Tara rose and paused briefly before taking a step, as though to test her ability to move. Perhaps she was ill. Was it wise not to insist on calling a doctor or seeking out a clinic? But she was well over 21—certainly old enough to be responsible for her own health. Still, the drawn, white face concerned Annie. “Good thing you have your bag with you.” She hefted the yellow nylon duffle. “Let me bring it up for you.” Its weight surprised her; it probably weighed as much as the girl herself.
Annie opened the bedroom door, freshly painted in cool almond. Wally had done himself proud. The interior walls were painted a muted coral; the color provided the perfect backdrop for the Betsy Original depicting a portion of Grey Gables’s patio—a white wicker chair and pots of colorful geraniums clustered around it. At the windows were lightweight accordion blinds and filmy valances of white with green ivy trim. Coral and sage accent pillows dotted the matching coverlet.
Annie bent to place the duffle bag on a rack she’d found at a garage sale and had painted white. She had bought canvas strips in a lovely floral pattern, and Wally had secured them with his staple gun. “You’ll find an extra blanket in the closet,” Annie said, rising. Her guest stood transfixed, as though not knowing what to say. “It’s small, but you should be comfortable here. The bathroom is just across the hall. There are plenty of towels and such in the linen closet.”
Tara’s eyes widened. Her gaze was fixed on the cross-stitched wall hanging. “My grandmother was a needlework artist,” Annie explained. “This is one of her early pieces.”
“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” Tara said. She stood just inside the doorway, one hand resting on the mahogany bookcase that still held Annie’s favorite childhood books—Black Beauty, Wind in the Willows, Anne of Avonlea. The horse-head lamp with its garland of daisies cast a subtle glow from beneath its crisp new shade.
“Well, you should get some rest. We can talk in the morning. I’m just down the hall—to the left—if you need anything.”
“Yes,” Tara said, her eyes still riveted on the cross-stitch. “Thank you.”
Annie closed the door. Boots had come up the stairs with them and now followed Annie down with a little murmuring half-meow. “What?” she asked. “I just did what your former mistress would have done in my place.” She reached down and stroked the cat from head to tail in one swift motion.
Actually, Gram had taken in many visitors. As she cleared away the tea things in the kitchen, Annie wondered if taking in strangers was the wisest thing to do these days. She picked up the cordless telephone and dialed the familiar number.
“It’s me,” Annie said into the phone.
“What’s up?” From the sound of it, Alice was putting dishes away with the phone cradled against her shoulder.
“I have a visitor,” Annie said. “I just thought I should tell someone, since I don’t have a clue who she is.”
Silence. Even the tinkling of crystal stopped.
“She just showed up at Grey Gables with a duffle bag, and believe me, she was in no shape to move on. She practically fainted at the top of the hill. Says her car broke down in Petersgrove. Then she took the bus as far as Stony Point and started walking.”
“You mean, you’re putting her up overnight?” Alice asked with mild incredulity. “Why didn’t she walk to a motel?”
“She thought Grey Gables might be a bed and breakfast. At any rate, she’s worn out, and from what I can gather, she has no money. Her name’s Tara Frasier, and she’s from Portland.” Annie paused, aware how strange this all sounded—indeed how strange it really was. “She’s a grown woman, but she’s pretty upset. Her mother just passed away. Anyway, she needs help. I—I just wanted you to know …”
“You mean, in case you’re murdered in your sleep? Honestly, Annie, you’re such a pushover.” The clatter of dishes ensued.
“Come over tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you,” Annie said. She hung up with a smile. She wasn’t afraid, but it was good to know Alice was nearby. She was glad that her best friend had not reminded her of the time the stranger who’d filled in for Wally turned out to be a jewel thief. She switched off the kitchen light and went upstairs, curiously lighthearted.
No one could say her life was dull.
4
Tara Frasier woke with a start—disoriented. She squinted into the sunlight that penetrated the window blinds. It was a strange room … soft almond walls, muted coral accents, and valances trimmed with green ivy. Directly in front of her hung the finely cross-stitched canvas of a sun-spattered patio with a white wicker chair and red geraniums. The blue ocean, dotted with white caps, stretched endlessly in the background. It was beautiful, haunting, strange.