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Slipping into her flannel PJ’s, Jill whispered “bliss” to the air then slipped beneath the sheets, cool and crisp. She shouldn’t even be so tired, not at barely ten p.m. The day after deliveries had been slothful and peaceful, with nothing special on her agenda. But perhaps the eventful week had finally caught up with her—the long-distance driving and constant flurry of activities had finally taken their toll.
Jill’s phone rang beside her, and she tilted the screen to see Lindsey’s name. “Hey!” Jill said, propping a second pillow behind her head.
“What time is it there?” Lindsey asked. “I can never remember if I’m ahead and you’re behind. Or vice versa.”
“Almost ten. We’re ahead an hour.”
“‘We?’ Are you officially a Texan now?”
“I’m starting to wonder. I almost said ‘y’all’ today.”
“You did not.” Lindsey gave a giggle.
Jill asked about her week, and Lindsey gave a quick rundown then added, “Oh, and Tommy got gum stuck in his hair yesterday, and I had to cut it out. That was a first. How are things in Morgan’s Grove?”
Jill had already texted Lindsey about the major daily happenings since she’d arrived, so she skipped over those. “Today was a nice pace. I spent some time in the park, ate lunch, then went back to the library, where Chaynie gave me the grand tour. Oh my gosh, Lindsey, you would love the children’s alcove upstairs. It’s this entire section designed for children. A fantasyland, filled with books, floor to ceiling, and stained-glass windows fashioned with classic children’s book characters. And Chaynie has a reading time every day for the kids—they sit in this circle of tiny chairs. I snapped some photos but forgot to send them to you. I’ll do it tonight. All I kept picturing when I looked around was Morgan’s little-girl face, all lit up and happy that her father had built her that space.”
“I’m trying not to be jealous! That sounds amazing. I want to see it someday. How’s the article coming? Any breakthroughs since you’ve been there?”
“I’ve spent most of my time taking photos, writing down impressions, and getting an overall feel for the community.” She glanced toward the book on her bed. “But I think today, I might’ve found my focus, finally. Chaynie gave me Morgan’s biography, and I nearly finished it in one sitting. I’ve only got a couple more chapters to go. Lindsey, she was this amazing woman.” Jill sifted through the facts in her brain, wanting to be accurate. “Morgan went through all these hardships—her daughter died of cancer, age three. And her husband died at the end of World War II. But Morgan somehow turned the challenges into victories. She established the first Children’s Cancer Research Hospital in the South. And during World War II, she transformed the mansion into a USO headquarter, where she would host parties for the soldiers and the community.”
“Wow. A true philanthropist.”
“Exactly. And so for the article, I thought I could focus in on her spirit, her generosity. I asked Chaynie why so many of the details in the book weren’t part of the mansion’s tour—there was no account of the USO parties or the death of her child. Chaynie said Morgan was humble to a fault. She didn’t want recognition for her charitable works. She always did things behind the scenes, never taking credit.”
“But why does she have a biography detailing her life?”
“It was written a couple of decades after her death, so she never knew about it. I struggled with it today, about making her the centerpiece of my article, even though she might not have wanted to be showcased that way. But I want her legacy to stay alive. I have a feeling she would approve, knowing where my heart is, knowing my intentions.”
“Definitely. I mean, just hearing bits and pieces of her story is inspiring. It makes me want to do something... noble.”
“Imagine how it feels to be her great-great-granddaughter. That’s a lot to live up to.” Jill switched the phone to her other hand then pulled the quilt higher for warmth. “So anyway, that’s where I am right now. Making progress. And enjoying the journey of being here.” It seemed impossible that she was nearly halfway through her stay in Texas. Only another full week left...
“And enjoying someone else’s company too?” Lindsey’s tone lifted, and Jill could hear the eyebrow-raise implied in her voice.
“Linds, what are you talking about?”
“Well, nearly every time you text me, you mention Rick, the grandson. But you hardly give any details. Spill! He’s cute, isn’t he?”
Jill rolled her eyes. “You are completely boy crazy.”
“Nope, only curious. It’s a girlfriend’s duty to ask these questions. Part of my job description.”
Usually, Jill would have had no problem diving into the silly depths of schoolgirl chatter about “boys” with Lindsey, even at their age. But for some reason, her growing friendship with Rick felt more mature than that, and she wanted to protect it and keep it private for the time being, even from her best friend.
