feel.”
“But I think you’re more daring. Don’t get me wrong. I love Gregory. Since he was Frank’s first child, he was my first nephew and there’s something special about that. Since I don’t have children of my own, I’ve always interfered with Frank and Ruth’s. Luckily, they don’t mind.” Miranda laughed. “Or if they do, they don’t tell me. So, I kind of feel like their kids are partly mine. And, despite how different we are, I’m close to Gregory. Close enough to know it’s important to him to stay within the guidelines. As a child, he never even drew outside the lines in his coloring books.”
Brynn digested this, not sure quite how it fit into her picture of Gregory. “No one’s ever called me daring before.”
“That’s because I don’t think even you know it.” Miranda pulled out another skirt and blouse. “This should look good on you. You’re tall and delicate enough for it.”
Delicate . No one had ever termed her build that way. She’d always thought she was simply too skinny. “A rack of bones,” as the unkind teenage boys had once called her. “If you say so.”
They continued their exploration and Miranda shook her head. “We may be here till Christmas.”
Brynn lifted up an ancient hatbox. then set it aside. “Miranda, why does everyone call Gregory by his full name instead of Greg? I mean, you don’t use Matt’s full name.”
Miranda didn’t look up. “I guess because Gregory’s always been a Gregory . Never occurred to anyone that he’d be anything else. And Matt. Well, he’s always been Matt. Unaffected, unpretentious.”
Brynn frowned briefly at the implication. Surely his own family didn’t consider Gregory to be pretentious.
But Miranda was making an excited noise as she lifted out tissue-wrapped packages, handling them carefully. “If there are any treasures up here, we’ve just found them.” She untied the string that was tied around the top parcel. As she folded the tissue back, her mood became nearly reverent. Then she lifted up what seemed to be yards and yards of material. It was a dress, an incredible-looking dress.
“It’s beautiful!” Brynn exclaimed, reaching out to touch the delicate ice-blue silk.
“I always thought so,” Miranda replied in a far more subdued voice than usual.
“Then it’s yours?”
Miranda ran one hand over the iridescent folds of silk. “It was. I suppose in a way it still is.”
“Was it for a special occasion?”
“Yes. For the Harvest Ball that’s at the beginning of the festival. But I never wore it.”
Brynn sensed currents of sadness. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have looked beautiful in it. I’m sure you still would.”
Miranda’s lips trembled for a moment. “You are a truly sweet girl.” Her hand strayed toward the wrinkles that had etched an irreversible path over her face. Wise, often cagey eyes now looked sad. “But I’m afraid my day’s past.”
Impulsively, Brynn reached out to cover the older woman’s hand. “I don’t believe that. Sometimes life has a way of surprising us. And I don’t think we can ever stop trusting in love...or that our soul mate exists. Sometimes the path is just a little rockier for us than we’d like, but it’s still a path.”
“How can anyone as young as you have collected all that wisdom? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess your path was rocky, and definitely filled with soul-searching.”
“I think a lot,” Brynn admitted. “Internalizing is what they call it, I believe. I suppose it came from being an only child, with just one parent.”
“It sounds lonely,” Miranda surmised accurately.
Brynn shrugged away the sympathy she heard. “I’m sure it sounds worse than it was. I simply became a daydreamer—and that’s not such a bad thing.”
Miranda studied her face. “No, I don’t suppose it is. Whatever shaped you made you a compassionate person and that is always a good thing.”
Brynn swallowed at the catch in her
“But I think you’re more daring. Don’t get me wrong. I love Gregory. Since he was Frank’s first child, he was my first nephew and there’s something special about that. Since I don’t have children of my own, I’ve always interfered with Frank and Ruth’s. Luckily, they don’t mind.” Miranda laughed. “Or if they do, they don’t tell me. So, I kind of feel like their kids are partly mine. And, despite how different we are, I’m close to Gregory. Close enough to know it’s important to him to stay within the guidelines. As a child, he never even drew outside the lines in his coloring books.”
Brynn digested this, not sure quite how it fit into her picture of Gregory. “No one’s ever called me daring before.”
“That’s because I don’t think even you know it.” Miranda pulled out another skirt and blouse. “This should look good on you. You’re tall and delicate enough for it.”
Delicate . No one had ever termed her build that way. She’d always thought she was simply too skinny. “A rack of bones,” as the unkind teenage boys had once called her. “If you say so.”
They continued their exploration and Miranda shook her head. “We may be here till Christmas.”
Brynn lifted up an ancient hatbox. then set it aside. “Miranda, why does everyone call Gregory by his full name instead of Greg? I mean, you don’t use Matt’s full name.”
Miranda didn’t look up. “I guess because Gregory’s always been a Gregory . Never occurred to anyone that he’d be anything else. And Matt. Well, he’s always been Matt. Unaffected, unpretentious.”
Brynn frowned briefly at the implication. Surely his own family didn’t consider Gregory to be pretentious.
But Miranda was making an excited noise as she lifted out tissue-wrapped packages, handling them carefully. “If there are any treasures up here, we’ve just found them.” She untied the string that was tied around the top parcel. As she folded the tissue back, her mood became nearly reverent. Then she lifted up what seemed to be yards and yards of material. It was a dress, an incredible-looking dress.
“It’s beautiful!” Brynn exclaimed, reaching out to touch the delicate ice-blue silk.
“I always thought so,” Miranda replied in a far more subdued voice than usual.
“Then it’s yours?”
Miranda ran one hand over the iridescent folds of silk. “It was. I suppose in a way it still is.”
“Was it for a special occasion?”
“Yes. For the Harvest Ball that’s at the beginning of the festival. But I never wore it.”
Brynn sensed currents of sadness. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have looked beautiful in it. I’m sure you still would.”
Miranda’s lips trembled for a moment. “You are a truly sweet girl.” Her hand strayed toward the wrinkles that had etched an irreversible path over her face. Wise, often cagey eyes now looked sad. “But I’m afraid my day’s past.”
Impulsively, Brynn reached out to cover the older woman’s hand. “I don’t believe that. Sometimes life has a way of surprising us. And I don’t think we can ever stop trusting in love...or that our soul mate exists. Sometimes the path is just a little rockier for us than we’d like, but it’s still a path.”
“How can anyone as young as you have collected all that wisdom? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess your path was rocky, and definitely filled with soul-searching.”
“I think a lot,” Brynn admitted. “Internalizing is what they call it, I believe. I suppose it came from being an only child, with just one parent.”
“It sounds lonely,” Miranda surmised accurately.
Brynn shrugged away the sympathy she heard. “I’m sure it sounds worse than it was. I simply became a daydreamer—and that’s not such a bad thing.”
Miranda studied her face. “No, I don’t suppose it is. Whatever shaped you made you a compassionate person and that is always a good thing.”
Brynn swallowed at the catch in her
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