Finding Eliza by Stephanie Pitcher Fishman

young mothers pushing designer strollers around the walking path nearby. Lizzie couldn’t tell if they were annoyed or entertained by the rag-tag group before them.
    “Honey, you’ve come to the right place!” Abi grinned, thrilled to see that their plan was working. The diary had gotten Lizzie’s attention just as planned.
    Lizzie looked across the table. She was amazed at how the women in front of her worked together like a well-oiled machine, gathering odds and ends as they shared the details of their lives. She realized how much she missed them. These ladies were both friends and family to her. A quiet smile came over her face as she continued to watch how each played a role in the conversation.
    The women sat together for a little longer, each telling tales of the past and teasing Lizzie about her new found interest. Lizzie hadn’t been this happy in quite a while, and she suspected that the ladies felt the same way.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
    Memories of the past flooded Lizzie's mind as she walked up the stone steps of her grandmother’s gray two-story house. She could picture Jack at the door for their first date and the photographer directing their movements during their wedding photos. She remembered the hours she and Gertrude spent hanging holiday decorations together. Rather than head home before meeting Jack for dinner, Lizzie spent the afternoon with her grandmother. She relished the chance to spend the afternoon asking questions about her grandfather. Gertrude welcomed the company.
    The house wasn’t large by today’s standards, but it was large enough for those who lived there throughout the years. The porch stretched from the left wall of the home across to the right. Unlike Lizzie’s farmhouse, Gertrude’s porch extended only across the front. Since she was a little girl, the porch was always the perfect place for a deep conversation.
    Lizzie leaned against a long pillar at the corner formed between the steps and the porch. She gazed up through the rafters and noticed each weathered board. “Gran, do you ever think about moving out of this big house?”
    “Not on your life. Your grandfather saved his money to provide this house for his family. I inherited it from him. Your father would have received it next, but one day it will be given to you. This place is going to stay in our family unless you decide otherwise. Its fate rests on your shoulders. Treat her right or I’ll haunt you,” her grandmother said with a devious smile.
    Gertrude sat down on the porch swing that hung at the far right side of the porch. Patting the seat she said, “Come swing with me, dear.”
    Lizzie took her usual seat next to her grandmother. When she was a little girl, she spent hours sitting on this swing, rocking back and forth as she dreamed of her life as an adult. The chains holding the swing in place gave a familiar creak as her weight shifted into position next to her grandmother. The wood was smooth despite its age. The swing had withstood the elements well over the years. Granted, there was no snow to weigh it down or rot the wood. Rain didn’t beat in past the overhanging porch roof unless a large storm came through. The swing stood strong and looked as if it were promising Lizzie that it would be here another twenty years.
    “What was your father like, Gran?”
    “Oh, my. He was a fine gentleman. You would have liked him, and he would have liked you. He loved to work with his hands. You know that he was a woodworker, right? He taught Wood Shop at the high school. See that railing? He made that and carved the detail by hand. I remember the summer that he put it in. This porch didn’t have side rails like that when I was little. My mother just knew that I was going to fall off and crack my head wide open, so she made my father put one in. My father didn’t do anything half way. He took all summer carving the designs around each spindle. It made my mother crazy! She just wanted a simple