The stories we carry 2

Chapter 15.

Eli unfolded a strip of paper. "Well, would you look at that?" A quote from *Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry*. "And this handwriting looks suspiciously familiar."

"No," and Dale chuckled.

Eli motioned for Mallerie and murmured something to her behind his hand. Adele checked out the faces in the room again. It seemed they were enjoying a punchline to a joke she hadn't heard. Feeling isolated and friendless, she wished she could lure her child her way.

"Why is that suspicious?" Glory poked her husband's arm.

"Because that's my favorite book in the world. That's why. I've always loved the Logan family. Loving, faithful, determined."

"And don't forget saucy and stubborn."

"Headstrong." Eli crumpled the paper. "Well, that's fitting. Like follows like," Adele smirked. She knew it had taken some gumption for Glory to start her bookstore at a young age and keep it running successfully all this time, especially since it was built on such a rickety foundation.

"I had to read the book for myself because you've talked about it so much over the past 5 years."

"People say a picture says a lot, but according to Mildred D. Taylor, nothing is sharper than words," Eli attested.

"Wait a minute, husband. What she said was, 'One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords.'"

Glory moved the child into his own seat. She uncapped a marker and laid it on a sheet of paper in front of him. "What do you think that means, Bennett?"

"Words can cut you and make you bleed." He scribbled lines and circles on the page.

"That's a great answer, Mr. Simonet." Mr. Graves called out from his place at Frederick's table. He rose and hobbled off toward the hall leading to the restrooms, murmuring, "This generation, weaker and wiser."

Adele considered switching places with Mallerie's empty seat next to Oilia, but remained where she was. Without giving much thought, she said, "That quote sounds right up your alley by the way you've lived your life, Glory."

"What do you mean by that?" No appeared, ready to wield a weapon of a different kind to defend her friend.

"Probably because my wife makes a living off words."

"She is a professional wordssmith," Eli cut in.

"Now," huffed, sitting back in her seat. She crossed a leg over her knee and let her precariously balanced high-heeled shoe swing from her toes. Dale rubbed her forearm. Glory grinned Adele's way.

"No more than you, Mrs. Simonet, the reporter."

"Touché." Adele dipped her head toward the bookseller and decided to let the matter drop.

Oilia spoke up. "It puts me in the mind of the Hebrews passage that likens the word to a sharp two-edged sword. Proverbs and James also talk about the power of the tongue. I'm always telling my two to speak life." She looked around. "Where did my daughter disappear to anyway?"

"I sent her on an errand for me. Here she comes. Thank you, Mallerie." Eli reached out for the copy of *Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry* that she'd brought with her.

"They all seem to be for me. These quotes," Glory tisked. "wasn't part of our reason for inviting Adele to convince her how much we can learn from fiction."

"Y'all all seem to be using this as an opportunity to pound me over the head with scripture."

"Maybe we should add Bibles to our inventory," Eli murmured. Glory cocked an eye his way.

"You told me that fiction communicates truth about the human experience. We Bible thumpers can't help that the truth y'all bring up with these quotes originated from the word."

Adele shrugged. "That's the kind of information we should share on these posters. This isn't about Bible thumping or proselytizing. We're advertising for the festival. Maybe you should take your ideas to the church down the street so they can print them in the program."

Glory grumbled. Adele glared at her. "Maybe you should take yourself to the church down the street." Bennett looked up with alarm, causing her to regret the anger in her tone.

"Sticks and stones, sticks and stones," Mr. Graves chided, shuffling back into the room. He exhaled loudly when he popped into his seat.

"Seriously," Jason mumbled to his twin. "This is starting to feel like the WWE, more like word wrestling without the entertainment," Oilia whispered in response.

Adele listened to the three beside her comment on her behavior and flushed in shame. Bennett should send his mommy to time out for showing out in front of everybody. Her daddy had taught her better.

Frederick rattled the pens and markers in the jar. "My aunt Julia used to tell me that words couldn't hurt me, but I beg to differ. In my life, I can see how they can cut you to the quick."

"Yes. Yes. Wield them well." Oilia jabbed a finger on the table with each syllable.

"Like the sword," Noam emphasized.

Glory tapped the hard cover. "You know, Uncle Hammer said something powerful when he warned Stacy against listening to what other people had to say. Why don't you read it?" Eli handed her the book. She stared at her husband a good second or two before accepting his invitation. After a brief search, she read, "Then if you want something and it's a good thing and you got it in the right way, you better hang on to it and don't let nobody talk you out of it. You care what a lot of useless people say about you, you'll never get anywhere, 'cause there's a lot of folks don't want you to make it."

Gloria's sleeves ballooned in colorful waves around her slender wrist when she wrapped an arm along the back of Bennett's seat. "Don't listen to naysayers, little one. Miss Glory wouldn't have this store if I'd heeded the advice of folks who didn't know how to dream." The child nodded and returned to drawing.

"Is that how you built By the Book on your own dreams?"

"In the right way, like Uncle Hammer said."

Adele's stomach clenched and her voice shook. From outrage, not fear. Even as she braved the questioning looks from Frederick, the teenagers, Oilia, Nomy, and Dale and Mr. Graves, the other couple across the room seemed engaged in some silent exchange, and only had eyes for each other over the top of Bennett, busy with his picture.

Oilia craned forward. "You two seem awfully cozy over there, Eli. What's this all about? Every day I come to work, I hear hints of this and that. Anybody else sense this undercurrent running between them that they're keeping from the rest of us?"

"Why don't you tell them, husband? Tell your cousin and everybody else what dream I'm working so hard to hold on to." Glory sacheted to the bar and poured herself an icy glass of the amber liquid.

"Glory." His tone sounded a warning. She sipped in answer.

Bennett edged to his right when Eli leaned forward on the table and rested his weight on his elbows. "We're scouting out the real estate market, testing the waters."

"What kind of waters? Are you thinking about buying a vacation home?"

"I hear the farther you travel up the mountain, the higher the price," Frederick offered. Glory raised an eyebrow at Eli.

"Go on," he cleared his throat. "Not a vacation home. A home home."

Oilia jumped to her feet, then took her seat at the behest of her children. "You mean moving? I take it to mean you'd live somewhere else in Gilmore and dedicate this building solely to the store. Doesn't make much sense financially. But I can see putting a little distance between you and work." It was obvious that Eli expected his wife to throw him a life raft, but she left him to flail alone.

"We're thinking of taking a leave of absence from By the Book, but it's only a topic of discussion at this point."

Adele's heart picked up speed in her chest, and she wondered, "Did anybody else hear the way that woman just repeated 'we' under her breath?" Her ears remained tuned in to Eli, but she kept Gloria in her line of sight. "I knew it. I knew something was going on."

Oilia bit down on her bottom lip. No sat up straight. "Glory. Is this true? You're thinking of closing the bookstore."

"Aren't you her best friend? Shouldn't you know this already? Is there anyone who knows everything about Glory Prior?" Adele asked silently. If my memory serves me correctly, Mildred D. Taylor would have something to say about Glory not acting like a true friend.

So intent was she on studying Glory, she'd almost missed Bennett, scrambling down out of his chair. He was nearly upon her when she spun to swoop him up.

Frederick leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs into the aisle between the tables. After hitching up his suit pants at the waist, he crossed one arm over his stomach and stroked the low silvery stubble on his cheeks with the other hand. "My wife read this book with McKinley when she was homeschooling him. The family had to pull together to save their land and to forgive. They endured some hard times, and I imagine it was hard not to let the bitterness eat them alive, having to let go of what they loved, what they'd worked their whole lives to hold on to. The folks in *Roll of Thunder* weren't furniture designers, but I get their pain."

Frederick continued. "We had this tree in our yard once, an old oak tree. And one day, Eda noticed some type of foam coming out of it. At least ways that's what we called it. We contacted a specialist 'cause y'all know how I feel about wood. My love-hate relationship with it. Well, the tree man came out and inspected that oak. And he told us it was infected with this bacterial disease called slime flux. Yes, Charles. It's as terrible as it sounds." Frederick shook his head along with Oilia sitting at the next table, her mouth scrunched up to her nose. He tried to treat the problem with soapy water, but there was not much anybody could do. Those bugs ate the tree from the inside out. Now, to look at it, you wouldn't have known what was going on inside. But we had to spend a lot of money we didn't have at the time to cut it down because it was rotten. And one good storm," he clapped his large hands together.

Bennett jerked upright in his mama's lap. "Oh!" Mallerie cried and laughed nervously with the others.

"I wouldn't call that a cost, but a wise investment, taking down that tree," Mr. Graves said quietly.

"Yes, indeed, Charles. We couldn't have afforded not to. That oak would have come down eventually, probably taking our house and our family, more importantly, right with it. That's what unforgiveness does and holding on to the wrong thing. They'll eat a person from the inside out, right under the unsuspecting noses of your loved ones. Believe me, I know."

Adele hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she slowly let it out between barely parted teeth. He told his story without barely raising his voice, all the while reclining in his chair, but what he had to say, punctuated by the slapping together of his hands, had grabbed everyone's attention and held on.

Glory drained her glass and walked back to her table. Everyone quieted as she picked up the book again and turned several pages. "There's this part. It's here. This conversation between Cassie and her daddy, David. I asked him once why he had to go away, why the land was so important. He took my hand and said in his quiet way, 'Look out there, Cassie girl. All that belongs to you. You ain't never had to live on nobody's place but your own. And as long as I live and the family survives, you'll have to. That's important. You may not understand that now, but one day you will. Then you'll see.'" She closed the book around her fingers. "When I read this, I made a promise that I would never give away what's precious to me, what was given to me. That's how I've always felt about By the Book. Ever since my talks with Eli on the subject got more and more serious, I asked myself, how am I supposed to give away this place?"

"At least in the beginning. Now, nobody gave you anything when it came to this store." Eli's typical gentlemanly manner of speaking thundered instead, filling up every inch of space in the cafe, the books, and the people didn't fill. Bennett scooched against her, and Adele squeezed him to her chest. Oh, that she could ask Glory, "So, who is it who gave you the bookstore?" Would the woman's answer be fiction or non-fiction? Could she tell the difference after all these years of lying to herself?

But Eli had questions and opinions of his own. "You worked to build this business, and you work every day and then some to grow it and maintain it. Nobody's asking you to give it away, sell it, maybe. And that's a maybe because right now we're only planning to leave it for a time, but not give it to anybody. Get a return somehow from all your years of labor. And sit down and rest a little while like they used to sing on Sunday mornings." By the time Eli finished talking, his tone had quietened, his words seasoned by affection instead of frustration.

Glory clasped her husband's shoulder. "Dear, you interrupted me. I said that I asked myself that question in the beginning. Now, I need to ask something else. How can I give away the love that's been given to me? It's more precious than these books or the land the Logan's fought to keep. You're my family. If leaving this store is what it takes for my family to survive, then," she wiped beneath her eyes. Eli covered her hand with his, presenting a united front to the stunned group.

Adele clasped her hands tightly around Bennett's middle to still their trembling and hide her shaking from the others. "Are you okay, Mommy? You cold?" She leaned closer and put her mouth next to his ear. "I'm fine, baby. Are you comfortable? It's kind of chilly in here with the air conditioner blasting." But she wasn't fine. Adele was riled up. That woman was sitting over there moaning and groaning about having to give up all that had been given to her. How about all you stole? All you took, not worked for. All you took from me, from us.

"You can go on upstairs. I'll clear up. Really, I insist." To avoid making eye contact with Eli, Glory stored the last of the jars of pens, markers, and pencils behind the bar. She could sense his hesitation. He loaded the unused disposable plates and cups in one arm and retrieved the last stack of napkins. "I'll put away these things and head up. Don't stay up late trying to accomplish too much. I'll set my alarm to wake up earlier tomorrow than usual and finish what's left." He strode toward the kitchen with his load.

"I see you were as ready to go as much as I was ready to see you go," she told the empty spot where her husband had stood. The other members of the famous quotes group had issued one hasty apology after another and quickly scurried from the cafe with their empty dishes, leaving Glory and Eli to restore order while simultaneously preparing the store for Tuesday morning. The group probably needed to process all that had transpired that evening. Exhausted at last with the effort of transforming her grimace to a smile, Glory had decided to pardon her husband. She didn't have the heart for it. Either cleaning that night or opening the next day. Really, opening up to him was what Glory lacked the fortitude to do. Rehashing the evening and reviewing what was said and what went unsaid that evening. She preferred to bandy about the conversations in her mind in true introverted fashion. But where? The porch. "I'm going to the porch," Glory resolved and turned a blind eye to the trash that screamed for collection and the tables that cried out for rearranging. She clicked off the lights and trusted Eli to follow through on his offer. "You did say you were a man of your word." She felt her anxieties melt away the second she slid out of her mules. Deep down, she feared Eli had acquiesced a little too quickly. It had been way too easy for them to head in two different directions. He to the front stairs and she toward the front door. Yet she missed her evening's window watching in the time alone. There wasn't much to see this time of night, but she'd content herself with counting the fireflies flitting about their patch of yard. Glory plopped down onto the porch's top step to revel in the hint of fall that tagged along with the breeze. Locking her arms around her knees, she rocked back and forth under cover of the darkness that was deepening by degrees. As one light after another flickered out along Spring's church, she tried to imagine how life would look elsewhere, specifically near her husband's still lost daughter. The sound of the waves versus the rumble of trucks. Air thick enough to slice instead of crisp, clear autumn evenings. Fresh-caught shrimp and brim rather than freshly picked apples and peaches. Grandbabies replacing book babies. Unbidden, another poem crept into her mind. "I will not pass this way again by way of sorrow, torment, and fear. There's life in the knowing, let my heart apprehend that joy now takes residence here. Once I was searching and seeking through torrent and blast, yet peace is now speaking of new hope holding fast. The studying of war, all that is past forever and a day draweth near. Could it be that peace is around the corner? That the waves I feared would overwhelm my own dreams will wash away this pain of the past as they recede." Glory's thoughts hummed to a familiar tune that grew louder until she realized that her subconscious had detected whistling coming from the left. Sharp, pure, and high-pitched, the musician could have performed the theme song for the Andy Griffith show she'd watched as a child. "H. What is that? I should know it. Wait, I do know it. That's 'Overjoyed,' our song by Stevie Wonder." Accompanying the music was the off-tempo rhythmic sound of jangling and clomping that put Glory in the mind of cowboys in the Wild West. She edged a little deeper within the porch's shadow and cranked her neck to spy out the walker. Within seconds, a lanky form clanked into view. A man with his hands in his pockets wearing a loose-fitting jacket and a baseball cap. As he passed under the light of the street lamp in front of By the Book, Glory realized it was their backyard neighbor. "Dude, of course." Before she could wonder at the "why" of her next movements, she dashed down the steps toward the retreating shadow that stretched out behind him. So eager to catch up, she left her shoes forgotten by her front door.

Chapter 16.

Though she ran lightly in her bare feet, Dude spun her way at the corner as he was about to launch into the chorus of the Stevie Wonder song. Glory drew up, breathless, 64-year-old body parts aching from the unusual burst of activity. "Hey there," she panted, his mustache and beard parted in a faint smile.

"Hello, out late." Glory wondered at his calm. If someone had run up behind her in the dark, she'd definitely have more to say than scream. In fact, she gulped and tried to match his off-hand demeanor.

"Yes, well, kind of. We just wrapped a meeting and I saw I mean, I heard you walk by. Where'd you learn to whistle like that?"

"In my band."

"In my band." Those three words told her more about the man in that one moment than she'd learned in the six years she'd known him. "We played it at our wedding. Eli and I, I mean, the tenor saxophonist played the song during our reception." Glory could hear herself. Winded, strained, nonsensical, excited.

"I know Jojo is a friend of mine. I came to listen to him play sax again." The smile. Easy. And it reached his eyes, barely visible beneath the brim of his cap.

"Is that why you came to my wedding?" He nodded. "Good stuff." And here she'd thought he'd come out of gratitude for being included. Because he liked her since she saw him as a person. Any number of reasons that revealed how entitled and prideful she was. He came for himself. He didn't come for Eli and me. He lifted his cap, smoothed his hair, and settled it again on his head.

"How was the movie?"

"Movie? I finished *How Green Was My Valley*. Was it as good as the book?"

"Oh, right." Glory couldn't explain the pleasure filling her.

"Where are you headed?"

"Nosy question, I know. Home." Glory tried to follow the direction of his finger, which could have aimed to the north, south, east, or west. She was loathed to ask specifics, though her curiosity nearly ate her alive.

"If you have a minute, would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee? I can share my thoughts on the movie." Dude's hand in his hip pocket was holding back his worn striped jacket, revealing ragged tears on the hem of his shirt and holes in the thighs of his jeans. He turned toward the end of the street where the courthouse reigned supreme with a bright light shining on its steps and the United States and North Carolina state flags rippling in the wind. The state of his clothes could mean he's extremely wealthy or very poor. Neither tells me anything about his character, who he really is. As she waited for him to respond, she surreptitiously checked for the brown paper bag that held his liquid diet, but didn't spot it. His hazel eyes met Glory's gaze and held it steadily, as if taking measure of her before he decided. After a beat, he said, "As long as you change that coffee into tea."

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Eli sat down his cup with such firmness. Coffee splashed on his shirt.

"If that were tea, it wouldn't stain," she murmured, watching him swipe at the spot on his cuff. Her husband knew better than to bring that strong-smelling brew near her anyway. Whenever they ate together in the kitchen, they always sat caddy-cornered from each other, which made the large table seem like an intimate table for two. This morning, Glory wished she'd put her placemat on the other side from him, or better yet, on the counter in the cafe where she usually welcomed Tuesday mornings. Today, however, Eli had beat her downstairs. When she'd pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, still wearing her robe, he was sweeping up the remains of her late-night conclave with Dude, dressed for the day in black gabardine shorts and a starched gray and white button-down shirt.

"I'm starting to think I made a mistake telling you." Glory riffled through the drawer, taking her time searching for the large fork she needed. For some reason, she'd thought he'd find it remarkable, not horrifying, when she explained how Dude had shared tea and leftover sausage balls with her at the kitchen table.

"You made the mistake last night when you chased a stranger down the street and invited him into our home." Eli held his head and stared at his empty plate.

"Which won't be our home much longer if you have your way. Would you feel better if I'd said we ambled through the bookstore rather than sat in the kitchen?"

"Eli, we leave our front door unlocked so people we don't know can freely enter and exit our house practically every day, and I carry on conversations with them unchaperoned, whether you're here or not." Glory laid three strips of bacon in the hot cast iron pan.

"Between the hours of 9 and 5, not after midnight, when your husband is sleeping upstairs and you're wandering around here by yourself in this big house, this 5,000 square ft house," she remembered the mayor saying. Glory flipped over the pieces. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

Glory slowly pivoted to face him. "Why, Eli? Because you think he doesn't have an address? Is that what makes him dangerous?" Eli winced.

"Come on, Glory. Surely you know me better than that. I posed the question because you have no idea who this man is. You can count the number of slices of cake or pie and bowls of ice cream you've taken him." He held up a hand that silenced her and yes, books. "But having a beat on his reading habits doesn't mean that much in the grand scheme of things. Would it matter if he had a 4-year-old child? Could I invite him over for tea then and encourage him to stay a while?" Glory returned her attention to the bacon, her temper as hot as the blue flames under the skillet.

"And you'd better not shush me again," she fumed. "How'd I know you'd manage to bring up a dill in this conversation?" He stalked to the sink and ran cold water over his sleeve.

"Who said anything about Mrs. Simonet? I merely posed a simple question as you did." She tightened her belt. If she didn't hurry, she wouldn't have time to eat and change before their first customers arrived. Gloria was grateful Oilia had to take her children to the high school's open house that morning and was coming in later.

"Huh." Looking put out, Eli rubbed a little soap on the spot and rinsed it.

"I'm grown, Eli, and I was taking care of myself before I came along."

"I know." He slammed the cabinet door after replacing the detergent. This time when he completed that sentence, he sounded angry to Glory instead of weary, and she wondered which was better and which was worse. She dropped two slices of American cheese into the grits bubbling on the range and replaced the lid.

"Well, it's the truth. You're trying to make me afraid of Dude, but I won't let you."

"Not so. What I want to do is shake some sense into you, Eli. Of course, I wouldn't, Glory. But somebody else might. Dude might, for all we know. You think you know him because he's been hanging around your backyard for a few years. But he's been hanging around in a lot of yards and under bridges and behind bars. Homelessness doesn't equal criminality, Eli. It's a terrible circumstance, not a character trait." He pressed a paper towel to his shirt and shook his head.

"I meant the kind of bars that serve alcohol, Glory, not the ones that folks get locked behind. Dude is somebody's son, and he could be somebody's brother, father, or uncle, someone's friend, a talented harmonica player and whistler. But he's an enigma to you, an unknown, a person who might very well have your rare copy of *The Great Gatsby* in his pocket. That's what I'm saying."

In the silence that ensued, Glory lowered the heat and pressed the slices to the hot pan to make sure the fat and the lean cooked properly. Then she lifted out each piece and set them on a paper towel to drain beside the kielbasa she'd already cooked for Eli. By the time she finished, she had cooled off a bit and felt able to reason with the man she'd married.

"Do you have more accusations and insults to lay at the man's feet, or are you ready to listen, husband?"

"I got ready the day I said 'I do' to you, wife." His voice was tense enough to support a high-wire act. Glory cracked three eggs in the bacon drippings, sprinkled them with salt and pepper, then broke the yolk with her spatula. Eli couldn't stand them runny.

"I'm not sure why I ran after him. Maybe it was hearing the familiar song, our song, by the way. 'Overjoyed,' Stevie. Yes." Heartened by his response, she peeked over her shoulder at him. Mistake. He was frowning, affronted.

"Why our song?"

"Because it was our wedding. It would have been weird if the saxophonist had played something else." Feeling as hot and salty as her grits, Glory flipped the eggs and let them get brown and crispy before scooping them out of the pan onto their plates. She stirred the contents of the pot one more time and decreased the heat to simmer. Dileia Gibson was never far from her, the bitter and the sweet. After watching her humbly serve her father every day, Glory typically considered it a joy to make Eli's breakfast when she had the opportunity. This morning, she considered it something else altogether. With her mother in mind, she took a deep breath as she cooked.

"Don't you want to know why he was whistling our song?" The second hand on the kitchen clock traveled around its face one revolution before she heard the scrape of the chair on the tile. Eli joined her by the range.

"Yes, I'd love to know why." She bumped him with her hip.

"Because he played in a blues band with Jojo, our saxophone guy, in case you don't remember, when they both lived in Louisiana. Dude heard he'd moved up this way and that we'd hired him. So, he came to the wedding to hear him. After I invited him, of course."

"Of course." Eli opened the cabinet to the right of her and retrieved two stoneware plates.

"What instrument did our neighbor play besides his lips, as he related his life story?"

"Haha, the joke's on you, funny man. He played the mouth organ, otherwise known as the harmonica, and the piano. I think Dude would enjoy that event we're hosting. The author is going to play a few instruments for the children. I'm sure Adele would love to see him. Dude did save Bennett's life. I wonder where he was coming from at that time of night." Drinking behind somebody else's place, Eli spooned the grits over the eggs and divvied up the proteins on each of their plates.

Glory stuck out her tongue. "He has an apartment. Yes." She chuckled when he froze and glanced at her over his shoulder. "Yes, he does. Somewhere not very far. He's a bit eccentric, but so am I. And he rather likes camping outside. Dude stays in town when he isn't able to drive safely, so he's eccentric, but responsible." Eli bore their food to the table and set their plates in their usual spots.

"And frugal, considering he resides in our backyard most of the time."

"Well, I'd say it's one of the cooler places to stay based on the two cool cats who live here. It's also safe and clean and free. And you bring him good books and good food to go with his good liquor. Is that right?"

"Sounds about right. But this accomplished musician is in the process of recovery. When he hasn't been playing with a group right over the line in Tennessee, he's been attending AA meetings. Not that it's any of our business." Glory followed him to the table. Once she was seated, he spooned a bite of his breakfast and chewed slowly.

"This is because of your brother, isn't it? You think by helping Dude, you're helping Davis. His eyes lit up. Lightning in a storm cloud. That's why you named him Dude, isn't it? D for Davis. To honor your brother."

"It hadn't crossed my mind until this very moment." Glory had married this man to love and cherish all the remaining days of their lives. She hadn't hired him for hourly therapeutic care. She swirled the grits on her plate, then chopped up her eggs with the edge of her fork.

"Honey bun, what do you think? Does that make sense? Yes, on some levels. I don't know about the name thing. Maybe I should take another psychology class to connect those dots. But I I see your point." Glory balanced her fork like a seesaw between the tips of her fingers.

