The Secrets of Rosa Lee. Jodi Thomas
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Praise for the novels of
JODI THOMAS
“One of my favorites.”
—Debbie Macomber
“Packs a powerful emotional punch…. Highlights the author’s talent for creating genuinely real characters…. Exceptional.”
—Booklist
“Jodi Thomas is a masterful storyteller. She grabs your attention on the first page, captures your heart, and then makes you sad when it is time to bid her wonderful characters farewell.”
—Catherine Anderson
“Fantastic… A keeper!… A beautiful story about unexpected love. An exceptional storyteller, Thomas has found the perfect venue for her talent, which is as big—and as awe-inspiring—as Texas. Her emotionally moving stories are the kind you want to go on forever.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Jodi Thomas paints beautiful pictures with her words, creates characters that are so real you feel as though they’re standing next to you, and she had a deliciously wry sense of humor… Thoroughly recommend it.”
—The Book Smugglers
“A fun read.”
—Fresh Fiction
The Secrets of Rosa Lee
Jodi Thomas
Dedicated to Connee McAnear,
whose laughter will always live in my memories.
Special thanks to Linda Leopold
for helping me understand roses, and to Natalie Bright and my fan club for help and encouragement.
With fall, the wind takes voice in the Texas panhandle. It whispers through mesquite trees and hums in tall prairie grass. When winter nears, it howls down the deserted streets of Clifton Creek after midnight like a wild child without boundaries. But when it passes Rosa Lee Altman’s old place at the end of Main, the wind blows silent, no louder than a shadow crossing over forgotten graves.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
One
Sidney Dickerson fought down a shudder as she turned up the heat inside her aging Jeep Cherokee and stared at the oldest house in Clifton Creek. Rosa Lee Altman’s property. Sidney had lived in Texas for over a year, yet every time she drove down Main Street this one place drew her as if calling her home. In October’s evening shadows, the once grand dwelling looked neglected and sad. One of the gap-toothed shutters swung in the wind, making a second-floor window appear to be winking.
I’m coming inside, tomorrow. She almost said the words aloud to the house. After a year of watching and waiting, I’ll finally walk inside.
The Altman house had been built almost a hundred years ago. In its time, she guessed it had been grand sitting out on the open land by itself, with nothing but cattle grazing all the way to the horizon. Barns, bunkhouses, smoke sheds and kitchens must have sprung up like wild-flowers around a rose. A fitting house for Henry Altman, the town’s father.
When the railroad arrived a mile away, it had been natural for business to move close to the tracks. Sidney had read that Henry had donated the land for the rail station and the bank, then charged dearly for the lots nearby. The article said he thought to keep a mile between him and the town but, as years passed, folks built along the road from the train station to his mansion, developing Main Street right up to his front yard.
Sidney glanced back at the tattered little town of Clifton Creek. If it had grown to more than five or six thousand, the population would have surrounded the remaining Altman land. But, since the fifties, the town had withered with age and the Altman house sat on a rise overlooking its decline. The train still ran along the tracks but passed the abandoned station without stopping. Nowadays cattle and cotton were trucked to Wichita Falls. Eighteen-wheelers hauled in most supplies. Oil ran in pipelines.
The shadow of the old house reached the windows of her Jeep. Sidney huddled deeper into her wool blazer. She would be forty next week. The same age Rosa Lee had been the year her father, Henry Altman, had died. He had built an empire along with this house. Cattle and oil had pumped through his land and in his blood.
Sidney closed her eyes realizing the old man must have known his forty-year-old daughter would be the end of the line. He’d built the ranch and the ten-bedroom house for a spinster. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had encouraged his only child to marry, or had he kept her cloistered away?
Slipping on her glasses, Sidney stared at the house that had been Rosa Lee’s so long folks in the town called the place by her name. Wild rosebushes clung to the side walls as if protecting it. Old elms, deformed by the wind and ice, lined the property’s north border. The old maid had left the place to the town when she’d died two years ago, but it would be Sidney who would help determine the house’s fate.
Demolish or restore? The choice seemed easy, considering its condition. Even the grand white pillars that once guarded the double-door