Sister's Choice by Emilie Richards Page A

you rather wait a little while?”
    Her daughter sniffed. “Can we still go see Lucky? I won’t be sick anymore.”
    “Not until you get something in your stomach. I’ll pour you some apple juice, but I suggest sipping slowly and waiting a little on the toast. You can have a slice right before we leave.”
    Forty-five minutes later, they were on the way to Granny Grace’s. The orchard was a half-hour’s drive away. Had Jamie been a bird, she could have gotten there in ten, but the road switched back and forth as they crossed the river at the first available bridge and climbed farther into the mountains.
    She was quickly learning to love the Valley. She loved the vast array of greens, the blue-gray mist that rose from the ground in early morning, clouds veiling individual peaks, then falling away as the golden summer sun rose higher to meet them. She liked seeing horses in wildflower-strewn meadows, the glint of sunlight on creeks and river, the pragmatic simplicity of rural architecture. Clematis on mailbox posts. Pansies guarding doorsteps.
    Now, as they came to the end of Grace’s directions, she admired the farms set back from the road. Somebody’s border collie came charging down a driveway, and the girls waved and called to it as Jamie shot past in hopes of avoiding a roundup. The dog, who clearly thought he’d done his duty, trotted back up the drive.
    Jamie slowed and checked her directions one more time. “Will you help me watch out for the sign, Hannah? It should say Cashel Orchard, but Grace said it’s small and easy to miss. Should be on your side.”
    “Cashel? Like Cash?”
    “That’s probably where his name comes from.”
    Jamie slowed even more until she was almost creeping. Even at that, they nearly missed the sign. Hannah spotted it just as they were pulling past.
    “There!” She pointed.
    Jamie leaned over to peer out Hannah’s window. The sign hung by one hook when it should have been suspended from two. It was weathered gray, with an apple in the center that was so faded it was almost invisible. Equally faded letters were painted in script.
    The sign might be dilapidated, but someone had recently bushhogged and graded the driveway. No limbs hung over the road, and in the distance, Jamie could hear the steady hum of a tractor. She took the turn and drove slowly, watching for rocks and potholes. An unkempt hedge choked with wild grapevines flanked the road, hiding most of what lay beyond it. The road wound to the right and seemed to climb gradually. When they finally came to a clearing, Jamie slowed to a halt and gazed at the farmhouse just ahead of them.
    “It’s a classic,” she said out loud.
    The house, painted a fading blue-gray, had a deep front porch that wrapped around the sides. A hipped roof rose above the second story, and twin chimneys were like bookends holding it all in place. Roses tumbled over arbors; evergreen shrubs nearly hid the porch railing. Two black walnuts stood as straight as soldiers, one on each side of the clearing. She was taken with the combination of graceful rural living and neglect. The porch needed painting, the flower beds needed tending. The house needed to be loved.
    She had expected something very different. Contemporary, perhaps, with witty architectural details. At the very least, paint as bright as Grace’s clothing. She loved the old house on sight, but it didn’t look as if Grace should live there.
    Grace did, though. As Jamie pulled up next to a Rosslyn and Rosslyn pickup, Grace, in a daffodil-yellow blouse and long pink broomstick skirt, came out to the porch and waved.
    “Come on up,” she called. “There’s a hungry fawn waiting to be fed.”
    Jamie got out and retrieved Alison. Hannah, clearly feeling like her old self, ran ahead.
    Someone had cut the grass recently, but grass was a misnomer. What passed for a yard was mostly dandelions mowed into submission. Up close, the house was even shabbier.
    “It’s a wonderful old place,”