“So? Cute or not cute?” Lindsey asked again.
Jill pictured the dark hair, the thoughtful eyes, the strong stubbled jaw. “He’s... rugged. And sort of calm and quiet. And smart,” Jill admitted, knowing Lindsey would badger her until she received some small nuggets from her. “And he’s loyal. I’m glad he’s here for Lucille. He’s good for her.”
“You told me she lost her husband recently.” Lindsey’s tone became thankfully serious again.
“Yeah, last year. She’s tough, though. She’s managed to carry on, make a life for herself.”
“See? Another strong, inspiring woman. They’re all around you.”
“They really are.” Jill thought of all the female shop owners she’d recently met, and the single mom next door to Lucille. And even Mrs. Haversham, whose son, Jill had recently learned, was on his second tour in Afghanistan.
“Oops. Speaking of strong women, that’s my mom, buzzing in on the other line,” Lindsey told her. “Sorry, I have to get it.”
“Tell her hi for me,” Jill said.
“I will.”
Jill clicked off the phone, set it down, then scooped up the biography. In the cover photo, Morgan looked about eighteen years old, her eyes full of promise, a wistful smile playing on her lips, her whole life ahead of her.
“I’ll do you justice, I promise,” Jill told her great-great-grandmother, then opened the book to finish reading.
* * *
THE LAST PERSON JILL had expected to see at the bottom of her stairs on Saturday morning was Rick. She’d slept late, showered and dressed, and planned on another outing to the founder’s mansion to ask Jolene some follow-up research questions. But as she opened the apartment door, purse in hand, Jill spotted Rick standing below with a hand on the railing.
He saw her and paused. “Hey. I was just coming to see you.”
“I’ll be right down.” Jill locked the door then slipped her key into her purse and tapped down the stairs. Rick waited on the driveway below, wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans. As she moved closer, she noticed he was clean-shaven, revealing a small cleft in his chin. He looked years younger without his light beard. “Everything okay?” she wondered.
“Yeah. It’s just... I’ve been on conference calls all morning—”
“On Saturday?”
“Mostly international calls, yeah. Anyway, I hung up the last call and stared at the phone and realized that Gran was right. I need a break from ‘that thing.’ So I put on my coat and walked outside. Left my cell phone on the bed upstairs.”
“You rebel!”
“It feels weird. Like part of my arm is missing. Or maybe my brain.”
“Where were you headed? Just now, I mean?” She still hadn’t put the pieces together of why he was headed up her staircase in the first place.
“I wasn’t really sure. Maybe for a ride in the truck—I still keep it in the garage, to use when I’m in town. It’s a nice day for a drive.”
Jill hadn’t even noticed the weather until he mentioned it. She looked high at the peerless, cloudless sky, which was the pale-blue color of a robin’s egg.
“I remembered I promised to show you some off-the-grid places around town.”
Jill recalled that offer but thought Rick had forgotten.
“But you’re headed out too,” he noted, gesturing toward her purse.
The mansion can wait was Jill’s first thought, and she knew how Lindsey would have interpreted it: Look at you, postponing plans for a guy! But it was true. The mansion could wait. Jill had seen it before, and she could see it again. Plus, she’d gotten loads of research done the day before. She could afford an off-the-grid outing with Rick.
“It was nowhere special,” she said. “Be my tour guide today. I need to see this town through the eyes of a local.”
With a nod and what she thought was a relieved half-smile, Rick headed toward the garage and pushed a button to raise the door, revealing a glossy black truck that dwarfed Lucille’s modest white Honda.
“I think I might need a stepladder to climb in.” Jill approached his truck hesitantly, only half-kidding. There was no way she could hoist herself up into a cab like that with grace and ease. Thank goodness she was wearing comfy jeans instead of a skirt today.
“It won’t be that bad,” he assured her, opening the passenger side. “Grab onto that handle.” He pointed to it. “Then balance your left leg inside and pull your weight up.”
“You can’t laugh if I fall.” She reached high for the handle, gripping it tightly.
“You won’t. I’m here.”
She thought she could feel the ghost of his hands near her waist as she propped her left foot firmly on the cab’s floor then lifted herself up to the seat.
