that had become almost a permanent fixture in recent months.
She forced a smile, trying to counteract the effect. With her hair pulled back from a center part and the lack of makeup, she looked...well, not like the Amish girl who had run away with Ronnie Mason. That girl had had rosy cheeks and stars in her eyes. With her hair pulled back and sans makeup, this was closer to the Amish woman she would have turned into had young love, in the shape of Ronnie, not intervened.
Splashing some cold water on her face, Rachel turned away from the mirror. Dwelling on the past was seldom a good idea, as Colin had said, and she’d been doing too much of that lately. She couldn’t build a future on what-ifs.
Besides, she had Mandy. Fierce maternal love surged through her. Mandy was worth any sacrifice. The doubts Colin had voiced were the ones that kept her up at night, but she couldn’t listen to them. She would make a success of her plans because Mandy’s security and happiness depended upon them.
The house seemed empty with Benj and Mandy gone. She crossed the hallway and headed out the front door. She might as well check and see if any mail had found her at her new address yet.
The long porch across the front was one of the house’s beauties. In her mind’s eye, Rachel could see it the way she intended it to be, its gingerbread trim freshly painted, geraniums blooming in pots and hanging baskets, with comfortable rockers where her guests could relax.
She grasped the railing as she started down the steps, and it wobbled under her hand. Yet another thing she’d have to fix. She’d make up in hard work what she lacked in money.
The mailbox stood on a post next to the road, since Deer Run wasn’t big enough to warrant a mail carrier who walked from house to house. She pulled it open, finding an electric bill that had apparently chased her from the rental apartment in Philadelphia and what appeared to be a complimentary copy of the County Gazette, a weekly newspaper that was primarily composed of advertisements.
Holding it conjured up an image of Daadi reading through it, word by word, after he’d finished reading The Budget, the Amish newspaper that kept far-flung Amish communities in touch. She could see him so vividly, sitting in the wooden rocker next to the gas stove, his drugstore reading glasses sliding down his nose.
“Rachel? It is Rachel Weaver, isn’t it? I mean, Rachel Mason, of course.” The woman who’d hailed her hurried across the road after a cautious look in both directions.
Rachel waited, heart sinking. She’d been reasonably certain she could count on a call from Helen Blackwood, an elderly crony of her late mother-in-law, but she’d hoped to be a little better prepared for it. All the people in Deer Run she least wanted to see seemed determined to find her when she looked like a bag lady.
Not, she supposed, that Helen Blackwood would use those words. Having spent her entire life in Deer Run, Helen’s knowledge of the wider world was probably limited to whatever she watched on television.
The woman had nearly reached her, and Rachel arranged what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face. “Miss Blackwood, how nice to see you. I hope you’re well.”
“Right as rain.” The woman’s returning smile was somewhat guarded, as if she questioned her welcome. “But do call me Helen. After all, I was your mother-in-law’s greatest friend.”
“Helen,” Rachel repeated, trying to infuse some warmth into the word. His mother’s shadow—that was how Ronnie had referred to Helen in the light, contemptuous way he sometimes had of dismissing people.
Unlike Amanda Mason, who had never succumbed to the idea of women wearing pants, Helen had stuffed herself into a pair of navy stretch pants, worn with a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a jaunty sailing print. Her sense of the fitness of things had apparently not extended to bare feet, because she wore what must be knee-length nylons with her sensible sandals. With her round pink cheeks and curly white hair, she looked like a china doll in improbable dress.
“I’ve been intending to come over and welcome you back to Deer Run, but I didn’t want to intrude.” Helen sent an inquiring glance toward the house, and Rachel realized she was expected to invite her visitor in.
“You caught me just finishing some painting,” she said, indicating her paint-stained clothes. “Won’t you come inside? I’m sure I can rustle up some lemonade, if my daughter and my brother haven’t finished it.”
“No lemonade for me, thanks, but I will come in for just a moment.” Helen opened the wrought-iron gate, which squeaked in protest, and joined her on the flagstone walk. “I’m afraid you found the house in need of a great deal of work. I told Amanda and told her she should keep it up better, but she got rather...” Helen paused, as if selecting the word carefully. “Well...rather bitter toward the end, saying what difference did it make, since she had no one—”
Helen stopped, her already pink cheeks turning a deeper hue. “Well, anyway, I’m sure that was just her illness talking.”
“Most likely.” Rachel was noncommittal. Maybe Colin had been right in his offhand comment about Amanda leaving her the house to punish her. No, she wouldn’t let herself descend into that sort of cynicism.
This visit could be a blessing in disguise. If anyone knew why Amanda Mason had left her property the way she had, it would surely be Helen.
Rachel took a step to the left as they went up the stairs to the porch, making sure that Helen had the side where the railing was solid. Fixing the railing had better be promoted to the top of her to-do list.
Helen moved into the house and stopped, staring. “Oh. You’ve painted the hall. Amanda always insisted it be papered. I’m sure I don’t know what she would say.”
“I’m afraid wallpapering isn’t among my skills.” Rachel couldn’t help the stiffness in her voice. She should have expected negative comments. Mason House was a landmark in the village, and people didn’t like to see landmarks changed.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” The sudden sympathy in Helen’s voice caught her off guard. “Every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it, that’s what Amanda used to say.”
Maybe it hadn’t been an easy task, being Amanda Mason’s closest friend. Ronnie had come by his penchant for making cutting remarks from his mother, most likely.
“It’s all right.” Rachel led her guest into the front parlor, thankful that it was virtually untouched save for a vacuuming that had been desperately needed. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the circular bay, making patterns on the Oriental carpet. “It’s natural that you hate to see the house changed after all these years.”
“Well, change is inevitable, isn’t it?” Helen sat down on the curving tapestry love seat, putting her feet together and glancing with apparent satisfaction at her slacks. “I tried to tell Amanda that once, but got my nose bitten off for my trouble.”
“I suppose she preferred things the way they’d always been.” Rachel darted a glance at the portrait of her mother-in-law that hung over the mantel. Amanda, with her coronet of white hair, regal bearing and elegant bone structure, had been suited to the style of a century ago. It was impossible to imagine her wearing Helen’s current outfit.
“True enough.” Helen patted her soft white curls. “Why, she insisted on wearing a hat to church every single Sunday, even when she was the only woman in the entire congregation with a hat. So it just goes to show you, doesn’t it?” she added, a bit
