Charlotte stepped under the overhang of the back porch, wondering what she was doing here. She could admit she was drawn by the appeal of a soft bed and indoor plumbing. Still, she didn’t know anything about this man or his family.
She assumed Abigail was Jake’s wife. He looked like the type who would be married by now, even though she guessed he was still shy of thirty.
Local farm boy, good manners, handsome. The type of guy her girl friends in Pennsylvania always gravitated to. She hoped Abigail would be as welcoming as Jake. She wasn’t sure how she would feel if a complete stranger showed up on her doorstep with hardly an explanation of where she’d come from or why she was here.
She had debated which name to give, her real one or her alias. Afraid her fake IDs might be discovered, she had settled on a combination of two names: the first name of the little girl in the news article and her alias’s last name.
She looked down at her mud-splattered, dripping-wet skirt. Then she leaned down and unlaced her shoes, slipping them off before she went inside. While she was still bent over, she grabbed a fistful of fabric and attempted to wring some of the water out of it.
Jake opened the door and noticed her attempts to leave the rain outside. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get you some towels, and you can dry off.”
He motioned her inside, waiting for her to enter before him. She walked into the mudroom, her senses immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of smoke in the air. “Is something burning?”
“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. Heedless of his own wet footwear and the rain dripping off his jacket, he hurried through the mud room and into the kitchen beyond.
Her shoes still in her hand, Charlotte hastened after him to find the source of the smell: smoke billowing out of a blackened frying pan on the stove. Jake grabbed a hand towel to use as a hot pad, shifted the pan off the heat, and turned the knob to shut off the burner.
Charlotte guessed the unrecognizable blob that had been scorched into oblivion had once been a piece of meat.
Jake rolled his eyes to the ceiling. For a moment, Charlotte thought he was looking to see if the smoke had colored the paint there, but when he continued to stare and draw deep, steady breaths, she realized he was more likely trying to calm his emotions.
“Grandma?” Jake called out. “Where are you?”
Charlotte heard the shuffling of slow-moving feet. “Jack, is that you?”
“It’s Jake, Grandma.”
A pleasantly plump woman with snow-white hair appeared in the doorway. A pair of narrow glasses was perched on her nose, and she wore a loose-fitting floral dress that fell nearly to her ankles. Her face lit up the moment she saw her grandson. “I’m so glad you’re home. I was just making you some supper.”
Charlotte could sense the strained patience as Jake said carefully, “I thought we talked about you letting me cook for a while. I worry about you using the stove.”
“Oh, nonsense.” She waved a hand. “I’ve been cooking since before you were born.”
“I know, Grandma, but I worry about you.” Jake lifted the frying pan. “If I hadn’t come home when I did, this could have caught fire.”
Jake’s grandmother ignored his comment and focused on Charlotte instead. “Who is this pretty girl you brought home?”
“This is Hannah.” Jake looked over at her and added, “Hannah, this is my grandmother, Abigail Bradford.”
“Hello, Miss Abigail. It’s nice to meet you.” Charlotte found herself readjusting her image of the man beside her, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
“Oh, I like her already,” Abigail told Jake as she offered a warm smile. “And aren’t you a pretty thing?”
Jake hastened to add. “Hannah got caught in the storm, and I told her she could stay here tonight.”
“What a dreadful night to be out too.” Abigail took Charlotte’s hand and tugged gently. “Come along, and we’ll get you fixed right up.”
“Grandma, I can show her to the guest room,” Jake said quickly. “Why don’t you sit down here for a minute. I’ll be right back, and then I can fix us some dinner.”
“We’ll be just fine.” Abigail patted Charlotte’s hand. “Won’t we, dear?”
Caught between Jake’s obvious concern for the elderly woman and Abigail’s need to feel useful, Charlotte said gently, “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Jake, maybe you could make Miss Abigail something to eat while she helps me settle in.”
Clearly torn, he waited a moment before agreeing. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you so much for taking me in like this,” Charlotte said to Jake, more at ease now that she had seen his interaction with his grandmother. Charlotte took advantage of her close proximity to the older woman and put her free hand on Abigail’s arm to keep her steady as they left the room. The hallway was at least eight feet wide and had two padded benches situated along the wall to her left. They passed by a cozy living room with a brick fireplace centered on the far wall, a gun cabinet discreetly tucked in one corner. When they reached the long, straight staircase, Charlotte was glad she still had hold of Abigail.
Slowly, they made their way to the top, and Abigail steered her to the right. “This is your room here.”
Charlotte glanced down the hall to either side of her, realizing the house must be larger than she had originally realized. She looked through the open door. A wooden sleigh bed was situated in front of the two windows facing her. A wide dresser, complete with a large mirror, dominated the wall to her right, and a brass floor lamp stood beside the plush chair in the corner. A cream afghan hung over the back of the chair, and the quilt on the bed had clearly been hand-stitched.
