Chapter Nineteen
F or the second time in her life, Molly retreated.
She retreated from her dreams and hopes. She retreated from Friday and his love. She retreated from her family and the world around her. She even retreated from herself.
The next week, all Molly did was sleep, eat when someone forced her out of bed and into a chair and put a fork or spoon in her hand, and refused to think or remember.
She was beyond tears.
All Molly felt was numb. Broken. Unmoored.
On the eighth day of her self-imposed retreat, a thought flittered into her mind so quietly and softly, like a butterfly landing on a delicate petal, she almost didn't notice it. But she did.
Molly sat up in her rumpled bed and let the thought blossom. It was then she recalled the first time she'd retreated from life. She'd been twelve, recovering from the influenza, still sick in bed, when both of her parents had died. They'd been alone, just the three of them, in the lovely house that had always been their home. Her father had worked for the railroad, a job that required him to wear a suit every day. Molly didn't remember much more than that. But she did remember he'd enjoyed the outdoors and had purchased a farm a few miles out of Pendleton where Molly had enjoyed a dozen blissful years before she'd lost both him and her mother.
Sick in body, mind, and spirit, overcome with grief a child shouldn't have to experience, Molly had retreated then. She'd blocked everything from her mind after the funeral. To this day, she wasn't terribly clear on where she'd gone or with whom she'd stayed. She remembered getting passed from one house to another until finally one day she looked up and saw someone had brought her to a huge, beautiful house that looked welcoming.
She'd had two trunks and a box of belongings. The box held photographs and letters, although she'd shoved it onto a shelf in her closet and not given it another thought until she'd arrived in France. It was the box she'd asked Marnie to find.
One trunk had held her clothes and books and the few toys someone had packed for her to keep. The other trunk … Molly had no idea what was in the other trunk or where it had gone.
In all the years since her parents had passed, Molly hadn't gone back to the house where she'd started her life. She hadn't even thought about the missing trunk or its contents.
Now, she felt an inexplicable need to know what that trunk held.
She jumped out of bed and went to the bathroom, taking a cool shower. When she was clean from her damp hair to her toes, she brushed her teeth, rubbed her favorite fragrant lotion on her skin, then donned a simple blue-and-white striped cotton dress. While her hair dried, she opened every window in her room to air it out, stripped the bed, and remade it with clean sheets, then tidied her room. Quickly braiding her hair and tying the end with a blue ribbon that matched her dress, she yanked on a pair of shoes and raced downstairs, leaving her sheets in the laundry room to deal with later.
The kitchen was empty and silent. Come to think of it, so was the rest of the house. Perhaps it was Sunday, and everyone was at church. Vaguely, she recalled Marnie coming into her room earlier, her cool hand on Molly's forehead as she asked her if she wanted to go with them. Had Mama said something about a picnic? Molly couldn't seem to recall any of the hazy one-sided conversation.
"Time to shut down the pity party," Molly muttered to herself as she walked across the room and opened the refrigerator. She poured a glass of milk, buttered a leftover berry muffin and ate it over the sink, then found her appetite was indeed intact and ate a second muffin along with a fresh peach. When she finished, she washed the glass and put it away, then went back to the laundry room. She didn't want Shea or one of the girls they hired to help around the house to have to deal with a pile of dirty sheets, so Molly washed them and hung them outside to dry in the sunshine.
She plucked a yellow rose and sniffed it as she walked inside, then set the bud in a vase and left it by the sink as a little surprise for Gertie.
Intent on finding her trunk, if it were still at the house, Molly hurried up the back stairs, then up to the third floor, and opened the door to the attic. The stairs creaked as she made her way up them.
The attic was musty but not as dusty as she would have expected. A shuttered vent allowed air to circulate, and windows let in light. Molly opened the windows to stir a breeze and looked around. Trunks. Boxes. Furniture. Assorted and sundry items, many unrecognizable, filled the space.
As she took it all in, she realized there was something of an order to it all. The trunks were neatly stacked on one side of the attic, so she began her search there.
"Think, think," she chanted, closing her eyes and trying to recall what the trunk that had once been in her possession had looked like. She had no idea if it was a steamer trunk, one with a camelback or a flat top. It could have been green, or black, or red for all she knew.
Molly started with the nearest trunk and opened it. The little coral-hued dress on top she remembered Sadie wearing when they were newly acquainted. She closed the lid and moved on. She found a trunk full of Alek's baby things and held up a ratty little bunny he used to drag around. It warmed her heart to know her mother so treasured these things that she'd kept them.
There were trunks for nearly every child who had ever lived at the orphanage. Molly found a battered old trunk full of expensive men's clothes. The odor clinging to them was of too much strong cologne and cigars. She wondered who the ruffled white shirts and pinstriped suits had belonged to, then thought perhaps they might have once been worn by the man who had originally built Dogwood Corners. He'd been out of his mind, convinced there was gold to be found on Nash's Folly, when he'd shot Nik, kidnapped Aundy, and tried to kill Garrett.
