Sophie Mae marched to the third floor of the house and stopped on the landing. Maybe Dink was right? Me being here is upsetting everyone. A car hit Mary Louise because of me.

The sudden weight of loneliness consumed her. She needed her grandma more than ever. With eyes closed, she clutched the door handle and searched for the right memory before walking into the imagination room.

With each step, weeds sprouted across the hardwood floor. Sophie Mae clenched her fist in preparation for her body changing, but it never happened. Despite being an older memory, she remained her current age. Her hands stayed their normal size as did her clothes. Sophie Mae wasn’t watching a memory but thrust into the role of herself.

Martha Hen faded into the room, and her claws gouged the dirt in search of bugs. A bucket appeared in Sophie Mae’s arm. She dipped her free hand into the seed and tossed it toward the birds, who jockeyed for the best position. The roughness of each seed and kernel of corn immersed her in the memory. I never imagined I could miss chores so much.

“Sophie Mae! Come on in for dinner!” Grandma Hattie yelled from the porch, holding open the screen door.

Her heart raced at seeing her grandma’s bright blue eyes. The metal handle of the bucket slipped from her fingers, and the birds swarmed the mound of fresh seeds. Sophie Mae ran through the field of corn to the house.

The home and its decorations were the way Grandma Hattie liked them. Wood plank walls held old family photos in simple metal frames bought at Hardies. An old velvet sofa sat next to her favorite rocking chair, both lit by a gas lantern on the side table.

The aroma of chicken soup and warm cornbread drew her to the fireplace, and Sophie Mae stirred the simmering food in the cast iron pot.

“I hope you like it, dear.” Grandma Hattie held a small box in her hands. Sophie Mae accepted the gift, and tears rolled off her chin. The older woman pulled a handkerchief from her apron. “It’s not that bad, dear. Sometimes, the best gifts come in delicate boxes.”

Sophie Mae already knew what lay inside, but it didn’t prepare her for the emotions of receiving it a second time. The simple blue ribbon fell from the box, and a gold, heart-shaped locket lay tucked between layers of soft cotton.

“It’s so you never forget how much I love you.”

Sophie Mae wrapped her arms around Grandma Hattie’s thin torso and squeezed tight. The warmth of her breath caressed her shoulder.

“Now, now. Don’t forget about the cake,” Grandma Hattie laughed. “I’ve been preparing it all day. Used the last bit of sugar.”

The rich yellow cake with chocolate icing trumped the other decorations on the table. She blew out the single candle reused on every cake since her birth.

Sophie Mae swiped her finger in the frosting for a taste, but only licked her dry finger. I guess the room can’t do everything, or I’d never leave.

Her thoughts drifted from the memory, and so did the room. Grandma Hattie and the rest faded into the paneled walls of the Gardenia House. The room’s chandelier hung over Sophie Mae like a dark cloud.

She slunk from the doorway, but the clamor of boots had her turning back to the room. From a slight crack in the door, she saw George pass with a black first aid bag and enter Aunt Catherine’s room.

Sophie Mae scurried close and listened at the door. George spoke as if talking on the phone.

“I brought her here like you wanted.”

“Yes, she seems fine with the details of the house.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know, but she doesn’t appear suspicious. I’m sure it’s nothing, and if it becomes something, I’ll deal with it.”

“Very good to hear. I’ll be back this evening.”

Metal objects clanged and dropped before the room fell silent. Sophie Mae scrambled under a table near the back end of the hallway, untouched by the dim light of the brass wall sconces.

George wore a concerned face as he blew past her and down the stairs. Sophie Mae pushed off the wall to stand and the inside panel gave. A second stronger push against the wall bathed her with a gust of stagnant air as the panel swung wide. A hidden office lay behind, far different from the rest of the home.

Bright white paint covered the wood paneling, and a drawn velvet curtain covered the single window. A green lamp leaned over the desk and illuminated the center of the room, leaving what lurked in the edges a mystery.

Several piles of newspapers rose from the metal desk and looked unsettled. A half-opened drawer had a long row of sealed envelopes, neatly ordered, and addressed to Hattie Pickett. A folded letter near the front appeared unfinished. Sophie Mae read with a faint whisper.

Dearest Hattie,

I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news. The most recent trials from my chemist have not only proven useless but, worse, dangerous for my health. My coughing has increased, and my bouts of sickness are more fierce and prolonged.