“This is wonderful,” Charlotte said, delighted. “Is one of these rooms up here yours?”
“Oh, no. I have the downstairs bedroom now. The stairs are harder on my knees than they used to be.”
“What about Jake?”
“He stays in the apartment out back.” Abigail lowered her voice and added, “Except lately he’s been sleeping on the couch. I think he’s afraid I’ll disappear during the night.”
Charlotte found amusement in the older woman’s conspiratorial tone. “Are you a troublemaker, Miss Abigail?”
“That depends on who you’re talking to.” Abigail chuckled softly. “Do you need some dry clothes to change into? I might be able to find something for you to borrow.”
“I have a change of clothes in my bag.”
“Well, I can at least find something warm for you to sleep in,” Abigail told her. “I’ll let you get settled in. The bathroom is just across the hall.”
Seeing Abigail start back toward the stairs, Charlotte set her shoes and satchel on the floor and hastened back to the old woman’s side. “Let me help you back downstairs.”
“I can make it okay,” Abigail said, although Charlotte sensed doubt in her voice.
“Just the same, we don’t want to put too much pressure on those knees.” Charlotte helped her down the stairs and into the living room they had passed a moment before. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, after I dry off.”
“Take your time, dear. I think I’ll just rest a spell until dinner is ready.”
After Abigail was comfortably settled, Charlotte went back to the room upstairs. With another look around, she uttered a quiet prayer of thanks. Regardless of the circumstances that had brought her here, for the first time in days, she would be warm. And maybe, just maybe, she would also be safe.
* * *
Jake nearly reached for the phone to take care of dinner. Then he remembered he was in rural Virginia, not New York City. Even the closest pizza place didn’t deliver this far out of town.
He’d been home for two weeks now and still hadn’t quite readjusted to farm living. Of course, up until the last day or two, they had been subsisting on the many meals friends and neighbors had brought over to the house. Apparently the time had finally come for him to start taking care of himself . . . and his grandmother.
Still wet from his ride in the rain, he decided making dinner could wait until he’d changed his clothes. He headed for the door that led to the breezeway connecting the main house with the extension his parents had built for him. After changing into a dry pair of jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt, he headed back to the kitchen.
His abilities in the kitchen were limited, and he debated briefly over the few things he knew how to make. A look in the nearly empty pantry narrowed his options further, but he grabbed a can of tomato soup from the shelf and rooted through a drawer for a can opener. After pouring the soup into a pot on the stove, he buttered several pieces of bread in preparation for making grilled cheese sandwiches.
He started to go check on his grandmother, but when he heard her voice followed by Hannah’s, he decided he would leave the two women alone.
He wasn’t quite sure what to think of his unexpected house guest. The idea that she was simply out riding in the country alone was beyond strange, not to mention her clothes. What was that about? It wasn’t like she could be in a local play. The closest theater was forty-five minutes away. Yet she looked like she had literally stepped out of another century.
Had he been in New York, he wasn’t sure he would have been so quick to invite her into his home, but here in the country, he didn’t feel like he had much choice. Just the thought of his mother’s sense of hospitality was enough to push him to do what she would have considered to be the right thing.
Within minutes, the smell of toasted bread and melted cheese competed with the lingering stench of whatever his grandmother had burned in her latest attempt to cook. He really was going to have to figure out some way to keep track of her. Part of him had to admit that his sister’s idea of an assisted living home would ensure their grandma was properly cared for. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about her trying to burn down the house every time he turned his back. If only she could be happy living in such a place, he would consider it. Deep down, though, he knew she would be miserable. And if she wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t be either.
As soon as the simple dinner was ready, Jake set everything on the table and headed down the hall in search of his grandmother and Hannah. Not surprisingly, he found his grandmother sitting in her favorite chair, a photo album open on her lap.
Hannah sat on a straight-backed chair beside her. She had changed into dry clothes, but her new outfit was just as dated as the last one. A plain blue skirt fell to her ankles, and Jake saw her feet were bare. The blouse was a simple button-up, but it had the look of being home sewn rather than store bought.
Her voice was warm when she spoke to his grandmother. “Oh, Miss Abigail. You are absolutely stunning in that dress.”
“Why, thank you, dear. I made it myself,” his grandmother responded with pride. “Of course, that was before my arthritis started acting up.”
“I’ll bet you could still sew circles around most people.”
Jake found himself touched as he watched the exchange, a little surprised at the easy way Hannah spoke with the older woman. “Dinner’s ready.”
Abigail looked up at him, confusion flickering over her face. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I started cooking something earlier.”
“You burned that, remember?” Jake said patiently. “I made us some soup and sandwiches.”
“Oh, how kind of you, dear.”
Jake fought back a sigh. If she was calling him dear, that likely meant she was slipping away from the present again. Doubts plagued him as he turned and headed back to the kitchen. How was he supposed to take care of his grandmother when more often than not she couldn’t even remember his name?