"I was never able to really help my brother. Not in the way it counted. I aided and abetted his drinking problem because I thought it kept the peace. Sneaking him in the house, sneaking him out of the house, jumping in the middle of more arguments than I care to think about. But he was amazing. So smart and so kind. Davis built toys for me because we didn't have an extra pot to pee in. Despite all my parents' hard work, they were putting so much money away for our education. You see, they wanted their children to be the first to go to college." Having lost her appetite, Glory propped her fork against her plate.

"It was my fault they kicked him out, Eli. Of course, the house had burned down to the ground, so there wasn't anything to kick him out of, but I was the one who got the college degree when he got nothing. He'll never know he was more a help to me in the end." Her words petered out.

Eli reached across the table and linked their fingers. "It's okay, darling. It wasn't your job to save him. It wasn't his to save me either. He did it anyway." Glory gripped Eli the way she would a life preserver in choppy seas of unknown depth. The coffee maker beeped, alerting them it was switching off. The sound also signaled that it was time for her to get herself together. She gave his hand one last squeeze, released it, and allowed a watery smile.

"So, finally we have the identity of this mystery man. What's Dude's real name? Carl, Robert, Eddie? How's the old slogan go? Inquiring minds want to know." Glory gasped and covered her mouth. "I forgot to ask."

Chapter 17.

"Mommy, how am I going to have a birthday party without my friends? Will they know where to find me here in Gilmore?" Adele realized he didn't know that "here" for them wasn't Gilmore, but Zirconia, North Carolina. They'd awakened early that Thursday morning, and immediately her child had clamored to go to By the Book to see his new friends, Eli and Glory Prior. Adele had decided a distraction was in order, so she'd driven them to a U-pick farm called Skytop Orchard in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

She caressed the back of his neck. "Well, I think it might be a bit difficult for them to travel to Gilmore with such short notice, Ben. Ben, your birthday is right around the corner, and I think most of them will have started school." His face fell so far, Adele thought he might trip over it on the hard-packed ground.

"But I'm going to be five. And Daddy told me I could have a big party when I turned 5 years old. He said that was a big one. Doesn't that mean it's important?"

"I'd call his death pretty major. And he missed your fourth birthday, too." The realization sprang to mind before she could prepare herself for it. Uh-oh. Here come the tears again. Not today, Adele. Don't start crying over the apples.

Adele dropped to a knee in the grass. She told herself if they could make it to the playground just over the rise. "Bennett, I know you miss your friends. I miss them too and my friends and the farm and Penny." Immediately she regretted taking that route. Her son's bottom lip trembled and the puddles forming in his eyes rivaled his mother's.

"Oh, baby, it's okay to cry. If you want, we can sit right here in the grass and bawl together. Like you told me a while back, Jesus got sad, too. And when you love someone as much as we still love Daddy, it's natural to miss him. Perhaps I should hire other people to weep and wail with us." She hugged him to her, inhaling the strawberry scent of his shampoo on his freshly washed hair, knowing he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Or first," she suggested, her lips moving against his neck. "First, we could go to the barn and see the animals. Some should be roaming freely, too. We might feel a little bit like we brought home with us once we see bunnies and chickens and perhaps feed the goats." She pulled away a little so she could see his face and swipe the tears his thick eyelashes were working overtime to hold on to. "Would you like to go to the playground before we cry or head there after?"

One hearty tear struggled through and dribbled down his flushed cheek. "After," he mumbled.

Adele's lips caught his tear in a kiss before it dripped to the ground, quickly followed by her own. "Me, too." Abandoning a plan, Adele let the wind blow them in the direction they should take at the farm. First, they invested about 45 minutes meandering through the pastures. Bennett took his time naming each goat, duck, and chicken before sidestepping along the fencing until her good sense took over her grief and she made him climb down. Right when he remembered his tears over missing his friends and his father, she challenged him to a race. "Ready, set, go to the playground." They made a dash for the swing sets, enjoying them until he tired of pumping his legs back and forth, and Adele refused to push him. Then she led him to the caravan of half barrels the farm had painted to look like bees buzzing behind the tractor pulling them. When the train stopped, she let him loose in the sandbox.

Adele hung back from the various groups of adults watching their own children dig through the dirt for buried treasure. She coveted what felt like seconds, precious time when her son was safely entertained and she could immerse herself in her own thoughts instead of his. Refusing to waste it on idle conversation with people she would never see again, she closed her eyes and thanked God for the gentle massage of the breeze on her face, the feel of its fingers ruffling her hair.

Adele Estu alarmed, her first thought was God. But it couldn't be. Though his ways were beyond her, surely he wouldn't speak in Spanish if he had something to say to her. Adele opened one eye. No. Once she opened the second, she confirmed that yes, it was indeed Noam Pearline, wearing a stylish orange plaid shirt tucked into khaki shorts cuffed at the thigh and feet in creamy low-top canvas Converse sneakers. Gaping at Glory's best friend, Adele felt grungy in a shapeless graphic tee, hanging over faded denims and ancient running shoes. Eyes wide like her outstretched arms, Noam cried. "It is you! I told myself, 'No, especially out here at the Skytop Orchard.' But see, see, it must be possible. Por que estas, here you are." In her excitement, No's words traveled back and forth virtually from one continent to the other. Adele sighed, mourning the untimely death of her me time. Yet, it couldn't be helped. No was no figment of her imagination. Figuring the woman meant to embrace her, she stepped toward her and leaned in. "Oh, oh, okay, that's what we're doing."

"Lovely," No Emmy said with some surprise. A mortified Adele couldn't do anything but carry through with her hug of greeting, and the two women embraced awkwardly and quickly.

"Yes, it is. I Adele of the famous quotes group." She attempted to make light of their uncomfortable moment with a dramatic introduction. The jeweler scanned the play area and waved. "Oh, there's Bennett." She returned her attention to Adele. "So, you must be getting settled in Gilmore because you've enlarged your territory and found our gem. How are you enjoying the orchard?"

Adele's smile widened slightly and more sincerely when she recognized the phrase from the prayer of Job. "I'm having a good time. We are having a good time. It was good to get out of the house on such a beautiful day. This is more for the respite than the apples. Much sweeter." Back in Cabot, their family had found themselves hunkered down in their storm shelter one August, listening to tornadic-level gusts and hailstones pummeling their property. Thanks to God, they'd emerged to minimal property damage relative to what their neighbors had endured. She recognized this 77° day with light winds under light blue cloudless skies as nothing short of a gift from God. This mountain was territory she could handle.

No nodded as if she understood there was much Adele hadn't said. "La gracia de Dios, the grace of God. All settled in then?"

"Getting there. As long as my little guy is good, I'm good, too." Adele could tell that Nomi wanted to dig deeper, but she kept her comment surface-level.

"I wouldn't have expected to see you here midday Thursday. Who's minding the store?" Cries from the area of the sandbox snagged the attention of both women. They watched a mother throw her screaming toddler over her shoulder, his mouth covered with dirt, and stride from the playground. No chuckled. "Dale can manage things without me, what with his new assistant. I'm here with my grandchildren. They're over there." Adele followed her finger and spotted a girl of about five being pushed on the swing by a taller boy of eight or nine.

"Ah, they're beautiful. They are my hearts, those two. My first and only grandchildren, but God willing, more to come. My daughter had to travel this week for work, so I offered to care for them today and tomorrow."

"So, you've hired someone to help in the store?" Adele tucked her hands in her back pockets. After Noy's quick check on her grandchildren, she wiggled her eyebrows at Adele. "You could say that we're training our older son to manage Pearline's. You know, passing on the baton to the next generation. However, no fishing for my Dale until the weekend. Poor baby." For the first time, Adele noticed her genuine warmth, and the tension in her shoulders eased. No sunny personality was usually clouded by her best friend's chilly demeanor.

"Have you picked apples yet?" Adele didn't process what she said at first, but after a minute, the question registered. Apples? "Uh, no, not yet. If someone was viewing Bennett and me from a drone, they'd see we've taken a rather willy-nilly approach to our visit here. He was sad about celebrating his birthday without his friends, and we both started feeling sorry for ourselves and missing Ben. I call it an emotional snowball." Adele scrutinized the grass, the child who was still squalling, the robin pecking the ground, the splotch on the side of her shoe. "We might buy some apple donuts, eat our sandwiches in the picnic pavilion, and head home afterwards."

"What? You can't be serious." The exclamation caused Adele to finally lift her head. No mouth opened wide. "Leave Sky Top without picking apples? You can't live around here without creating your own apple-picking story." She clasped a soft hand around Adele's forearm. "We'll go together."

"Is that what I'm doing living around here?" Adele muttered under her breath as No took a couple steps forward. She whistled shrilly, commandeering the attention of everybody in the play area, including Bennett, who stopped pouring sand over his feet. No two grandchildren scampered up, and she wrapped her arms around their shoulders and explained what they were doing next.

"Yes, grandmother," they chorused, their large brown orbs staring at Adele curiously. Realizing that it was a done deal, Adele waved her son over. Despite making eye contact, the child finished emptying his pail onto his legs and wiggled his toes, obviously loving the feel of the sand running between them. Hiding her annoyance behind what she hoped was a pleasant expression, Adele gave up on mentally willing him to move and yelled, "Bennett!" he glanced up and brushed the sand around his feet. No whistled again, and Bennett squinted their way. "Come, come, let's go, Mommy and I are leaving." To Adele's chagrin, he instantly kicked the bucket out of his way and hopped over the other children crouching in the box. His legs churned up dust as he ran over and asked, "Where are we going, Mommy?"

"I'm taking you and your hard-headed bottom home." "That's where you're going," Adele wanted to say. Flames licking her jawline. Instead, she steered him by the shoulder to catch up with No and her grandchildren.

No sat her two at the end of the picnic table across from Bennett and unzipped her large insulated bag. "So, what do you think of the famous quotes group?" Adele doled out their sandwiches. Peanut butter and chocolate hazelnut spread for him and ham and Swiss for her. She dropped several varieties of bagged chips on the table. It was second nature to pack extra for her finicky son.

"It's interesting. The older woman laughed. That's one way to put it, I suppose. When Glory introduced this idea that first night, she likened herself to Francie in *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn*. I read it with Glory. Of course you did." Adele hid her smirk by pretending to drop her napkin, and that book spoke to my heart. The author went to college here in North Carolina, like my Dale at Chapel Hill. The words just popped out of her mouth.

"Oh, you're familiar with it, Miss Non-fiction reader." Adele shifted uncomfortably in her seat under Noy's questioning gaze. "You've always got to show what you know," Ben used to tease. She gulped down the bite and explained. "He mentioned it was basically autobiographical. So, I have heard of it." After a pause, Noed out their lunches. "Yes, Betty Smith was older when she published this first book of hers, and it was a major success. We opened our jewelry store later in life after our children were in school when many people are retiring, so her story encouraged me. It's never too late. That's what I learned." Adele checked on Bennett before unwrapping her sandwich. He was talking animatedly with the others. In a studied casual tone, she asked, "Glory and Eli know all about that, too, don't they?"

"What do you mean?" No opened the lid on her plastic container, revealing a hearty mixture of red and green lettuce, cucumbers, red onions, and tomatoes. "They married at what, 60 years old? Talk about never too late." Adele took a bite.

"You're right. They're an inspiration." Adele ruffled through the bags of chips and chose the barbecue.

"That's definitely one way of looking at it." No poured dressing over her salad. The author of *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn* says to read to your children daily until they can read themselves, and then they need to read every day everything they can get their hands on. I guess it's also never too early. Actually, that would be a good post for the festival. It's never too early and it's never too late. Don't you think Glory will get a kick knowing she's inspired us?" Adele raised her eyebrows as if considering it. The older woman smiled at Bennett. "Young man, based on what I witnessed, I bet your mommy agrees with that idea of reading early, even if she hasn't read *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn*."

"Uh-uh," Bennett mumbled.

Around his chewing. "Uh-uh. Uh-uh." "What?" "No," prompted the child. "I think he means I do agree."

"What's not to agree with?" Bennett. "Wipe your mouth," Adele told him sharply. Feeling the eyes from across the table, she focused on attending to her son and waited out the silence that grew by the second.

"Well, let's keep that idea in mind. It's never too early and it's getting late." Or whatever it was, I said. "No," leaned across the table to swat at a fly hovering over their food. Adele chuckled. "It's never too early and it's never too late."

"Right. Right." No quenched more salad and swallowed. "Dale and I were talking about *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn* on the way home. And if I remember correctly, Francancy didn't much like old people because she was afraid of turning into one. I wonder what Charles would have to say about that."

"He might not appreciate being called old." Adele opened her chips, hoping she'd stay out of trouble by keeping her mouth full. Unable to help herself, she said, "I imagine he'd say that as hard or as lonely as aging might be, life is beautiful. Keep living, even if there doesn't seem to be much to live for."

"But I don't think that's something you want to put on a poster." A delicate yellow butterfly landed on the edge of the table. Everyone stilled and watched its wings slowly open and close. Bennett stuck out his finger, and it fluttered away. Adele followed the rolls of the hills in the distance and felt for Mr. Graves because she understood his sadness and prayed that, like her, he looked forward to that time when there would be no more sadness or tears, when such things would fly away.

No cocked her head toward her grandchildren, engaged in tug-of-war over a straw, breaking up the quiet of the peaceful scene. "These two," Adele chuckled at the brother and sister, admiring their grandmother's ability to let them duke it out for themselves. "How would Bennett get these early life lessons in navigating relationships without a sibling to rub against?"

"Miha, my daughter can't understand why her father and I are preparing to pass on the baton to her brother when it comes to the business. Not that it'll happen anytime soon. I think she's afraid that without waking up and going to Pearl Lines every day, her parents will lack purpose and give up. She's so driven, always going, going, going. She pushes and pulls like her little ones down there. But Dale and I feel a pull towards something different and new."

"Don't all of us mature older people reach a point when we feel as if we've seen it all, done it all?" she continued, not waiting for Adele to agree. "We're not cynical. It's more like we're satisfied. It's a feeling of enough. We have children and grandchildren. We've run a successful business. And we're done with all the rigma-roll."

"But we're not giving up and buying the uh... uh... what's the saying? Farm?"

"Buying the farm?" Adele supplied. "See, L'Granda, we're not ready to buy the farm and give up living. We're only asking what's next."

Immediately, Adele visualized gold and silver bangles and mumus. "Do you think that's why they want to sell the bookstore? They're asking Kay."

Noam's face shuddered, and she flashed a non-committal half-smile. "You'll have to talk to Glory and Eli when we see them again. They can tell you better than I." Adele sensed she was circling the wagons to protect her friend. She admired Noam's loyalty, but it put her on the outside. Searching her own heart, she asked herself, "What's next for me, Lord?"

No rose to collect the remains from their lunch. "Mind sharing what you're ruminating on upstairs, Adele?" She tapped her temple.

"Oh, nothing." Her words proved as forthcoming as her next steps. Bennett wiggled closer to his mother. "Are you thinking about Daddy, Mommy? Whenever you get quiet, it's because you're sad about him." His voice was hushed, as if he meant his question to be for her ears only. The problem was there were several more pairs of ears around them. Adele wrestled with an answer fit for public consumption.

Bennett bounced on the bench. "I know. Maybe if you tell Miss Glory, she'll help you get your store like hers. You're always dreaming of books."

"Daddy said and talking about Ben."

"Hush. Sounds like you were too much into grown folks' business." Adele wished she could cover his mouth.

"Nah, nah, let the boy talk. It's obvious he loves his mama and wants to see her happy. Also, it's good for a child to see his parents dreaming and praying. Me, Papa always wanted his own business. And now look at Dale and me. Our children have watched us weep and pray over them all their lives, even as adults. And I believe it moves them to do the same."

Adele chewed on her bottom lip. Whenever the two of them made their escape from this place, Adele was going to tell this boy a thing or two about sharing their private business. And she'd explained that under no circumstances was he to call that bookseller by anything other than Mrs. Prior.

"Mommy, Miss Pearllin was talking to you." Bennett rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just wanted to get to know you better, but if it's too personal."

"No," Emy's white-tipped nails were splayed against the base of her throat. "Riley," she confessed. "I guess the jig is up. Do you remember the part in *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn* where Francancy shares her dreams of buying all the books she ever wanted? Well, I did, too. More than would fill all the shelves in Glory's happy place."

No rested her chin on a fist, and her lips curved slightly, looking not at all surprised. "Sounds like you and Glory have lots in common. Running your own bookstore."

Adele choked back the memories, the bitterness. "Yeah, yeah, just like Miss Glory," Bennett affirmed. Adele nodded, hating to peel back that tiny bit of the onion. Yet her son's upturned face urged her to keep going. "Little man here already shared the whispers between my husband and me. How he dreamed of owning our own version of *By the Book*. Then he died."

"Your dreams didn't." "It may not look the way you planned, but you can still own one. Remember, it's never too late." Now Emy's answer was matter-of-fact.

Adele looped an arm around Bennett and drew him onto her lap. On this point, she and No were of the same mind.

"What do you think about this one?" No. Emmy plucked a golden Gala apple and held it for Adele to judge. Adele couldn't keep the nonchalance from seasoning her words. "Like I said, I'm not as particular as you are. As far as I'm concerned, if you don't see a worm waving hello, put it in the basket with the rest." The rest, meaning the five other apples her partner had given the go-ahead to, compared to the pounds of apples the children had run ahead and gathered from the trees and the ground. No had such a finicky approach to apple picking. Adele was surprised the woman didn't rinse the fruit with a bottle of water before she put it in the basket.

"Oh, no, no, it must be perfect!" She whipped out a napkin and polished it. Adele doubled over, and tears of a much happier kind ran down her cheeks. When she straightened and regarded No's puzzlement, she laughed again. "You must be tired of me."

No dropped the apple in her basket and moved to another tree. "I'm happy I'm not stealing your joy. Dale refuses to come with me anymore, but I tell him this is the same way I treat my diamonds, my gold, everything. You can't love my eye in the store and hate the way it works everywhere else. I take me with me. Perfecto. I take me with me."

Adele snapped her finger several times. "Everywhere I go, I keep popping up too."

"No," the other woman raised her hand. Adele high-fived her. Without conferring, they skipped several trees to catch up with the children. They worked in tandem for a while, with Adele selecting apples from the higher branches and passing them to No to inspect. Bees buzzed, attracted to the fruit rotting on the ground.

"What really brought you to our fair city?" Adele. No twirled an apple in the sunlight. "My car." Adele winked, brushing at what she hoped was a fly. "And family."

"Bennett." She'd started with the biggest circle and successfully narrowed it until she named the bullseye. Everything she did was for Bennett.

"Really?" She spun to look at Noam, but Adele already knew the other woman hadn't said a word. She recognized the voice, if she was honest. "Do you have family here?"

No circled the tree and peered through twisted limbs. "I have my son, for sure, and he has me today." That didn't feel like enough. Adele kept one eye on the three little ones cavorting through the grass and another on hidden gems others had missed. All of her remained on guard to avoid any verbal missteps.

"I'm sorry." No stopped searching and devoted all her attention to Adele. "Thanks. No, I mean it. I'm so sorry about your Ben. I don't know your personal God-designed pain, but I understand the sorrow from irreplaceable loss."

"Me, Papa Morio." No eyes closed for a long second and then opened. Tears sharpened her gaze. "My father died after I moved to the United States, leaving me mama alone in Colombia. She never recovered from it."

Adele whimpered and stumbled a little from yet another wound. "Um, no. Please, if I may." The three words glued Adele to the spot. "Mama never recovered because she had no esperanza, no hope, no Christ. But you and I, we grieve with that hope, with the knowing there's no way to replace Ben. But God can replace your sorrow, friend. And you will see him again. Live with that hope, with Christ."

Bennett hopped up to Adele, followed by his new friends. "Mommy, mommy, guess what? I have friends now. Can they come to my party?" He tugged at her hand and squinted up into her face.

"Is it time to cry again?"

"No." Emmy stroked his head. "Was there your baskets over there? Gather them and come back to us, and we'll get some apple donuts for dessert." Her grandson grabbed his sister, and they both jumped up and down, chorusing, "Donuts, donuts!"

"Your abuita has made a new friend, too. So, we should celebrate now. Go." She shooed them off and spun to face Adele, her palms up. "Is it okay if I hug you for real this time? You can say no, but it's not about me. It's for you. I promise it'll be quick."

Adele stared at her. Then she nodded and blinked rapidly, steeling herself for the touch. No grasped her by the arms and pulled her close, enfolding Adele in her embrace. Once there, Adele sobbed on her new friend's shoulder. Loud cries that made other people give them wide berth. She didn't move when she heard the children's feet pummel the ground and felt Bennett's arms circle her waist. No whispered, "When you feel like it, you can tell me the real reason you came to town."

The drive home felt like 12 hours to Adele. She must have glanced back at Bennett 20 times, and he was steadily maneuvering his Hot Wheels car around his seat belt and across the leather cushion on either side of him. About 2 miles from home, she angled the rearview mirror so he could see her eyes.

"Bennett."

"Vroom."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you have a good time today at the apple farm?" Bennett grew very still and nodded slowly. "I'm glad. The donuts were—" She kissed her fingertips to lighten the moment. "We're going to look up some recipes to use all the fruit we picked. They're falling on the floor." He regarded the large, overflowing basket full of apples.

"I hope we make donuts."

Adele signaled a right turn and used it as an opportunity to slightly redirect the conversation. "Speaking of the Priors, I'd rather you call them by their last names, as Mommy taught you. That's how we show respect for our elders who aren't our family members."

Bennett's head leaned to one side. "But Miss Glory said it was okay. She asked me to call her that because we're friends." She turned her frown into a smile when she stole a peek at his reflection. "I understand what she's trying to say. Glory. Mrs. Prior likes you. What's not to like? When you're friends with someone around your age, you tend to use their first names, like you did with your new friends. But when they're a lot older than you, it's better to use their last name out of respect. Just like I call Mr. Graves Mr. Graves when I address him, not Charles, even though we're friends, too. And the way you said Miss Pearline. Does that make sense?"

This time, his expression informed her she'd connected with him, and she took that as motivation to keep going. "I'm sorry if Mommy seems sad. That's okay. I get sad, too. Pastor Little John said that makes us like Jesus. He's a man of sorrows, he says." His simple, plain-spoken explanation made Adele's eyes well.

"Yeah, I guess so," she agreed, her voice thick.

"Bennett."

"Vroom. Vroom."

"Ouch."

"Yes, ma'am." He untangled the car from his hair. She stifled a chuckle as she drove onto their street. "Sometimes we're going to have important you-and-me conversations, or you're going to overhear me talking to somebody else, or simply to myself, and I need you to keep those private conversations to yourself. Put them in a file in your mind marked 'For Bennett's Ears Only.' Okay? If there's something you want to share, ask me first. It's probably fine, but make sure and check with Mommy."

Adele navigated between the jumble of toys and yard equipment stacked on both sides of the garage and parked her Outback. After she switched off the car and unbuckled, she spun to gaze into her son's large, heavily lashed eyes head-on. "I don't know when you'll see Mr. and Mrs. Prior again. I'm thinking you won't get back there anytime soon. Now, how do I get there without him?"

His lips poked out. "No more books. We have plenty here, and there's also the library and other places to get books besides their store. That gives us new places to visit, right?" Adele didn't feel as excited as she sounded, but she had to play the part. "But, Bennett, there's a time and a place to question. This isn't either of those." She opened her door.

"But mommy, what about Dude's card? It's still back here on the floor and it's getting crunched by the apples. When are we going to give it to him?"

***

Chapter 18

The bookstore was hopping that Saturday morning. From the second-floor landing, Glory watched Oilia greet three new guests as they entered, toting bags from another local shop. They looked to be out-of-towners, people stopping through on their way to or from the mountains. Eyeing their shorts with all the extra pockets and hooks and their dusty ankle-high boots, she noted to herself, "Remind Jason to buff these floors before he leaves tonight." Gloria absently twirled the large gold loop in her left ear as she watched the strangers strolling through the shop. She loved guessing what guests were searching for. "Let's see. She's hunting for a best-selling book club pick. I think he'll only buy a bookmark and pretend he didn't come for the cafe. Oh, they're back. Maybe without their mama, they'll look at YA instead of the historical fiction. A straight to the children's section for their grandbabies."

Before Glory could finish her game, Mallerie's voice tracked her down on the landing, declaring, "If she can't find it or hasn't heard of it, it doesn't exist. Let me find the owner." Realizing she was being called to action, Glory hurried downstairs, careful to lift the end of her dress to avoid taking a spill. At the bottom, she adjusted the large frames that nearly covered her face. Glory didn't really need them, at least not the way most people needed glasses. She used her specs to ensure people saw less of her, not to enable her to see more of them. Assured they were secure on the bridge of her nose, she glided over to introduce herself to the couple standing with the teenaged host.