Perhaps you were right, my attempts to extend my life were foolish and avoidance of death the wrong course of action. Dear sister, if I should pass, please come and live in my estate. Several people depend on it for their survival, and we both know the world doesn’t need more mouths to feed.

Do be careful about letting the chemist return. I worry about the safety of everyone in the house if he is allowed back in…

The letter seemed cut short, but it was definitely Aunt Catherine’s writing. Adding it to her pocket’s growing collection, she moved past the tufted leather chairs and pushed the panel outward. Only the woodsy fragrance of George the Great’s cologne remained.

On the second floor, she clutched the handle and gently closed her bedroom door, retrieving the papers from her pocket and tucking them between the existing documents in the travel box. How could I have been so foolish? I have to go home. This place isn’t safe for me with Mr. George.

“Madrosa!”

The will, a train ticket, Aunt Catherine’s personal letter, and a thick layer of stale bread crumbs crowded Sophie Mae. They morphed into the flowers and fragrant bushes of the Gardenia Estate. Becoming a seasoned box traveler, she expected the two metal fences covered in ivy.

Behind the left gate was the waiting area of the train station. Sophie Mae peeked through the leaves and found the young boy begging for food. Her chest tightened at the thought of the boy never leaving the station and being denied a fulfilled life.

Past the right gate were the crumbling remains of the farmhouse in Drycrop. The porch was half-covered in sand, and the front door left open. Did someone break in?

Mr. George warned her that box travel could be unpredictable. With the choice ahead of her, she disregarded his words and took the path home to Drycrop.

Sophie Mae squeezed her eyes shut. The tug and tingle of her stretching body subsided, and she opened one eye, then the other. Her body was normal once again.

The farm in Drycrop needed repair. She climbed past the busted step to the front door. The farthest section of the porch sunk under the weight of the sand. Grandma would be furious with the state of this place.

Sophie Mae slipped on the mound of sand piled at the front door. Brushing the granules from her knees, she headed for the kitchen. Not only did the criminals break the window above the sink, but they also stole her best seasoned pan for bean soup.

A rusted cookie pan worked well to scoop the sand from the front door, tossing it off the porch. She retrieved the broom from the closet and swept up the finer particles. Sophie Mae lifted the plank to the brackets, barring the door against the sand.

Her fingers traced the soot along the top bricks of the fireplace. Grandma Hattie made cookies once a week, baked over the low fire. The best part of cookie day was licking the sweet, creamy dough from the big wooden spoon. Sophie Mae closed her eyes and concentrated on the memory, but frowned, as her best effort didn’t compare to the imagination room.

Her stomach grumbled and roared, but the cabinets were bare, minus a few bits of trash and sand piling in the corners. Sophie Mae’s luck had run out with no local grocery store or helpful neighbors.

The sun burned overhead, and she scanned the desolate farm from the backdoor steps, finding it dryer and more dead than she remembered. She staggered to the acre of land that once grew corn. She clawed through the sand to find a root hiding below the surface, waiting for water from the next rain to spur its growth.

After half an hour of digging, she found a single root with a few small leaves. Its desire to survive brought her hope. With a stick, she dug up the root and transplanted it into the chicken feed bucket.

She leaned into the rain barrel and dangled a dishcloth to absorb what little was left and twisted it over the plant, being mindful of every drop.

Her shoes sunk into the sand as she continued to the hen house. The stench of animal dung was gone, covered by the sand drifts. Feathers laid strewn inside of the coop, and only broken shells laid in the nests. Maybe a hungry man took them to feed his family.

Sunburned and dehydrated, she draped the moist rag around her neck. Sophie Mae carried the plant to the kitchen and placed it near the window before trudging to the bedroom.

She cuddled with her blanket and gazed at the sky through the busted roof as the deep gold of dusk yielded to the pitch-black of night. The twinkling stars of the milky way shone brighter for the child they’d watched grow.

Deep inside, Sophie Mae knew living on the farm would be impossible. There was no dirt to grow seeds into crops, the hens were missing, and there was not a single canned vegetable in the kitchen. Part of her didn’t care. She was home.

Drycrop was where she’d learned to walk and where she first understood the delicate relationship between man and earth. It was Drycrop where she’d hope to raise her own children.

She couldn’t turn her back on the farm when times were rough. Grandma Hattie used to say persistence always paid off, and Sophie Mae’s plan was persistence until the bitter end.