pattern for fall storms sweeping up from the south. The squalls came and went quickly this time of year.
When she’d poured herself a cup of the rich, dark, nutty-tasting coffee, she strolled in to check the cove molding. The stain had dried and looked terrific. Balancing her cup on a nearby sawhorse, she got busy nailing the moldings around the newly painted and wallpapered, dining room. This was the stage of remodeling April loved most, when rooms she’d visualized for so long came together. In this case, she’d waited six months for Robyn to locate period wallpaper that closely resembled the paper she’d uncovered beneath three layers of newer wall coverings. The wait had been worth it. It was these extra touches that had buyers standing in line for one of her finished houses.
After her last project had been featured in the real estate section of syndicated papers in Virginia, Maryland and D.C., her mom finally began to pay attention to April’s enterprise. So much so, that at the last family gathering, Bonnie Trent had even ventured faint praise. Unlike the cutting remarks leveled by April’s snobbish sisters-in-law or the outright denigrating comments made by her brothers.
Midway through the painstaking task of fitting corner molding, the growl of a car engine forced April to scramble off her ladder, parting the plastic to peer out the living room window. The sight of a big black Lincoln Town Car idling in her driveway rattled April for a frantic second. Her immediate reaction, foolish though it might be, was that Quinn Santini had sent a hit man after her.
Her panic subsided the minute an elderly stoop-shouldered gentleman wearing a chauffeur’s cap climbed from the car and opened the back door. April identified the woman who emerged—and stifled the hysterical giggles as her exaggerated fear gave way to relief.
Still, seeing Norma Santini arriving here at all—let alone in such style—was a shock. Especially, dressed as she was today in square-toed boots, jeans and a rather ordinary car coat. April was caught off guard, and yet curiosity sent her scurrying to her door.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” Norma said brightly as she glanced up. She’d been taking in her surroundings, paying little heed to the mud puddles along the unfinished drive. “I expected to see this place crawling with workmen. Except for the new shake roof, the old place looks much the same as I remember it.”
“I generally work alone, except for a few specialized projects and for those I hire craftsmen,” April said, talking too quickly. “I stay true to the period of the home, but I do make some changes. For instance, I open up small, dark rooms and create larger ones with more light. Homes built back then didn’t have the open spaces we prefer now.”
Norma paused on the lowest step and made a second slow circuit to look around. “I see you also opened up the front and made the house more visible from the road than it used to be. I cleared the area near the house to plant a big garden. I liked the privacy provided by the trees between the house and the road.” She made a sweep with her right hand. “That’s where I hung at least a dozen bird feeders. A useless attempt to keep the pests from eating my corn and tomatoes. This land is on a flyway, so we were inundated with migrating flocks.”
“Oh, that explains the birds’ names on those papers stuck between the letters.”
Norma spun back around and gave April a quizzical look. “Ah…I believe one bird was the oriole,” April quickly mumbled. “I forget the other.”
“Hmm. As you might guess, the letters are why I’m here.”
“I’m sorry you made the trip across town for nothing. I don’t have them. I left them in town, Mrs. Santini. But don’t worry. They’re locked in a friend’s office safe.”
Wind ruff led strands of white hair around a narrow face that fell noticeably at April’s news.
That prompted her to add, “I plan to run into town this afternoon to visit a brick mason—I want him to enclose carriage lamps I bought to flank each side of the drive.” April’s gesture encompassed a muddy circle cordoned off for the drive. “If you think you’ll be home around…say, three,” she said, “I’ll bring you the letters.”
“So…I assume you’ve decided on a price?”
“What? No. Mrs. Santini, I tried to tell you yesterday, I don’t want anything. I realize I lost my temper. Twice—once with your grandson—and I apologize. But please understand…no one has ever accused me of attempted blackmail before. He also insinuated that I was a gold digger,” April said with a sigh. “I’m sure he repeated every word of our shouting match.”
Apparently tuning April out, Norma ran a hand over the brick-and-mortar siding. “I was wrong to send Quinn out here,” she murmured. “This farm has no place in his memories. Not the way it does for me. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who can appreciate how difficult it was for Anthony to scrounge the materials to build this house before the war ended. He did the majority of the work, since most builders were off fighting. This house was little more than a shell when we got married and he brought me here.” She shook her head. “We moved only five years later. I hated to leave.”
“Mrs. Santini, since you’re here would you like to have a look inside?” April jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the partially finished interior.
“I’d like that very much. But please, call me Norma.”
“Norma, then. The carpeting hasn’t been installed, and I have no window coverings yet. I uncovered the most marvelous wood floors in the bedrooms when I pulled out the old carpet. The smallest of the three bedrooms has different wood from the other two. It’s lovely—quite unique. Perhaps you’ll know if it’s a local hardwood.”
Following April inside, Norma took care to scrape the mud off her boots, even though April assured her she’d have to clean many times before having new carpet laid.
Once inside, Norma stood completely still, saying over and over, “Oh my, oh my.”
“The wall I removed separated a tiny room from the living area. These days a lot of people need a home office, and I thought it’d be perfect as a work-space alcove. I’ll install beveled-glass French doors here.” April traced out an area. “This was the wall where I found the letters. Without it, I imagine the room looks very different from what you remember.”
April retrieved her coffee mug from the sawhorse. Lifting it, she spoke into the lengthening silence. “Could I get you some coffee, Norma?”
“What? Oh, I’d love some. I feel…light-headed. I’m afraid I simply wasn’t prepared for all these memories.”
“Do you need to sit? I’ll help you into the kitchen. That and my bedroom are the only rooms I’ve furnished in order to live and work here.” She led the older woman to the breakfast nook and pulled out a chair. Hurrying over to the carafe, April poured a mug full of coffee and returned to put it in Norma’s cold hands.
“You asked about the flooring in the smallest bedroom,” Norma said, after taking a bracing sip of coffee. “Yellow poplar. The only stand that’s left, I believe, is in Ramsey’s Draft Wilderness area.” She pointed out the window. “That room ended up being Brett’s nursery.” Norma set down her mug, crossed her arms and rubbed her sleeves as if warding off a chill.
But she’d never removed her quilted coat and she wore a turtleneck sweater underneath. Seeing the home had obviously been overwhelming. April urged her to drink more of her coffee.
That did seem to help Norma’s color. Rather
