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SOMEONE WAS KNOCKING on the door again—and, like the first time, it took Katie a moment to realize what it was. Other than her summers in the country as a child, she’d never lived in a place without a doorbell, and couldn’t remember a time when she had to respond to arriving guests herself.
Peeking out the window, she saw an older man standing on the porch with a clipboard in his hand—and both arms wrapped around an enormous vase of flowers.
She smiled and attempted to open the door, nearly pulling her arm off in the process. After she yanked a few times, the door opened with a groan.
The man took a step back, staring at the door with a startled expression. “Oh, good morning. Flower delivery for a Miss McCain.”
“That’s me,” she said as he awkwardly handed her the clipboard for her signature while struggling under the weight of the vase.
“Biggest bouquet of flowers I ever delivered,” the man said. “Do you want me to bring them in?”
“Yes. Please do.” Katie opened the door all the way and pointed to a small, dusty table in the foyer. “Right there is fine.”
The man huffed and puffed as he set them down. “They cost more than the total of what I usually deliver in a month,” he said. “Not to mention that my shop is twenty-five miles away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you had to drive all the way out here, then.”
“No. No.” He stood wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “I don’t mind. It’s a beautiful drive. Anyway, the man who ordered them paid extra for my time.”
Katie smiled as she leaned closer to enjoy the bouquet’s blend of fragrances. “Did you have any trouble finding the house?”
“Not at all. Everyone in the area knows where Lacewood is.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” His head bobbed up and down. “I heard someone bought the property, but I never expected to deliver flowers all the way out here.” He eyed the ladder and the jumble of paint cans and supplies surrounding it. “I’d say you have your work cut out for you.”
Katie shrugged. “I’m taking my time and doing what I can.”
“Mind if I take a peek? Never been inside.”
“No, go right ahead. Sorry about the mess.”
As he turned to poke his head into the front parlor, Katie pulled out the card. It read: Hope this helps brighten the decay—I mean, your day! Come back to New York! Yours, Elliott.
Katie smiled and shook her head, and then looked up when the man reappeared.
“Thanks for letting me see the inside. You’ve still got a lot of boxes to unpack, I see.”
Katie didn’t even bother to glance over her shoulder as she placed Elliott’s note back in the holder. “Oh, they’re just books.”
“Books? You like to read or something?”
She moved the vase to line it up with the center of the table and stood back to eye it. “Yes. Something like that.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful piece of property, for sure. Good luck.”
He turned to leave, but Katie stopped him. “I hate to impose, but while you’re here, would you do something for me?”
Katie knew the chances of anyone else stopping by were slim, and she’d been so excited to make a new discovery, she wanted someone else’s opinion on it.
“Sure...if it doesn’t require any more lifting...” He massaged his lower back. “I have an old injury.”
“No. This is quick and easy.” Katie walked over to a window in the main parlor. “I found something when I was cleaning this window sash. I’d like to get another opinion on what it says.”
The man bent down and studied the markings scratched into the sill, and then ran his fingers across the wood, smooth and dulled with age. “Seems like this is maybe a heart.” He bent down and inspected it closer. “And right after it, some letters. A name, maybe?”
“That’s what I thought.” Katie took another look as well. The sun was high in the sky, casting its rays across the sill to highlight the letters. “In this light, I’m pretty sure it’s J-O-N, and then definitely a W.”
“Yes, that’s a W.” The man closed his eyes while he traced the letters with his fingertips. “West, maybe?”
“No there are more letters,” Katie said. “I think it ends with two “T’s.”
The man rubbed his chin as she spoke. “Oh. Of course,” he said. “Isabella Wescott lived here. My parents used to talk about her. Kind of a local icon as far as high society goes. Held lavish parties and that sort of thing, right up till she died.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. This was quite the showplace, they say.”
Katie felt the hair on her arms begin to rise. “But who was Jon, I wonder?”
“Not her husband, that’s for sure.”
Katie tilted her head, eyebrows raised inquiringly.
“They say she never married.” The man turned away, as if the conversation didn’t interest him. “So must have been a relative of hers. This was the Wescotts’ place since way before the War Between the States.”
“I wonder who would carve his name into a windowsill,” Katie mused, running her hand over the rough edge. “And why?” She gazed idly through the wavy glass and noticed it was one of the few windows in the house where the view was not blocked by one of the many trees gracing the front yard. She could see far down the lane and beyond, until it dropped out of sight over a hill.
Had someone sat here, watching and waiting for the master of the house? A sudden chill seized her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” She forced a smile as a wave of grief passed over her, almost like someone had draped a cold, damp cloak over her shoulders.
“If only this old place could talk,” the man said. “Too bad the dead take their secrets with them.”
Katie agreed, but didn’t respond.
As the deliveryman walked toward the door, Katie stopped him again. “Do you know anything else about the house’s history?”
“Not really. But Virginia Massey...you may have heard the name...she lives in town. Her mother used to live here at Lacewood and take care of Isabella when she was getting up there in years.”
“I’ve heard the name Massey a lot,” Katie said. “Isn’t there a Massey Street in town?”
“Yes, they’ve been here for generations. Wealthy family from way back.”
Katie remained silent, and then she snapped her fingers. “I think the attorney at the house settlement represented a Massey on the deed to this house. That’s where I heard the name.”
“That would probably be Virginia. The ownership went from Isabella, to Virginia’s mother, and then to her. But Ginny was a bit too refined to live out here in the country. Lived in town all her life. She enjoyed people and loved New Hope.”
“So she’s still alive? And she would know the history of the house?”
He gave a brief nod, but then his lips compressed. “Well, I’m not sure, actually. I mean, yes, she knows the history, but last I heard she wasn’t doing too well herself.” He pointed to his head. “Dementia. She’s up there in years.”
Katie’s heart sank. That must be why an attorney was the only one present at the house settlement. It was exciting to discover this little nugget of information about the former occupants of Lacewood, yet just when she thought more answers were in reach, she hit another roadblock. Still, she felt a little closer to the past after finding the engraving on the windowsill.
“Enjoy your day.” The man lifted his cap, turned, and disappeared out the door.
Katie returned to the parlor and ran her fingers over the scarred remains of someone’s lonely labor.
Who was Jon Wescott? And who sat here at the window waiting for him to come home?