Quickly closing the lid, Molly said a prayer of thanks that her aunt and uncle and cousin had all survived the ordeal.
She found trunks with books. Trunks filled with linens and the trunks that held the holiday decorations they eagerly set out each holiday season. She opened a trunk full of documents that looked important. One of them was a commendation. It seemed Lars had saved the life of a governor at one point in his U.S. Marshal career. Her father had never mentioned his heroism. "Dad should tell us these stories," she said and returned the paper to the trunk before she secured the lid.
After wiggling between a stack of boxes, she located a beautiful Saratoga trunk. It was black with oak slats and crystallized tin. It had brass hinges and a European lock on the front. Molly moved the two hat boxes stacked on top of it and hoped the trunk would open. Otherwise, she was going to have to go in search of a key.
Molly had a vision of a woman telling her to hang onto the key because she'd need it someday. Was that really part of her memories? Where had they been hiding all these years?
She felt an assurance the memories were real.
"Where did I put it?" Molly wondered aloud as she tried the lock that wouldn't open.
She turned and dashed down two flights of stairs to her room, got out the box that held her mother's and father's pictures and the letters from her great-aunt and great-grandmother. She intended to read every letter and study every photograph later. She dug deeper into the box, finding handkerchiefs that must have been her mother's since they all had little lavender sprays embroidered on the corners. She found a pocket watch she had faded memories of watching her father wind in the evenings. And there, in the bottom of the box, was a tiny gold key on a length of purple ribbon.
Molly grabbed the key, lifted her skirts in both hands and took the stairs back up to the attic two at a time. She was winded by the time she reached the top step, but it didn't slow her down as she made her way back to the trunk in the far corner.
She dropped to her knees and, with trembling fingers, pushed the key into the lock. It clicked, and Molly blew out a relieved breath. Slowly, she pushed up the heavy lid, then closed her eyes as a familiar lavender scent wafted up to her.
Her mother had loved lavender. The color. The scent. The plant. She recalled Mum drying it in the autumn and making sachets she tucked into their drawers.
Adeline and Oliver Banks. Her parents. They had been a happy, loving couple, although she could recall them fighting from time to time after she'd gone to bed.
In her need to move forward all alone in the world, Molly had shoved her memories of her parents down so deeply that over the years, she barely recalled more than their names.
Now, memories washed over her like an incoming tide, lapping closer, carrying more and more detail to the forefront of her mind.
Molly drew in a breath and dug into the trunk. On the top was a leather briefcase she recalled her father carrying. She knew it would be full of papers, and would take it downstairs to sort through. She found a few pieces of their clothing, including a beautiful lavender gown trimmed in lace that Molly thought had been her mother's favorite dress. There were even a few of Molly's baby clothes and a soft blue blanket she recalled curling up with on the couch by a cheery fire. There were a dozen books, three of them in French. There were also two photographs in heavy frames. One of her parents on their wedding day, and another of them holding her when she was a chubby-cheeked toddler.
Molly quickly closed the attic windows and the trunk. With the photographs clutched to her chest, she picked up the briefcase and went to her room. She cleaned the picture frames and set the two pictures on top of her desk, then took a seat in the chair. Unfastening the buckles on the briefcase, Molly pulled out a handful of papers.
On top was her parents' marriage certificate. Molly smiled at the flourish her mother had made in signing her name. How old had she been when she'd wed? Had she minded moving all the way to Pendleton and living on a farm?
After meeting Aunt Delphine and witnessing her strong spirit, Molly felt an assurance her mother had probably thought moving to Pendleton was an adventure and had enjoyed every moment of it.
She found various papers that must have belonged to her father. If she weren't mistaken, there were five certificates for stock in the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company. She didn't think the stocks were worth the paper they were printed on since the company had merged with Union Pacific, but she'd have to look into it.
There were receipts of things her father had purchased, like a wagon, and a team. Molly tried to remember the names of the horses, but couldn't. Memories were easy to lose if they weren't taken out and cherished from time to time.
Next, she pulled out papers of land deals her father had been working on when he passed. From what she gleaned from the paperwork, he had been the person who acquired the land on which the railroad wanted to build. That made sense, because she did recall him being gone quite a bit. His job would have required him to travel.
She wondered why her parents had selected Pendleton as their home and why, when her father was gone so often, they had decided to live out of town on a farm. She remembered there being a cow to milk, and chickens. She had gathered the eggs and played with the little chicks when they were born in the spring.
Molly sorted through more papers, most of which could be thrown away, but then a paper that looked like a property deed caught her attention.
