggered a sudden remembrance of who she was.
Three doors led from the room. One revealed a set of stairs, the second gave a glimpse of a kitchen. The third flew open and a small, older woman flew out, a little brown dog that looked to be part Chihuahua barking at her heels.
“Muffin, be quiet,” the woman ordered, and the dog immediately settled down. “Company. What a pleasant surprise. Do come in. I prefer to serve tea in the kitchen.” She hesitated. “But if you prefer the living room, that is fine with me.”
Jesse chuckled. “Gram, I’d like you to meet Emily and Mikey. Emily, Mikey, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Whitley.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Emily offered her hand.
The petite woman had twinkling brown eyes and white hair in a loose bun. Something about the spry lady brought a smile to Emily’s lips.
Mrs. Whitley took Emily’s hand between her own. “It’s my pleasure, for sure.” She touched Mikey on the head and dropped her hand again before Mikey could respond. She shifted her gaze to Jesse. “Bring your guests to the kitchen, then you can tell me what’s going on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The note of fondness in his voice eased the strain gripping Emily’s heart. She knew that Jesse was the sheriff and this lady was his grandmother. From their short interaction, she knew nothing more except they were genuinely fond of and respected each other. It was enough to know she would be safe here until her memory returned.
They made their way to the kitchen.
She studied this room as carefully as she had the other. A worn, wooden table sat by big windows that gave a view of the backyard with a garden in its full glory, a row of raspberry bushes along the fence and flowers blooming in a riot of reds and pinks and white in wide rows. Vegetable plants were visible beyond the flowers.
Another window over the kitchen sink looked out on the side yard and the same leafy tree as she’d seen from the living room. There were also generous cupboards and a polished stove.
Emily held back a frustrated sigh that, although she knew the name of everything in the room and what its use was, nothing triggered her memory.
Mrs. Whitley bustled about preparing tea. She served milk and cookies to Mikey and waved Emily to a chair. Jesse sat beside her.
In a low voice he explained about the stagecoach robbery and accident.
Emily shuddered.
“I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you.” He patted her arm.
Mrs. Whitley touched her arm on the other side. “You must feel all out of place, not knowing who you are, but not to worry, my dear. You’ll soon be right as rain in June. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.” She shifted her attention to Mikey and brushed his hair off his forehead. “It will be nice to have a little man around again. It’s been some time since Jesse here was small.” The glance she gave Jesse revealed a wealth of love and affection.
Emily turned from watching them to study Mikey. She felt a fondness for him that soothed her, but shouldn’t she know if he was her son? She couldn’t imagine forgetting a child she’d carried for nine months.
She didn’t realize how long she’d been looking at the boy, nor how worried she’d become, until Jesse touched her shoulder. She jolted as if he’d awakened her from a dream. If only he had.
“Don’t fret. Remember what the doctor said.”
“I know. Don’t push it.”
“Grandma, Emily, I hate to rush out but I must get back to the stagecoach and look for clues before it rains.”
“You go do what you need to,” Mrs. Whitley said. “We’ll be just fine. Won’t we?” She directed her question to Emily as Jesse waited at the kitchen doorway, preparing to leave the house.
Emily murmured, “Of course,” though she felt like nothing in her world was fine at the moment. Except, she amended, that she was sitting at a table with a kindly grandmother. She’d been rescued by a kind, handsome man whom she felt she could trust. After all, he was the sheriff and his grandmother adored him.
Was that enough basis for trust? A dark cloud hovered at the back of her mind making her feel guilty. What had she done? Had she been involved in the planning of the robbery in some way? Surely not. And yet that dark cloud of suspicion lingered just out of reach. Why would she feel this sting of guilt unless she had done something wrong?
“Would you like to see your bedroom?” Mrs. Whitley’s question sent a shudder across Emily’s shoulders.
How long had she been staring into space, searching her mind? She jerked her attention to the woman, pushing back the wave of dizziness the movement gave her. “It’s most generous of you to take in a pair of strangers, especially when you know nothing about us.”
The woman chuckled softly. “I suppose I know as much about you at the moment as you know about yourself, but we aren’t going to worry about that. Your memory will return when it’s time and we’ll be patient because, my dear, these things are in the hands of a loving, caring God.”
Tears sprang to Emily’s eyes. She blinked them back. “I know it’s so. Thank you for reminding me.” She held out a hand to Mikey and they followed Mrs. Whitley out of the room. Her head hurt with the movement but taking her mind to other things was preferable to sitting and fretting.
“You’ve seen the living room. I hope you will make yourself at home. There are books to read if you care to. This is my pet canary, Dickie.” She tapped one of the wires of the cage. “Dickie, say hello to our guests.”
The bird made a clicking sound followed by a chirp.
“Good boy.”
Mrs. Whitley led them up the stairs. “The first room is Jesse’s. He often has to be up at odd hours taking care of things.”
Emily caught a glimpse as they passed the door and saw a room much like her first impression of Jesse—masculine—with a quilt made in dark browns and greens covering