Rick shut her door then rounded the truck to enter on the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and Jill thought about how appropriate it was to drive around parts of Texas in a truck that positively screamed “Texas.”
The heater thrummed at her ankles as Jill clicked her seat belt. Rick eased the truck out of the driveway, backing all the way to the street, pausing to check for traffic.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive, Jill’s mother used to say. If that was true, then Rick’s driving style showed he was confident but careful as he inched through the town square, watching for pedestrians.
He continued past the B&B then past the mansion’s gates, using one hand to flick on the radio. Jill fully expected the twang of country music to float through, but instead, Rick had found a station playing standards—Sinatra, Bublé, Tommy Dorsey. Very un-cowboy-like.
As Rick turned a corner, the truck crested a steep hill, revealing tall oak trees, their naked branches shivering in the wind.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yeah, there’s some nice open country around the outskirts of town.”
As he drove along, Jill noticed ranches and farms filled with acres of crops awaiting their future harvests or enormous bales of tightly packed hay. Horses and cattle were a common sight, with the occasional barking dog.
“That’s an old abandoned church.” Rick pointed through the windshield at a stone structure, overgrown with dried weeds and dead grass.
“Is there a story there?” Jill wondered aloud as Rick slowed the truck to a stop in front of it.
“Not that I know of. It’s a mystery why it was never rebuilt or torn down. A relic of the past that just stays around. But kids play here—they think it’s haunted.”
“I can see why.” Though the structure was beautiful, it had a gothic quality about it, hidden partly in shadow beneath a thick patch of trees.
Rick moved the truck along and returned to the two-lane country road. “That’s the Peterson ranch,” he said as the property came into view.
Two horses, one blond and the other chestnut-colored, noticed the truck and trotted toward the fence.
“Can we stop?” Jill asked on a whim. She didn’t ever remember seeing a horse in person, up close. It was her chance.
“Sure.” Rick pulled the truck to the side and halted.
She hadn’t expected him to dash around the truck bed and appear at her side, but he was there when she opened the door, ready to help her down. She accepted his warm, strong hand and landed on the dried grass next to him.
She led the way to the fence, moving tentatively toward the horses. She had no idea they would be so tall. “Are they friendly?”
“Yeah, they’re old and sweet-natured. Put your hand out. Let ’em smell you.”
Jill could sense Rick following behind and felt safer moving forward. The blond horse whinnied loudly then snorted, dipping its head down and up, down and up.
“It’s saying hi,” Rick assured Jill as she drew closer.
The darker horse had already approached the fence and extended its head as far forward as it could, curious to see who the strangers were. Rick reached his hand out to the horse for a sniff then stroked its nose.
Taking her cue from Rick, Jill stretched her hand upward toward the blond horse. After it sniffed her knuckles, she slowly flexed her hand to reveal her palm then touched the tip of the animal’s nose with her fingertips.
“It’s soft,” she said in awe. “Like velvet.”
The horse nuzzled its nose even closer, pushing Jill’s hand away.
“I think he wants more.” Rick showed her, patting the side of the chestnut horse, stroking its glossy neck.
She had to step in closer, but Jill was unafraid. They were gentle giants. She copied Rick’s motions and petted the horse’s neck. The animal blinked drowsily under long blond eyelashes and stood statue-still, clearly enjoying the massage.
“Did you ever ride?” she asked Rick, eyes still glued to her horse.
“Sometimes. Pops, my grandfather, had a friend who owned a ranch, and he’d take me out there when I was a kid. We’d go riding and fishing. Whole afternoons, just the two of us.”
“Sounds nice.”
In the distance, the revving of an engine spooked both horses, and they followed each other back into the pasture, trotting all the way.
“Guess petting time is over,” Jill said, wiping the grimy film from her hands. “That was amazing.”
They returned to the truck and settled in, then Rick continued on the country path. They passed a couple of schools and at least four churches. It occurred to Jill that she and Rick hadn’t spoken a word since they’d pulled away from the pasture. In that respect, Rick was the opposite of his grandmother. He didn’t need to fill silences with chatty banter, didn’t seem obliged to. Oddly, the silence was more intimate than talking, as though he trusted her enough to be quiet with her. Still, she wondered what he might be thinking. Is his mind here, in the truck’s cab with me, or back at the house, wondering who might be calling his cell phone?