"Ah, the hikers. Mallerie, could you help those young ladies over there? Thank you." She turned to the dust-covered duo in front of her. "Hello there. I'm Glory Prior. Welcome to Buy the Book. How may I help?"

And so it began. About an hour later, she was bagging up *The Call of the Wild* and *Into Thin Air* for the twosome, fresh from their mountain excursion. While they busied themselves oohing and aahing over the store, she predicted, in a for her own ears only volume, "they'll stick these books on the shelf before the middle of next week and forget all about them until next year this time."

"What did you say?" the female hiker asked.

Glory dropped a bookmark in the bag. "Please accept this handmade gift as a thank you. Have you read Jack London before?"

"No."

"So good. You'll also enjoy John Krakauer's narrative. That's this one." She dipped into the bag for *Into Thin Air*. It was obvious their activity had spurred a sense of adventure they wanted to perpetuate through their reading for the moment. Still, she appreciated their business. "Please come visit us again when you're back this way."

"Oh, we will. The fresh air, the people, the mountains, the sky. Not to mention this place," the woman enthused. "I love it all. We'll definitely buy the book again."

Glory smiled. "Happy reading."

Her husband smirked. "I'm sure you're tired of hearing that one."

"Never. Not as long as you're spending money in my store. When it comes to my books, I don't play around."

"Oh, look, a raffle. What does 'famous quotes' mean? Do we have to guess?" His wife lifted the medium-sized bowl, partially obscured by the rack of paper bags on the corner of the desk.

Gloria's husband, smelling of sandalwood and vanilla, suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Hello there. I'm Eli Prior, this beautiful bookseller's assistant. Wow, that sounds like quite the title, doesn't it? Maybe I should write a book." His wink was conspicuous enough that it was obviously meant to engage them all.

"You have plenty enough to say," Glory teased.

"That I do. Actually, what Glory was about to explain is that we're asking our guests to help us with a project," Eli continued.

"Oh, is that what I was about to do?" Glory murmured.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered before returning his attention to their guests. "We're gathering book quotes as we prepare for the town festival coming in November and our store's upcoming 35th anniversary. If you'll share your favorites, you might see them plastered around town in a month or so. Also, include your email address and sign up for our newsletter, and we'll let you know which ones we chose so you can show off to all your friends."

"What newsletter?" Glory tried not to gawk at her marketing guru in action as he handed them pens and pre-cut strips. She listened as the two guests debated which authors and books to use. "Feel free to select more than one. And don't worry about getting the quotes perfect. If you include the title, we'll figure it out. It's more about the meaning, not the wording," Eli encouraged.

30 minutes later, the two wrapped up their project and left the store, swinging a small cardboard container along with the bag emblazoned with the Buy the Book logo. Eli had convinced them to stop by the cafe for one of Oilia's specials. Glory grabbed his arm and shook it so hard his entire body moved. "What in the world, Eli? How can I afford you? You're too good at this. And what's this about a newsletter?"

"Simply using my powers for good, my love." He stroked her back. She leaned into him. When they were together, they seemed to have a mutual yet unspoken need to be within touching distance of each other. Eli may have wanted to make up for all the time lost. Glory was sewing seeds for the time to come.

"Well, I appreciate it. If last Monday was any indication, we need outside help. Those meetings make for good discussions, but they're mighty drawn out. And so far, we've only come up with one real idea. Mine."

The bell chimed above the door, and a guest walked in, chattering loudly on her phone. "Do you know what else we'll need before long?" Eli asked. "Another assistant or host, whatever you're calling a part-time worker." He indicated the different groups milling about the store, visible from their spot near the front door where Glory had positioned the desk and the cash register. "I hate we lost our experienced help a few weeks ago because Oilia, you and I won't be able to keep up with the increased traffic."

Glory gathered the books that earlier guests had considered but left stacked on the desk. "Oh, we'll be fine. Most folks are coming in now because of the signing later. It'll lighten up."

Eli signaled for Mallerie to keep her eyes on operations and fell into step with his wife. "Maybe, but it's sure to get busier the closer we get to November. And imagine the people who will troop through the store during the festival. Plus, the holidays will follow soon after."

"I hadn't thought of that." Glory stopped in the middle of an aisle and let a father and his three children pass. "Come back for the reading later. There will be music and storytelling for people of all ages, but especially for 1, two, and three." Eli indicated the two little girls leaving through picture books, and the baby boy held aloft in the man's arms. Witnessing his interaction with the family, Glory held her breath, hoping against hope that Eli had reconsidered staying in Gilmore once the festival was over. After all, he mentioned a newsletter. What would be the point of starting one if he hasn't changed his mind?

Eli returned to her side. Sky blue shirt sleeves neatly folded back three times, as was his custom, and his index fingers hooked through his belt loops. He surveyed the store with a bemused expression. "For the life of me, I can't see how this is going to work, Glory. All the packing to do, the selling off of inventory. Mallerie is still relatively new and isn't up to the job. Not even if her brother pitches in when he's not busy with other work. And we can't forget that Oilia is insisting they cut their hours by half when high school resumes. I figure a newsletter will help us get the word out about our closing. And maybe we'll get a buyer that way or maintain online orders in the future. Who knows? But no amount of reconfigurations will turn the five helpers we have into the six or seven we need." And just as quickly, he cut the string to her hope-filled balloon and sent it sailing high into the sky beyond her reach. As far as her husband was concerned, the move wasn't a discussion point. It was a given.

"Then what do you suggest?" Glory scooped up more randomly placed books and stacked her arm full on a cart. There'd be more time to reshelf them later, to miss them later. She blinked away bitter, stinging tears. "How can I give up my dream to chase his?"

An interminable silence forced her to look up. "We're going to need some support around here. How about we write 'We're hiring' next to the list of specials on that chalkboard?" For the third time that week, "Three too many," she remarked under her breath.

***

Adele parked in downtown Gilmore. Unbuckling, she dropped her keys in her purse, checked the traffic, and emerged with the small bag of apples they'd brought for Dude. She helped Ben at a light from the other side onto the sidewalk. "Don't forget the card, Mommy." His high-pitched voice trilled the reminder like the notes to a song. When he dragged it from the floor and back, it sent a small diecast truck sailing from their car. It came to rest behind the Outback's rear tire. "How about I keep up with your toy, and you carry the card since I have the apples? We can look out for each other." She stuffed the car into her pocket. As they walked toward where they'd last seen Dude, Adele made a mental list of all she'd rather do besides return to Buy the Book: clean the men's bathroom at the gas station, cut the grass with her toenail clipper, gulp six tablespoons of castor oil, climb Grandmother Mountain in her bare feet. Yet she determined to show the man the appreciation he deserved for his selfless act. When Dude saved Bennett's life, he effectively saved hers.

"Where do you think he'll hang this? Should we have brought him a gift card to a restaurant and taped it to the inside?" Questions like these had pestered Adele at 2 in the morning when she lay alone. Tongue in the corner of his mouth, he was obviously concentrating on not stepping on their homemade creation or dropping it into the storm drain.

"Let me see that." Adele took the card and his hand and helped him onto the sidewalk at the corner. The sun had greeted them this morning, but rain had followed on its coattails right after lunch. It had petered out on the drive over. Still, the afternoon was a dreary one, and the still full clouds threatened to burst, too humid to wear a raincoat, too cumbersome to carry an umbrella. Adele and Bennett braved the heavy droplets that plopped onto their foreheads from roofs or awnings hanging over the walkway. She cringed, remembering the immediate, "Definitely not," she'd shouted when he'd requested to wear his yellow rain boots.

On the walkway leading to the front steps of the bookstore, Adele hesitated and stared at the porch. If the people milling around inside were any sign, the chairs, chalkboard, and the cart full of books provided a warm welcome to most. To her, they served as a warning, and not only for her pocketbook. "Guard your heart with all diligence."

Bennett tugged on her arm. "You said we had to hurry to beat the storm. Why aren't we going in?"

"Because I'm not up for chatting it up with Miss Glory so soon. Plan or no plan?" aloud, she answered. "I'm trying to figure out the best way to eat this elephant." He squinted up at her and swiped at a raindrop that landed squarely between his eyes. "Huh?"

Adele resolved to get herself together. "Let's go around back. Dude isn't likely to be inside."

"Why do you call him Dude?"

"Isn't he Mr. Dude, like you call Mr. Graves?"

"Mr. Graves?" Bennett dragged his feet through a shallow puddle, sloshing his mother's feet with rainwater. "Watch it, Ben." Ben. She guided him around the next watery circle collecting on the concrete. "You know, that's an excellent question. Maybe I would, but I don't know what else to call him. I don't know his age or whether Dude is his first or last or in-between name. This is a special circumstance, I guess. But you should probably call him Mr. Dude, maybe." It sounded ridiculous to her own ears, but she stuck to her guns the way parents tended to do.

"Okay, let's be careful," she whispered, not knowing why they had to be careful, or why they were whispering. The wide driveway separating Buy the Book and Pearl Lines was empty and well-kempt, with a patchwork of black-eyed Susans sprouting in the closely cropped grass growing between the two buildings. The clouds made good on their threat, and the fine mist became a drizzle, and then a steadier rain by the time they traveled from the street to the fenced area behind Buy the Book. Adele frowned at the empty chair sitting under the thick overhanging branches. "Where's Mr. Dude?"

Pressing against her, Bennett tilted the large sheet of cardboard in her hand horizontally and sought shelter under it. The man had more sense than she had, traipsing out in an impending storm. He must have taken cover somewhere, and they should follow suit. "Let's leave the card."

"Where? But it'll get wet. And what about the apples?" His obvious disappointment turned into a whine. The red heart they'd colored had bled on the soggy paper that was tearing apart in her hands. "It's already wet, Bennett, and we're getting wetter by the second. Let's go since we missed Dude. I guess we'll have to make him another, and the apples will keep." Fighting the urge to drop the card and scedaddle, she set down the bag and used both hands to crush it. Adele hurried her son toward the large bins to the left of the back door, ignoring his resistance to discard the trash they'd once considered a gift.

"But mommy." Feeling him slip, she turned to catch him, which made her drop the messy wad. Red fruit tumbled from the bag and rolled everywhere. "Are you okay?" He nodded, but tears mixed with the raindrops on his cheeks. "Oh, Bennett!" Adele knelt, ignoring the pebbles poking her knees. She slicked his hair back. Her stained hands left pinkish smudges on his face, imagining she looked as bedraggled as he did. She kissed his forehead and guided him away from the fence toward the driveway. "I think I have a towel in the car."

The back door opened to the Priors' tutor. "Adele. Bennett. What in heaven are y'all doing back here?"

"Miss Glory." Bennett ran toward the light shining onto the stoop and threw himself at the woman bathed by it. The bookseller caught him with the arm that wasn't holding the door and stared at Adele. By now she was fairly certain her own tears were mingling with the steady rain, and she prayed they were undetectable.

"Hey, we were trying to leave our thank you card and apples for Dude." Glory's eyes traveled from the trash on the ground to the child wrapped around her middle and back to Adele. Then she seemed to take measure of the skies above them and the rain that was gathering speed. Adele didn't know what Glory was about to say because at that moment she saw the ever-present Eli appear behind his wife. He beckoned, "I thought I heard voices. What are you doing out there getting soaked? Come in. Come in." She hesitated until Bennett's over-his-shoulder appeal slowly drew her. After retrieving the apples and the balled-up card, she slogged on leaden feet to the back door. Adele nodded hello at Glory as she slid past the couple into the bright kitchen.

***

Chapter 19

Adele edged away from the hot kettle. Oilia poured steaming water into her visitor's cup. "Can I get you anything else, Adele?" She shook her head. Her spoon clinked against the porcelain when she pushed the leaves deeper in the water. "Okay, then. I'm going back to oversee things out there. Jason is a fish out of water without someone to oversee his work, and Mallerie is helping with the event. When Glory finishes up with the reading, they'll be back." Oilia's rubber-soled clogs swooshed briskly from the kitchen. Adele gingerly lifted her cup and inhaled the warmth of the tea as it steeped. Despite the summer weather outside, her body was a wintry day inside. She couldn't shake the chill from her stunt in the rain. Eli had worked to make her and Bennett comfortable the minute he ushered them inside, calling for towels, offering them seats at their table, heating up the kettle. But Glory's icy reception hadn't helped matters. The bookseller had swept from the kitchen and back to the store floor to welcome her visiting author, leaving Adele by herself. Glory had hurried back to ask for Eli's help with the audiovisual equipment. "I can't tell my right from my left when it comes to all this technological mumbo jumbo." She'd apologized, propelling him by his shoulders from the room. Gloria had returned alone 30 minutes later, right before the event's 4:00 start. She'd sacheted over to the table where Bennett sat beside Adele, sipping his iced chai that Oilia had taken a break to prepare for him. "May I borrow your son? I think he'd get a kick out of the piano playing in the reading, and there's a ton of kids. I could use a little helper." She'd chucked the child's cheek with her knuckle. When Bennett had asked permission with his wide brown eyes, all Adele could do was flatten the hair standing on end and smooth the wrinkles in the shirt still drying on his body. Before she could suggest the woman use Mallerie's assistance, off he'd dashed without a yay or nay, his hand safely ensconced in Glory's. "Say thank you to Mrs. Prior," Adele called before the door swished once, twice behind them. She'd hungered there until Oilia had popped in again and insisted on refreshing her tea. Now she waited alone for her son, counting the minutes until they returned to the place that wasn't quite home. But neither was Cabbot, not without Ben. Though her husband's scent still clung to his sweaters and shirts and the car's interior, it had faded from his pillow. Deep down, she had a feeling it was more his memory, she sensed. But thoughts of my dead husband are a warmer welcome than the one I received from Glory today.

"Okay, enough. I need to get out of here." Adele slapped the table, rattling the cup on the saucer. She searched her bag for pins and stuck them in her hair to make herself more presentable and left the kitchen, slipping out unnoticed by Oilia's son, who was ringing up a customer in the cafe. Adele proceeded up the hallway that led to the home's great hall. It was bordered by shelves and displays, and shoppers—guests, Glory calls them—moved through rooms sprouting from the entryway. At loose ends, she ambled toward the display that had first caught Bennett's attention. The front door flew open. A frazzled-looking woman stepped in and shook her umbrella onto the porch. She hooked its crook over her arm and braced the door to allow an older woman, her back curved by an unseen burden, to hobble in, supported by a cane. Behind the elderly figure's halting tap-tap-tap-tap, trailed a teenaged girl, her eyes glazed and impatient, and lanky hair dripping rainwater down her face and neck. She jerked a boy of Bennett's age inside, his wet shirt clinging to his chest. They stepped off the mat stitched with multicolored book spines that spelled "Welcome" and shook themselves dry, and the mother hastened around the group in her wedge-heeled sandals and damp pink tennis dress and peeked in the first room she came to. Adele quickened her pace to touch the woman's shoulder. "Excuse me. I suspect you're looking for the reading and signing. It's in back, right before you get to the storeroom. If you want to take these two, I'll show your mother back."

The woman expelled a sigh wider than she was and drawled through cracked rose lipstick. "She's my mother-in-law, but that would be huge. Thank you so much, y'all. Come on, Mother Smith. This nice lady is going to help you." She motioned the children forward without a backward glance. They tried to catch up to her. Adele smiled and hunched a little to place her mouth closer to the woman's ear. She offered her arm as the woman's second cane. "Hey there, I'm Adele, Mrs. Smith. We can take our time and enjoy the walk. Is this your first visit to Buy the Book?"

"Oh, sweetheart, no need to shout. I can hear you fine." Mrs. Smith's voice was firm and strong despite her frail appearance. "I tried to tell that daughter-in-law my son brought into my life where the meeting was, but she never listens to me. Unlike Glory, she's always got an ear for what I have to say. Probably because she never leaves this place. That woman is a blessing to this community and us old ladies with the book groups and such. Her store feeds my spirit." Adele stumbled. Mrs. Smith paused. "Are you all right, baby? I know my rickety legs don't work better than yours."

Adele reared back her shoulders and patted her companion's hand. She took a step forward. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I'm all right."

"Mrs. Prior would be encouraged by hearing that."

"Okay, here we are." She barely parted the heavy pocket doors to allow the guests' narrow shoulders through to her daughter-in-law, positioned right at the room's threshold. "There's Bennett, safe and sound," next to St. Glory, Adele muttered, peeking at the tune near the piano. "He had an elbow propped on her thigh, listening to the author play."

"Everybody seems to love her." "Maybe she's not who I think she is," she said, her mouth. "Or maybe her gowns are only sheep's clothing." Confused, Adele returned to the main hallway. Apparently, most people had either entered the store for the express purpose of attending the reading or had discovered the event once they were inside. The few milling about found ready assistance in Mallerie, Jason, or Oilia serving in the cafe. Feeling like the person in the Robert Frost poem, "The Road Not Taken," Adele chose the less traveled path that led to the tutor's front room, where she'd been told Glory spent her afternoons. The striped oversized chair whispered her name at first, and she tried to turn a deaf ear to its call. She spent a few minutes strolling around the room, hands in her pockets, fingers spinning the wheels of Bennett's truck. Soon, however, Adele found herself scooting back into the chair. Set in the corner were the view of Springs Church and the rolling hills beyond. Glory's view, shouted too loudly to ignore them. Peering through the rain glass, she tucked her feet under her and absently pushed the toy along the ridge of the upholstery. The quiet swish of tires on the pavement and occasional far-off jangle of the bell lulled her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend her husband was in the kitchen pouring them something to drink. And Bennett was busy with a puzzle in his room. When she heard the floor creak, she swung toward the sound expectantly, half lost in her memories, sending the diecast car flying.

Eli's face creased with a smile. "There you are. I've been searching for you."

"Mr. Prior?" Fully in the here and now, Adele sat straight. Immediately, she started smoothing flyaway strands, feeling physically and emotionally in shambles. He slid his hands in his pockets as he approached her.

"Are we back to that, Mr. Prior?" She wiped under her eyes. "Oh, no. No. I forgot where I was, and you caught me off guard."

Eli's happy eyebrows knit with concern, and his eyes lit with understanding. "Something tells me you're a coffee drinker like yours truly. How about I bring you a cup?" Adele felt a nod coming, but she refused to go from caught off guard to letting her guard down. "How about I follow you to the kitchen? We'll have to make it quick because I'm sure Bennett will come looking for me any minute."

Adele held herself still as Eli studied her face. His chuckle was low and conciliatory. "Okay, but I wouldn't count on seeing him anytime soon. Your little musician is learning how to play the oboe as we speak. Oh, and you lost something." Eli knelt on one knee and stretched an arm under the sofa. He came up with a typewritten page and the tiny replica of a Dodge Ram truck. "I'll hold on to this because it must belong to my wife. However, this belongs to you." He dropped the four-wheeled collectible into her upturned palm.

They returned to the kitchen in a congenial silence. Adele waved at Oilia, wiping the counter in the cafe, and pushed through into the kitchen. She examined the well-appointed room with its tall cherry cabinets that touched the ceiling, pale yellow walls, and pearly white marble countertop. Stainless steel appliances looked freshly polished and fingerprint-free. Proof that no one who played with Tonka trucks frequented this area. The space was large enough to fit an island under three Tiffany-style pendant lights where Oilia must do most of her prep work, and a square table that sat eight comfortably and, based on the other night, 11 uncomfortably. It was apparent that Glory loved this house enough to make sure each inch was tastefully decorated, yet cozy and stamped with personality and practicality.

Eli poked his head into various cabinets around the kitchen, retrieving what he needed to make coffee for the two of them. He poured beans into a grinder and hit the button, filling the kitchen with its whir. He peeked at her over his shoulder and asked, "So, you're fit for company now?"

"Only if it's yours," she quipped, surprising herself that she meant it. His effort to make light of his concern, as well as his toothy grin, warmed her as much as the drink would. He filled the stovetop percolator with water and grounds and lit the gas. Then he sauntered over, sharp as a tack in his crisp blue button-down shirt. Bare ankles peeked out from under cream-colored slacks.

"What would Ben have looked like in 20 years?" She strove not to feel self-conscious in her muddy gray shorts and orange t-shirt that had seen better days. Her canvas sneakers were still drying by the back door, so she hid the borrowed slippers and her bare toes under the table. There was nothing she could do about her hair, which could have used a conditioner, a detangler, and a brush. Eli popped down in the seat Bennett had abandoned earlier in his haste to get to Glory and the author event. "I'm very sorry you went to all that trouble to see Dude. When I told you he was back, I should have explained that I didn't know for how long. He goes with the wind." To borrow words from Margaret Mitchell, "I believe that the correct word is 'gone'."

"Wrong verb tense, but an apt description for him. Still with the joke, Sadel." She rolled her eyes internally and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Don't tell my wife I messed up that quote. What'd you think, by the way?" Her eyes questioned him. "You know, the famous quotes group. I hope you'll come back next week. Any ideas?"

When he stood, Eli grunted and massaged his knee. Adele appreciated the whiff of his cologne when he limped over to the corner cabinet. Little boys tended to smell like sweat, ice cream, and potato chips. "I'll have to check our schedule, see if we can make it. I have a feeling we'll have no lack of ideas. Sorting through them will prove the challenge, deciding which to use."

"Fair. You're generous to host such a large group and think book stuff on your evening off. How do you like mixing your work and home life? Do you struggle with things like establishing boundaries or preserving your privacy?"

Eli froze with one hand on a cabinet door, his back to her. "Did I say something wrong?" He spun slowly, holding a small sugar bowl. "No, I'd say that's pretty insightful. I hope I haven't offended you."

"Not at all. I was serious about your insight. Please take it as the compliment it was intended to be." Their eyes held for a moment before he returned to his preparation. It took some getting used to living above the bookstore, feeling like I'm 'on' the minute I step downstairs, hearing people walking around my house when I want to shout, 'Go home and read your own books.' But it's Glory's life, which means it's my life, and it's a beautiful life."

Adele nodded, her heart thudding painfully. "Speaking of working in a bookstore, Ben and I used to talk about owning one."

"You've never hinted at wanting to be a bookseller. What? Planning on selling Bibles and commentaries and concordances? Maybe a biography or two? Nothing wrong with that. A worthy aspiration, if you ask me." She shook her head. "Nope. Good old line to your fiction."

He leaned against the cabinet and crossed his arms. "Well, well, well. I'm surprised you hadn't heard. I talked to Noammy about it. Pearline. As if there's another one." She snickered. "We ran into each other at Skyop Apple Farm, and Bennett revealed my secret aspiration during our conversation." Adele thought about the hug Noammy had given her. Until that moment in the orchard, she hadn't known she needed one.

Eli set the French vanilla creamer and the sugar cubes on the table. "That's quite a revelation." She traced the rim of the teacup she'd left on the table before exploring the bookstore. "What do you mean?"

The old-fashioned coffee maker finished gurgling, indicating it had completed its brewing cycle. But Eli didn't move. He held her gaze, his face deadpan. Adele had the grace to blush. "Oh, right. You basically ripped my wife's life's work to shreds, and now you say you've dreamed of owning your own bookstore. I believe Maya Angelou said something, and I know why the caged bird sings, about the pain of carrying around untold stories. Do you have a story waiting to be told?"

As if Eli could tell she needed space, he broke eye contact and strolled to the other side of the room. He shifted around cups, picking up and setting aside several until he withdrew two. Adele took the gift of that time to consider what story she could tell. Much like Eli, she selected and discarded one after another.

"You know, I won't kill you if I'm not entertained by whatever you decide to share." He slowly filled both mugs with a fragrant brew. Adele listened to his laugh. It was light, but somehow deep and rich at the same time, like the coffee he poured. Ben had a good sense of humor, too, and he knew how to include people in the joke without making them the butt of one. She agitated the last bit of tea and studied the leaves at the bottom as if they'd reveal life's deepest secrets.

"I used to be pleasant to be around. At least my husband thought so. When Ben was alive, I used to sit and listen to him laugh because just hearing him made me laugh, too. We would curl up on the sofa on rainy days and read to each other, or simply read our books at the same time. I'd share parts that made me cry or mad or that were so well written I couldn't keep them to myself. He told me about his articles and described all the people he interviewed. We talked about scriptures that..."

bolstered our hearts or convicted us. Adele stuck her finger in her cup and twirled it in the liquid, partly unaware of what she was doing. We put our heads together and whispered our hopes and dreams to each other. Bookstores, newspaper columns, trips to Europe, more babies. We were going to take expensive vacations after we had all the children we wanted to have, and that was a lot, despite the fact it took forever to get pregnant the first time. But it was wonderful to simply enjoy Bennett, to let him be the baby all by himself for as long as God said. Then I had a miscarriage and I was having trouble getting pregnant again. And then and then Ben was gone, taking all my laughter, my happiness, my hopes, and my stories and his columnist career with him. And of course, our bookstore.

