Chapter Two

      Andi had been invited to come downstairs for some supper after she’d unpacked, so was soon following sounds of activity toward the rear of the downstairs hallway.

      She passed a third, regular-size door on her left, and then was in the huge kitchen with built-in floorto-twelve-foot-ceiling cherry cupboards. There was an old, galvanized sink and early-model refrigerator/ freezer and electric stove—but also a top-of-the-line mixer, blender and microwave on the counter. “What a pleasant kitchen to work—to live in!”

      “I especially like having all these windows on two sides—except when washing them.” Her hostess took bowls from a cupboard and reached into a wooden drawer for soup spoons. Setting them on the table, she brought a container from the microwave and divided its contents. Andi also saw a basket of homebaked biscuits on the table. “I hope you like chicken-and-corn soup, Miss—Miss? Marker.”

      “Please…I’m Annie,” she said, stumbling slightly over the almost-Andi. “And yes, I’m unmarried.”

      “Okay, Annie. And you call me MaryJean, if it doesn’t bother you to say that to someone of my advanced years. Or just Gram, if you like.”

      Mrs. McHenry’s attitude as she spoke of “advanced years” made it plain that she felt anything but elderly. Considering her reason for being here, Andi had no difficulty making her choice. “Since Keith called you ‘Gram,’ I’d prefer that”

      “Fine.” She motioned for Andi to sit near the corner, on the long side of the wooden extension table, while she took the matching cane-seated chair at the end. “This soup’s a favorite of my family. I make huge batches, eat some, give some away, and put the rest in the freezer.”

      Andi’s spoon moved among chunks of chicken, pieces of hard-boiled egg, tiny dumplings, and yellow kernels of corn in broth as she waited for Gram to take the first bite—

      “Do you want to return thanks or shall I?”

      Andi’s spoon clunked against the side of her bowl as she hastily set it down. “Would you, please?”

      Gram reached for Andi’s hand and bowed her head. “We thank you, Lord, for your many blessings, including bringing Annie safely this far, even though she had car trouble.”

      Andi shifted uncomfortably as the prayer continued. “Help the boys be able to fix it, and help this delay to not interfere too much with her plans. I appreciate her being here, where I pray she’ll find rest, peace and renewal.”

      How long has it been since I was prayed for? she wondered. Mother used to pray with her at bedtime, and when just the two of them ate lunch or dinner together, they’d sometimes hold hands like this. Mother also took her to Sunday School and church, before all those trips to the hospital began.

      Gram concludcd. “…Thanks, also, for this nourishing food. Amen.” She patted Andi’s hand before reaching for her spoon. “Where are you heading? And when must you get there?”

      Andi had expected her story to be easy to tell, but now, after that prayer, felt uncomfortable—even though convinced that her motives justified her actions. She had to learn about her family—about The Cousins.

      “There’s no set time—no exact destination,” she admitted. “Just driving around New England and sightseeing, so I don’t mind staying a while.”

      Gram’s head was cocked to the side again, birdlike. “All by yourself? Won’t you get lonely?”

      Probably Gram would miss people. Surrounded by family as she was, she probably never had a chance to be lonely. “I wanted to spend time by myself.” She surprised herself by adding, “I just lost an especially good friend.”

      She was embarrassed by tears in her eyes; they still came too readily. “It was—an automobile accident. Jon was killed.”

      Gram’s hand was on her arm and then she was getting up from her chair to stand beside Andi’s, drawing her close, holding her. “I’m sorry.”

      No sounds except for a truck’s passing on the street. The buzzing of a fly at the back door. A distant lawn mower. Yet in some strange way Andi felt comforted.

      Gram returned to her seat. “My Phil died suddenly, too. I know what a shock that is.”

      Andi looked into the clear blue eyes of this woman whom she was already beginning to consider a friend. “I’m sorry, too—about your loss.”

      They began eating and the on-and-off conversation concerned soup ingredients, and the size of the community and what went on in it. “Next weekend will be busier,” Gram told her. “It’s the annual Firemen’s Carnival.”

      “What’s that?”

      “All the towns around here, except Dalton, have their own volunteer fire companies. We think Sylvan Falls’s is the best—and it is. We win contests year after year. But it’s horrendously expensive to buy equipment and pay for repairs and uniforms and stuff, so they need money-making projects.

      “Over at Caldeer, they have hunters’ breakfasts round-the-clock for three days at the beginning of deer season, and at Murrayville, there are elaborate skeet shoots a couple of times each year. At Parsons Springs, next north of here, they specialize in familystyle dinners for Mother’s Day and Thanksgiving and Easter—times