Rick broke the silence as he made a slow right turn back toward the square. “I have one more place to show you, but first, let’s grab some food. You hungry?” He glanced over at her as he completed the turn.
“Actually, yes. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.”
“Juan’s is the best Mexican food in the area. Not that wimpy Tex-Mex stuff, but the real deal, authentic. Can you handle spicy?”
“Sure,” she said, not entirely sure she could handle spicy, but wanting to try. She was feeling adventurous.
Minutes later, Rick was handing her bags of food which he’d ordered to go. The mixed scents of meats and spices swirled through the cab as Jill perched the warm bags on her lap.
“Have you seen the bridge yet?” he asked, turning the wheel.
“What bridge?”
“It’s sort of tucked away. It’s not on any map—only the locals know about it. It’s got a cool history. Your great-great—”
“One more great—”
“Great-grandfather built it for his wife. There’s a table for picnics, but it might be too cold today.”
Jill smirked. “You forget where I’m from! This is nothing.” She waved at the weather outside.
Rick made another turn, and after a few hundred yards, Jill could see an object ahead, a boxy, hollowed-out building. As it came into view, she noticed the details: it was a covered bridge with a barn-red exterior and slanted shingled roof, complete with a clearwater creek flowing beneath.
“When you said ‘bridge,’ I never pictured a covered one. In Texas?”
“Yeah, there aren’t that many of them, maybe a handful in the whole state.”
Rick pulled over to the edge and stopped the truck. He exited the cab then came to Jill’s side to help empty her hands of the food. The first sound Jill heard when she stepped down was the rushing water of the creek, then a bird cawing in the distance.
“Eat first?” he asked, and Jill confirmed the plan with a nod.
Rick led her to the picnic bench near the creek, where they opened the bags and laid the table with plasticware and napkins. He drew out the food, which included two bottled waters.
“Oh, here,” Jill said, reaching for her purse and opening up her wallet.
“Naw, put that away,” Rick insisted. “This is on me. It was my idea.”
“Well, only if the next one’s on me.”
She opened her Styrofoam container to view seasoned rice, a side of beans, and the main course, two enchiladas smothered with chili sauce. She had told Rick to order for her. It smelled delicious.
“One’s beef and one’s chicken,” he said, pointing toward them with his plastic fork. “And I told them to use mild sauce. You can graduate to spicy over here, if you want.” He pushed the two small containers toward her. “It’s better to take this in stages, I’ve learned.”
Jill’s first bite of the silky tortilla packed with tender beef was sumptuous. “The sauce is perfect,” she confirmed. “Just enough spice for me. This is so good!”
“They make everything from scratch. Family recipes.”
“It shows.” As she continued to eat, Jill peered around at the dense forest, enjoying the cool wind on her cheeks and watching a squirrel bravely approach a nearby tree, digging for nuts. After a bit, she mused, “I don’t think I’ve had a picnic since I was a little girl.”
“Food tastes better outdoors. Something about the fresh air.” Rick took an enormous bite of a crispy taco.
Jill uncapped her water and took a long drink. “Thanks for the tour. It sort of filled in the gaps for me about Morgan’s Grove. I feel like I know the whole place even better now.”
Rick nodded his response, having just taken another large bite.
Jill indented the Styrofoam with the crescent of her thumbnail. “It’s bittersweet, though. Being here.”
Rick wiped his mouth with a napkin. “How so?”
“It makes me think about my dad. How I wish that he could be here with me, seeing all this for himself.”
“Makes sense. What about your mom? She might not be blood related to the Stouts, but she could still be interested, join you here someday. You could take her through the mansion, around town, share it with her...”
“If I can ever get her here,” Jill quipped. She saw Rick’s confusion. “She lives by the seat of her pants, always moving, never in one place very long. It started when my father passed away. Mother kept moving the two of us around, city to city, seven times in eight years.”
Rick’s eyes grew wide as he paused the water bottle at his lips. “Seven?”
“She claimed she was restless. Always looking for a better job in a bigger town. But my theory is a bit darker than that. I think she was running away from the grief. Every time it started to catch up with her, she moved. Well, we moved, sometimes in the middle of my school year.”