Adele stopped spinning her cup, and after a second or two, the brownish Eddie inside it stilled. She wiped her finger on a napkin and didn't notice Eli closing the distance between them. Yet, when she felt the weight on her shoulder, she almost put her forehead on his knuckles and cried. "But this wasn't the time, and it wasn't the place. And he definitely wasn't Ben."

"Mommy!" she heard him before she saw Bennett burst through the swinging door, and Eli stepped away, leaving Adele's shoulder bereff. Swiveling in her seat, she threw her arms wide to receive the 4-footsized hug that launched itself at her. O. Her son clamped her damp cheeks with his sticky hands. It was the best. You should have been there. He played the piano and everything. Can I learn to play the piano? Mrs. Prior said I could take lessons here if I wanted to. Did you know author is a verb, too? Mr. Pickkins authored three books about a piano and a banjo and a harp. He's a musician. I got to play the C scale on a windwood called a boowbo. I bet he means an obo. It's a woodwind instrument. Eli's eyes twinkled. And all the kids clapped when I finished. Then the author. Adele covered his flushed face with kisses to gently shush him.

"Excuse me, little man. But who are you?" Ben had made up a game. Based on his work as a reporter, it taught their son the who, what, where, why, and how of the world around him. Adele found it also served to slow down the child when he was traveling at 2 m a minute, times like this one. She was surprised it had come to her at this moment. He chled. "I'm Bennett. What are you?" "I'm a mommy. Where are you?" "In by the book, the best place in the world. How are you?" "The best place in the world." His answer stopped Adele in her tracks. "My why is because it's time to go and the when is right now," she thought to herself. She set him on his feet and rose right as Glory pushed into the kitchen.

"But how are you? You didn't answer, Mommy," Bennett pouted. Adele acknowledged the woman's presence with a slight incline of her head. "I'm fine, Bennett. Tired and wrinkly and kind of stinky, but fine. Say thank you to the prior and let's be on our way." She edged Bennett to the back door. The child planted himself in front of her in a rare show of rebellion. "No. Mrs. Prior said we were having dinner with them after I helped clean up. Everybody's gone now. And we came to tell you and me never have good food anymore at our house. Just beanie we frozen French fries."

"Bennett Simonet. Absolutely not. I won't have anyone who talks to his mother like that sitting at my dinner table. No, Siri, how do you think that makes your mother feel hearing such words coming from your mouth?" Glory sounded taken aback. Adele gaped, robbed of words by the book seller's outspoken defense. Glory walked to a recalcitrant Bennett. She tilted his chin upward and smoothed his eyebrows with a fingertip. "When I was little, we had even less to eat than beans and franks. Sometimes mama would set a nice table and our stomachs would get to growling, thinking about ham or fried chicken with a side of mashed potatoes. But when we sat down, there'd only be a bowl of greens and a square of cornbread or a plate of neck bones and white rice. And when I say neck bones, I mean it. Who else in this room knows how much meat is on one of those?"

"Mhm. Amen," Eli hummed in agreement. "My parents worked hard for every bone and every bean, and let me even think to say a mumbling word of complaint about what they put on the table." Glory closed her eyes and pressed her lips together as if the image was too horrible to envision or share. "Let's just say I wouldn't, and neither should you, Bennett. Now apologize to your mother for sassing her." The child cast down his eyes. Never would Adele have imagined feeling something akin to gratitude for glory, let alone admiration. Both emotions fought for preeminence. In the end, thankfulness won out, and she searched her mind for an appropriate response.

"Trying to find the right words?" "They're easier than you think," Eli encouraged. Oh, I But Adele realized he'd directed his ironically timed question to the boy. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "I forgive you," Adele responded automatically. "That wasn't loud enough for me," Glory grumbled under her breath. But she patted the child on his shoulder and walked to the range. She turned on the heat under the kettle and examined the area. "Eli, who's all this coffee for?" Keeping watch on the two catching up and a miserable looking Bennett who hadn't moved an inch. Adele exchanged the borrowed slippers for her own shoes. She felt like Mr. Rogers from the PBS show of her childhood. Suddenly Glory hissed. "What?" Eli explained to Adele. "Seeing how good you were with our guests earlier, I suggested we should offer you the part-time position in the store. We were about to post it."

She finished tying her laces and tucked in her shirt. "What guests?" "Oh, Mrs. Smith. That was no trouble. I was only making sure she got to the reading while her family secured seats. They were running behind." "Yes, they were," Gloria exclaimed, interrupted the author in the middle of his playing and made him lose his place with the way those kids came in stepping on everybody. and their mama prances in like we were all waiting for her to show up." The tea kettle whistled and Glory flicked the knob. Adele could tell Glory was still steaming as she stalked to retrieve the first cup in view. "I hope volunteering to walk Mrs. Smith to your happy place didn't cause trouble." Sliding on a glove, Gloria lifted the kettle and poured water into her empty cup. "It was you Leona Smith was raving about. I thought she meant our former employee, which confused me because she seemed not to recognize her. That makes sense now. Her daughter-in-law is a piece of work. Both her and those children. But I suppose thanks are in order." "No, no, I did what anybody would do. Anybody who knew where the event was being held. She's a sweetie, that Mrs. Smith. And she thinks the world of you." Adele glanced at Bennett and back at the older woman. "It's you I should thank Glory. What you said earlier to my little guy. We're both at sea without Ben, but he needed to be taken down a notch. I have to admit you're good with him." Glory smiled a little as she dropped a tea bag into her hot water. "I have to admit that sounds like you don't want to." "I don't. It's hard to acknowledge I don't know everything when it comes to my son. My son instead of our son. That's getting easier to say." Distracted, Adele said, "It's hard to believe you don't have children of your own." Glory's pupils constricted and darkened. She swallowed hard and without a word, she marched from the kitchen, leaving her tea to cool on the counter.

Chapter 20.

"You know, she didn't mean anything by what she said. It's not something she thinks about." "You're Eli's mouth opened and clamped shut. "What? My childlessness? Is that the word you're trying not to say?" Glory wanted to move her feet, but they were trapped under the heavy arm criss-crossing her ankles. "That's not the word I was going for." Eli fiddled with her toes. The two of them were sitting in the cozy, dimly lit den sculpted from the extra bedroom on the third floor. They'd pushed a wide deep blue velvet sofa into a niche against the wall between a corner cabinet and an end table, both piled with everything except books. A box filled with stationery and pens. a compact stereo system, a set of photographs taken during their childhood, at the wedding, in the store, and on their honeymoon, an unopened jigsaw puzzle and board games, clay animal figurines, lamps, Dia's teacup that Glory had rescued from the kitchen, and a dying filerend no Emmy had given her. An armchair, a leather recliner, and a wide square ottoman completed the seating area, which faced their one television Eli had mounted. While the room lacked rhyme and reason, Glory loved it more than her happy place. They retreated to it on the weekends. She to her thoughts, journals, and coloring books, and he to documentaries, sports programs, and old movies. Separate, but together. Recently, they'd started a British crime drama, and that Saturday night, it claimed 1/4 of their attention. Three-4s was devoted to their debate over hiring Adele for a part-time job Gloria had yet to concede they needed.

"Then what was the word you were going for? We've both suffered in our own way, and I don't mean to add to hers, but I thought it was an incredibly thoughtless thing for her to say." He gently stroked the top of her foot. "Even though she didn't say it, she tensed up. It's what you said. I can't believe extending that offer to work here. There's no way that would work. Although it would fulfill her lifelong dream. Can you believe Adele dropped that bomb about a bookstore? She's kept that tucked in her pocket all these weeks. With all her talk about truth and lies and only reading Bibles, I told you she was hiding something." "I wouldn't say she was hiding anything. We only recently met the woman, so of course we don't know all her hopes and dreams. We are 5 years into a marriage and 60 years into knowing each other. Have you entrusted me with all of yours?" "Oh, husband." Glory buried her face in her hand, silently, exceeding his point. It took everything in her not to run from the room and scream somewhere. Oilia, Mallalerie, Jason, your yet to be found daughter. Now Adele and Bennett, you can't save everybody and his mama. Was I one of your projects, too?" "Come on, you know better than that. Finding you saved my life, not the other way around. And when it comes to everybody else, I help where I can." His hand worked its way to her ankle. "How about we give it some thought over the next couple days and see what happens?"

"As long as I don't see her escorting any other guests around my store come Tuesday. First, I run into my old employee who had the nerve to show her face today after leaving us in the lurch. Then I hear about Adele wandering around our home. What was she doing?" "You should worry about her, not dude. Glory. She wasn't wandering. Unless that's how you want to describe all our guests when they visit the store. Isn't that what you said? More than likely, Adele missed her son and wanted to check on him." "Y'all are quite chummy, you and Adele." Gloria averted her eyes to study the framed oil painting of trees and their changing autumn leaves she'd hung over the sofa. "And I hoped y'all were getting along better. Maybe you're not friends, but I could see you were developing a mutual respect. No Emmy seems to like her." Eli's hand stopped moving. Silence sat between them for a moment. Glory ran her fingers through her short hair and scratched her scalp. "Let's not kick off our weekend arguing, especially over Adele Simonet. You know how exhausted I get after hosting Saturday events. How it usually takes me the next two days to recover. The store is my mission, and I pour myself out for my guests. And today was no different, Eli. If anything, I'm feeling even more exhausted."

With some effort, Eli threw a leg around hers, wedged it under the cushions, and faced her. He pressed his thumbs into the soles of her feet. "What is it about the simonets? You have such an animist toward the mother, yet you adore the son. How is it possible for both emotions to spout from the same fountain?" "Eli," she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyes. "Why have you accepted this high calling to protect her?" For a few seconds, the only sound in their den was an English detective ordering a pint for her mates. Finally, he answered. "I'm honest enough with myself to admit I don't know. I suppose it's many things, Glory. First of all, she's a widow raising a little boy on her own. Her husband died what, a year ago, and she's reeling. My first wife and I didn't have the same kind of relationship she had with Ben, and I was still a mess. Maybe because I didn't have a child to lean on." Glory opened her eyes to listen to him. Her head felt too heavy to keep upright, so she propped it on her knuckles. "Secondly, she's living in a new town, far away from all her family and friends. I was raised by a single mom, too, surrounded by meddling aunts and uncles and cousins, and that was hard enough. And thirdly, well, thirdly, she seems like a nice person, smart, outspoken, easy to talk to." "Says you, Glory grumbled. "Says me and no Emmy after their apple picking trip. But you and I agree her son is a firecracker. It would have been nice to know her husband. They're a nice family." She took a deep breath. "And she makes you think of your own daughter and grandchild." "And yes, she makes me think of my own daughter and grandchild, which is a fourth thing. As much as dude reminds you of your brother Davis." He shifted her dress above her knees to knead her bare calves. As usual, Gloria had to fight the urge to hide her scar tissue. Far from relaxed, she filled her lungs with air and let it out on a slow count of 10. He paused and squinted at the television. "I've never met my daughter, but if she was in need and alone, I hope someone would take her into their hearts, if not into their home." Glory shifted her legs to the floor away from his hands. "Have you taken her into your heart, Eli? Is that what you want us to do? Take her into our home and give her a job at By the Book? Better yet, perhaps we should turn this room into her weekend getaway?" He bent and scooped up her feet and placed them back on the cushion, then repositioned himself to stretch out beside her. Strong arms and folded her. "I don't know how I feel about them other than a sense of responsibility. What about you? Can you answer my question about why you feel such animosity and suspicion toward her and such love for her son?" At first, she resisted him physically and emotionally. Having this discussion made her feel itchy inside. Finally, she laid her head against his and whispered, "To borrow your words. I'm honest enough to admit that I can't." Eli's belly shook against her as he chuckled quietly. Tired though she was, Glory couldn't help but chuckle along with him, and she scooted closer. "I don't know about you, but I have no idea what's going on. Do you want to play Scrabble instead?" Eli switched off the television with the remote. "Actually, I have something to show you." He stretched out his arm and fumbled around on the table. A box tumbled to the floor. She covered her mouth at the explosion of burgundy tiles. "I guess we're not playing Scrabble. We'll play rock paper scissors to see who picks them up. Now, where is it?" He adjusted his position. "I brought it so you could read it to me. You know the rules. No books allowed in this room. Not my day planner, nor a magazine." That was part of the reason she adored this space. Nothing that resembled work crossed the threshold. Glory shut her eyes and listened to the rattling of things moving around on the table. "Don't worry, it's not a book. Well, only a page from one. What are you talking about, Eli Prior?" Opening one eye, she located the blanket that had pulled on the floor and scooched deeper under it. She didn't move when she heard the crackling of paper. "Gotcha. Listen."

"Dancing in bare fields where I once crawled and walked. Laughing among the weeds where I'd mourned and balked." Glory pushed herself away from him and landed flat on the floor, sending scrabble tiles sailing to the four corners of the room. She sat there, her arms braced behind her, uncaring that her legs were exposed to her thigh. "Where did you get that?" Eli gaped at her. "What's wrong with you? Where did you find that, Eli?" Glory snatched the sheet, gasping when it ripped. Her husband pushed himself upright on the sofa. "Eli, I asked you." Eyes narrowed. He slid the torn paper from her hands and matched it to the corner that was pinched between his two fingers. He read again, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Dancing in bare fields where I once crawled and walked, laughing among the weeds where I'd mourned and boked at the bare furrows and earth which I'd planted and seown." Glory pulled her dress down to cover her legs and crouched on her knees with her head bowed. "Now joy and provision when once I'd known only sorrow. Reaping hope for today, not merely wishing and sighing and crying. Looking ahead to tomorrow." When he tried to turn it over to read the words on the back of the page, Glory covered his hands with hers. "Please don't." "Why? You have to explain why you're behaving like this." He grabbed hold of her wrists and pulled her up to sit beside him. "Who wrote this?" Glory's shoulders sank as she stared at the familiar typewritten words he clutched. She wondered if they still bore the stains of her tears. She whispered, "You broke the rule." "What?" sounding uncharacteristically impatient, he repeated, "What rule, Glory." She managed a humorless half smile about allowing workrelated material in this room. "May I?" Eli followed her gaze. He nodded and gave her the page, allowing the torn corner to drift to the floor. Glory scanned the poem and considered all that had sprouted from it. Unbeknownsted to Eli, like the climbing hydrangeanger that grew well in the shade, her secret had produced fruit in the dark. She murmured the next lines she had committed to heart. "Easy to do since they'd sprung from it. Though untended, my once naked vines flourished." Questions contorted Eli's handsome face. "You know this poem by heart." "I should, my love. I wrote it."

Part three. This side of the dirt.

Chapter 21.

Glory brushed dust off the artificial topiary set in the corner of the room on a stack of out of print books, most of which she'd found at a library sale. Such housework wasn't on her to-do list, but right now she'd do anything not to look at Eli. If she faced him head on, she'd find herself telling him the whole story. And that she couldn't do. Not tonight, if ever. "You found that page under the sofa in the front room. I remember when it slipped under there, and I told myself not to forget to come back for it. I guess I did. Forget. I mean, I'm usually known for my memory, but with all my worrying these days, I'm slipping." "I don't understand, Glory. You said you ripped this from your own book of poetry and that you wrote it in college. How did I not know about it? What's the name?" His confusion floated across the room to her from his spot on the sofa. Every question he posed signaled his growing doubt and weakening trust. Any other time, Eli would have made his way to her over Hill and Dale. "How can I fix this?" she asked herself. "Didn't your mama teach you that only the truth can set you free? My former days." She rubbed a plastic leaf between her fingers until it shown. "What did you say?" Glory turned, continuing to fiddle with a limb she had snapped off the decorative piece. "That's the name of my book. My former days, a childhood elegy by C. Logan. Cassie Logan, the character from Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. I always wanted to be her when I was a child, and when I got published, I finally got my wish by claiming her name for my own." Eli seemed to ingest the information the way she used to eat the liver and onions her mama served in one big chunk that was hard to swallow. "But I mean, so you wrote this poem, a whole book of them?" "Yes." Glory spoke quietly. "Got them published. And you made enough money to buy your house in Gilmore?" "Our house?" She silently pleaded with him to correct himself, but he didn't. "You're still getting paid for the book. Checks you deposit in some bank account I know nothing about. Is that about right?" "About right, but not all right." Glory willed him to tear his attention away from the poem she'd given back to him the minute she began sharing her story. "Then, good gracious woman, tell me all." Eli leapt to his feet. his wife suddenly in the bullseye. "Have you ever trusted me or do you think I'm a gold digger out for your money? You must since you hid this information all this time. You can't know me at all." He bowed his head. She tripped over her dress in her haste to get to him. "Eli. Eli. No." His profile was stone, implacable and immovable. "No. Yes, Glory. Yes. Don't tell me no. As if I'm one of those people in your books and you get to interpret their actions and feelings. I'm hurt. I'm devastated. I said you don't know me, but I don't know who you are. I'd like to tell you, Eli, if you'll listen. At least I'd like to tell you some," she amended. He flicked a hand in her direction before stuffing them both in his pockets. While Glory could tell it was a far cry from eagerness, she took it to indicate his willingness, and that had to be good enough. She remained at his left side, hovering near his shoulder, close enough for her breath to touch him, even if she couldn't. "You know about the fire. It destroyed everything we owned, and it nearly took my life. When I used to look at my legs, I wished it had. One of the few things it didn't take was a journal. Davis's journal. I was holding it when my brother pulled me from the house, and I never let go of it during my stay in the hospital." "Even though Davis left you after starting the fire in the first place." Glory squeezed shut her eyes. The lies nearly seared her lips shut as well. When she dared to peek at him, he had turned in her direction by a small degree. This incremental opening of a previously closed door motivated her to keep talking, to use her words as a wedge. Like Shaher Zad and the Thousand1 Nights, telling the story might yet give life to herself and her marriage. "It was that journal that pulled me through. Over the years, as I healed and grew stronger, those thoughts inside that book blended with mine, and I transformed them into poetry. I continued to work on those poems, never intending to make them public, mind you. Eventually, I graduated from high school and I earned a scholarship and went away to college. My parents were so proud." She'd told Eli this part. He knew that she was the only one in her family to attend anything beyond high school. A blessing and a burden because she couldn't fail. If she did, everyone else did, too. her parents, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, her brother. When Glory went to college, she took everybody with her. Yet, it was the weight of her guilt that nearly broke her. Their hopes and dreams she could bear. "Then, your parents died." Like a sundial, Eli slowly turned her way. Glory felt the warmth of him moving in her direction, but she didn't touch him. "Not even six months after I walked across that stage to get my diploma, mama had a heart attack, and I believe daddy died from a broken heart right after. They weren't meant to be in the world without each other. The fire had taken so much from them, and their despair over pushing Davis away took even more. I think they both only wanted to live long enough to see one of their children realize their own dream. Dileia and Monty never considered this world their home. They believed heaven was better." "Isn't it?" He seemed far away from her. "I think your parents were on to something. Eli." With an abrupt shake of his head, he shut down her protest. "But what about the book, Glory? It's interesting how you've told me most of this in bits and pieces during our relationship, leading me along the path like Hansel and Griddle, but you've never told me word one about the book. Your book? Where, when, and how does that come in?" It was her turn to put some distance between them. She shuffled to the table at the end of the sofa and straightened the mess Eli had made. Searching for truth will do that. Her husband grasped her upper arm. "Glory, what about the book?" "What about it?" she snapped, shaking him off. "You're making a big deal out of something that isn't." She swallowed. The right to be angry was solely his. She owned no part of it. She angled the photographs. "Somehow, I left my journal behind in class, the one I was using to rework all those thoughts. One of my professors saw it and read them and felt they had promise. During the year after I graduated, she helped me edit and prepare my work for submission and they were accepted and published and became a bestseller." "Remarkable. Why not use your own name?" "Because I couldn't." She laughed. Riley then vocalized her thought. "Because I couldn't. I was I am still hurting and those were private. I feared how people would respond. How Davis would respond. Why Davis? He was long gone by then. But he'd never given me permission to read what he'd written, let alone share it, to make his thoughts my own. I couldn't expose him or me." Glory surprised herself with the confession. She trudged on feeling a bit less burdened. "By writing under the pseudonym C Logan, I became Cassie for a time, that bold, courageous, whole go-getter I always wanted to be when I needed to be. At the same time, I could keep living as Glory Gibson, daughter of Dileia and Monty Gibson." Glory knelt and picked up the four wooden trays from the Scrabble game. "And you've never heard from him." "Since Eli's tone was more a statement than a question, Glory didn't respond. After starting that fire, I'd expect not. If anything, he owed you this house to replace the one he took from your family." This time, he'd gone too far. She had to speak for her brother. "Don't." "Where did I fit in?" Eli stood in front of the lamp, casting a shadow over the floor. As she emptied the letter tiles into the velvety bag, she wrestled over what to defend, Davis or her marriage. The need in her husband's eyes made her decision. "I became Glory Prior because I wanted to be." Eli bent a knee beside her and scooped up squares. "What about the money? Or is that okay to ask, Miss Logan?" "It turns out that colleges and high schools love poetry and for some reason churches do too. Must be all that talk about the wilderness. So when those checks come in, I deposit them, donate them, invest them." Glory crawled to the edge of the rug and collected the E, R, and S she'd spotted. She held out the sack for her husband, and they collected wooden squares in silence. When the last was dropped into the bag, Eli helped her up. "You don't spend it on travel, that's for sure. I can barely get you to leave this house." She pressed a hand to his chest. "Because my home is here with you. I know some married couples believe in keeping secret nest eggs from each other. They consider them escape plans in case things go south. That's not me, Eli. We lived separately most of our lives, but no more." Glory placed a hand on each side of his face and hoped he could see beyond her nose and cheeks and lips. She wanted to show him her heart. "I have a debt to pay that has nothing to do with money. It's not about that. Never has been. Baby, one day I hope to make you understand." At first, Eli seemed to look everywhere but at her face until at last his eyes locked with hers. He sighed and gathered her close. "One day, but not today. Not today. But no, I love you so much." It was more a promise than a profession. She stood on tiptoe and touched her mouth to his earlobe. Eli stood to his full 6'2 and lifted her from her feet. "I love you more." Glory locked her arms around his neck, reared her head back, and blew out a breath, relieved that they had come through on the other side of this. When he sat her back down, she saw his expression. "What's wrong?" "That was only one page, one poem. Bare vines. Where's the rest of the book? Based on our conversations with authors, the publisher sends you the first edition as well as other copies. You must have one somewhere, and it's missing some pages." "What? Why does it matter?" "Because I plan to stay up all night reading my former days, a childhood elegy. There's obviously so much I don't know about you, and I want to learn. I'm going to hold your hand." Glory relaxed her grip, though he didn't. After a minute, she tapped his shoulder twice and his arms fell to his sides. She crossed the room to the corner shelf and slowly lifted the dying plant to stare at the book that rested beneath it after bringing it back upstairs. "You've been keeping it in this room all these years." Eyes closed, as close to praying as she'd come in years. Glory took the book from where she'd hidden it in plain sight, and she returned to her husband. "I suppose I broke the rule, too."

Chapter 22.

