any worn spots or small tears. “I suppose it was his art background, and his eye for color and symmetry, but Hugh really disliked things that weren’t attractive. It was very hard on him when we were in India. So many beautiful things—if you’ve never seen the Taj Mahal, you really must, especially at sunset and sunrise—but so much ugliness, too . . . poverty and disease.” She put down the gown she was examining, opened the cupboard behind her and pulled out her sewing kit. “Joy is not the most attractive young woman—she’s not ugly, just plain—but she’s also crippled. That would have been difficult for Hugh to accept. He would want his children to be beautiful and certainly unblemished.” She unwound a piece of white thread, cut it and began attempting to thread a slim, silver needle. Finally she put it down in disgust.
“Emma, would you be a dear and thread this for me?” She handed the needle to Emma.
Emma slipped the thread through the tiny slit in the needle and handed it back to her aunt.
“Thank you, dear. I’m quite convinced they’re making the slits in the needles smaller than they used to.”
“I wonder what it is she’s saving her money for,” Sylvia said as she folded a bra and tucked it into a row alongside the others. “Whatever it is, it must be awfully expensive. I thought you said these Grangers were rolling in dough.”
“They are,” Arabella said simply. “I can’t imagine what it is she wants. She’s Hugh’s daughter—she’s bound to come into some sort of inheritance.”
“Unless he’s leaving it all to his wife, Mariel.” Emma glanced at her watch quickly.
“Oh, I can’t imagine Hugh would do that. And what about the son? I suppose he’s making some money through Hugh’s art business. But surely Hugh would have made sure to take care of both of them.”
“We don’t know, do we?” Emma said as she pulled her purse out from under the counter. “But I’m heading over there now, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out.”
Arabella’s words, “Be careful, dear,” echoed after Emma as she ran up to her apartment to get her coat.
• • •
EMMA stared out the car window at the empty fields rolling past. She thought about what Arabella had said as she drove toward the Grangers’—how everyone should see the Taj Mahal at some point in her life. And she thought of her conversations with her mother and whether or not she would be satisfied living her life out in her small hometown, when she’d always longed to see the world.
Emma sighed as she pulled up to the Grangers’ house. Perhaps Brian was longing to see more of the world, too, and they could travel together. She would have to talk to him about it.
Emma was glad to see Liz’s station wagon already parked in the driveway. She pulled up in back of it and got out, shivering as the sharp wind knifed through her jacket. She pulled her collar up around her neck, ducked her head against the wind and scurried toward the shelter of the house.
She had her foot on the first step when a noise like thunder shook the ground. Emma looked up to see someone roaring up the driveway on a large, black horse, its hooves pounding up a choking cloud of dust and gravel that made Emma’s eyes water. She assumed it was Mariel, but when she looked again, after the air had cleared, she was surprised to discover that it was Joy riding the horse.
Obviously her crippled leg didn’t keep her from horseback riding. Emma knew little about horses, but she could tell that Joy was an excellent rider—confident and in control of her mount. She looked different, too—content and happy, her plain face flushed from the activity, making her look almost pretty.
Emma waved to her and continued up the steps, brushing at the dust that had blown onto her coat. The front door was open, as Jackson had said it would be. Emma stepped inside and looked around. The foyer was empty. Someone had placed a large bouquet of
“Emma, would you be a dear and thread this for me?” She handed the needle to Emma.
Emma slipped the thread through the tiny slit in the needle and handed it back to her aunt.
“Thank you, dear. I’m quite convinced they’re making the slits in the needles smaller than they used to.”
“I wonder what it is she’s saving her money for,” Sylvia said as she folded a bra and tucked it into a row alongside the others. “Whatever it is, it must be awfully expensive. I thought you said these Grangers were rolling in dough.”
“They are,” Arabella said simply. “I can’t imagine what it is she wants. She’s Hugh’s daughter—she’s bound to come into some sort of inheritance.”
“Unless he’s leaving it all to his wife, Mariel.” Emma glanced at her watch quickly.
“Oh, I can’t imagine Hugh would do that. And what about the son? I suppose he’s making some money through Hugh’s art business. But surely Hugh would have made sure to take care of both of them.”
“We don’t know, do we?” Emma said as she pulled her purse out from under the counter. “But I’m heading over there now, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out.”
Arabella’s words, “Be careful, dear,” echoed after Emma as she ran up to her apartment to get her coat.
• • •
EMMA stared out the car window at the empty fields rolling past. She thought about what Arabella had said as she drove toward the Grangers’—how everyone should see the Taj Mahal at some point in her life. And she thought of her conversations with her mother and whether or not she would be satisfied living her life out in her small hometown, when she’d always longed to see the world.
Emma sighed as she pulled up to the Grangers’ house. Perhaps Brian was longing to see more of the world, too, and they could travel together. She would have to talk to him about it.
Emma was glad to see Liz’s station wagon already parked in the driveway. She pulled up in back of it and got out, shivering as the sharp wind knifed through her jacket. She pulled her collar up around her neck, ducked her head against the wind and scurried toward the shelter of the house.
She had her foot on the first step when a noise like thunder shook the ground. Emma looked up to see someone roaring up the driveway on a large, black horse, its hooves pounding up a choking cloud of dust and gravel that made Emma’s eyes water. She assumed it was Mariel, but when she looked again, after the air had cleared, she was surprised to discover that it was Joy riding the horse.
Obviously her crippled leg didn’t keep her from horseback riding. Emma knew little about horses, but she could tell that Joy was an excellent rider—confident and in control of her mount. She looked different, too—content and happy, her plain face flushed from the activity, making her look almost pretty.
Emma waved to her and continued up the steps, brushing at the dust that had blown onto her coat. The front door was open, as Jackson had said it would be. Emma stepped inside and looked around. The foyer was empty. Someone had placed a large bouquet of
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