The deed to the house!
Did she own it? Was it still standing? It had been too painful to ever go there after her parents had died, and she hadn't given a thought to what had happened to the place. The cow and the chickens, the team and the wagon, and all the lovely things in the house that had made it a home. What had happened to them?
Right now, she felt an urgent need to discover the answers to her questions.
She glanced at the clock on her desk and saw the afternoon was half gone. Where was everyone? If they'd been at church, they'd have returned by now.
Marnie had mentioned a picnic. Like they did every summer, they must have gone on the annual picnic up into the mountains to pick huckleberries. Shea and Arthur and Gertie went along for fun.
After grabbing her handbag and carefully tucking the deed inside, Molly raced downstairs and outside. She checked in the auto barn, but all the vehicles were gone. She could have saddled a horse and ridden it, but it had been a long time since she'd done that. She wasn't sure any of the horses would be cooperative.
She spied several bicycles and grabbed one, hopping onto the seat, then pulling up her skirts so they wouldn't tangle in the chain. The last time she'd ridden a bicycle she'd been fifteen and had been racing Sadie. Her sister had crashed and skinned both knees. Despite winning, Molly had felt bad the younger girl had been hurt.
Harley John had mentioned before Molly had left with Friday that he planned to spend time over at his place until Sadie was on her way back home.
Molly took off in that direction, hunched over the handlebars of the bicycle, peddling for all she was worth. She took a corner too fast, and the back tire slid on the road before she got the bike back under control. She kicked up the speed and pedaled until her calves burned from the effort, but she finally wheeled in at Harley John's place, following the newly packed road to the hilltop house. The construction crew was there hard at work.
"Have you seen Harley John?" she yelled over the ruckus their labor created.
"Down there," said one of the men, pointing down the hill to where Harley John had parked his airplane.
Molly rode the bicycle to the edge of the hill and then down the other side. She wondered if she'd crash before she got it stopped, but managed to gain control before she ended up in a pile of grass-stained skirts and bent bicycle parts.
Harley John wasn't at his plane, but there was evidence the hangar he wanted was about to begin construction, if the stakes marking out where it would sit were any indication.
Molly stood on the bicycle pedals and looked around, wondering where he could be. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed, for the first time, a house set back off the road that wound out to the pasture, which Harley John had mentioned he intended to use as a runway.
With a push of her toes, Molly set the bike in motion and rode over to the house, which might have been nice when it was new. From what Lars and Kade had said, this had been the home of Mr. Hobbs. It was the house that held memories of so many of the worst moments of Harley John's childhood.
Molly leaned the bicycle against a fence post and made her way to the open door. She could hear something that sounded like boards creaking.
"Hello?" she called, then stepped inside. There was nothing left in the house. Not a chair or a plate, nor even a stray piece of paper. It was as empty as a house could be. "Hello!" she called, louder. "Harley John?"
"Molly?" a voice asked, and Harley John's head appeared from down the hallway. "Molly!"
He rushed toward her, a smile on his face, then swept her up into a tight hug. "You're better?"
"I'm fine," she said, hugging him back, then thumping him on the shoulder to set her down.
He laughed, set her on her feet, then kissed her cheek. "You are fine and back to yourself. I'm so glad. What did Mama Marnie say?"
"Nothing. Nobody, not even the dog, was home when I finally came to my senses this morning. Are they picking huckleberries?"
"Yes. Everyone, including your dad, went. I would have gone, but there is so much to do here before Sadie comes home." Harley John waved his hand around the house. The inside bore a fresh coat of paint in the living area, but the smell of alcohol and illness seemed to linger in the air.
"What are you doing?" she asked, following as he led the way to the back bedroom. He was removing the boards from the walls, one at a time, and stacking them in a pile. "You're taking the house apart?"
"Yes. My father put a bit of money and a lot of effort into trying to fix it up before he died. I can't just burn it down or destroy it, even if I can never live in it. I thought I could use the wood for a storage building, or a shop, but I need the house torn down before Sadie comes home."
"We'll all help you, Harley John. Have you told Mama and Dad?"
He shook his head. "No. Everyone is so busy with wheat harvest, and gardens, and girls who dive into a funk and won't speak for a week, I haven't had a chance." He studied her a moment, then squeezed her hand. "You're truly feeling better? Like yourself?"
"I don't know if I'll ever feel like the version of me that existed before the war, but I am better, Harley John. Thank you for asking. I didn't mean to worry everyone, but I think I needed some time to myself, to rest. To …" She couldn't finish the thought since it made her think of Friday, and thoughts of him made her cry.
Her heart ached with every breath, feeling like a huge part of it was missing and would never be found. Maybe she was an idiot for walking away from him, but how could she have stayed? The day would have come when something would have happened with January, and Friday would have taken Molly's side. His parents would have sided with January, his older sisters would have sided with Friday. She cared about them all too much to see the family split in two.