When Glory woke, she ran her hand over the left half of the bed. It was empty and cold. She opened her eyes and rolled toward Eli's side. The cover was smooth, and two pillows were stacked neatly from the day before. no circular depression or wrinkle to indicate he'd ever laid his head there for an hour or a minute. He'd never come to bed. She flopped to her back and stared at the ceiling, her ear cocked for signs of life. On a typical Sunday, she awoke first and waited for him to stir. Glory couldn't rest with the birds twittering in the oak tree behind the fence. Eli was a more determined sleeper who didn't move until he'd had his 8 hours. Last week's pre-dawn adventure had been well worth the change in their routine. Today's unusual start filled her with foroding. Glory flipped back the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stuffed her feet into slippers and tiptoed to their attached bathroom, trying to avoid disturbing Eli, who had to be sleeping in their third floor den. My former days was barely a 100 pages, so he must have elected to sleep on the couch rather than beside its author. She'd let him snooze a bit, but once she roused him, she'd steer him to their bed. More than an hour later, dressed in a loose-fitting yellow popppllin maxi dress, Glory opened the door to her room and listened. Nothing but the occasional ticking as water trickled through the pipes behind the plaster walls. She checked her watch. 9:42. Glory eased across the hall, avoiding the noisiest floorboards and slowly opened the door a crack. She expected his head to pop up over the arm of the sofa at the faint squeak of the hinges. But nothing happened. Even when she called, "Eli," Gloria abandoned her efforts to be quiet as panic crept in and made itself comfortable, and she said more firmly, "Eli, what if he died in his sleep?" The shock of my book, combined with those extra pounds he's carrying, his busy schedule, and his age, they all prove too much. And he had a heart attack in his sleep. What if what if God took him to punish me for all my lies and secrets for ignoring him all these years? Mama said, "What's done in the dark will come to light?" Glory stood in the door, afraid to walk into the room and see his prone form. His arm tucked under his head the way he laid on his pillow. There was nothing left to do but force herself to move. Every second took hours as the door swung wide. sure and yet unsure of what she'd find. She closed her eyes and stepped deeper into the room, rounded the chair, opening them to nothing but pillows and that blasted book of poetry. God had still taken her husband, just not in the way she'd feared. Relieved and frustrated, Glory snatched up my former days from the cushion and ripped out pages and bunches. She imagined sitting beside Charles Graves in the next meeting of their famous quotes group, mourning for a spouse who wasn't dead, but who was dead to her. Glory flung the book and fell to her knees with a guttural cry. Then she beat the floor with her fists until they hurt. Over and over she cried, "Eli, Eli, where are you?" Chest heaving, she stalked from the room and down the stairs. She searched all the rooms on the second floor, including the bathroom. Satisfied she'd inspected every nook and cranny, she hurried to the main floor, her ballerina slippers tapping on the wooden treads. At the bottom, she listened, then called, "Eli, are you down here?" Only silence answered her. The anger that burgunded upon finding her book on the sofa imploded. Her shoulders sagged and her bottom lip trembled. Glory dragged herself from room to room before walking to the last place she expected to find him, her happy place. She wasn't surprised to find it empty, save for the furnishings and the dust moat suspended over the baby grand piano. After exhausting the right side of By the Book, she ventured left. The only thing warming her L-shaped sofa were the sun's rays beaming through the triple-sized window. Before backing out of the octagonally shaped front room, she watched late worshippers. A couple who lived within walking distance hurry down the street toward Ebenezer. Glory slogged to the cafe, empty like the rest of the house, and finally to the kitchen. She hadn't started here because she'd maintained the tiniest hope that Eli wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed. Perhaps at that very moment he was sticking a rose in a slender vase and preparing to bring it upstairs. Never mind the fact that they didn't own such a vase and she hated roses because they conjured memories of her parents' casket sprays. Glory pushed the swinging door. The range island cabinets refrigerator but no flowers or pancakes and no Eli. She fell into her seat at the table and sobbed into her clasped arms. All her anger and frustration dissipated. Solitude felt oh so different than being alone. For a long time she'd chosen the one. Now it seemed she'd been left with the other. At last spent, Glory filled the kettle and flicked on the burner. After selecting a pack of Earl Gray from the cupboard, she tapped it against her poem. the sound echoing in the kitchen. She started making plans as she upended the cup draining in the rack and set it on the saucer, then dropped in the tea bag. How in the world had she not noticed how big the house was, how empty? Maybe she would still sell it or move to a smaller place nearby and walk to work the way people did in the movies. A whistle pierced the quiet, interrupting the tumult of her thoughts. the porch. Take your tea to the porch and sit with him a while. Who? What? Nearly dropping her cup, she spun. Sure, she'd heard someone speak to her, but the same desolate space greeted her. Where had that invitation come from? She poured the hot water with shaking hands, sloshing some into the saucer and on the counter. When she picked them up, the porcelain rattled against each other. Glory considered her seat. Caddyy cornered from Eli's, then checked the time on the oversized antique gold wall clock. 10:47. The choir should be standing any minute. Feeling as if the decision had been made for her, Glory left the kitchen and marched toward the vestibule. setting down her cup on the round table to free her hands, she grabbed one of the chairs they stored there and opened the front door, jumping when the bell dinged in the otherwise silent area. Once she caught her breath, she placed the chair on the far left of the porch, where a leafy crepe myrtle on the other side shielded her from view. Glory went back inside the house for her tea and returned to her seat just in time. "You're right, Eli. I do love listening to the choir," she admitted, knowing he was nowhere near to hear her. "The Lord hath promised good to me. His word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be as long as life endures. Amazing grace." She remembered holding one side of the brick red himnil and her brother the other, trying not to giggle because the organist's eyes rolled back in her head when she sang the high notes. Mama would point at Davis and her and threaten them from the choir loft. Glory smiled to herself as she sipped, murmuring over her cup, "I loved those days. If only I'd held on to them. Held on to my brother somehow. Hold on to God, child. He still promises good to you." Clink. "See, Eli, you always tease me for taking my tea like a little old lady with a cup in one hand and the saucer in the other, but that longtime habit kept me from scalding myself." Glory rested the drink on the wide brick column for safekeeping, and considered the good in her life. her friends, Noammy and Dale, Charles, even Frederick. They'd brought companionship and laughter when she was on her own and had encouraged her when both she and the store were struggling to find a place in the community. The store her mainstay, her home, all the guests who'd trooped through its doors and the stories they purchased, as well as the ones they carried with them and left behind. her family. Bennett, the little boy with the remarkable eyes who felt like the grandson she'd never had. The grandchildren Eli wanted to open her heart to mama and daddy willing to sacrifice everything for her, including her brother. Davis, who taught her how to trade bigger nickels for smaller dimes with the younger kids at church, who skipped his class to punch out the boy who was bullying her. Who designed animals out of aluminum foil and clay. Whose suffering, addiction, and thoughts transformed her life and paved the way for her future. Who took the fall so she wouldn't have to. Eli. Her. Eli. He strolled back into her life one day and took hold of her heart. The one who wanted to strip away her strongest connection to her past and her pain by the book. Not only was he a good thing, he was the best thing. "What about the one who gave you those experiences, those things, and those people?" Glory closed her eyes to the question and to the voice. When she opened them, the choir had launched into another song, encouraging people to behold God's works, praising him for being with them in the fire as a shelter and through the storm. The fire. Had he been with her even then? Yes. At 14, she was the good girl. She studied hard to earn good grades, made friends with the girls at church, came straight home after school, said yes ma'am and no sir at the appropriate times and places. Recited Psalm 23 at the Sunday school convention, helped with dinner, sang in the choir. The worst thing she did was break her mama's teacup. She was also the good sister, staying up late to unlock the door for Davis, telling his teachers he was sick instead of hung over. acting as the mediator and moderator, making excuses for and extracting promises from him that he'd never keep, hiding his alcohol from him and for him, secretly envying his rebelliousness and his freedom, while begging him to sober up. Though she chafed at the strict rules Davis thumbed his nose at, she implored him, "Straighten up and fly right like daddy told you." But being good exhausted glory, and that last fight between him and their parents depleted her faith. Where was their good God? Da Gibson wasn't one to shout. But that day, the neighbors could surely hear her raised voice all the way down the street. "Pastor told us that nothing should come before our service to the church. Not our jobs, our children, and definitely not your drink in Davis Gibson." Her brother was lounging in the armchair, his heels propped on the coffee table and his eyes rolling heavenward at what he called her histrionics. They had this fight once a week. "I'm serious this time, Davis. I won't have you embarrassing me anymore. How are we supposed to walk into that church's chairs of the deacon and deacon boards? And our son stays out carousing half the night. Coming in stumbling three, four times a week. You have to go." "But mama, he's only 16. You can't kick him out. He's your son and he needs us." She touched her mama's arm, thinking of her words. "You can't do wrong and get by. A promise and a threat." Dileia shook off the weary teenaged advocate. "What Davis needs is Jesus. I can't put up with him any longer. It's not my job. God wouldn't have me accepting sin." But the Bible says this is how we inherit the kingdom. By helping those in need, starting with home and giving them food and drink. He could be angels or Jesus. In her youthful ignorance, Glory intertwined scriptures, homalies, and lessons from VBS. Anything to help her mama see reason. "Lord, won't you help him?" She'd implored. "Davis, do you see how you're corrupting your sister? I won't have it. Glory, go to your room. And Davis, get out. Don't bother to get your things. Get out." Dia had yanked her son up by his collar. gentle as always, even in his inebriated state, and probably disbelieving, Davis had allowed their mama to drag him out the front door while Glory hid in the hallway. And before she knew what was really happening, her brother was gone, ejected from his home, gone into the night. Mama had stopped by her. "Don't say a word, not one. We're not supposed to love nobody or nothing more than we love God. Love him first and he'll take care of everything and everybody else, including you and Davis. Always remember that. You hear me? Now clean up in here. I've got a headache and I'm laying down." When her mama escaped to her room, Glory fled to Davis's, her respit, her original happy place. She knew where her brother kept his precious journal, his cigarettes and book of matches, and his flask of vodka. Sipping, smoking, and reading over the next few hours helped her drown her misery and her questions. What type of God asks parents to reject their own child? Why was loving him above all else tantamount to loving him instead of anything else? It was near his bed, surrounded by smoke and flames, where her brother found and rescued her. He scooped up her and his journal and led her mother to safety, leaving his family on the sidewalk to watch the house burn to the ground. They never heard from him again. The choir at Ebenezer began its last song. "Glorious, marvelous grace that rescued me." And glory covered her mouth. For the second time that morning, she sobbed her heart out. It was through her swollen eyes and tear streaked glasses that she barely saw the form of a man turn up the pathway to buy the book and trod up its steps to the porch. Her heart beat faster and she wondered, "Could it be?" She called out, "Davis! Davis?" "No, no, it's me, Eli." She now realized it was her husband wearing a dark blue suit and a blue pinstriped button-down shirt. "You're you're alive. You're home." "Of course I am. Are you disappointed to find me on this side of the dirt?" He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. "Of course not." She removed her glasses and dropped them in her seat. "It's only only what?" He took a step toward her. Glory knew it was time to confess. "When I sit out here on Sunday mornings, part of me hopes my brother will show up. Somehow, this feels like the right time. If he ever found me, it would be this day of the week." "I could barely see you." Eli closed the gap and gathered her into his sweet smelling arms. "So that's why the tears." She pressed her wet face into his collar. "These tears are because I'm so happy you're home. I looked for you everywhere. Where have you been?" "To church, woman. To church." Eli tightened the strings on his pajama bottoms, then picked up the copy of My Former Days from their bedside table. The wounded paper seemed to cry.

out as he leafed through it. It had taken him and Glory much of the evening and lots of tape to sort and piece together the torn pages as best they could.

"I still can't believe you wrote this and that I never knew anybody else would have been crowing about writing a longstanding bestseller. Yet you're so focused on posting about the festival and avoiding publicity altogether. A volume of poetry used in schools and colleges around the country for decades. Come on. But not my glory. A book seller yourself. You write under an assumed name, move away from home, and never say another mumbling word about it. You quietly use the money to help other writers and readers."

His head turned this way and that, following the lines of the ceiling down the wall, the floor, and the rest of the room. "We're living in the house that Davis built."

"If you only knew," Glory muttered, listening from her seat in a deep green brocade Parson's chair. She studied her face from different angles in the chal mirror near her closet. Rubbing her hands together, she smoothed the lotion over each arm, starting with her wrists. Then she squirted more cream and arked her back to reach it. Her husband approached her. "Need some help with that?"

She answered by squeezing a glob into his hand. Eli massaged the lotion into the skin on the back of her bent neck and moved toward the curve of her shoulders. The motion, a caress that Glory sensed bespoke of his devotion rather than any sexual overture. His love for her had endured decades of separation, his first marriage, his own initial fears of a romantic relationship.

She prayed, "Is that what I'm doing? That now it would sustain them through her lies and confession as the truth about her past unfolded."

"What made you write it, Glory? Since you didn't want to gain fame and fortune, you could have chosen to put your brother's name on it, but you didn't. Why not?"

"How do I answer?" Glory searched her heart.

"You don't have to rush to answer. I know, and I appreciate your patient way, but after what I've put you through the past 24 hours," he shook his head. "I've waited more than once in our relationship for a response to one of my posers, and I'm sure this won't be the last time. I'm too old and too slow to run away, so I might as well show some grace."

That wasn't her way, waiting. But their personalities melded together like opposite sides of a penny. "That's about all my thoughts are worth these days."

The most important thing he hadn't had to wait for was her answer to his proposal. Eli clasped her shoulders with hands now softened and warmed. Glory smiled affectionately at the reflection of his thinning curls and wrapped her fingers around his. "Maybe you should consider a career change. You're pretty good at that massage thing."

He gave her arms another squeeze before walking toward their on suite. "You make it easy, love. Easy and difficult. These hands wouldn't work on anybody else. My heart wouldn't beat for anyone else. Not again."

Her own heart clung to the words trailing behind him, and they pulled her in his direction. She found herself leaning against the door jam as he riffled through a drawer. "You're right. I wasn't running hard after success and riches when I penned that book of poetry. If I had, I wouldn't have used a pseudonym and spent the better years of my life hiding out in this backwater. You were only waiting for me." He winked at her.

Glory watched him search through the morass of medicinal items, wondering about his ability to move past her deception and focus on the day-to-day. How she wanted to come clean with him. She'd buried her past, heaping lie upon lie to cover it, like soil thrown on the dead. But here stood the truth, alive and well, on this side of the dirt, just as Eli had said earlier.

He glanced over his shoulder. "So, you had something to say and you needed to share it with the world?" Such questions had plagued her for years. Glory squared her shoulders. "No, Davis did. If he'd wanted to keep it to himself, he would have taken his journal with him. But he left it with me when he pulled me from the fire. And I promise I didn't plagiarize his words." Glory shook her head, denying an accusation she'd lodged against herself over the years, not one Eli had spoken. "I wrote verses that captured what he was thinking at the time. He deserved to be heard, not me, despite what my parents thought and told him most of his life. But I wanted to preserve his privacy without taking the credit. To honor him and thank him for saving my life, for saving my mama's life. Because I, Glory," choked up.

Eli twisted open the cap of a small vial and shook out a tiny pill. He met her gaze head on. "Because you started the fire, not your brother. Is that what you were about to say?" She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and nodded.

"I figured as much. I thought a lot about it during church, and I've been daring you to admit it with my comments about Davis. You're a stubborn one, Glory Prior." He reached for her hand. "Was that so hard?"

Glory squeezed his fingers and let the tears flow. "I didn't have the guts to admit that I had started that fire because I was supposed to be the good one, and I was too weak to disappoint them. How could I tell them I destroyed everything they'd worked their whole lives for? I deserved to be thrown out instead of Davis. Admitting the truth was hard at first. Then it became impossible. It just seemed easier to let him take the blame without actually pointing the finger. That's the lie I told myself. Yet, the longer he stayed away, the guiltier I became. I lived in hiding, hoping no one ever showed up who knew me then and who knew the truth. I couldn't risk it. Then I showed up." Her eyes filled. "You were worth the risk. And the book. It was the least I could do for my brother. And he never came forward. I wish I could have met him."

He shook his head. "And you as a bookstore owner, as a published author, you know, it's no small feat to do what you did, writing a book, getting it published at a time when your voice wasn't as welcome as it is now, and at such a young age. Have you ever considered writing another volume?"

Perceptive, but practical, her husband. Always thinking about next steps. Glory edged past him to fill a small cup with tap water. She handed it to him, looking for a task to busy herself with. "Smoke and mirrors that would distract her husband as well."

"Writing poetry isn't something you consider up here," she tapped her temple with the tip of her index finger. "It takes a move of..." Of what? Glory floundered, hunting for the right word, much as he'd looked for his bottle of hydrochlorioide a few moments before.

"Of God." Eli sipped and swallowed. "Now you know that's not what I was going to say," she huffed. The accent slipped out, coating her irritated words. Nothing could get under her skin like the mention of an otherworldly leaning. Unlike her parents, Glory professed command of her own mind, body, and spirit, and she believed there was nothing holy about the inspiration from my former days. Quite the opposite. It was condemnation and contrition.

Glory stomped from the bathroom, her long, vibrant satin gown shimmering in the glow of the lamps. The wood floors reverberated with each angry step. This time it was Eli who trailed behind her and stood silently as she uncharacteristically tossed the dozen pillows to the floor instead of orderly piling them against the wall. He said nothing as she flung back the covers, slipped off her shoes, and climbed into bed. It wasn't until she pulled the blanket up to her neck that his question quietly, doggedly, pursued his wife. "What were you going to say then?"

It seemed he wouldn't allow her to hide from him, with the light shining on her, revealing all the lines sure to be creasing her forehead and creating furrows around her mouth. This was so unlike her husband, this determined priming of answers when they weren't readily pouring forth. It was also unlike her to go to bed angry, especially after sleeping separately the night before and their two recent reconciliation. That was one Sunday school lesson that had stuck, even if most of the others had slipped away like the lotion from her skin.

"More like soaked in, like that same lotion." Glory shook her head at the persistent voice that was starting to sound too much like her own. "What's wrong, baby girl?" Eli sat on his side of the bed. His kindness nettled her even more. She didn't deserve it.

"I'm not a baby, Eli Prior. I'm older than you. In fact," she growled, fighting the urge to roll on her side and turn her back to him.

"But you're mine. Always have been. Ever since I saw you in the hall of Presby Elementary." They'd been six and seven. He, an older than average, taller kindergartener, and she, a younger than most, petite first grader. His apple had dropped from a hole in his brown paper bag, and tumbled down the hallway between the feet of youngsters filing from classrooms toward the cafeteria. Glory had retrieved it, polished it on her gingham dress, and given it back to him. In the only letter he'd ever written her after moving away four years later, he'd confessed, "The gap in your top row of teeth has forever left a hole in my heart only you can fill." Glory had kept that sheet of wide ruled paper under her sweaters, even though the faded writing was barely legible.

"Oh, Eli." Glory withdrew her hands and hid her face behind them. She felt the bed sink as he slid beneath the covers, stretched out beside her, and pulled her close. "Baby girl, it's all right. I'm here when you're ready to talk it all out." His promise was a whisper in her ear, and it did more to undo her heart than all his pesky, thought-provoking questions.

Chapter 23. The sun's weakening rays were strong enough to catch the iridescent colors in Glory's dress, turning the midnight blue fabric, dark green, and aquamarine in spots as she stepped into the room the former owners called a library, her happy place.

"Ready to kick up some dirt?" Eli switched on the floor lamp by the piano and angled the shade. He adjusted the bench seat at the piano and sat.

She sighed. "How did I let you talk me into this?" Glory set the brown wrapped packages on the coffee table.

"Because you love me." His fingers danced on the keys. "Oh yes, that. How could I forget?" Glory knew she didn't have a leg to stand on. That he'd earned a million yeses with all he'd accepted and forgiven and overlooked. They'd both brought truckloads of baggage into their relatively new marriage, but hers was taking a great deal longer to unpack. Still, agreeing to take on Adele Simonet as part-time help asked a lot from her. "This should cut down some of my yeses by a few hundred,000 at least."

The music stopped. "What was that about a thousand?"

"Nothing, dear. Carry on with your practice."

"Could I request Moonlight Sonata?" That was the first piece he'd played for her during their courtship. He didn't know he'd won her over with the first measure.

Knock-k knockock. Eli paused again. "Hey there, Oilia. Come on in." His cousin poked her head between the pocket doors. Glory grimaced as she fluffed the sofa pillows. She and Eli had less than an hour left of their weekend since he'd arranged for Adele to come by before the standing famous quotes meeting. "How's it already Monday?" Perhaps he's on to something about closing by the book and spending more time together.

"Hey, I hate to disturb, but I thought you should know before everybody gets here." Glory made a circular motion with her hand. "Are you going to share or should we guess?"

Sophilia. The woman frowned. "Well, I noticed some things missing from the kitchen." Eli came to stand beside Glory. "What things?"

"My favorite knife, for one. The little one that cuts my pastry perfectly. I kept it in the drawer in the island with all my usual tools."

"Are you sure?" Glory started.

"Yes, I'm sure. And if I wasn't, there are a few other things, like my wallet I stuck behind the counter in the cafe and my crystal bowl I use for tips. I don't much care about the change inside it. But the bowl itself was special. Probably the only thing I'll ever get from my former husband, and that's including back child support." Eli cut an eye at Glory before giving his full attention to his cousin. "Did you say your wallet?"

She knew what he was thinking. "Dude." Oilia's red hair shook with the intensity of her hand motions to silence them. "Hold up. That wasn't my everyday purse. So, no license, credit cards, or anything. Say for an extra key I kept in it. That's why I mentioned the knife in the bowl. They're more special to me. I don't put them out every day, but I think they were here last week. It's probably not a big deal to anybody except me, but I thought you should know." She backed toward the doors and used her hip to nudge them apart. "I'll check for anything else that's missing, but you told me to keep an eye out. Let's hope they turn up. Bye for now."

When she disappeared, Glory pinched Eli's shoulder. "That's worth another 100,000 yeses right there." He rubbed his arm. "What are you talking about? And that hurt."

"Never mind that. You had Oilia keep an eye out because you expect there to be more things missing." Gloria's fingers formed air quotes. "You still think dude is stealing from us, don't you?"

"No. I asked her to look around, hoping she found the book. Of course, I had to explain why." He shrugged. "But he has been in the store twice, left unsupervised, and things have come up missing."

Glory couldn't help but picture Davis being mistreated somewhere because of how he looked or where he lived or didn't live. "Do I have to point out to you again how many people are left unsupervised in our store besides the guests who troop through here daily? I can't believe you."

"What? You can't believe I'm trying to protect my wife." Glory stalked over to the window and stared out at the backyard, hoping to forstall her growing eye. The leaves had started to change, and the long summer days were behind them, which is exactly where she wanted this discussion. Behind them.

"I told you, Eli. Oh, so I'm supposed to trust this one thing you told me as opposed to all the other things you didn't. That more than likely you still haven't. There it is. There it is. I knew it was too good to be true. All that I forgive you. I understand. I love you business. Tell me when you're ready, you said. Well, I've carried this burden by myself. Why should I just hand it over to you after a few years? It's not like you don't have your own mess, Mr. Prior. You don't know where your fantasy daughter is, but I don't hear you blaming your old girlfriend. You blame me for keeping you from her. You accuse me of hiding my past, but you're abandoning us for something that may not exist. If you're so dissatisfied, you should disappear again for longer than a few hours."

Suddenly, the need to defend herself supplanted her desire to defend Dude. Glory was used to self-condemnation, but she wouldn't take it from anyone else, particularly not the man she'd pledged to love and cherish.

"Hey, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have company." There was a belated tap on a pocket door, for Oilia had already pushed it aside and stuck her nose in. She widened the space and ushered in Adele and Bennett. Oilia followed them, set down a snack plate, and ducked out again. The younger woman waved cheerily. "Is this a good time?"

Listening at the door, Adele didn't know what to think. She'd come to Gilmore to cause the very thing Glory appeared to be doing on her own, losing what she loved and what she didn't deserve. Grace and mercy in reverse, she told herself. Check one.

Glory marched toward her and Bennett. "It's a fine time, Oilia. Already things for the meeting. Eli can get started here with you." She bent low at the last second and smiled. "Would you like to come with me to the kitchen if mommy says it's okay?"

"How can I say no?" Adele responded lightly, but honestly. She had to swallow her irritation when her son took the other woman's hand and left without a second look, his backpack swinging from his hand. When she turned toward Eli, she found him at the piano. "Is everything okay? I know he interrupted something." If I got the time wrong, knowing she hadn't, Adele made a show of glancing at her watch.

Eli's laugh was brief and humorless. "Gloria and I were just having a disc no a disagreement obviously but it's okay." Adele waited to see if he would say more. She felt for this kind man but didn't want to pry. Seeing justice done shouldn't mean he had to suffer.

Eli moved away from the piano. "So you're willing to work for us despite the occasional marital fireworks?" She pursed her lips. "Ben and I had our moments, but he said healthy disagreements were like workouts. They broke down the muscles to build up the muscles or something along those lines." Adele would have given anything to argue with Ben again about parenting, his travel, how she was always running late, anything.

"Thank you. Have a seat." As much as Adele wanted to celebrate their argument, the peacemaker within her wouldn't allow it. "Dear Lord," she prayed and sighed. "Why don't you go after your wife and I don't know, try and resolve whatever it is. Weeds grow when left untended. Don't take any moment for granted."

"From widow to former widowerower. What in the world, Adele?" But she knew it wasn't her doing. It was his. Eli bowed his head. When he looked up, he grinned genuinely this time. "Thanks. I will be back in a sec." He stroed through the parted doors.

Adele moved about the room, picking up one book after another. It was apparent that Glory took the title Happy Place to heart. Not a sad story to be found in this room. And lots of sheet music, art history books, and picture books. She was surprised the joyful atmosphere hadn't snuffed out the prior's argument. "What are those brown packages?" she wondered, noticing the table. Figuring she'd learned during the meeting, she walked to the window where Glory was standing when Adele had interrupted them. She counted the birds along the back fence, partly shielded by the trees leaning over it. Between its branches, Adele gazed upon distant hills and an industrial tower of some sort. In another month or so, the thinner foliage would provide a clearer view.

"Hola, I heard you were in here. Okay to join you?" Adele swung toward the lilting voice that belonged to Noi.

