Stay a Little Longer by Dorothy Garlock Page A

“Alice is…”
    “Dead,” her mother finished for her, the first wetness appearing in her eyes even as a smile spread across her face. “I know
     that,” she agreed. “I know that there are no new memories to be made, but each and every day that I spend here in this house,
     I feel as if these older memories, these recollections of happy times, are with me, as if Alice were still with me.
    “If we were to agree to sell this home, if I were to just accept all of the money that Zachary is offering and move, we could
     take the memories with us, but no matter how badly we wished things wouldn’t change, they would never be the same. Wherever
     we went, to whatever new home, we could never manage to bring Alice with us.”
    Rachel knew that much of what her mother was saying made sense; there were days that she had spent walking around the boardinghouse,
     remembering special times she and Alice had spent together. Not only was there the ever-present burden of Charlotte’s uncanny
     resemblance to her mother, but there was also simply nowhere in the house to go without some memory, some glimpse of a much
     happier time, coming back to her.
    Still, Rachel wondered if by so desperately clinging to the past, they were denying themselves the opportunity to live. The
     truth was that Alice was gone, and while her death had been so devastating for them all, there was nothing that could be done
     to change it. While Rachel didn’t want to let go of her treasured memories of her sister either, choosing to wallow in their
     past wouldn’t ever completely assuage that loss, nor completely erase the pain.
    “Besides,” Eliza argued, “Zachary Tucker cannot be trusted.”
    “I know that.”
    “You don’t know the half of it,” her mother snapped, cutting her off. “For as long as I live, I’ll never forget what Mason
     told me… about how his brother had ruined Archie Grace’s life.”
    Momentarily confused, Rachel could only echo, “Archie Grace?”
    Everyone in Carlson knew the sad story of the town’s blacksmith. Ten years earlier, heartbroken over the recent loss of his
     wife to influenza and despondent over money troubles, he’d gone out to his workshop one summer night with a bottle of whiskey
     and a length of rope and hanged himself. The whole town had turned out to pay their respects; there hadn’t been a dry eye
     at his funeral.
    “What did Zachary have to do with Mr. Grace?”
    “While there was no denying that Archie was devastated by his wife’s death, the truth was that he was pulling himself together,”
     Eliza explained slowly, her green eyes as flat and cold as a Minnesota plain in winter. “There were rumors that he’d come
     into some money, something about an aunt back east who had always been fond of him, and that he would finally be able to pay
     off some of his outstanding debts. The way that Mason explained it, Archie had been so wound up when he’d received the money,
     he’d run off down to the bank around closing rather than wait until morning.”
    “And Zachary was there?” Rachel asked.
    “He was…”
    A sickening feeling began to spread across Rachel’s gut; she had thought Archie Grace to be a nice man, always ready with
     a cheery smile or laughter. The insinuation that Zachary had something to do with his death was repulsive, but she wanted
     to know more, to learn the horrible truth.
    “As a matter of fact,” Eliza continued, “Zachary was the only person there, just locking up for the night. Archie came upon
     him on the front steps, a bit breathless from running over, and said that he wanted to make a deposit. Zachary told him that
     he would take care of it, and so Archie just handed over the money… It was the last time he ever saw it.”
    “Zachary took it?” Rachel blurted incredulously.
    “Not according to him, but yes, he did.” Her mother sighed. “The next time Archie went to the bank, he found that there was
     no record of any sizable deposit.