Page 295 of Taken Away

Then she leaned into Bennett.

He wrapped his arms around her.

And in Harold Blackwood’s study, with the Bible open on the desk and the photograph between them, Aubrey finally let herself believe what had been true all along.

She had not inherited Blackwood.

She had come home.

EPILOGUE

Blackwood Estate

Mabel Blackwood

Three days before she died, Mabel Blackwood sat alone in Harold’s study with his Bible open on the desk.

Mabel rested one hand on the open page.

The ink had faded over the years, but Harold’s handwriting remained.

Aubrey Caroline.

Her name, written among the Blackwoods exactly where Harold believed she belonged.

Mabel touched the letters with the tips of her fingers.

“Oh, Harold,” she whispered. “I should have done this sooner.”

Sometimes, in this study, surrounded by old books, dust, leather, and cedar, Mabel could almost convince herself Harold was still near enough to hear.

She turned a few pages deeper into the Bible.

The photograph was tucked where it had always been.

A small Kodak print, softened at the corners from years of being handled and hidden and handled again.

Mabel slid it free.

Harold sat on the porch, younger than anyone remembered him. And he was looking.

Lord, how he was looking.

Not at the camera.

At Aubrey.

With the kind of love that did not need explaining.

Mabel turned the photograph over.

My little Aubrey.

Her eyes filled, as they always did.

“You loved her so much,” she said softly.

That was the part that had become unbearable.