"Ola yourself? Good to see you again." This time she felt better prepared to see the stylish woman, since she'd taken the time to dig out a white peasant blouse and new loose-fitting linen pants covered in bright flowers. If Glory could pull off similar bold colors, she could, too. Sure enough, Nomy wore a kneelength black dress and matching jacket, having come straight from the jewelry store. "Yes, it is good. Have you been baking, canning, and I don't know, saucing so many apples. What were we thinking letting the little ones roam freely at the farm? And to think I packed these strawberries instead." She laughed and placed a fruit tray beside Oilia's plate.

Adele checked her watch again. "You're early."

"I saw you parking and I told Dale to take over closing up. I wanted to talk to you about something." No took a seat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. Adele joined her. "Uh, sure. But Eli will be back any minute. We're supposed to talk before the meeting."

"I'm thinking about working here part-time."

"No worries. He's the one who sent me in here and said we had plenty of time to chat. He and Glory were snuggled up in the front room watching traffic go by." No waved a hand in that direction. The knots in Adele's stomach untwisted. "Oh, okay. Then what did you want to talk about?"

"Bennett. I'd like to throw him a birthday party. He mentioned it at the apple farm. Missing his papa and his friends. I figured I could host it sometime this week or at the next maybe last meeting at my house as it's Labor Day and we're closing early. Or even better, we could do Sunday after church. At least if you can't have family here, you can have friends. What do you think?"

Before Adele could answer, Gloria and Eli returned hand in hand. Bennett and the others not far behind. "Woof!" Oscar barked in greeting.

Chapter 24. Glory spread her arms in front of the pocket doors. "I'm here to block anyone who makes a run for it. Only half joking." She hoped her idea for tonight's meeting would meet with the group's approval rather than sending them running. She indicated the five stacked packages on the table, each wrapped in brown paper. "You know the adage about the danger of judging a book by its cover? Well, I've taken care of that for you."

Eli chimed in. "We can either draw straws, think of a number between 1 and 20, or somebody can volunteer. However we decide, one of y'all gets to choose. Then you'll open it, close your eyes, and let your finger do the finding. Who wants to go first?"

They looked at each other until suddenly Bennett crawled to the table, grabbed a book, and scured back, pushing the package ahead of him. He hefted it with a grunt into his mother's lap and crowed triumphantly. "I guess you go first, Mommy." Her mouth dropped open. "What, Bennett?"

"Obviously, somebody was listening," Charles murmured to Oilia. "Open it up and let's give a look see." Frowning, she peeled off the tape and wrapping. Werily, she studied it. "It's the stand by Stephven King."

"Should we really plaster Stephven King quotes all around the town to advertise the festival?" Dale asked. "They might make outsiders scared to come here if they think we've got clowns jumping out of drains or the kind of stores like the one in Needful Things. He's talented, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't exactly consider him family friendly." But no had leaned in Adele's direction. "This book has so many spiritual references. The idea of free will, the fight between good and evil. The walking dude as the devil. I lost sleep reading this one." Adele shivered and set the book on the table.

Jealousy stung Glory, witnessing the growing camaraderie between the two women. "That woman is inserting herself in all parts of my life." Glory retrieved the book. "Before we move on, I'd like to hear what my holy rollers think of this quote." She flipped to a passage and read. "Every man or woman who loves him, they hate him, too, because he's a hard God, a jealous God. He is what he is. And in this world, he's apt to repay service with pain, while those who do evil ride over the roads and Cadillac cars. Even the joy of serving him is a bitter joy."

Glory closed the book with a snap and grabbed hold of each pair of eyes one by one, letting go slowly before moving on to the next set. "What do you think? Is he a hard god?"

"No." Emmy cut an eye at Dale. Charles rested his cheek on his cane. "Well," Glory prompted. No one brave enough to answer the question. "Is God hard or not?" Eli shifted in his seat. Jason cast a weary eye at his mother as if gauging the temperature of the water before daring to stick a toe in.

"Does that mean you love God, Glory?" Adele quietly launched the question into the room like a grenade. The book seller whipped toward the younger woman. "What? I would never go so far as to use the word hate when it comes to the sovereign over all creation." Adele continued. "But we could turn that quote around. If you don't like God much right now, then you must love him some too or know him."

Stumped, Glory opened the book again. "I was only reading what Steven wrote, not professing my faith or lack of it."

"You have to believe to say you don't believe, especially as vehemently as you do." Adele forged on in her argument. "He does give us the free will to choose, but the ability to not believe comes at a cost. You pay eventually." Glory closed her eyes. "I've paid the price and I'm acrewing interest."

"Sito son Sonia Mados." No inclined her head toward her clasped hands, her eyes closed.

"Romans 8 verse 28," Dale explained. "We know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to his purpose." The jeweler nodded vigorously. "And when God says all, he means all, to including the pain and the loss you've experienced from dealing with man. Men who so desperately want to be God and who hurt God's people in the process. La Margora, the bitterness that Stephven King writes about doesn't come from serving others or from your true faith. That's inside of us. It's a root that's tangled up and embedded in us, growing from our unmet needs and unexpressed emotions. Our misperceptions. Losing people is hard, but God isn't."

Charles's voice was low yet firm. "Oilia raised her hand. Church folks are hard. I can admit that. And families, families can be hard," Frederick chimed in. "School is hard. Jason took off his cap and scratched his head. And teenagers can challenge you, too." Oilia slapped her son on his thigh. "Forgiveness is hard, almost impossible."

Adele looked grim. Glory didn't know what the younger woman had on her mind, but she had to agree. She didn't know how to forgive her parents for their treatment of Davis as much as she loved them. But even more difficult than that, she struggled to forgive herself for letting him take the blame for what she'd done by remaining silent. She'd tried to atone by erecting this monument to him and doing as much good as she could. But it turned out that grace was as hard to accept as it was to give.

"God isn't hard," Charles asserted, tapping his cane with each word. "He's good, and his way is easy, and his burden is light. That's something we should put on a poster. What say we take a bathroom break so the old folks in the room can stretch their legs?" Eli suggested and we'll meet back here in 5.

Surreptitiously, Adele watched the couple confer by the piano. Glory was standing so close to it, her hip played flat and sharp notes every few seconds. Yet Adele barely heard the discordant music because No words were in the forefront of her mind. "Men who so desperately want to be God and who hurt God's people in the process." She wondered if that was what she was doing, trying to be God by coming to Gilmore.

"They make a fine pair, don't they?" Coffee laced Mr. Graves's breath. Adele trained her eyes elsewhere. She leaned closer to the older man and replied non-committally, "Mhm."

"People in town wondered if she'd ever get married. I could hear the gossip when I took my walk down Springs Church. You see, Mabel in that big old house on the corner lets Oscar do his business by her daisies. As long as I pick it up. She's probably thinking I'll come by for some tea or conversation one day." He tked to himself. Adele faced him. "Who?"

"Glory." Mr. Graves laughed. "I had a sense you weren't paying me any attention. Where's your mind, miss?"

She smiled. "Here and there and everywhere, Mr. Graves. Are you enjoying this so-called famous quotes group?"

"It's definitely more than I bargained for in our experience, my dear. We've seen that's how life is, more than we expect. That's our testimony. More than we want often times. But I'll take the good and the bad from God over the indifferent." Frederick sighed and dragged his hand down over his nose.

"Not little women," Jason groaned. Adele risked looking Glory's way. "Actually, I love this book. In my opinion, everything is good. So, you can't go wrong if you open it up, close your eyes, and point." She gave the book to Ailia, who passed it along. The book traveled like a hot potato to Glory's silky lap. "I'll play by the rules, even if y'all won't." She closed her eyes and leafed through the book. When her finger landed, she read, "I don't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I'm going to find some."

Eli sighed. "I'm definitely ready for a new adventure, not merely ones you read about." Oilia sniffed. "Maybe I should add some non-fiction and start selling travel books."

Glory spoke into the quiet that descended heavily on the room, leading their minds away from the subject of the prior's move. "When we were coming up, mama and daddy took us away for a week every summer for exploring time, as they called it. That's the only extra that made them dip into our educational savings. But they saved a little something from each paycheck, starting the week we got home from a trip until the next year. We saw the Rockies, the Great Lakes, St. Augustine, Florida. Mount Washington."

"Where's Mount Washington?" No. Emmy squinted like she was studying a map.

"In New Hampshire. It's the tallest peak in the northeast." Adele replied.

"Sure is. It seemed like a 1,000° drop in temperature between the bottom of that mountain and the top of it." Glory smiled, thinking back. "Me and my cousin might have skipped that trip." Eli bumped fists with Ailia. "My cousin and I and the wind, y'all." Glory fainted a shiver, her arms crossed over her chest. "Honey bun, don't you have a picture somewhere of y'all on a rock, looking like you were about to fall off?" Adele smiled a little at the natural pushpull dynamic of the prior's marriage. Glory corrected her husband's grammar as easily as she took a breath, and he accepted her correction as easily as he expelled one.

"Adil, have you ever been there?" Glory asked. She had been leaning against the sofa, but the question led her to sit upright and clear her throat.

"I was as a child. My husband and I had hoped to take Bennett, but..." her shrug put an end to those hopes and dreams. "But, you know, my family had adventures, too. One time, we drove across the country all the way to Crescent City, California to camp in the Redwood National Forest."

Glory clasped her hands together. "Oh, I always wanted to go there, but we never did. I don't think there was that much saving in the world for my parents based on my idea of what mama brought in from the factory and daddy's job as a mechanic."

Adele's eyes narrowed. "Really? You a camper? I'm surprised you'd want to rough it with all your silks and calf tans and polished nails. Not much opportunity for lipstick and jewelry sleeping on the ground."

It was Glory's turn to shrug off a memory. "Maybe I should say I wanted to want to. My brother used to talk about it all the time. He had big plans of living in California. Getting out from under. I think that's how he put it. Under."

Frederick interjected a question into a discussion that had become a tetat despite the four other people scattered about the room. Oilia readjusted her position on the sofa. "I take it your parents were unyielding."

"That's how all our folks were in those days. They had to be," Charles commented, his voice thoughtful. "Maybe we're not like Marmy and the girls running a household while the Civil War rages. But life was full of battles and trials. Still is. Maybe my parents weren't as hard on me as the world was, but they had to be tough to make sure we survived. These young people today could use a little of what we had to face."

Glory grappled with her thoughts, struggling to find the words to agree or disagree. Her mama and daddy believed they were answering God's imperative to discipline their children. Every no, every lecture, the final rejection. But what about love?

"I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now." Eli had taken the book without Glory's knowledge. "That was from Amy, and I agree with her wholeheartedly. Who else wants a cup?" Five hands rose, but none of them belonged to Glory, who propped her elbows on her knees where she was curled up on the sofa. Eli brushed her shoulder on his way to get the carff, and she pressed her cheek against his hand.

Once all their guests had found their way home. She figured she'd relax over a cup of tea. Oilia pllopped next to Gloria on the sofa. "Mallerie, why don't you take Bennett to get some of that chocolate milk I bought and help Eli push the tray in here?" When they left, she turned her attention to her cousin-in-law. "Why don't you drink coffee?"

"Because it smells like memories I'd rather forget." Glory answered without thinking. Seeing the questions on their faces, they'd never dare to ask, except that Adele. "I bet she's got a few ready to trip off that tongue." Glory decided to explain as much as she was able. "Some of y'all know my brother was an alcoholic. When he started drinking, it was only a little here, a little there, then more with different kinds of friends. Later, he couldn't go to sleep without it. Couldn't wake up because of it. So, I learned to make coffee." As she'd spoken, Glory had found herself studying everything in the room but the other people in it.

"Do you miss your coffee?" Adele locked eyes with her. Glory's eyes filled, but she refused to let the tears fall. "I miss my brother more."

"Now that I think about it, I've never seen you drink. Not even a glass of wine," Oilia commented. Glory shook her head. "And you never will."

"No." Emmy, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the end of the sofa, reached over and squeezed her friend's toes. "Unlike Amy, I wouldn't mind hearing a compliment or two about my peach cobbler. I left work early to bake that monstrous thing. Dale's abuita taught me how, so I could make it for her grandson when she went on to heaven. I had to watch her like a hawk because she measured nothing." Glory hoped her smile communicated her gratitude for her friend's help turning the spotlight elsewhere. "It was delicious."

"No Emmy, Oilia gushed. "And if I'm saying so, that's saying something." Frederick rubbed his stomach. "Indeed, it was. I'd love to have the recipe. Or at least come watch you and Dale prepare it. Y'all know I'm always looking for something new to add to my repertoire." Glory winked at him. "Y'all better tell him or he'll steal it."

"What I miss?" Eli rolled the cart with the coffee service into the room, followed by Bennett with a chocolate mustache. Frederick prepared his coffee the minute his host parked the cart. "Sad to say, you didn't miss much. Still talking about little women, which I knew was coming the minute we formed this group. Yes, even Glory has to love this one."

Adele agreed. "Why do you say even Glory? I mean, I do, but why am I an exception?"

"Because it's Christian fiction, and I don't think it's your favorite," Adele argued. Glory opened the book without bothering to hide her irritation. "It's a coming of age novel, and actually, it's one of my all-time favorites."

"Beauty, youth, good fortune, even love itself cannot keep care and pain, loss, and sorrow from the most blessed. For into each life some rain must fall. Some days must be dark and sad and dreary." Adele finished.

"True and beautiful. Ah, we did it," Eli cried out and picked up Bennett to give him a high five. "Did what?" Adele gawkked at the duo. "We got you to use the word true when it comes to talking about a fictional work. Our job is done. Hip hip. Hooray." Bennett cheered, throwing his arms above his head.

Charles played a rhythm with the rubber stopper of his cane. He seemed to peer at far off people and places as if making out details. "That last part certainly speaks into my life, Mrs. Simonet." She stroked her son's hair. He'd returned to the floor at her feet to play with Oscar, who'd somehow weedled himself beyond Glory's sidewalk. "No, I'd have to agree with you, Mr. Graves. It has poured this past year or so in my life. Torrential rains. I've heard that quote before, and I didn't know it came from little women, but I don't know if it sounds like, 'Welcome to the festival. Yay! The crowd goes wild.'" Jason made quiet cheering sounds. "I'd have to agree."

Next, Frederick advised. Little women in hand, Noammy withdrew a pair of sparkly spectacles from her jacket pocket. "These are from my reading partner over there. Thank you, Glory." Glory winked. "Only $10 in the store." No slipped them onto her nose. Settling on a page, she glanced over her half lenses at the group, her hazel eyes dancing. "Yes, here. I remember this passage because it basically describes my life. Let's see." She focused once more on the page and read, "Have regular hours for work and play. Make each day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well. Then youth will be delightful. Old age will bring few regrets, and life will become a beautiful success."

Adele mowled over her life, particularly the last few years with Ben and the last month in Gilmore. Regret, anger, and bitterness were a tightly braided cord threading through every day, every second. Her eyes drifted to her son. "Ah, my beautiful success." A cough drew her attention to Glory, who seemed to be carrying her own burdens. Eli stroked his wife's shoulder.

No plopped the book onto the table. "I lived by my schedule," her husband laughed. "And woe to anybody who interrupted it. I remember you being called down to the school a time or two for our children, and you didn't like it much." Glory smothered a laugh behind her hand. "That son of yours had some growing up to do when he was in high school. But he straightened up nicely and become a fine young man with a family of his own. Maybe his kids will give him a fit, too, and he'll see what he put his mama through." Red lips pinched, no continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "And I devoted 7:30 to 6:30 6 days a week, a little shorter on Saturdays, to the store. Then I worked in my garden every evening for about an hour after dinner. At the time, I'd say those years were pleasant and put to good use. Fairly successful." She surveyed the room.

Frederick nodded. "I've always admired your name emlazed across your glass door. You started that business what, 20, 25?"

"28?" Dale corrected. "28 years ago," Frederick repeated almost to himself. "Not too much longer after Glory sold her first book. And right along the time I started drawing pictures of chairs. Now you're hosting yearly classes for jewelry designers and considering opening another location, if that son of ours has his way." Dale sounded both tired and proud. "Yes, my Eta loved that necklace I bought her for our 10th anniversary. I wish I'd bought her more." Frederick's voice was laden with regrets of his own as he spun to gaze out the window. Darkness blanketed the world beyond the glass. Mods fluttered against the pain, drawn to the bright light inside. "But my point is that it may look like success to the world. But when I look back, I wonder if I put my attention where it was most needed. All those hours at the store, the name on our front door, folks walking around with our jewelry. But my children were raised by other people, and my husband and I didn't spend much time together outside of work."

In a hushed voice, Noam continued, "Glory, you have an opportunity. You had your time to work and invest in your business, to be on your own, to grow by the book. But maybe it's time to rest, to play, to heal, enjoy your husband."

"That's me." Eli smiled at his wife. "I wonder what time it is for you and your little one." No nodded at Adele and Bennett, whose head was leaning heavily against his mother's leg. Adele's eyes met Glories for a second before the older woman looked away.

Mallerie picked up Little Women and admitted sheepishly. "I didn't tell any of my friends how much I liked it when we studied this in English lit. When you were talking, Mrs. Pearline, I remembered something we read. Um..." her finger traced one page after another. "Here it goes. Mrs. March said this. 'I'd rather see you poor men's wives if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones without self-respect and peace.' I didn't get it until now." She returned the book to the table and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Oilia whispered something to her daughter and Mallerie nodded, flushing a bit. Mr. Graves rested his cane against the side of his leg and settled back in the chair. "May I suggest make each day both useful and pleasant? Dot dot dot at the festival from Little Women."

Chapter 25. "And you're sure Bennett likes this cake? Chocolate confr. I can decorate it however he likes." No brandished one of the strawberries she was slicing. At Adele's nod, she angled it beside the rest in the icing.

Adele tossed her braid over her shoulder. "No Emmy, I'm not sure that's going to work out." The woman's eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't you say he likes both flavors?"

"Oh, no. No. Bennett will love it. But I'm not sure this is a good idea, this party." Adele had cried herself to sleep the night before and almost called No Emmy to cancel upon awakening. Her son's excitement led her to keep the commitment after dragging herself and him to church.

"Of course it is. We can't have Bennett thinking he has no friends in this new place, that he has no home. It's such a precious age, and he's old enough to remember this time. Who wants to look back and recall loneliness and sadness?" Adele pushed her fingers against her lids so hard her eyes hurt. Not only had she let the past ruin her present life, she was letting it destroy her son's future. "No, Emmy, I'm not up for a meeting with..." She stopped short of saying glory. "This is a party for the 5-year-old. That's what we're celebrating. That's some fuddy duddy festival nobody is thinking about yet. We can't let somebody else's problem become our emergency, even if it's my best friend. What if I told you that I intend to break your best friend's heart? Would you be so willing to host this party for us?" But Adele's loneliness cried out even more loudly. "Won't it be wonderful to sit and think about nothing but honoring your baby's 5 years of life with people who care? To sing and dance and watch him play with children his age." Last year, the two of them had blown out four candles before crying themselves to sleep in her bed. Adele had laid on Ben's side because she couldn't bring herself to wake up and see a child-sized version of her husband in his spot.

"Okay, I suppose so." Adele gazed into the expansive backyard through the large windows behind the kitchen table. Bennett kicked a ball to No's grandchildren. "Maravioso." Adele found a giggle somewhere and shared it. "I take it you said marvelous."

"Yes. Now put on a party hat and blow up the balloons." Eli poked his head through their bedroom door just as Glory put her diamond stud in her ear.

"Excited about going to a 5-year-old's birthday party?" She fluffed her hair and turned away from the mirror. "I can't say I imagined you'd ever ask me that question, but yes, I am."

"You made it back earlier than I thought." Glory slung the strap of her leather cross body bag over her shoulder. "I left as soon as the pastor pronounced the benediction. I hope one day we can hold hands on the same pew and go out to lunch at Sassifras." Afterwards, he cuped her elbow and led her from the room.

"Eli." The warning died on her lips without more fanfare. No need to light any fireworks before the real celebration with the pearl lines. He'd invited her to attend church with him that morning, but she'd quickly straightened his tie for him and sent him on his way after a polite no thank you. Then Glory had listened to the choir in her tucked away corner of the porch, and returned upstairs to get ready for nosy's party for Bennett. While she'd had to give up expecting her brother to appear, she sought a miracle of a different kind during her Sunday morning routine. Peace. "I hope God knows where to find me, too, brother." Her husband led the way down the wide staircase to the second floor landing. "I hope to bake cakes for our grandchildren one day. I love our friends, but I can't wait to celebrate family."

"My friends are my family," Glory protested silently. No and Dale had adopted her years before she married Eli. She'd witnessed their children maturing and having babies of their own. She'd come to think of herself as more than a friend to Bennett, and wished she could see him grow up. That is, if she could figure out what to do with that mother of his. But when she watched her husband limp down the last few steps to the main floor, Glory acknowledged that living above their bookstore was getting harder day by day. What had No advised at their quotes group last Monday? "Enjoy your husband." Glory interlaced her fingers with Eli's and kissed his knuckles, conceding, "I've never tried my hand at..."

homemade icing. Better yet, how about I do the party planning and you handle baking the cake after you track down your daughter? How can I help you take the next step in the search?

Eli sighed and locked the back door behind them. They walked to his car parked in the alleyway between the jewelry store and By the Book. "You can hope for the best. I'm going to reach out to some other friends I know to verify what the detective came up with."

Glory kept her eye on her husband during the long drive. His frown deepened the farther they traveled. She used her thumb to try to smooth away the frustration etching his brow. "You'll always have me, darling. And even if you don't find your daughter, perhaps we should consider moving to a smaller one-story home. There's a cute craftsman for sale around the corner from By the Book. We could commute to work like most people. Turn the third floor into a writing wonderland and host riding retreats."

"You do that for me?" Glory caressed his shoulder. "For us?"

"As long as there's a sidewalk where I can watch people go by, it's getting time for us to stop looking behind us, fearful of the shadows catching up. Mourning what we lost and wanting what we don't have."

"You're right." He gripped her hand. "Maybe I'll reach out to the realtor about that craftsman."

Glory laughed. "One step at a time, Mr. Prior. Let me focus on braving your Adele Simonet this afternoon. If you distract her, maybe I can whisk off Bennett and we can open his birthday present."

Eli glanced at the large balloon-covered bag in the back seat. "Presents plural. Do you think he'll like the book?"

"Does a bear like honey? Of course he will. It's a popup. Even his mama can't argue with this version of the Odyssey. And we can work together on the puzzle. Having it made from that picture of him playing the oboe was brilliant. Especially since it was your idea," Glory chuckled. "Bennett favors you, as Mama would say."

"You think so? I don't see a resemblance." He signaled a left turn and eased down the long driveway that curved through the 5-acre wooded property to the Pearlines's house. "It's something about the eyes."

Glory straightened in her seat, her heart thudding in her chest. "But you can see for yourself because there's the Subaru. Looks like the Simonets are already here."

Adele took a deep breath and readied herself. She was fairly certain she'd heard a car approach the house. It could be the Priors or perhaps Oilia and the twins with Mr. Graves. She dreaded the former and hoped for the latter. It was sweet of the man to let Oscar visit Bennett for his birthday. But he was hankering for a four-legged friend of his own after a night with the terrier. A blessing and a curse.

"Are you sure you'll be okay out here with Oscar once I go inside? Or should I take him with me?"

Bennett's forceful exhale should have ruffled the layers of her peasant skirt. "Whoa, that's a lot of hot air we could have used in the balloons, little man. You almost knocked Mommy over." She pretended to stumble back a few steps on the brick pavers. He snickered at her theatrics.

Adele realized the time was coming when she'd stopped referring to herself as Mommy. He'd already turned 5 years old, just as she'd transitioned to calling herself Bennett's mother instead of Ben's wife. At some point, she'd only think of herself as Adele. She dreaded the day, but until then, she'd count her blessings.

"Okay, just be sure to hold tightly to Oscar's leash." Adele stretched to loop the last balloon around a tree branch at the edge of the patio. The sun warmed their heads, and she was glad she'd decided to wear short sleeves. After a dip in temperatures the past couple of days, she'd almost donned her orange sweater, but changed her mind at the last minute.

Adele squared her shoulders, studying her last bit of shaky resolve. Eli was sure to bring up the position at By the Book. Work, something that hadn't called her name since before Bennett was born. Adele had gladly hung up her art supplies and walked away from her director position at a local studio the week before she delivered him. She'd thrown herself into being a wife and mother until that half of her life died, leaving the rest of her identity hanging incomplete, aimless until two months ago when she'd read her father's journals and learned why he'd coughed himself to an early grave. Taking Daddy's words were one thing. Taking his life was something else.

Adele walked to the house but paused at the French door. Every choice she'd made the past few months had led her to Gilmore. Yet Eli's offer presented unexpected help from an unlikely source. "What you mean for evil, God means for good."

