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What was the world like when she lived in France and Austria? My best guess is she lived in Paris and Vienna during the 1920s or 30s. She was born in an era when a woman didn’t always marry for love. She married so she would be taken care of. If the woman was lucky, she and her husband loved each other.
And yet, according to Anne, Iris had never married. She never relied on a man to look after her. She was independent.
I check out the titles on the bookshelf.Little Women.The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. There are also books I don’t recognize. A few are from Enid Blyton, an English author who died decades before I was born. I’ve never read any of her stories, but I do know that much about her.
The doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone. I don’t even know anyone in Maple Ridge…other than Zara and Troy. And I’m not sure the short time I spent with them this afternoon really puts them into the category of knowing them. Did Anne forget something and drive all the way back here to get it?
I walk downstairs and peer through the peephole to find the dark silhouette of a woman standing on my stoop. But it’s not Anne this time. I click on the porch light. The woman appears to be in her seventies and is holding a casserole dish.
I unlock the door and open it. “Hi?” My voice stumbles out in need of a little WD-40.
“Hi, I’m Delores. Your neighbor from across the street.” She points to the house with all its lights on. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Anne mentioned you’re buying the house.” Delores is all wrinkled smiles.
I return the smile, but mine is more on the side of caution. “That’s right.”
“It’s great to finally have someone move in here. The poor place has been lonely since Iris’s death.” Delores’s face flushes, and she splutters. “I mean…not that the house has been talking to me or anything.”
My smile grows a little wider, and a nervous laugh brushes over my lips. “Don’t worry. I know what you mean.”
“Anne said you’re looking to renovate it.”
“That’s the plan.”
“And the garden?”
“Yeah, I definitely want to do something with the garden. Make it pretty.” And thanks to Iris’s love for gardening magazines, I have all the advice and inspiration I could possibly want. “The renovations will be slow going, but I plan to start on the garden soon.” With pretty wildflowers. Like a cozy cottage garden.
“That would be wonderful. Iris loved gardening, but when her health began to fade, gardening became too difficult for her, especially with her arthritic hand. The neighbors offered to help, but she didn’t like that idea. She was very stubborn and very independent.” Delores lifts the casserole dish in her hands. “This is for you. It’s a little something I whipped up. I thought you might appreciate it.”
I take the dish from her with a gracious and friendly smile—as friendly as the scar by my mouth will allow. I pretend to inspect the food, my usual self-consciousness rushing in on a giant wave. “Thank you. I’m Jessica, by the way.”
“Anne said you aren’t from Oregon.”
My muscles tense at the unspoken question, one I can’t truthfully answer, and my gaze darts up to Delores’s face. “That’s right.” My tone is back to being cautious.
“So what brought you to our small town?”
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, and Granny’s sweet voice inquires in my head,Why haven’t you invited the woman in? Offered her a drink. I taught you better manners than that.
And the voice is right. Granny had taught me better.
“Would you like to come in and have a drink?” An embarrassed heat spreads across my face. “Not that I have much to offer you by way of a drink. Just water.”
A gracious smile curves Delores’s lips. “Water is fine, dear.”
She follows me past the living room with the numerous stacks of magazines. She whistles appreciably under her breath. “I knew Iris adored her magazines, but I didn’t realize her collection had gotten that out of hand.”
In the kitchen, I place the casserole dish on the counter and get us both a glass of water, taking care not to turn the faucet too quickly.
We sit at the kitchen table.
“So why Maple Ridge?” Delores asks, sounding genuinely interested.
Yes, why Maple Ridge when I don’t have a job here? And if what happened earlier at the children’s store is a taste of what I can expect, I might not have a job here unless I can figure out what to do about my résumé and lack of references.
Can I even ask Craig and Grace for references? It’s not like they really know me. Craig was estranged from his family because he saw the monster his brother was when the rest of them refused to see the truth. I didn’t even know Craig existed until after I was accused of my husband’s murder.
Either way, I’ll have to wait another week to contact them. They’re away on vacation.
