“Well, it helps that I stopped by Glen Pickett’s place and gave him what for.”
“Gave him what for?” Aggie’s brows went skyward. “Did you confront Glen?”
Collin nodded. “Probably wasn’t proper of me. The police should be the ones to confront him. But Glen did, after all, give me stitches. He owed me an explanation.”
“And what did he say?” Aggie stood, stepping toward Collin as he finished rehanging the gravestone sketch on the wall.
“He was quite apologetic for the bump on my head. Apparently, he thought that breaking into the office and stealing the computer would somehow thwart our efforts to remap the cemetery. Poor man knew I’d find his aunt’s grave, which wasn’t going to help clear his father’s name at all.”
Aggie released a heavy breath. She was tired. Bewildered and tired. She moved to go downstairs. Coffee would be good.
Collin followed her, his steps sure behind her on the stairs.
As Aggie entered the kitchen and began making coffee, she debated with herself about whether to ask Collin anything further. Her conversation with Mumsie replayed in her mind. But there was something vulnerable in her asking Collin, something frightening. That she would open herself to him more than she already had. Yet she desperately wanted to know his thoughts.
“Collin, do you believe grief can ruin lives?”
Collin met her questioning eyes. “Of course. Grief isn’t wrong, but it can paralyze. It can thwart a life. A person can choose to let time stand still, and while they hold the pieces of the past, the hope of their future passes them by.” He reached out and took the coffee scoop from her hand, laying it down on the counter. His fingers lightly nudged her arms and turned her toward him. Collin’s voice was soft, gentle, but most of all, understanding. “A person shouldn’t miss the promise.”
His hand rose, and his thumb brushed over her freckles.
Aggie leaned into his hand. “The promise of what?”
Collin smiled. It reached the corners of his eyes, crinkled them, and made his cinnamon brows rise. “The promise of whatever is in store. Grief is like the moment you close a chapter in a really good book. It leaves you suspended, unfinished, even remarkably unsatisfied. But it doesn’t mean the story is over. You just have to—”
“Keep reading?” Aggie took a step closer to him.
Collin’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
She reached up and, in typical Grayson Girl fashion, let her boldness overtake her caution. Aggie pressed her lips against his, and it was only a moment before Collin’s arm wrapped around her.
“What was that for, Love?” he murmured against her mouth.
Aggie drew back and winked. “I think I should keep reading.” She brushed at the remnants of her lipstick on his mouth, mimicking his accent. “I daresay, red looks good on you.”
Collin’s eyes darkened with feeling, and he pulled her hand away. “It looks much better on you, Love.”
She knew it was no accident he called her Love. And it was more than okay that he kissed her again.
The trees were blazing in their autumn glory as Aggie led Mumsie into Fifteen Puzzle Row. Her walker added extra support to the elderly woman, but Aggie held on to Mumsie’s arm just to be sure. The silence between them was mutually understood and respected.
They paused in front of Hazel’s grave. This time there was no pink rose.
“It truly is over,” Mumsie whispered. Her eyes caressed Hazel’s marker. Then they shifted to Ida’s unmarked grave just plots away. It had been filled in. Her remains were to be reburied. Mumsie hadn’t the heart to grant permission for Ida to be buried in the Grayson cemetery next to Sam, so a small plot had been acquired and she would be interred at the Mill Creek Cemetery. Hazel, however, was to be moved. In a few weeks, Collin would oversee the exhumation of her coffin and the relocation to the family cemetery. Next to her brothers, her parents, and next to the man she had loved.
Walking back to Hazel’s grave, they stood and bowed their heads. Aggie looped her arm through Mumsie’s elbow and held her close. There was such finality in the air. But it was a calming end. Resolution. Answers. The moment they could finally close Hazel’s life with knowledge, tears, and the resolve to continue on.
“Do you . . . ?” Aggie hesitated, then leaned her head against Mumsie’s gray curls. “Do you ever talk to her? To Hazel?”
It was a strange thing to ask, she knew, yet there were times, even now, when she thought she could hear her mom’s voice. That she knew what Mom would say. And she would respond too, when no one was listening. For some reason, it made Mom seem closer to her and not so far away.
Mumsie’s soft chuckle drifted over her sister’s grave. “Every day.” She turned to look Aggie in the eyes. “Every day.”
“I suppose I should pray instead of talking to Mom, huh?” Aggie admitted. The thought stung a little. Not that sharing her heart with God wasn’t adequate, but that not speaking to Mom would be so final. So . . . ending.
