More and more boys from the valley had signed up for the army and had left town. The war brought more piecework, as boys preparing to ship overseas needed uniforms hemmed, waistbands taken in, and rank sewn on. Each time Sadie got a uniform to work on, she thought about Johnny.
Sadie read Johnny’s letters over and over to her mother, and as she did, her mother’s needle would stop sliding in and out of the fabric while she listened. Her mother hoarded each word as if it were gold and never tired of hearing what Johnny had said. There was still no word from Danny, but there had also been no telegram from the army saying he was dead or missing.
There had been no contact from Olivia Carter and, more importantly, no word from the sheriff. She thought about Olivia a lot, knowing she was hurting over the loss of her child. Sadie understood that dropping by Woodmont was not an option, but she had hoped to see her when in town buying supplies.
Sadie was nurturing that hope as she parked the old truck in front of the mercantile store and carried in a crate of tomatoes. This was the last of the season and the best she had to offer. The last of the bruised and overripe tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash would all be canned in the coming days.
She passed by a truck and noticed a young woman was sitting inside. As Sadie hefted her crate and shifted the weight off a splinter digging into her palm, she looked at the woman. Bright, wild green eyes that all but overtook the small pale face stared at her. Sadie paused and returned the woman’s gaze, realizing suddenly she was the girl from the hospital in Lynchburg.
Sadie’s heart beat faster as she took a step closer to the truck. She had thought a lot about this girl over the last few months, wondering if she had survived whatever had happened in that place.
As she drew closer, the woman folded her arms over her chest. She made no attempt to roll up the window, and when Sadie was within a couple of feet, the woman looked down. She was shaking her head and fidgeting, like the underside of her skin was crawling with ants.
Sadie stopped and took a step back, hoping the woman would realize she was no threat. But the woman never looked back at her. “My name’s Sadie,” she said. “What’s your name?”
Gaze still anchored on her lap, the woman did not speak.
“Can I offer you some ripe tomatoes? I got a few extras I’d be glad to share.”
The woman looked up at her with a sadness that felt as deep as the caves that burrowed into the mountains. She slowly shook her head and then looked away.
Finally, Sadie turned toward the store and, balancing her crate on her knee, opened the door. Bells rang overhead as she stepped inside the store. Mr. Sullivan was behind the counter, boxing up an order for a tall, broad-shouldered man. Thankfully, there was no sign of Ruth.
She settled her crate on the end of the counter and glanced around the countertop for an old magazine. There was a Harper’s Bazaar that dated back two years, but that did not dampen her excitement.
“That will be two dollars, Mr. Black,” Mr. Sullivan said.
The man fished change and a crumpled bill from his pocket and carefully counted it out. She recognized him from the hospital. He had been dragging that girl toward the front entrance.
“Mr. Black, my name is Sadie. Is that your daughter in the truck?” Sadie asked.
Black did not spare her a glance. “What of it?”
“I just said hello to her. She seems nice.” That was not exactly what she meant, but she did not think she would win any points with a stranger by saying his daughter looked lost and sad.
“Stay away from my Sally.” He scooped up his purchases. “The last thing she needs is a friend like you.”
Sadie waffled between retreating and fighting. “You don’t know me.”
“I know your type.”
As Mr. Black turned around, he regarded Sadie. His gaze hesitated, as if he might know her. He shook his head and strode out of the store.
“I’m trying to recall where Mr. Black lives in the valley,” Sadie said to Mr. Sullivan.
“About ten miles from here. He doesn’t come into town that often.”
“I’ve never seen his daughter before.” She glanced at a page in the magazine, as if she were just making conversation.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was a little girl. Pretty little thing but simpleminded.”
Did that explain the odd look in the girl’s eyes? “She doesn’t look much older than me, but I never saw her in school.”
“She never went to school. No point, I suppose.”
Sadie was smart enough to realize that whatever was happening in the hospital was not good. “She looked smart enough to me.”
Mr. Sullivan shook his head. “Did you come in here to gossip about the Black family or sell me tomatoes?”
“I came to sell tomatoes.”
Mr. Sullivan reached under the counter and set a stack of older magazines on the counter. “These are for you.”
“Me? When did you start giving me magazines?”
“They are from Olivia Carter. She was in the other day and left them for you.”
Sadie smoothed her hand over the magazines, catching a hint of Miss Olivia’s perfume. “She left these for me?”
“Said they would go in the trash otherwise.”
“How’s she looking?” Sadie asked.
“Seems well enough. Her husband was with her. He frets over her.”
The old truck outside rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb. She turned and watched through the window as it drove off. “He loves her.”
“I haven’t seen much of you the last couple of weeks. Where have you been?”
She faced him, gathering her magazines. “Had a touch of the flu. Mama said it was best not to drive into town. But I’m right as rain now.”
“You look different,” he said. “Getting fat.”
“With Johnny and Danny gone, Mama’s been lavishing all her cooking on me. She makes the best biscuits.”
