Of course Josh had it worse than either her or Missy. He came from a large family and both of his parents worked long hours, which left him in charge of his little sisters, making them dinner and getting them to bed. He was a good cook, though, and both Kristen and Missy agreed that their best recipes had come from him.
What was really funny was that at school, the three of them were considered rebels, and their refusal to look and act like everyone else had cemented that reputation. Once they’d found one another, they didn’t mind either the reputation or the teasing that accompanied it. It was hysterical to be thought rebellious when they were anything but.
Kristen opened the package of chicken. “I like cooking. Besides, Mom needed time and space to work.”
“She was quite good.”
“She wasn’t just good,” Kristen said sharply. She cracked two eggs into a bowl and tossed the shells into the trash. “She was brilliant. That’s what the New York Times said, anyway.”
That caught Grandma Ellen’s attention. “The Times?”
“Yeah. And the Chicago Trib said she was ‘a mad, female Renoir.’ She loved that.” So had Kristen. Having a famous mom was cool.
Kristen’s throat suddenly tightened. Had, not have. Her heart was constantly clinging to the idea that Mom was just in the other room, while her brain kept coldly pointing out that Mom was now nowhere. Nowhere at all. Her eyes burned, and she turned back to the cabinets, pulling out a pan, a box of spaghetti, and a jar of sauce.
As Kristen worked, Grandma Ellen sat quietly, lost in her own thoughts. She finally roused herself to say, “You should see the kitchen in my house. Julie used to love it. She said it made her feel like Julia Child.”
“I’ve seen it.”
An odd expression flickered across Grandma Ellen’s face. “Julie kept pictures of it?”
There was so much hope in that question that Kristen hated to admit the truth. “I saw it in a magazine at the doctor’s office while I was waiting for Mom.”
Although Grandma Ellen’s face never changed, Kristen felt the invisible disappointment.
Grandma nodded as if she wasn’t surprised. “My home has been featured in Architectural Digest twice now. Since you’ve seen it, you know the kitchen is especially nice. I have a part-time chef, too, who could teach you to cook new dishes, if you’d like.”
A chef? Please, no. “Your house looked huge. How many people can eat in that dining room?”
“Thirty. I usually eat in the kitchen, though. To be honest, it gets a bit lonely now and then.”
A faint quaver crackled along Ellen’s words, surprising Kristen. Unsure what to say, she turned away and filled the pan with water before setting it on the stove.
“When you move to Raleigh,” Grandma added, “you’ll enjoy—”
“Do you like mushrooms?” Kristen opened the refrigerator door again. “I usually add mushrooms and spinach to the sauce just to get more vegetables in there.” There was no answer, so she glanced over her shoulder.
Grandma Ellen’s gaze locked with hers. Kristen held up the package of mushrooms. “Yes? Or no?” There was a long silence, and Kristen could feel her grandmother’s frustration.
But after a moment, Grandma shrugged. “Sure. I love mushrooms. And spinach, too.”
It was a tiny capitulation, but it felt like a big win. Score two, Wonder Kristen. For the first time today, a genuine smile touched Kristen’s mouth. “At least we can agree on that.”
Grandma Ellen’s gaze softened ever so slightly. “That’s a start, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Kristen turned back to the stove, feeling a little lighter. “What other houses have you rehabbed? They have to have been bigger than this one.”
“Some of them were, although the project I’m the proudest of wasn’t much larger than this. It was an old Victorian located in downtown Asheville.” Grandma continued to share the details of the rehab she’d overseen, her enthusiasm softening her voice until it was actually pleasant to hear.
Kristen asked a question now and then to make it seem as if she was listening, but her mind raced over her next steps. Whatever she had to do, she would find a way to stay in Dove Pond. It might take a miracle, but she was Wonder Kristen, and she’d figure it out.
Somewhere in the distance, over the soothing sound of water boiling and Grandma’s long tale about the Victorian house she’d brought back to glory, Kristen could almost hear Mom whisper, “Always.”
CHAPTER 4 Sarah
Monday afternoon, scanner in hand, Sarah Dove reached for the next book waiting to be checked back into the library system. The second her hand brushed the cover, scenes from the book flashed through her mind, vivid and immediate. The book was a young-adult work called Children of Blood and Bone, a riveting, magical sort of tale that had been beloved by every middle schooler who’d read it.
At the end of the flash of scenes came a crystal-clear image, that of young Daisy Wheeler. She must read me, said the book.
“I’ll ask her.” Sarah scanned the book and then made sure it had been logged into the computer correctly. “But I have to warn you; she’s gotten picky about what she’ll try, so I can’t promise anything.”
She will like me. When Sarah didn’t answer, the book added in a cajoling tone, A lot.
“I’ll ask her when she comes in tomorrow for Children’s Hour.” Over the past two-plus years, Daisy had become the unofficial queen of Children’s Hour. The feisty eleven-year-old was a natural entertainer, and the number of children coming to her weekly reading was almost more than could fit into the library’s largest conference room.
Sarah put a Post-it with Daisy’s name on the cover. The book rustled impatiently, so she smiled and gave it a comforting pat. “I’ll do my best. I promise.” That seemed to reassure the book, as it settled down and didn’t speak again while she went back to work, checking in the other books.
Since the day she’d turned seven, Sarah had been able to talk to books. Even better, they talked back. They told her their stories and shared their worries and hopes, and once in a while would tell her who in their small town needed to read them. That made her job as town librarian easy as pie.
Of course, with great gifts came great responsibilities. Momma had pounded that fact into her daughters’ heads from the time they were children. She had insisted Sarah and her sisters only use their gifts for good, which wasn’t always as easy as one might think. Right now, poor Ava was stressed out because, through no fault of her own, one of her teas had gone wonky. For the past week, Ava had pored over her notes and various ancient herbal books, looking for a solution. This morning, Sarah had come downstairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes and longing for some coffee, and had found her sister exactly where she’d been the night before, sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by piles of books and papers. It was obvious that Erma Tingle’s misbehaving tea was weighing on Ava something fierce.
That was no surprise, as Ava was a bit of a perfectionist. Not only was she worried about her reputation, but she also believed the family’s good name rested on her shoulders. The people of Dove Pond knew that when the Dove family had seven daughters, as they did now, good things happened. Centuries ago, in 1702, the Dove family had stood on the crest of Black Mountain and looked down into the green valley below at a sapphire pond and declared themselves “finally home.” Since then, there had been dozens, if not hundreds, of times the family had brought good fortune to their town.