Rick shook his head. “How did you handle it?”
Jill shrugged and stabbed the enchilada with her plastic fork. “Made the best of things, I guess. Tried to cope. What choice did I have? I was a shy kid and had just lost my father, so the world already seemed less... safe. Walking into a new classroom for the first time was petrifying.”
Especially because of my untamable curly hair, she wanted to add, along with the never-ending teasing it brought from kids treating her like an exotic animal at the zoo, with everyone wanting a peek and calling her names.
“I was always the new kid,” she continued. “The spectacle, the anomaly in the room. And whenever I would actually manage to make a new friend, it wouldn’t last long, anyway, because Mother would move us again. So I learned not to make attachments. Surface-level friendships were easier. Safer.”
Rick gave a nod, and something in his eyes told her he understood. But how could he? She knew next to nothing about his childhood, but with a grandmother like Lucille and a town like Morgan’s Grove, he was bound to have been surrounded by love and familiarity and security most of his life.
“I think I sort of envy people who grew up here,” she added. “Having a place to call home.”
“Yeah. But small towns can be suffocating sometimes. Everyone knows everything. You can’t sneeze without the whole town saying ‘God bless you.’ And,” he added, “it’s hard to mess up with the whole town watching. Especially when your grandfather’s the sheriff.”
“You can’t tell me you ever got into trouble here.”
“More than once,” he admitted, opening a foil-covered package in the center of the table. “In fact, a rebellious streak when I was seventeen landed me a night in jail. Pops used it to teach me a lesson.”
“What had you done?!”
Rick offered Jill the sugary dessert, a mini-churro, and continued. “Nothing too sinister. Got caught up in some vandalism with a couple of guys. It didn’t help that I’d had a beer beforehand. Somebody called the police, and of course, Pops had to show up.”
“Oh, no.” Jill chuckled at the thought of a teenaged Rick behind bars, being taught a lesson by his stern grandfather.
“Trust me, you didn’t wanna get in his way when he was in ‘tough cop’ mode.”
“I’ll bet!”
Rick’s grin softened suddenly as his forehead crinkled. “Yeah. Things aren’t the same around here without him.” He stared down at the foil. “Can’t believe it’s already been a year. Well, almost a year. Monday.”
Monday. Lucille’s text from the day before was making more sense now. “I wonder why...”
“What?” Rick peered across the table.
“Well, your Gran texted me that she needed Monday morning off from baking. And now I understand the reason. But why doesn’t she just take the whole day off? She knows we aren’t committed to a specific day next week for deliveries. She can start baking on Tuesday, if she wants.”
“Gran and I are visiting the gravesite Monday morning. She told me she wants to stay busy the rest of the day. I think baking will be a good distraction. She hasn’t been back to see his grave, and neither have I. Not since the service...”
Jill put all the pieces together. Rick probably had piles of work he should’ve stayed in California to complete, but instead, he’d brought his work with him to Morgan’s Grove early for this very occasion—to mark an important, sad anniversary with his grandmother and to stay with her during the holiday.
Rick changed course, ate his mini-churro in one bite, then dusted the cinnamon and sugar from his fingers. “Ready for a tour of the bridge?” He began to gather up the remnants of their meal, shoving them back into the paper bags.
“Sure.” Full and satisfied from the meal and from the conversation, Jill ate the churro in a couple of quick bites as she watched Rick toss the bags into a nearby trash bin.
He led her toward the enormous entrance. “C’mon. I’ll take you through.”
“Christmas lights?” Jill pointed to the roof, where clear bulbs sparkled in the sunlight.
“Yeah, not just for Christmas, though. The lights stay all year round. There’s an automatic timer that turns them on at dusk.”
When they entered the bridge’s interior, Jill spun around to take it all in. The plain wood with unpainted slats that appeared cobbled together was quite different from the pristine, cherry-red exterior. She saw a bird building its nest, high up inside a rafter.
“How old is it?” Her voice echoed inside the beams as she stomped her foot on a plank. “Seems pretty solid.”
“1915, I think. There’s a plaque somewhere around here...” Rick pointed. “There. Hard to see in the shadows. But residents know the story by heart.”
“Tell me.” She could read the plaque later. She would rather hear Rick’s version, anyway.