She jumped. "Oh, what is it, Mommy? Did you hurt yourself?" Bennett hurried over. Oscar's short legs barely keeping pace.

"No, baby. I almost tripped on the end of my skirt. Mommy's all right. I mean, I'm all right as long as you are."

"I'm fine, Mom. We're going to teach Oscar some tricks," her son beamed.

"And so it begins," she groaned inwardly, mourning the two letters missing from the name he'd called her barely a minute ago. She also dreaded meeting with Glory without Eli as a buffer, but she hid her feelings behind a cheery wave. "Enjoy your friends."

Once Bennett and Oscar scampered away, Adele brushed off her skirt and turned the knob, giving herself a good talking to as she entered the mudroom. "Okay, get yourself together. This is your son's birthday party. Of course, Glory will be here. This is her bestie's house, and Bennett loves her, too. Now, stop these one-way conversations. Might as well get it over with." She practiced her smile in the large mirror in the hallway and joined No Emmy in the foyer. When she arrived, she found the Pearlines marveling over the birthday decorations.

"Adele, look who's here. Welcome." No Emmy extended her free arm. The other was wrapped around Glory.

"Of course it was. Hello, Glory. Eli." The two nodded, but Adele's eyes skittered elsewhere.

Glory asked, "Where's Bennett? Haven't we overcome this stiffness? We've been arguing like family every Monday for over a month now."

Dale's deep voice boomed in the large hall with its soaring ceilings. "We're where we always were, Dale. I talked Eli's head off in the car, and I could use a large glass of your iced tea."

"Drinks in the kitchen." Glory took No Emmy's hand and led her toward the wall of windows in the back center of the house. "What my wife meant to say was, 'Hello there. It's good to see you.'" Eli embraced Adele and kissed her on both cheeks. "Where's the birthday boy? I don't hear him."

She swallowed hard. "He's playing out back with his new best friends. How was the drive?"

"Fine until we got behind one of your tractor-driving neighbors," Eli ribbed Dale.

Adele felt a pang hearing his comment. She missed Cabbot and her in-laws' farm. The peace she had there. "I could drop this and go home. To what? And for how long? I need the money to keep the farm going, but what I'm doing doesn't feel right. All I have to do is tell him. He already cares about me and Bennett. He's on my side. Then what? Destroy my relationships with these sweet people all to ruin Glory's life? What would Ben do? What would Jesus do?" Still arguing with herself, Adele trailed Eli and Dale to the kitchen.

"What can I do to help?" Glory scanned the room. True to form, No Emmy had things well in hand. But keeping busy would preclude making awkward conversation with the mother of the guest of honor. If she had to milk a cow for homemade ice cream, Glory would do it.

No Emmy cast a knowing eye at her friend and mercifully pointed to groceries on the back counter. "I was going to wait, but we could get the toppings into bowls for dessert."

"Who?" A bell chimed loudly and five heads swiveled toward the front door. Their hostess clapped. "Oh, wonderful. That must be Oilia with the food she insisted on bringing. But don't tell her how happy that makes me." Glory seized the opening. "Okay, I'll go check on her. No, thank you. You and Adele will arrange the paper goods and the desserts. Dale, help me unload their car and set up the patio. Eli Wenger, talk to Charles and pretend you're not helping him into the house." No Emmy clip-clopped from the kitchen in her high-heeled sandals, obviously sure they'd fall in line the way people tended to do.

Glory's shoulders drooped watching the others go, but she immediately went to work opening supplies to get out from under Adele's scrutiny in Cabbot, Arkansas, which is relatively close to Little Rock. That made it easy for us to live like country mice and city mice, enjoying more access to amenities, but able to run home to our small town.

Adele nodded like she was agreeing to a question Glory hadn't asked. Or did I? She couldn't remember. This was beginning to feel too much like an interview when really Glory wanted no parts of this woman. Something about Adele unsettled her. She couldn't explain why she dreaded learning more about her background or resisted hearing about her hobbies and skills. Why she couldn't muster more compassion for the widow despite the similarities they shared and Glory's inexplicable love of her son Bennett. Eli, their passion for books. There wasn't much more to talk about. So Glory asked, finally, half-heartedly, "I suppose we should discuss the needs of the store. Has Eli mentioned at all what he expects?"

"He expects me to be you." Adele distributed ice cream toppings into colorful bowls.

"Excuse me?" Glory's fingers stopped shifting and sorting. Her words cut to the quick, which seemed antithetical to Adele's casual tone and off-hand manner. As she snapped the lids on containers filled with fruit-flavored gummies, crushed pecans, sprinkles, caramel, and chocolate. A hint of a grin played around Adele's lips. "In the store, welcoming and assisting guests, stocking/restocking merchandise, checking in with the teens and Oilia, you know, being me. What about Bennett? If you're me and I'm doing whatever Eli imagines I need to do, who's being Adele for your son?" to settle her growing unease.

Glory flattened empty boxes and stowed them in the recycling bin. Butterflies, no mosquito hawks, fluttered in her stomach. Adele leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I can handle Bennett. He's not a problem."

"I take it you're preparing to sell the bookstore." Her expression seemed expectant, probing.

Glory slipped her feet out of her wedge-heel sandals. She couldn't dispel the urge to flee this room. And it was easier to run in her bare feet the way she did as a child with her brother, holding their shoes because they knew they had to get home before the streetlights came on. The shadows gave chase at our first step as we hurried through the moon's evening light. Our pulses throbbed and our hearts they leapt at the beauty only childhood perceives. For the first time, Glory relaxed when she recalled her verse, more at the memory it evoked of Davis, not the words themselves. "The matter's end is overtaking its beginning."

"What are you thinking about, Glory?"

Glory looped the shoestrings around her finger. "You asked me about the bookstore. Lots of beginnings took place there, and endings, too, from the looks of it."

"Yes, Eli's talked of selling it. But not you. We're married, so we have similar goals." Adele's eyes narrowed. "Similar, but not the same. At last, Glory's eyes locked on Adele. "More like complimentary. And speaking of work," she took a breath, "why do you want to work for us?"

Adele turned from Glory and ripped open a box of plastic spoons. "I don't."

Glory recoiled like she'd been slapped. This was the second time Adele had shocked her with an answer that was downright rude. She glared at her back. "Then why?"

"Because your Eli asked me to. Or I should say because of my father."

"Chapter 26. Your father? What does Eli have to do with your father? I had the impression. Isn't he dead?" Glory looked panicked, like she was juggling flaming swords instead of clutching her sandals.

Adele touched her temple. She hadn't wanted to talk to Glory about anything. Leastwise, her father. Not here and not now, but it was time to throw the barn doors open wide. "We've all shared about our lives during those drawn-out talks about those dang books."

Glory dropped her shoes. "And you probably heard me say that my father is enjoying paradise with Ben and my in-laws. I came here because of family. Bennett and mine, my father's. I inherited something once he died. And I came to claim it. To reclaim my family's heritage. What my father believed was lost. I'm not interested in helping you and Eli with your bookstore. I want to run mine. Buy the book."

Adele heard the joint click in Glory's jawbone when her mouth dropped open. The truth had been clamoring for purchase on her tongue, demanding freedom, and she couldn't restrain herself any longer. "That's right. I want what belongs to my father. And I'm prepared to take you to court if that's what it takes. I just pray that's not what it takes."

"Prayer. Adele. Really? Now you talk about prayer. Why don't you two ladies join us if you're done in there?" The voice bellowed. Eli's arrival before either woman saw him.

"Eli," Glory called out. Her bare feet slapped the floor as she skirted the island and ran past Adele. "Hey. Hey. Now, what's going on?"

Adele slowly rotated and faced the couple in the kitchen entryway. Glory's arms were draped around Eli's neck, and his eyes questioned Adele's over his wife's shoulder. "Why are you trembling, Glory?" He pulled back, and the questions became accusations when he looked at Adele again. "Are you crying?"

"Leave it to Glory to use tears as a weapon of warfare. But no matter, I have spirit-filled ones on my side," Adele reasoned to herself before answering for the bookseller. "She's probably feeling her world crashing down around her. The world she stole from my family, from Bennett and from me."

Eli linked hands with Glory and drew her to his side. "Somebody, and I think that means you, Adele Simonet, had better speak up fast and in a hurry, or that somebody will find herself and her son on the doorstep. Have I made myself understood? Now explain why my wife is so upset." He dropped Glory's hand and pressed her closer with an arm around her shoulders. The once talkative older woman said nothing. She shook visibly, leaning into him.

But Adele didn't need reinforcements. "I was explaining why I came to Gilmore. My father's legacy was stolen and I came to see justice done to get it back for him and for Bennett."

"She said her father's legacy is my store. Eli, my home. I warned you about this woman the day I met her." Glory seemed to be drawing strength from her husband's presence.

"How can that be?" Eli asked. "Everybody needs to calm down because we all know that Glory bought the house decades ago from somebody she didn't even know before restoring it. Are you saying those owners owe you? If so, we'll have to take it up with the office."

"No, that's not what I'm saying." Adele snapped. She covered her face and tried to regain control of herself and the situation. Even to her own ears, she sounded unhinged. "Listen, I hadn't intended to talk about this today. We're supposed to be celebrating Bennett. But being with you week after week, hearing you talk about moving and selling it to somebody else, I couldn't take it. What I'm saying is true. As crazy as it sounds, I wouldn't lie to you."

Horrified. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Maybe not, but you're wrong. Someone else has lied to you then." Glory stood strong now, tall, erect, back in control. Along with Eli, she posed a united front. Even though Adele was alone, she was on the side of righteousness, justice, and truth, which meant God was on her side. Good always triumphed over evil.

"My father isn't a liar. I read his journals and I know the truth. He died a slow death thanks to saving your life. Then you took his words as your own and built a career on them."

"His journals." Glory took a step back, but Eli's arm kept her from making a full retreat. Adele could see she'd struck a blow. "Yes, his journals. The ones you didn't steal."

Eli looked at his wife. Then he asked, "What's your father's name?"

She prayed for the strength to say it. "Davis. Davis Gibson."

Glory's knees buckled and she covered her face. "I told you he'd come back on a Sunday. I told you. I knew it. And I looked for him," she mumbled.

"Baby, it's okay." Somehow, her husband kept her upright. It was hard for Adele to accept his support of Glory emotionally and physically.

"It's not okay. And I can't believe you're reassuring her for building a life on my father's words. She took his life after he saved hers. Did you know he coughed until he died?" The hand Glory pressed to her mouth barely contained her sobs.

"Mrs. Simonette." Mallerie burst from the mudroom into the kitchen. "Mrs. Pearline sent me to get you. Worry transformed her happy face. 'Are you all okay?'"

Glory spun away from her, hiding her tears in Eli's shoulder. Adele dried her cheeks with the end of her shirt. "Um, yes. We were talking. We'll be out in a minute." The teenager stared at one after another, obviously reluctant to leave.

"Malerie, tell Mrs. Pearlline we're coming," Eli ordered, his arms still unfolding his wife. "But don't say anything about this. We don't want to spoil the party for Bennett. We'll explain later." The teenager backed away and finally disappeared down the hallway. The mudroom door opened and closed.

"Okay, you two. For the next 2 hours, if you feel like screaming, crying, slapping somebody, or running away, please remember Bennett. All right. Now, let's get it together and go eat some cake."

We've sung happy birthday. Now when will we cut that cake? Glory peeked at her watch, guilt and indignation warring within her. It had taken everything in her to finish her burger and plain rice for the past hour. She shifted in her chair, its iron feet scraping on the patio's brick floor. The discussion around her didn't help either. And from the pained looks on Eli's and Adele's faces, they were as miserable as she.

"Until the day when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words. Wait and hope." Frederick stopped reading. "That would be a good thought for the festival. You should write this down, Mrs. Simonet. Wait and hope. Dot dot dot. At the festival from The Count of Monte Cristo." Charles ordered from the rocker near the stone fireplace.

Oilia spun the covered turntable holding the strawberry-decked cake. "That sounds much better than 'One can only truly enjoy revenge and justice when one knows that their execution is at hand.' I had to memorize that one."

"Maybe you should write that down," Glory murmured.

"Oh." Adele knocked over her cup. Lemonade dripped through the holes in the wrought iron table and soaked her skirt hem. Oilia handed her a napkin. "It's only lemonade. You look like you've seen a ghost, D." Eli's cousin was one of those southerners who dropped the consonants and syllables from people's names once she knew and loved them well enough. And that was who they became in perpetuity. Glory would love to know what Oilia would call Adele when she took Eli's home in business.

"This doesn't sound like 5-year-old birthday party talk." Adele brushed ice cubes from her skirt.

"No Emmy pointed out we could kill two birds with one stone while the children are busy. Now we won't have to meet tomorrow," Dale explained.

"We can't meet tomorrow anyway. I've been dealing with a rental situation back in Cabbot. The struggles of having one foot there and one here."

"Then why don't you put both feet there?" Glory suggested.

"That's a thought." Eli agreed. Dale eyed the couple suspiciously. "Sounds like a few of us are tired. It's been a long day and we should pack up soon."

Adele raised her arm to get Bennett's attention and waved him over. No Emmy paged through the book. "Just a few more before we serve the cake. How about this one? 'Virtue is a luxury only a few can afford.'"

"Mmm, that's good." She passed along the novel. "I don't think that would work on a sign advertising the festival telling people they can't afford to come. Nix that one." Frederick pronounced around a mouthful of chocolate-covered pretzels.

Charles opened the novel. He chuckled and read, "Man proposes, but God disposes. That's fitting. I had no idea Dumas wrote that."

"Let me see that." Dale took the tome from Frederick's hand. "Y'all are going to inspire me to finish what I started in high school by the time we finish this discussion." He flipped to the marked page. "Why?"

"He sure did. Man proposes, but God disposes." Frederick chuckled. "Now that you've read it for yourself, how about telling us what it means?"

Glory jumped in before Dale could respond. "That we don't have any control of our own lives. At least that's what you believe, right? We can plan and hope and work and wish, but it's all up to a capricious god and a malicious man who he created. He determines the course of our lives, and all we can do is..." She pinched off the rest of her statement. She considered saying more and closed her mouth again.

"Pray and trust." Eli furnished the words he must have thought his wife was searching for.

"And that circles back to the 'wait and hope' where we started off," Charles commented. "That's what I'm doing when it comes to my wife."

Glory had held out the tiniest hope she'd see her brother again. All those Sundays sitting on her porch, waiting and looking, using Dude as a replacement. All the nights she'd cried herself to sleep. The grief she experienced anytime she thought of Davis. And now the fears had come true in a completely unexpected way. Now she knew that she'd never see her brother again, except in the eyes of his daughter and grandson.

Silence wafted over the patio, carried by the late afternoon breeze. It was broken by the children's laughter, Oscar's occasional yip, and the crinkling of pages as Noammy riffled through them. Finally, she read, "'The friends we have lost do not repose under the ground. They are buried deep in our hearts. It has been thus ordained that they may always accompany us on our journey through life.'"

Glory squinted at the line of trees growing on the yard's periphery, a natural fence God had planted for the Pearlines. Their limbs seemed to touch the sky. "Will I ever be able to lay Davis and my parents down, Lord? Will I ever find repose? Or will I always bear the weight of them? Memories were ephemeral things, wisps, shadows, not testimonies, like the scars on her legs were supposed to be." A survey of the pensive faces around the table revealed that others seemed to carry their own weighty stories. Was Eli thinking of his daughter? Did Oilia have her own burden to lay down? Glory refused to consider Adele's pain.

Bennett's feet pounded toward the group. "Can I I have something to drink?" he panted. Adele handed him her bottled water. "After this, we're going, Ben Ben."

"Let me slice the cake first." Oilia ran inside the house. "We still need quotes for the festival. I'll keep reading until she comes back."

Dale opened the book and pointed to the middle of a page. "'A true man is the one who avenges others as much by his virtues as by his talents.'" Glory and Eli both looked at Adele. Bennett was leaning against her and staring into space. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Virtues like in the book of virtues you read to me, Mommy?" Adele nodded. She settled back into her chair and helped him into her lap. Bennett lay back, his head on her collarbone, his feet swung back and forth, inches from the floor, and his shoelaces trailed from his untied sneakers.

"Virtues are like knowing what's right and doing it, even when it's hard, or when nobody is looking. And true means real, not fake." He angled his head until his oval-shaped brown eyes held his mom's, and he didn't continue until she nodded. "Then a real man who knows right and wrong won't want revenge. He'll just do good things. He'll use his powers for good like my dad used to tell me." Adele sniffed. "Ben did say that a lot."

No Emmy looked at each of them in turn. "What is going on? Glory. Adele. Eli. What is it? You're guests in my home, and really, I consider you family. All of you, including that precious child over there."

Eli took Glory's hand. "You're right to call us all family. According to that woman over there, that's exactly what she is. Family." Glory's niece, the daughter of her missing brother, Davis. Only he's no longer missing. Glory's voice was bitter. "He's dead. Not just dead to me, but gone forever."

"Like my daddy," Bennett whispered.

"Chapter 27. I'm sorry, baby." Glory went to clutch Bennett's hand.

"No, I'm sorry. Stop touching my son." Adele drew him closer. "You're ruining his birthday with all this back and forth, this pretense."

"We're ruining his birthday. How dare you? You come to town lying all the while, acting like you're on some hunt for the truth. Carrying around a secret that will destroy everything I've worked for my whole life." Glory's dress was the color of flame. Orange, red, and yellow swirled together. The color of her anger.

"Glory. No." No Emmy reached for her. "No. No Emmy, you asked for the truth. This is the truth. This person, my supposed niece, hatched some crazy plot and used her son to ingratiate himself in our home. The whole time she's plotting to take us to court and sue me, saying I stole something from Davis, who she claims is her father."

"That's not what I said." Adele banged the table with her fist.

"Don't, Frederick." Every man wants to help a crying young woman. Glory seemed unaware her own face was streaked with tears. Eli pressed a tissue into her hand.

Oilia reappeared, brandishing a serving knife. "What are y'all talking about? You need to calm down. You're upsetting the child." She stretched for him, but he ran off toward the yard.

"I don't want anything from you. Not anymore." Adele screamed, rising. "I just want to be left alone, the same way we were when we came to this terrible place." She moved away, but Charles hooked her arm with his cane. "Sit down, daughter." She looked at her arm, then at his face. He nodded at her empty seat.

Mr. Graves waited until everybody had quieted. "Over the past few weeks, I've heard some of the worst words come from the mouths of some of the best people, including myself. I heard that my wife is dead to me. She's not just gone for a time, but I'll see her again. And the same for you, Adele, with your dear Ben. And you, Precious Glory, mourning for your brother, Davis. We're clamoring for things. Jewelry, businesses, books, houses, people. All of it will pass away. But our love from God and for each other. The memories of life past and hope for life in the future, those remain. It seems like we're erecting mausoleums for the living. That's where my wife is of a kind. Where you're living, too. Glory. I heard you didn't even want to see the sunrise for fear of leaving that bookstore. Is that where they'll bury you? Or in a food truck, Oilia? None of that is worth it. Grab your life while you have it. That's a word for the festival. When the root is bitter, the fruit dies. So dig it up. Cast it into the fire. Use the ashes to fertilize the soil so something else can grow." He sighed. "Now, can somebody take me home?"

">> I'll get Bennett, and you can go home with me, Mr. Graves. Bennett, let's go now." Tendrils that had escaped from Adele's braid flew around her head. She didn't look any calmer to Glory after Charles's speech. She gathered herself, figuring she and her husband would provide safer transport.

"Eli and I can." Adele slid her purse strap over her arm. "I'll have to get the cake another time. No Emmy, forgive us for the abrupt exit. Ben." Before she finished calling his name, the boy streaked around the house toward them, holding the leash. As he stepped onto the patio, Oscar crossed his path and tripped the child, sending him sailing toward the fire pit.

"Bennett!" Adele sprinted, but Dale reached him first. Soon, everyone gathered around her and her son. Blood soaked his pants.

"Quick, go get some water." Oilia pushed Jason toward the house. "Mallerie, go find the other children and keep an eye on them."

Bennett pushed away every adult. Glory could tell a wide-eyed Adele was starting to hyperventilate, so she edged through everyone and knelt beside her nephew. "Bennett, it's Aunt Glory. Now, calm down. Calm down." She didn't know what was true, but she knew she loved the child like he was family. Flopping onto the fire pit's concrete surround, she pulled him onto her lap. "Shush, shush. Is anybody getting water to clean the wound?"

"Auntie," the child hiccuped. At least his confusion seemed to calm him.

"What can I do?" She tore his pants and the leg gushed more. Dale poked at a thick piece of iron. "He fell against this."

Adele crawled over and took her child's hand. "It's okay, baby boy. What should we do? It's still bleeding a lot. Is it an artery?"

"I don't think so," Glory whispered. "Tear my dress quick. Started the hem." Adele hesitated only a second, then did as she was told. She ripped a long, wide strip that revealed Glory's leg beneath. She gasped and met Glory's eyes.

"The fire," she breathed. "Look for the source of the blood and tie it off. Tear more if you need it." Suddenly, Jason ran up with water. They rinsed off Bennett's leg as directed. As they all worked together, either in the fray or clearing back and praying, the group got Bennett calmed down and tended to. Dale helped Adele load him into the car, and Mallerie and Oilio rode with the frantic mother to the hospital to see if he needed stitches. The rest dragged themselves to their cars and headed home to wait for word.

"Chapter 28. Mommy." Mrs. Prior looked upset. "What happened?" Bennett pushed around his macaroni and cheese on his plate. Adele wished she was 5 years old. Then she could refuse to eat. Cry, yell, and kick. Rail at parental control in the world. Question everything and everyone, including God. But she was a 40-year-old widowed mother who had to act with some sense and model faithfulness. Screaming inside, she calmly flipped the pan-fried chicken tender and tested it for doneness.

"I was worried about you getting hurt. We all were. You have a pretty bad cut. Seven stitches. Now eat your dinner. You love mac and cheese." Adele doled out their chicken. He nipped at a shell and kept talking.

"But she was sad before I got hurt. And you were, too. Why did she say she's my aunt Glory? Are we friends now so I don't have to call her Mrs. Prior?"

Adele rubbed her eyes. "So many questions for my little patient. Aren't you as exhausted as I am, Bennett?"

"I didn't get to say goodbye to Oscar." He stuck out his lips.

"Bennett, what did Mommy say? I didn't get my birthday cake." Tears popped onto his dinner. Adele knew he was overwrought from the day, all the attention, the birthday party, the fall, the excitement of the emergency room, hunger, hearing that woman call herself Aunt Glory. But she wouldn't acquiesce to his tantrum. She had to throw her own first. Her son dropped his fork with a clank and crossed his arms. For a moment, she wished she knew how to whistle like No Emmy.

"Bennett Simonet. I'm not negotiating with you. You obey because it's what I've taught you to do." Bennett lifted his fork and took another bite. "Now, you will clean that plate. And that means all the pasta, all the green beans, and all the chicken. We won't do a bath tonight, as much as you need one, in order to let the wound heal a little. After dinner, you can read and play in your room. No TV."

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he mumbled.

"I forgive you, and I understand, but there are consequences to our actions." She took her salad to the table. "I should send myself to bed early for not being 100% honest a few minutes ago, Bennett." Adele stabbed red onion and tomato, but didn't eat them. "I'm sorry for not telling the truth, and I ask your forgiveness and God's."

Bennett met her gaze over his empty plate. "The Prior and I were talking about something really important, and we both got pretty upset. I can't tell you yet what it was about, but we have things to work out that could change our lives, Bennett. It's just hard. Hard for Mrs. Prior, too. She's so nice. Maybe we should call her and see if she's all right. And you can apologize to her, too."

>> Her mouth fell open. "Apologize?"

>> "You said if I know someone is hurting, I should say I'm sorry and do what I can to help. Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone." Her voice was so low she almost thought the verse.

"I won't call her tonight, Bennett, but I will soon. Sometimes people need time to think and pray. And the Prior and I will do that before we say more hurtful things. Let's finish our dinner if we can. You and I should go to bed early."

Early came after two stories and 30 minutes of playtime with his dinosaurs. After Adele doused his lights, she trudged down his hallway, through the den, and straight to her hiding place, the darkest, furthest corner of her closet. She'd learned it was the safest spot to lay herself out before God without fear of frightening Bennett. Tonight, she took more than her sorrow. She also bore her shame and regret. Adele thought she'd feel better when she confronted Glory, that she'd satisfy her cries for justice and righteous anger. But if anything, the burden had grown with that woman's hurt and grief, and Eli's shock and disappointment, pain Adele had caused, that she had planned and celebrated.