“How are your brothers faring?”
“Doing well.”
“Six more boys from the county have left for the army. There won’t be anyone left.” He carefully inspected the tomatoes.
“When do you think it’ll be over?” she asked.
“I hear now that we’re in the fight, it’s a matter of time before the war turns. But that’s what they said last time. Everyone thought we’d be done by Christmas.”
“I wish so, but I know it ain’t likely.”
Mr. Sullivan counted out one dollar and fifteen cents for the produce. She glanced at the grocery list, knowing she could afford only the flour and lard. She had hoped there would be some extra for sugar so her mother could make her a cake.
She left the store with fresh supplies in her crate and the little bit of money in her pocket. She put her parcel on the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. The engine did not start right away, forcing her to wait before she tried to coax it to life again. As she waited for some of the gas to settle out of the carburetor, the Carters’ Pontiac rushed past.
She searched for Miss Olivia but saw only Dr. Carter. He had a sour look on his face, and judging by the direction, he was headed to Charlottesville to see patients. He would be gone for hours, likely all day.
If Sadie had a lick of sense, she would go home and mind her own business. But she found herself thinking about the greenhouse and Miss Olivia. It seemed only right to thank her for the magazines. Before she knew it, she was driving out toward Woodmont.
Fifteen minutes later, she paused at the twin pillars. But before she could talk herself out of driving on down the road, she pulled into the driveway. She drove around the side as she always did and parked at the kitchen entrance. She rubbed damp palms against her pant legs and then got out of the truck. She climbed the back steps and knocked on the kitchen door.
Mrs. Fritz’s gaze narrowed, as if she did not trust her eyes. She hurried to the door, drying her hands on her white apron.
“Morning, Mrs. Fritz,” Sa
die said with as much cheer as she could muster. “I come to thank Miss Olivia for the magazines.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if the doctor were to find you here, he would call the sheriff. It took all Miss Olivia had in her to keep him from having you carted off to jail.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “It was an accident.”
Mrs. Fritz shoved out a sigh and pulled her inside. “I know it was. Miss Olivia is just real delicate when it comes to having babies.”
“Is she doing all right?”
“Thankfully, she’s off that laudanum. It helped with the pain, but she slept all the time. I was glad to see her quit it. She now spends a lot of time in her greenhouse. In fact, she’s there now.”
“So all the plants have arrived?”
“They have indeed. She planted most of them by herself. The doctor didn’t want her to work so hard, but she said she would go crazy if she didn’t have something to do. The more that greenhouse thrives, the better she seems to get.”
“A bit like magic.”
“Well, I don’t know about magic, but something good happens to her when she’s in there with her plants.” Mrs. Fritz looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Run on down there quick, and give her your thanks personally. I know she would appreciate the kind words. The doctor ain’t supposed to be back until after supper.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fritz.”
Her sour expression softened. “Go on now.”
Sadie ran out the back and down the path toward the greenhouse. When she rounded the corner and saw it, her breath caught in her throat. The leaves on the trees had turned orange, yellow, and brown. They had thinned, allowing more sunlight on the glass dome. It sparkled like the diamonds in the magazines.
It was now filled with pots bursting with plants. Miss Olivia would know the proper names, but Sadie had no idea. Most had an odd look that did not resemble anything close to an apple tree or a tomato plant, and the delicate blossoms were shades of rich purples, yellows, and reds.
She opened the door and was struck by the humid air, which was at least twenty degrees warmer than the outside. There was no sign of Miss Olivia as she walked down the row of plants, letting her fingertips brush against the lush leaves. At the back of the greenhouse, she stared out into the woods. This space was another world, so separate from the life she lived.
She reached in her pocket and removed the truck key. And before she really thought, she carved her name into the glass. She might have lived in this world for only a little while, but she wanted to leave some kind of mark on it.
“Sadie.”
She turned at the sound of Miss Olivia’s voice. She stood behind her, a light-brown gardening jacket covering a navy-blue dress and gardening gloves protecting her slim hands.
Sadie slid the key in her pocket. “Miss Olivia.”
“I thought I heard your truck. It has a very distinctive sound.”
“You’re looking just fine,” Sadie said.
“I’m feeling more like myself.”
“I came to thank you for the magazines.”
“I was wondering when you would pick them up. They’ve been sitting at the store for two weeks.”
“I was slow getting into town.” No need to whine about feeling poorly. “It will give me something to read for weeks.”
“Good.”
Sadie tugged at a brown button dangling from her jacket cuff. “I’m so sorry about the baby. If I hadn’t let you drive—” The words had barely passed over her lips, and she teared up.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I never told anyone you were driving.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. I should have cleared up the confusion with my husband, but he was beside himself with grief over the baby. I did convince him to leave you be.”
“I appreciate that.”
Miss Olivia regarded her a moment as she approached. “You look different.”
“Mr. Sullivan said I look fat. Which I suppose I am, for all the biscuits and gravy I eat. Can’t seem to get enough of them.”
