She reached for her phone on the nightstand to check the time. It was still early. Taking joy in the shadowy image dancing on the wall in the rays of light, she lay there for a long moment before climbing out of bed.
She’d forgotten how high the bed was and almost slipped to the floor, catching herself mid-fall.
She changed clothes and headed downstairs.
By daylight, the house was even more opulent.
Natalie ran her fingers along the banister, stopping at a niche on the landing she hadn’t noticed last night.
An oil painting in vivid autumn hues hung slightly crooked, just a smidge to the left.
She straightened it, sweeping the dust from the frame as she did so.
A brass plate below the picture readFairy Stone State Park 1936. Propped in an easel like a best-selling novel, a shadow box with a yellowed, handwritten note from 1917 highlighted the fluid script of a time when people took pride in their penmanship. Faded, but still legible, was a thank-you note, and if she didn’t know better, it looked like it was signed by Woodrow Wilson. A small cross-shaped rock had been matted below the letter.
Natalie wondered about the connection between those things as she followed the caffeinated aroma to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Natalie said softly, trying not to startle Orene, who was sipping a cup of coffee at the table.
“Hello, dear. You’re an early bird.” Her expression brightened. “I wondered. I’ve always been an early riser myself. Coffee is on. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” Natalie poured herself a cup and added a splash of cream from a tiny pitcher that matched the cups. The china was so fancy she felt the need to lift her pinkie as she took her first sip. She was going to need at least five of these tiny cups of coffee.
“Sleep well last night?” Orene asked.
“I did.” She carried her cup to the table and sat. “The best night’s rest I’ve had in months.”
“I’m not surprised.” Orene put down her cup. “This house is known for restful stays.”
“I noticed the note next to the picture when I was coming down. That was from someone who had stayed here? It looked like it was from 1917.”
“Yes. We’ve had lots of important guests stay over the years. That letter was from Woodrow Wilson. He stayed heremany times. Before, during, and after his presidency. As did others.”
“He stayed here? In this very house?”
“Oh yes. In the same room that you slept in, to be exact. At one time, this house was known for its hospitality to many influential people. My family had connections to the best pre-Prohibition apple brandy around. Word travels fast about things like that.” She giggled, quite pleased with the story. “A coveted secret that wasn’t really all that secret when you think about how many people happened through this little town. We’ve been known to enjoy a nip or two. Just for good health, mind you.” Orene’s laugh was as playful as wind chimes. “The biggest apple tree in the nation was right here in Fulton County. It might still hold the record.”
“You don’t say.” Sounded like another one of those exaggerated bragging rights no one could ever confirm, but who was she to judge?
“I do,” Orene said. “It’s documented, though.”
Was Orene a mind reader on top of it all? “So, people came for the apples?”
“Some.” Orene’s lips pursed. “Others for the apple brandy. I’d say more came for the fairy stones.”
“Fairy stones?”
“Darlin’, did your husband not tell you anything about this town?”
“It wasn’t something we talked about much, except when he was headed here for a hunting trip with friends. Our home wasn’t here, so it didn’t come up much.”
“Well, it’s part of the heritage in these parts. I guess you spent most of your time with your family and relatives.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t have any family.”
“None? Surely you have some family. Aunts? Uncles? A couple cousins?”
“No one.”