"If you roll a boulder down on others, it will crush you instead." Oh, the Lord knew what he was talking about. Adele had listened to Glory talk about her brother, knowing he was her own father. That woman wasn't some stranger. She was her aunt. Her precious father's sister, who he loved and missed. He'd taken full responsibility for the fire. His baby sister wouldn't have passed out if she hadn't drunk his alcohol and smoked his cigarettes, and he'd lived and died with the guilt. Davis had punished himself by refusing to return, and thought Glory was owed whatever success she achieved. What would he think if he'd seen how she'd treated Glory earlier? If he knew about Adele's dishonesty all these weeks that she'd sat in her house and eaten her food.

"Her legs," Adele groaned. "What does God think now?"

"Because he sees all and knows all." She curled into a ball under the blanket she kept in the corner, weeping and moaning, unloading all the memories she'd buried, and anger she'd stoked like a smoldering fire to keep it burning when Glory's kindness and Bennett's love for her threatened to put it out. Adele's anger on her father's behalf had overshadowed the joy on his behalf, of knowing he'd fought the good fight of faith, and lived a sober life from that fateful night of the fire until he died. It was a joy she had until she found that last journal a few months ago. Then she learned the extent of his underage drinking and his life as a homeless teen who wended his way to Cabbot, Arkansas. He wrote about the fire and saving his family's life, of taking the blame for the loss of their home and Glory's injuries, of his taking on the name of D. Gibbs, what he called himself until he died. Who he was to her until she read his private papers. Adele could understand the misplaced guilt and the sense of responsibility. That was her good, kind, and loving daddy. He loved their quiet, unassuming life, making just enough to keep the lights on and food on the table for him and his daughter. But what Adele struggled to forgive was losing her daddy at such a young age to a chronic disease that resulted from the smoke inhalation caused by braving those long ago flames. Should Adele continue to mourn her husband and soon lose Ben's family farm to mounting bills while Glory lived a rich full life funded by her daddy's childhood pain and private thoughts. But vengeance came at great cost.

"Oh, father, what am I to do with this?" She heard Eli open the door. Knowing him, he breathed a sigh of relief once he'd found her in the backyard, staring at the empty spot under the shedding maple tree. Glory listened to his footsteps approach and stopped right behind her, but within a hair of her back. Without facing him, she announced, "The chair is gone." along with any other evidence that dude was ever there.

"Is that what you're thinking about out here?" She answered without facing him. "I'm thinking about everything. Our famous quotes group. The party today at No Emmy's. The last Sunday dinner with my family 50 years ago. Tomorrow's special opening for Labor Day. Next month's meeting with the vendor. The festival in November. And whether I'll be here for it, if I want to be."

"Is it okay if I hold you?" His words were soft, as gentle as his touch will be if I let him. She nodded. He hugged her from behind, locking his hands together around her middle. "I'm sorry about what happened. If I'd trusted your instincts about Adele, I could have protected you from the very beginning."

Glory swallowed. "But you weren't at the very beginning. My choices set all this in motion a long time ago." They stood there in the evening quiet, listening to the night settle upon them. Glory heard the buzz of a street lamp and the puttering of the neighbor's scooter returning from the garden in the country.

"You're still taking the fall, even for Adele's schemes." She relaxed against his chest, drawing from his warmth. "The strange thing is I finally understand her why. I couldn't put my finger on it before, but I get it now. And I don't blame her because you still blame yourself, Glory."

"No, because I accept responsibility, which is different. I'm also starting to accept what I can't change and what I can." She turned in his embrace without loosening his arms. "Let's go inside. I have an unexpected hankering for your hazelnut coffee."

"Chapter 29. Glory always hosted a special sale to recognize Labor Day. The only Monday By the Book opened its doors. This year, the Baker and the twins had come in on their day off to help, and she was grateful. It had taken longer to fall asleep the night before after having coffee with Eli, and by day's end, she was worn out. She was thrilled over conducting more business than usual, but she did a happy dance when she heard the bell tower strike quarter 5. Glory hoped this young man was the last of her customers. He watched as she set his books in the brown bag.

"Do you still have those handmade bookmarks, the ones with the red cord?" Picturing the box on the third floor, Glory almost said no. Then the guest-serving part of her smiled. "Actually, yes. I received a shipment Saturday and took them upstairs. Give me one second." Glory locked the register and called, "Malerie, could you take over here for a minute?" Seeing her employee, she pressed the key into her hand. Clad in a denim dress belted neatly around her slender waist, Glory spun on her heel toward the hall, leading from the foyer area. Her feet made little noise in canvas espadrilles, though the climb to their sitting room seemed to take forever. "That's what I get for breaking the rule and bringing work in here," Glory chided herself. When she lifted the box, she noticed her mama's teacup on the corner shelf, looking as forlorn as the abandoned plant next to it. A minute later, she'd made a nest to cushion it among the bookmarks. As she made her careful descent, she heard the jangle of the bell, announcing the arrival of another guest. "Good gracious, in the morning," she grumbled, but didn't dare pick up the pace for fear of cracking the delicate cup. By the time she made it to the foyer, Mallerie stood alone among rows of fiction. The teenager shrugged. "She said she didn't need any help."

Glory peered around the box. "She, who?" the guest who just came in. Mallerie straightened a shelf. "What about the young man who asked me for a bookmark?" She looked around. Her load was becoming cumbersome, and she really wanted some tea. Glory eyed the large clock mounted near the door. 5:32. "Where is Eli?"

"He left. Said he had to go, but would come back for it. Don't worry, Mrs. P. This guest is a browser. I can tell. Probably kill in time before she goes to a Labor Day cookout. She'll be on her way soon enough. So, why don't I put those away?" Jason, mama, and I will close up." Mallerie angled a thumb behind her. "My brother can keep an eye on her in the back, and I've got the front."

"Why, thank you. I think I'll accept your offer. You can stow this box under there. Oh, but first..." Glory set her load on the counter and gingerly lifted out the cup. It wasn't like her to leave the store completely under another's care. But the weekend had zapped her physically and emotionally. If her husband didn't hurry home from his mysterious errand, he'd have to carry her upstairs, bad knees or no.

"Let me know if you have a question. Feel free to nudge this guest along in 5 minutes and invite her to come again. I'm going to make some tea and take it to the front room." And she made good on her promise. While Glory had enjoyed the coffee that morning, Earl Grey still claimed her heart. Her nose hovered over her cup as she shuffled to her sofa and curled up in her favorite corner. "Just in time," she whispered as the windows shuttered in the spa across the street. They always closed early on holidays to give their staff time with their families. She eyed her fingernails and imagined getting a manicure. Street traffic was lighter that evening thanks to the holiday. No Emmy had locked her doors at 5. Glory hadn't heard from her other than a text with a promise to pray. Charles and Oscar were nowhere in sight, and Mr. Johnson had driven his truck to the beach for a few days. "We might be following him there soon," she warned her reflection. With little to see and less to do, Glory yawned, taking longer and longer blinks.

"Glory." A familiar voice and a warm hand on her shoulder roused her. Startled, she moved her knee abruptly, jostling the tea balanced on it. When the liquid soaked her leg, she jumped up, sending the cup flying. She gasped at the sound of the crash, and fully awakening, she watched Eli gather the pieces.

"Is this your mother's cup? Oh, babe." Glory listened to the shards clink against each other and his large hand. A soundtrack to the movie that had played out the past few weeks. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He rose. "I think I have all of them. Maybe we can fit them together." More like a fitting epilogue to a heartbreaking story. She sighed. "What good was it doing anyway? Tucked on a shelf, serving as a monument to a tragedy. I'm glad it's broken because now I can throw it away. Please."

"Here." Glory brought a small basket over and nodded at his hand. Eli's brows furrowed over the questions in his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure." Glory laughed lightly, surprising herself. And probably him, too. The pieces made satisfactory thumps against the plastic-lined wicker. Feeling strangely at peace, the part that grew up singing hymns and that still hummed to them most Sundays, she suspected, Glory set the basket down and focused on her husband. "There, done. Now tell me, where did you go?"

At first, he seemed distracted by the cub. He slowly swiped his hands together, his attention on the trash. She clasped his fingers. "Eli, I thought I was bringing back good news for you. Peace for me."

"There's that word again," Glory thought. She led him to the sofa, and they perched on its edge. "Where were you?"

"I met with the private detective, and he finally confirmed what I was starting to suspect. That the whole story about my old girlfriend's pregnancy, well, it was just that, a story. Rumors and lies, a bunch of talk. I might have been a philanderer, but I'm no father. I don't have a daughter or a granddaughter." The relief on Eli's face surprised Glory. She rubbed a thumb over the bristles on his cheek. "Are you disappointed?"

"About as disappointed as you are about that teacup. I'm too old for all this uncertainty and I needed closure one way or another. Either I was or I wasn't. I guess you get to keep your bookstore."

"Oh, honey." Glory moved closer to hug him and the old chair creaked. "I guess we're in the market for a new house. That craftsman we talked about, remember?" Thinking about that discussion reminded her of their drive to No Emmy's. It was hard to believe it was only the day before. "We lose a daughter and a granddaughter, but we've gained a niece and a great-nephew. And maybe an early retirement if Adele has her way." Glory no longer felt comfortable calling her that Simonet woman. If anything, she was a Gibson like Glory herself. "I'm thinking we need to take a vacation." They put

Their foreheads together, and Glory took a deep breath. Mallerie burst into the room. "Mr. Prior, Mrs. Prior, Jason caught the thief!"

Immediately, Glory looked toward the window, then confirmed the time on her watch. "6:30. What are we still doing open? We should have locked the door 30 minutes ago."

"That's neither here nor there at this point, wife. What's going on?" A wide-eyed Mallerie tucked her hands into her back pockets, nervously shifting from one foot to another. "I was working up front while Jason was in back with that last customer."

"Guest? I mean, the browser I told you about."

"Then that other um guest customer is fine." Gloria interrupted her, tone short. She didn't want the girl stumbling over semantics. "Returned asking about his bookmarks."

"His bookmarks? He said he'd wait." Glory's head spun.

"I know, Mrs. P. He changed his mind again and came back. At least that's what he said. He asked for two and wanted to study them. When I was helping him, I heard Jason yelling in back. And the next thing I know, Mama comes flying up. The dude I was helping runs out and then Jason." Mallerie took a deep breath, obviously flummoxed. "I bet the two were working together."

Eli straightened to his full height and took stock of Glory, his eyes studying hers. "Ready to take care of our store." At her nod, he interlaced his fingers with Glory's. "Lead the way to this tag team, Mallerie."

Glory followed Eli to the front of the store where Jason, Oilia, and a police officer were conferring. "I understand you caught our thief. Thank you, Jason." Eli grabbed his hand and clasped his shoulder.

Gloria was quaking in her boots, but she regarded the teenager with newfound appreciation. If he could stand strong in the face of wrong, so could she. "Well done, Jason. I didn't know you had it in you, but obviously you did."

Oilia beamed beside him, looking like she could scoop him up with a biscuit. "I'm proud of you, son."

"When I saw her, I remembered a picture you'd showed us when she worked here. I was like, 'What are you doing back here? You quit weeks ago.' And then all this stuff fell out." He pointed to the evidence the police had collected. The officer stuffed it into a bag. "We'll take it in, but you should get it back. Sounds like she knew where Ailia kept the extra key, and she started with that wallet, then moved on from there. She took the knife because he read from his notes. That baker thinks she can cook and knows everything." He looked up. "She enlisted her brother to help her tonight. It seems she was angry about the new employees you hired who took her place."

"Claims of nepotism?" Oilia rolled her eyes. "Nepotism? We'll see what she learns about that word when she's in her jail cell sitting beside her brother. They're going to jail."

Glory couldn't help but feel compassion for the young woman who was once a dedicated employee. "The stories we tell ourselves."

"Probably. So, we'll see what happens when she goes before the judge. But the theft of your classic copy of The Great Gatsby classifies as more serious than these other items. Plus, it's technically breaking and entering when she came in without your consent. And she kicked my son. That's assault." Oilia huffed.

The officer inclined his head. "But you can talk to the court."

Glory couldn't help but think of her brother. If only her mother had extended mercy, perhaps she wouldn't have faced such an angry young woman today. "Thanks, officer. We'll talk about it."

As Eli walked the police to the door, Glory hugged Jason. "I don't know what to say, Jason. I'll have to give you a raise. I thought about those meetings we had when Mr. Graves was talking about young people and having good success. Hearing all about how hard y'all have worked and your parents, too. We've had a good time here, me and Mallerie. I didn't want to see somebody hurt you, Mrs. P."

Fresh tears rushed down her face as she trailed Eli to the porch. All she could think was, "Thank the Lord it wasn't dude." Her husband gripped her around the shoulders as he pulled away. "Oh, the ironic twists and turns of life, Eli."

Gloria studied the sky and the stars, pretending all was well by keeping her eyes heavenward. She bowed her head. "If I asked you if God was hard, what would you say now?"

Eli tightened his hold. "I'd say he's good, baby girl. Good in the hard. Maybe we should take a few days to talk about it."

Chapter 30.

A sprig of wild flowers leaned against the inside of her mama's pieced-together teacup that Eli had recovered, brightening up the tray Glory carried. She set it on the small table she'd angled between their chairs, and took a seat on the one in the corner. "She murmured, accepting the steaming coffee Eli proffered. Thank you."

"Happy to. I can't believe you're coming over to the dark side." Eli took his seat and crossed his ankles over his outstretched legs.

"As long as it's a dark roast with a hint of hazelnut," she chuckled.

Eli picked a fat pastry from the plate and held it aloft. "Have one of these pimento cheese scones Oilia left for us."

"I'll enjoy the coffee for now. I can't sing if my mouth is full." Glory cupped her heavy copper-colored mug with both hands and peered through the hedges bordering the front porch. They provided a thick evergreen shield between them and the street below the store.

He took a bite and eyed his wife, balancing his cup on a knee. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Right now I'm watching all those folks hurrying down the street. They should have left for church 15 minutes earlier if they wanted to avoid arriving all sweaty and going on." She tisked at the woman wearing the white pants. Her mama always wore a dress and a hat to church in order to look her Sunday best, but Glory was offended that the stranger had broken a different fashion rule. "What happened to no white after Labor Day?"

Last Tuesday, she had hung a large handwritten sign on the front door of Buy the Book, explaining that the Priors were taking a much-needed vacation and closing the store for a week. Then they'd driven to the beach and spent a few days talking about the future of the store, their future, with or without the store. Here it was Sunday morning, and they weren't any closer to determining the how of their next steps, though they'd figured out the what and the who. Glory closed her eyes, enjoying the morning breeze and the warmth of the sun on her feet. The only part of her body its rays could kiss. Perhaps they would hash it out with no Emmy and Dale over dinner that evening, one of the many topics they needed to discuss.

Eli nodded at her coffee. "How's yours? I can make you a cup of tea if you'd prefer."

"No, thank you. I might have found a new Sunday tradition." Glory swirled it, loving the eddy she created. "Maybe one day we'll have a Bible and brew group."

He cocked an eye at her over his mug. "Don't hold your breath, dear. Think we'll ever sit together beside those folks in Ebenezer. They have a pretty rousing service. Reminds me of home when I was coming up. I don't like leaving you here and walking there by myself after praise and worship. I'd rather we walk in together." Eli had decided to attend church regularly, but he would leave after the musical portion of the service and slip in the back during offering time.

"Maybe if you agree, we won't share a pew with your cousin." Now, Glory gently laid a finger against his lips as the choir launched into its first hymn. Though she had stopped looking for Davis to return, this was her time, and she brooked no interruptions. She sang along, using the old hymnal she'd bought.

"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!

Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long.

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long."

The choir proceeded to sing another 30 minutes, a mixture of hymns, gospel music, and a contemporary song accompanied by what sounded like an acoustic guitar. By the time they finished, Gloria and Eli were clapping their hands and tapping their feet. As the choir finished the last bars, Eli checked his watch and rose. "Okay, are you sure you won't Eli?"

Glory dropped her coffee on the tray, and light brown liquid splashed onto the scones. She pointed to two familiar forms heading up their walkway. Eli followed the direction of her finger, aimed at Adele and Bennett. Glory resisted the urge to hurry to the child, slowly limping up each step and waited as they made it to the stone porch. She rested the hymnal in Eli's empty seat.

"Hello."

"Hello, auntie." Bennett was still adjusting to the title, based on his shy expression. So was she. Glory wasn't sure how she felt about it. "What about Gigi?"

"Until we figure it out." Adele's eyebrows furrowed, but Eli, her marketing guru and king of reconfigurations, worked it out first. "Glory Gibson. G. Gigi."

Bennett lit up. "Yes, I like it. GG."

"Is that respectful, Mom?" His mother took a minute to stare at the road. A few cars passed by before she answered. "Yes, son. That sounds about right."

Glory probed her heart, unsure of the emotions tumbling about inside upon seeing the woman. Suddenly, she realized she felt relief, not resentment. Gratitude instead of suspicion. She'd grieved at the thought that Davis was forever lost to her, and here stood a part of him, a bit battered and bruised, but alive and well. Glory thanked God she could see her brother's kin this side of the dirt.

Adele released Bennett's hand and let the strap of her backpack slide down her arm. "I have something for you, at least to read and keep for safekeeping while we returned to Cabbat."

"You're going back home?"

Glory's thoughts and feelings continued to battle within her, fighting for the right to express themselves. "I'm not sure where home is at the moment, but we're going to take a survey of the house and farm and pray over some decisions."

Eli propped a hip on the brick wall surrounding the porch and extended a hand to his empty chair. "Won't you sit down, Adele?"

"Yes, please," Glory asked sincerely and moved aside for her. She knew Eli had always felt some kind of way for Adele, but she'd had to travel a long road to make room for her in her heart. Adele's halting steps to the corner seat, Glory's chair, showed she too had a ways to go, but she smiled a little when Eli scooped up Bennett and plopped him by his side, then hugged and kissed him. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee or tea? A scone?"

Gloria removed the hymnal and sat. "No," she began. "Yes, thank you." Bennett nodded vigorously. The adults laughed and Glory gave him the biggest pastry on the plate.

Adele unzipped the weathered backpack and extracted a thick sheath of papers bundled together with thick rope along with a Bible. "I brought you these. They were daddy's. My brother's." Glory was glad for Eli's heft in case he'd need to hold her up. The pages were worn, yellowed, and crumpled. Some of the edges were torn and dog-eared, and the writing looked faded, but she recognized the hand as her brother's. Tears flowed freely as she gazed at Adele, her niece. "Thank you," she managed as she rested the gifts on her lap, eager to dive in. "I'll take good care of them while you're gone."

Adele nodded, appearing overcome herself. Another thought hit Glory, and she hoped it wasn't too much to ask. "Will you mind if I have a copy made if I'm careful? I'd love to keep this close forever if I could." She touched the woman tentatively on the arm. "One more thing, it's important for you to know that I didn't copy his words. His thoughts are woven through those poems, Davis's hurt and hopes. But I wrote the poems. I published them. And for a time, I prayed they would lead him to me."

Adele nodded. "I know. And when you read it, you'll see how happy it made him that you understood what he was trying to say. Greed spoke for me and envy. I didn't want anyone else to know him as well. But there's something else. I had to tell you this before we left. It's really important. Probably the most important."

Glory's stomach tightened as she clutched the Bible and journal to her chest. She knew she had to let go at some point and hug Bennett goodbye, but she couldn't release the pages yet. Adele took a breath. "That day, when Bennett had his first accident, she shook her head in a disbelieving manner. I was bringing you this journal and a Bible. I planned to come to you and prove something to you before I—" She squeezed her eyes closed and took a shuddering breath, then squared her shoulders. "Before I took the store from you. But I chickened out."

"You mean she wore you out, arguing?" Eli nodded toward his wife. "She has a way with those words of hers."

"Yes, she does. But you need to know that those poems you wrote. Daddy's journal was prayers, Glory. He was inspired by the words of Isaiah the prophet, the Psalms, Habakkuk, Micah, the book of Luke, Ecclesiastes, God's words. He marked the passages in the Bible that correlated to the poems. You'll see."

Glory gasped. "He was calling on God for help, praising him and crying out to him at the same time all those years ago and all the days of his life. That day, I was going to throw this journal in your face and tell you that every brick of this house was a lie you erected to hide yourself."

"So, you wrote a book that was based on God's word, too. You just didn't know it." Eli studied the stone, brick, and wood edifice. "So, this isn't the house that Davis built. It's the house that God built."

"By the book," Glory whispered.

Adele squeezed her aunt's arm. Neither one was ready for more than that as yet. Gloria exchanged the journal and Bible for Bennett, and she held him close to her heart, where she used to hide her tears for her brother. Now she could wear the truth of her feelings for him on her sleeve. "I love you."

"I love you too, Gigi."

"We'll be waiting for you when you come back home."

"Back home?" Adele's and Bennett's voices formed a duet.

Eli aimed a thumb at the door. Adele turned. Her lips moved as she read the handwritten sign Glory had hung there. "You're closed."

"Temporarily," Glory smiled. "Eli and I have been working out some things behind those closed doors. This is the house that God built, but we want this to become the place where you live and work, Adele. It's as much your home and bookstore as mine. More so."

"We've got our eye on a smaller footprint, something without stairs," Eli added.

"And with fewer bookshelves," Glory chuckled. "And a short commute to work. When you get back from Cabbat, we'll put our heads together and figure it out. Maybe our famous quotes group can help you move out of your rental."

Adele stared at them, her mouth open, obviously at a loss. "I'm not sure. Can we keep Alice in Wonderland?" The brightness of Bennett's eyes rivaled the sun. His mother laughed. "We'll see."

Glory knew there was a lot they needed to see and talk about and puzzle over in the days to come. But she planned to hold on to her family this time, not merely the memories of them. "In the meantime, why don't we go inside and have a real visit? We can show you around upstairs so you have an idea of what you're coming back to."

Eli stood, wincing as he moved his hips from side to side. He extended a hand to the child. "We need to figure out what you can call me. Find a name that's as cute as Gigi."

When Bennett hopped off Glory's lap, Eli gave her the heavy bundle Adele had brought. The boy followed his uncle to the front door. Adele rose and took a step toward them before turning back to Glory, her eyes filled with questions. "Go on, I'm coming. I just need a moment with them, and then I'll bring them in. We'll have to find a special place."

When they walked inside, Glory clutched the journal to her chest. In her heart, she knew it was time to loosen her grip on them. Not on Davis and her parents, but on the stories she'd carried most of her life. Stories she'd told and retold herself. But God, yes, God, she murmured, had a way of changing things, of developing characters and rewriting endings. Now she had something more, something else to pass on, a living history that would grow with that little boy inside, who at that very moment was probably nibbling on more of Oilia's scones. Glory's tears soaked the beloved dog-eared pages in her hands, Davis's precious prayers, and all his hurts and the hopes. The truth of the matter was that the Lord had heard her brother's whispers and he'd used her to write his answer to each one.

A Note from the Author.

"And he looked around in a circle at those who sat about him and said, 'Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and mother.' Mark 3:34-35. Who is your family?"

My husband and I have experienced the blessings and the challenges of moving more than a few times in our 30 years together. And we've spent a lot of that time living away from the families that birthed us. We have seven children, unlike Lori and Eli. But the truth of the matter is we've had to form grandmama, cousin, auntie and uncle, and sister and brother relationships within our community. Much like my fictional couple, there have been some lonely days when I felt far emotionally and physically from people who really knew me, sometimes under my own roof. But our peeps now live everywhere from New England to Florida and across to California. God has certainly drawn us closer to him, revealing how he loves us as his children, his family. He's been good that way.

Also, like the Priors, I dreamed of running my own version of Buy the Book. More than a decade ago, my husband and I considered becoming booksellers. For months, as we discussed it, I built this cozy spot in my mind, imagining readers curled up in comfortable chairs, drinking tea and coffee, perusing shelves, whiling away the hours with my books the way Fred Baldwin retreats to the Priors' stacks. In the end, hubby decided that it wouldn't work for us. And after I dried my tears, I accepted the decision, believing it to be a "not yet" from the Lord. Eventually, we grew in a different way and birthed something more than that book baby, our seventh child. Our Father's thoughts are certainly higher than ours.

One day, though, these are only a few of the stories I've carried with me. Dreams, hopes, disappointments, plans, unexpected provision, loved ones, tears. Many I've kept to myself. Some flow like the poetry I wrote for this novel, while others have no rhyme or reason. Some are still percolating and developing, so their endings are unknown to anyone but God. He has had to give me the strength and the grace to bear more than a few, the wisdom to see the truth between the lines, and the creativity to share them with you, my dear reading family.

In Him,

Robin.

Thank you for listening to this audio production of The Stories We Carry. Text copyright 2025 by Robin W. Pearson. All rights reserved. This book was produced by One Audiobooks in San Marcos, California. No portion of this recording may be reproduced without the prior written consent of the publisher.