Miss Olivia’s eyes drew together in a frown. “Did you wear the green dress to the dance?”
Sadie straightened. She had burned that dress in the barrel out by the barn. “Thank you again for it.”
Miss Olivia closed her eyes for a moment as she allowed a sigh. “Did you meet a man at the dance, Sadie?”
“No one to speak of, and if I did, I don’t remember.”
“But you did meet a man.”
“Why are you asking all these questions?” Sadie asked. “I was just here to give you my apologies and thanks.”
Miss Olivia closed the gap between the two of them in a blink, and her hand slid to Sadie’s belly. The instant fingers touched, Miss Olivia recoiled.
Sadie quickly stepped back, covering herself with the folds of her jacket. “Why did you go and do that?”
“You do realize what’s happening?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sadie, you’re with child.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LIBBY
Monday, June 15, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
Libby parked in front of Woodmont and shut off the engine. Without the hum of the air-conditioning, the sun quickly warmed up the car. For a moment, the heat felt good, but as soon as it chased away the chill, her skin flushed with the growing heat. Out of the car, she heard the rumble of a truck and the beep-beep of another large vehicle as it backed up. Work on the greenhouse continued, and though on a normal day she might photograph the work, today she had other plans.
She rang the bell and then stepped back, bracing to see Ted or Lofton ready to ask more questions. There was no plausible reason to explain why she was there other than the truth. “Hey, folks, guess what? Your little girl is home! I’m Elaine’s daughter. Surprise!”
Inside the house, she heard steady footsteps that she now recognized as Elaine’s. Libby fidgeted with the letter in her back pocket like a process server with a subpoena. “You’ve been served!”
Instead, she curled her fingers into fists and then quickly released them, fearing she looked angry. Which she was, but that was beside the point. She was mad at Elaine and her father. Why the hell was it so hard to tell the truth?
The door opened to Elaine. She was dressed in a simple pair of slim-fitting khakis and a white shirt. Her brown hair was brushed off her face, and she wore only a little makeup but managed to look totally pulled together. Why did I not get that gene? Libby thought.
“Libby?”
“Did you get my message?” Libby’s voice sounded tight and tense.
“I did.”
Libby did not need to ask why Elaine had not called her back. She would bet money that Elaine had heard the bottled tension in her voice and guessed that the cat was out of the bag. “We need to talk.”
“Sure.” She came outside and guided Libby to a twin pair of rockers under a slow-moving ceiling fan. “Would you like something to drink?”
Vodka, bourbon, or wine might have hit the spot and taken the edge off. “No, thank you.”
Elaine lowered into a chair and watched as Libby removed the letter from her back pocket. “You’ve finally gone through your father’s papers.”
“I was looking for the deed to the house.”
“Are you planning on selling?” Elaine asked.
“Using it as collateral. It’s a long story and not the reason I’m here. I found the letter Olivia wrote to me. Dad had it in its own folder.”
Elaine stilled, staring at her. Tension rippled through her body.
“When were you going to tell me?”
Elaine’s eyes glistened with tears. “Are you angry?”
Libby’s heart raced quickly, pounding loudly in her ears. Even with the letter in hand, a small part of her had hoped maybe it was not true and that her father had not lied by omi
ssion. “I’m not sure what I feel, Elaine. I’ve made it to age thirty-one, and no one has been honest.”
“That was a condition of the adoption. I was never to contact you. But your father sent me pictures of you each year around your birthday.”
“I’m not a child. Don’t you think we could have had a conversation, I don’t know, in the last dozen years?”
“I always thought I would wait and let you come to me. I thought your father would tell you. When I finished my second round of chemo, I called your dad to meet for lunch. I gave him Olivia’s letter, and he promised me he would give it to you. He wanted to be the one to tell you, so I respected that.”
“He did not breathe a word.”
Elaine folded her hands in her lap. “Your father said he would give you the letter. He said he owed you the truth.”
“Did he tell you this while you two were having lunch in Roanoke?” When Elaine looked surprised, Libby added, “Roanoke isn’t so far away from Bluestone. My friend Sierra saw you two.”
Absently, Elaine rubbed a callus on her palm. “He swore to me he would tell you the truth. But then I saw you at his funeral, and you politely shook my hand like a stranger.”
“You’re a stranger.”
“I know. I would like to change that.”
Elaine appeared more fragile now, and Libby could see this was a strain on her. “He never liked to deliver bad news.” She stopped herself. “I didn’t mean bad as in bad. I should have said difficult news. It was all he could do to talk to me when my mother died. And when I say my mother . . .”
“I know what you mean. Kathy was your mother. She raised you, and I won’t take anything away from her. I know she loved you very much.”
“Did she know about you? I think about all the times she brought me here for the Garden Week open houses. Maybe it was just the plants.”
“She knew about me.”
“So the story about me being abandoned in the New Jersey hospital wasn’t true.”
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