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Shadows on the Lane

Page 7

by Virginia Rose Richter


  Sunny was on the porch with Mrs. Livingston arranging cookies on a plate to hand out to the workers. She ran down the steps and went looking for Phillip and found him hiding behind a tree ready to jump out at Jessie. Miss Tyler raked leaves near the back fence.

  Jessie’s dad and mom put the finishing touches of paint on the red shutters of the little white frame house with the steep pitched roof.

  “Jessie,” called Mrs. Livingston. “Would you like to see my studio?”

  Thank goodness. I get a break! “Be right there,” she called. She propped her rake against a tall oak and ran up the steps.

  Inside, the teacher showed her around. From the hallway, Jessie peeked into a cozy sitting room with two easy chairs and a soft-looking sofa placed in front of a gas fireplace. Built-in bookshelves lined one wall and huge windows looked onto the side yard where everyone was working.

  The next room was a dining room and then a sweet little kitchen with a row of windows that let in the autumn light. Behind the kitchen were two small bedrooms carpeted in soft green with white iron beds and large windows facing the backyard.

  The studio was across the hall. It was a big room for this little house. There was the piano and there were the shelves of sheet music and books. Best of all, a big picture window—like the one on the farm—looked out onto rolling countryside and blue sky that went on forever.

  “I could hardly believe it when the realtor called me and said he had some people who wanted to buy the farm and turn it into a bed and breakfast,” said the teacher.

  “I heard,” said Jessie. “I was so happy. And here you are in your pretty house and only a block from downtown.”

  “Yes, I love it!”

  “How is your daughter?” asked Jessie.

  “Well, Rita is in a group home near Omaha where she is getting better. Someday she will be able to visit me. But when I talk to her on the phone, she seems happier than she has been in years. I think she’s relieved to be there.” Mrs. Livingston sat on a blue velvet chair by the window. “She was drinking that day—the day she hit Sunny. She didn’t do it on purpose. She lost control and knocked her down. It was a terrible thing.” Tears filled her eyes. “I had my suspicions but I really didn’t know until that day you and Sunny played the duet.”

  Jessie put her arms around her teacher. “Well now we’re practically neighbors. We’ll help you out, until Rita comes home.”

  THE END

 

 

 


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