Mumsie patted Aggie’s hand that still curled around her arm. “Ohhh, Agnes. Regardless of where faith may take us and what the good Lord has in store, we’ll never stop hearing their voices. The voices of the ones we’ve loved before.”
The faraway look filled Mumsie’s eyes again. Aggie followed her gaze but saw nothing but gravestones across the near and the distant grass. She skimmed them. The names.
Edward Jenkins
Penelope Hinden
Oliver Schneider
. . . names of people Aggie would never know, whose names meant nothing to her but who had all lived lives and had all left loved ones behind.
Aggie looked at her frail grandmother. Mumsie seemed fixated on one of the stones, although Aggie couldn’t tell which one. Finally, her grandmother drew in a quick breath, a quiet determination settling over her face.
Mumsie smiled at Aggie, then squeezed her hand. “Yes. Their voices will always echo, here, among the stones, and in our hearts. It is how it was meant to be.”
Questions for Discussion
Aggie’s and Mumsie’s internal and spiritual struggles parallel each other’s journeys. In what ways were they similar, and in what ways did they resolve them differently?
Imogene had a few steadying forces in her life. How do you think Lola and Chet specifically affected the way Imogene viewed the tragedy around her and the future without Hazel?
Battling with grief and its long-term effects is a major theme that runs through Imogene’s life. In what ways do you believe Imogene could have handled her sister’s death differently that might have influenced Imogene’s life story in a more positive way?
How did the church ladies contribute to Mumsie’s story of healing and regeneration? How have others helped you during difficult times?
Aggie uncovered some unique habits that Mumsie had carried over from her childhood during the Great Depression and through the war rationing program. What habits did your family pass down that you think may have originated during those years of struggle and hardship? In what creative ways have you adjusted your lifestyle when finances became tight?
Why do you think Ollie and Imogene weren’t ready to pursue their fledgling romance? Do you think, had circumstances been different, they could have built a happy life together?
Acknowledgments
Book four has winged its way to my amazing editors, Raela and Luke, the remarkable team at Bethany House, and my stellar cover designer, Jenny. This was speed-writing at its best, and I loved the race as this story came to life through trips, plane malfunctions, hotel stays, coffee runs, and the sheer joy of knowing you all!
My agent-momma, Janet Kobobel Grant, who has my back like the fierce little mother she is. You are strength and savvy personified. I hope I can be even a little like you when I grow up.
Amy Green, you emailed me a podcast that launched this book and its dollhouse-forensics theme into happening. Thank you for thinking of me when you hear of murder and mayhem. Arsenic cheers to yo
u and a friendly tap of the sword tip!
Natalie Walters, you put up with an awful lot of texts during this novel’s writing. You also saved Mumsie and Aggie from the proverbial garbage can and convinced me that Collin was, after all, salvageable as a hero (though not at all my type). Thank you for your grace, your love, but most of all your daily support. I love doing life with you.
Linsey Adair, my own personal cemetery secretary. Well, not literally my cemetery secretary, because I’m not dead yet and you live in a different state, but the cemetery secretary who truly brought this story to life with ideas, insights, expertise, and dedication. Thank you. Let’s do coffee. Soon.
I must add in some extra thanks to my gramma Lola, who taught me to wash baggies at a young age and would catch me throwing them away in the garbage long after I was married. I love the way you taught me to conserve what God has given us, and not to take for granted the life we have, be entitled and expect we deserve more, and how to hoard bread-bag ties like there’s no tomorrow.
Halee Matthews, you always, ALWAYS have my back. This time in the what-the-heck-do-I-title-this-book department. As usual, your insight and poetic nature provided the perfect one, and we all agreed it was meant to be.
There’s a long list of folks I always want to thank. Most of them are family, like my parents, my in-laws, my brother, my sisters . . . you all are the frosting and sprinkles on the cake of my life and I love you!
My Cap’n Hook, you’re a pirate of the worst sort. I’m still held captive after almost twenty years. Or maybe that’s the best sort of pirate . . . I need to think about this. LOL, I love you.
To CoCo and Peter Pan. You know every book is for you. Someday you’ll be old enough to read murder and mayhem and learn a whole new side to Mommy that you never knew existed. Sorry if I scare you a little. We can always just drink coffee and pretend I’m normal.
Jaime Jo Wright is winner of the Christy, Daphne du Maurier, and INSPY Awards and is a Carol Award finalist. She’s also the Publishers Weekly and ECPA bestselling author of three novellas. Jaime works as a human resources director in Wisconsin, where she lives with her husband and two children. Visit her at jaimewrightbooks.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
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Questions for Discussion
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
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Echoes among the Stones Page 35