31

Ben placed another piece of kindling on the slow rolling fire in Nancy Jessup’s sitting room. The cozy space held floor to ceiling books, an overstuffed worn leather chair, an ottoman, better suited to be a coffee table, and a sofa just big enough for two. Pillows and hand knitted blankets were lovingly tossed on most surfaces waiting for a random stranger to snuggle in and crack open one of the worn books.

He imagined Harper spent many hours comforted by the inviting room in a house built to house a family of eight. The thought of only knowing one place for the entirety of childhood rather than the borderline nomadic existence he had with his mom and sister was beyond anything he could fathom.

A childhood led by a mother whose whims of the heart dictated every action and choice translated to a foundation built on eggshells. What would his or Darcy’s life had been like if they’d been raised in Gibson’s Run? Would they each have been as ambitious? Or would the security have translated to complacency?

He shook his head as he stoked the fire. The thought of Darcy being anything other than ambitious was wilder than his mom growing roots in something deeper than shallow sand. Setting the fire poker in the brass stand, he turned toward the fourteen-foot-high wall of books.

The books at eye level ranged from classic Greek tragedies to modern mysteries. Although he couldn’t quite figure out the cataloging, he could sense there was a system to the organization. He trailed his fingers across the hardbacks until he landed on the Jane Austen section.

After years of listening to his mother’s lectures on Austen as well as the class members on English Literature he took during undergrad, he knew the books were in order of completion rather than publication or alphabetical. He tugged at the leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice. Flipping to the opening page, he could hear his mother’s musical voice reading the famous opening line, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What are you reading?”

The soft sound of Harper flowed over him. He turned.

She carried an oval tray with holly leaves delicately painted on the wide edge. She set the tray stuffed full with steaming mugs of hot cocoa, marshmallows, graham crackers, peppermint sticks and chocolate bars on the ottoman. Rubbing her hands together, she closed the distance between them and glanced at the spine of the book. “Pride and Prejudice? Doesn’t seem very manly. Or very doctorly.”

He closed the book, gently shelving it in the proper order. “Austen holds a special place in my heart, particularly this piece. I wouldn’t have my name without it.”

Harper snorted a room clearing cackle. “I feel like an idiot. Darcy and Bennett. Of course.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Your mom was a fan of the original romance novel, eh?” She scrunched her nose and tilted her head. “You don’t think it’s a little weird to name her kids after the hero and the heroine of the most beloved romance novel of all time?”

“Uh, no.” He’d never really thought about the fact he and Darcy were named after the couple. Mom just always said it was her favorite book. “I guess I never really thought about it. Not until this moment.”

“Relax.” Harper said, turning toward the couch. She patted the seat next to her. “My mom had the same disease. My oldest sister is named Elizabeth ala Pride and Prejudice. My second oldest sister is Scout, from my mom’s all-time favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. And Scout, is well everything you would expect a Scout to be. Next are the twins, and she went back to Austen and came up with Marian and Elinor.”

“Sense and Sensibility.”

“Very good, Dr. Langston. But unfortunately, both sisters are more Emma than Elinor or Marian.”

Ben propped an overstuffed pillow in the opposite corner of the couch from her. Lowering onto the plush surface, he lifted a single eyebrow. “Who are you named for?”

“Harper Lee.” She shrugged. “Mom had a hard time picking. She didn’t want a Cathy or a Fanny. At the time she was pregnant with me, Mom was teaching a semester on American Literature focused on politically leaning novels. She went back to her favorite and my dad liked the idea of Harper. I think he had given up hope of having a boy and Harper seemed gender neutral. For a brief moment in time, he thought I might be the first girl in the NFL. Of course, then my brother was born. His birth coupled with my complete lack of athletic coordination sealed the deal for me.” She reached forward and lifted both mugs. Handing one to him she matched his posture against the opposite end of the sofa.

“Your mom taught literature?” he asked.

She nodded. “She was a professor at Ohio State until my dad snagged the high school football gig, then she landed at a local private university about twenty minutes east. She still teaches a course each semester.”

“What a crazy coincidence. My mom was a literature professor. Although she was more of a visiting lecturer than anything permanent. But, man, she loved books.” He glanced toward the floor to ceiling shelves. “I imagine if we get to pick out our version of heaven, my mom’s corner looks like this room.”

“When Dad accepted the job at the high school, he bought this house before he ever told Mom. He had a contractor friend of his come in and build the shelves and the window seat over a three-day weekend. He brought her here, to this room, to break the news of the move from Columbus to Gibson’s Run.”

“This room would be hard to say no to.”

She nodded. “From the stories I’ve heard, she was still fairly mad, but the book shelves were a good start.”

“Tell me everything.”

Harper’s face reflected the soft glow from the fire as she laughingly shared her parents’ love story.

“And on their twentieth wedding anniversary, Dad recreated the night he gave her his fraternity pin. He had all of us kids singing some silly song, even our dog, Woody, joined in with a howl. Unfortunately, Woody was the most on key. We all inherited Dad’s musical ability.” She took a sip of her cocoa and released a sigh.

“Sounds like you had a pretty great family to grow up in.”

“I guess I did.” Harper shifted her gaze to the fire. “You don’t really appreciate what you have when you have it, do you?”

“No. I guess not. The memory often cleanses the bad and highlights the good.”

Twisting to face Ben, a soft smile stretched across her lips. “Now that sounds as if you have a story to share.”

“Not really. Since my mom passed, I realized I spent too many years begrudging my nomadic childhood and not enough time celebrating the uniqueness of my mom. Focusing on the bad stuff is what kept Darcy and me apart all these years.”

“What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.”

He lifted his gaze to Harper. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and care.

“Someday, but unfortunately, tonight I need to get back to the house. We still have a ton to do before Aunt Lulu returns home tomorrow.”

The story of what happened to him and Darcy was long and short, but nothing he was prepared to share. They were best friends and they were the biggest enemies. They were twins in every definition and variation of the word. He loved his sister and he was so thankful they were moving back toward each other, but he couldn’t risk messing with their tentative reconciliation on oversharing, even with the lovely Miss Harper Jessup.

She folded her blanket as she stood. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Harper Jessup, I’d be happy to walk you home anytime.”

“I will keep that in mind, Bennett Langston.”