Rick rubbed his palms together in preparation as he took slow steps backward and inside the bridge, still facing her in tour-guide mode. “Okay, so Alfred J. Stout—industrial tycoon, as you already know—married a northern girl from Indiana. And after he moved her down here, built her a mansion, and renovated the town, he decided to construct this bridge. He wanted to give her a reminder of her northern roots, so he hired an Indiana architect who’d designed most of the bridges in that state. When it was finished, he surprised her with a reveal ceremony on their anniversary.”
“A covered bridge for a present? That’s really romantic.”
“The plaque doesn’t say all that, but the details have been passed down through the generations. Who knows what’s true, what isn’t?” Rick continued his leisurely pace until they reached the other side.
“I choose to believe the romantic version.” Jill emerged into the daylight with him, her eyes adjusting to the brightness.
“Most people do.”
“Do you come here a lot? When you’re in town?”
“Yeah. Mostly when I need a spot to think. It’s a good, quiet place to be isolated, alone. But as a teenager, it was more of a social hangout with friends.” He moved to the creek’s edge.
“I can see.” Jill noticed a collection of initials carved deep into the wooden slats on the outside wall of the bridge. In the center she saw R.W. “Is this you?” She took a guess, pointing. “R.W. plus... S.W.,” she read, squinting.
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Who’s S.W.?”
“Sarah Watkins. We dated in high school for two years. And beyond.” Rick looked out toward the bubbling creek and folded his arms across his chest.
Jill walked to stand beside him, hoping he would elaborate.
“We had a game plan after high school—attend UT and settle down here in Morgan’s Grove afterward. We talked about marriage, kids, all that.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Back then, it felt serious. But she changed her mind about UT and accepted an application for an out-of-state school. I guess she got cold feet. We tried to make it work long-distance, but she quit answering my emails and calls after the first month. She was pulling away.” Still focused on the creek, he uncrossed his arms and combed through his dark hair with his fingers. “And there was another guy, so we broke up. And that was it. I haven’t seen her since.”
“She doesn’t come back to Morgan’s Grove?”
“Her family moved away years ago, and I think she’s married, now, with kids. It was only a high-school thing.” He paused then gave Jill a sideways glance. “How’d you get all that out of me? I hate talking about myself.”
Jill snickered. “A special talent, I guess.”
“Well, it’s your turn. Tell me about your checkered past. It’s only fair.”
“It’s not that checkered. All the moving I did in high school never left much room for a boyfriend. But I did have one in college who was pretty serious. And another one, semi-serious, about two years ago. He ended up moving to Canada for a job, and that was that.” She smiled. “There’s that long-distance theme again.”
“It’s a relationship killer. I’ll never do it again,” Rick admitted. “It’s impossible to stay connected when you’re thousands of miles away, even with technology and Skyping. It’s not the same as being together in person.”
Jill’s phone jingled in her pocket. “Sorry. I guess we’re not entirely technology free, after all.” She saw the name on the screen then answered the call. “Hi, Lucille.”
“I promise I’m not trying to bother you, dear, but do you know where my grandson is? That gadget of his has been ringing nonstop for the past two hours! I don’t know how to shut it off, so I tossed it underneath a couple of pillows to muffle it then closed his bedroom door.”
Jill covered a chuckle with her hand and looked up at Rick. She removed her hand from her mouth. “He’s right here, with me. Would you like to speak with him?”
“No, no. He’s a grown man. I probably shouldn’t have hunted him down this way. But I wondered if the calls were important, that’s all. He usually leaves me a note when he’s gone.” Lucille clucked. “But not this time.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to tell him about the phone calls.”
Lucille clicked off, then Jill pocketed her phone and stared up at Rick with raised eyebrows. “You’re in trouble, young man. You can probably expect a grounding from your grandmother when you get home.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Rick gave her a half-grin, then they swiveled together to pass back through the bridge. “Guess playtime is over. Back to real life.”
Jill imagined that Rick was already picturing the thousand phone calls and emails he would need to return that evening. “Well, at least we got to escape it for a while.”
She stepped through the cool darkness of the bridge with Rick at her side, their soft footsteps the only sounds inside. Jill felt the pull to linger, to stay a few more moments in that peaceful place. With Rick.