If Molly cared to admit it, she'd also been afraid. She'd barely had time to align herself to the thought she was truly safe and at home in Pendleton, when she'd jaunted off to Dundee with Friday. Although she'd enjoyed meeting everyone—except for January—and spending time there, it had scared her. She had adored his older sisters and their families, and she loved his parents.
She'd worried, even if she hadn't admitted it to herself at the time, that she was forming attachments to people because she wanted to fit in with civilian life once again. That would explain how she immediately felt at home with his family and on the farm.
Now, though, she couldn't help but wonder if she felt those things, felt that way, because she had been connected to them through Friday. He'd shared a lot about the people and places he loved in his letters, and Molly knew them from that before she'd ever set foot off the train.
Confused and heartsore, she decided she'd sort through her tumultuous emotions later. Right now, she was intent on discovering three things, and she needed Harley John's help with the first matter.
"What happened with Friday?" Harley John asked, leading the way back out the front door and into the fresh air. "He's telephoned, written a letter, and I'm worried he'll try to coax an old barn pigeon into carrying a note if we don't let him know you're better. He's worried about you."
"I had to leave him, Harley John. I don't know if I can explain it all because I'm still sorting through it myself. For starters, his sister January hates me. I don't say that to be dramatic. I'm telling you the blonde-haired demon would throttle the life out of me if it wouldn't get her into trouble."
Harley John grinned. "I had my own encounter with her. She's not anything like I imagined she would be, but the picture she cast is of a selfish, unkind, unhappy young lady. What did she do?"
"She was so rude to me, kept calling me Miz Thorton, and making nasty comments. She called me an old maid and suggested I'm too old for Friday. I'm not even a full year older than him! At church, she'd rounded up every eligible female she could find and had them all panting over Friday like a parched lizard on a hot rock. She added fuel to the fire by informing me Friday could have any woman in the world he wanted and would never choose me. I was half tempted to march over to the preacher and marry Friday just to prove her wrong, but sense prevailed, thankfully. What I realized, Harley John, is that Mrs. Fitzpatrick dotes on January. She doesn't seem to see her daughter's faults. If I married Friday, there would be a time when January would do something rotten, and he'd confront her. His mother would defend January, and his father would have to support Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and Friday wouldn't let the matter rest. I'm fairly certain his older sisters would take his side. I refuse to be the reason he becomes estranged from his family. He loves them too much, and I love him too much to let that happen."
"He loves you more," Harley John said without hesitation. "He is beside himself, Molly, trying to figure out what he's done so wrong that you left him with his heart all smashed to pieces at his feet."
"He didn't do anything wrong, Harley John, other than fall in love with me." Molly looked into the distance. "The other part of me leaving him, of me running away, is just about trying to figure out my place now. Where I go from here. What I do. The war changed us all, and we won't ever be who we were before those experiences. I'm never going to be a girl whose only desire is to sit at home darning socks and cooking meals and washing clothes and being a perfect little wife. That's not who I am, especially now. I need to do something, Harley John. Something that makes me feel like I'm contributing to something bigger than me. Something useful and helpful. I'm sure that doesn't make a lick of sense, but it's how I feel."
Harley John settled a warm hand on her shoulder. "I understand, Molly. Completely. If Sadie were in your shoes, she'd feel the same way. At least as a doctor, I think she'll have an easier time of adjusting, or I hope she does."
"I do too. I hope Sadie is back soon. I know you miss her so." Molly offered Harley John a sympathetic look.
He nodded. "I do miss her, but I know you miss Friday. He's about half out of his mind wondering what he can do to fix things between you."
"Nothing. There's nothing to be fixed. He's done nothing wrong except love the wrong girl. I'll tell you this just once, Harley John, then I am finished forever with the conversation. I love Friday. I will always love Friday, but he should marry one of those noodleheaded girls January had on parade last Sunday. He'd have a whole lot easier life with one of them than he would with me. Though, I'll admit the thought of him loving anyone else makes me so fiercely angry, I could hop on the train to Dundee and render them all toothless and bald before I'm through."
A chuckle escaped from Harley John even though he'd made an effort to hold it in. "I'd come along just to watch the show."
Molly swatted his arm, and they both laughed.
"I'm so glad you're back to you, Molly. We all were so worried. Mama Marnie even had Nik come take a look, but he said the best thing was to just give you time."
"I don't remember Nik being there," Molly mused. "I appreciate everyone taking care of me, though."
"We all love you, sister Molly. Besides, Sadie would have our heads on a pike if we let something happen to you."
"She's wonderful, Harley John. If I haven't said it before, I'm so grateful the two of you have each other."
"Thank you." He gave her a hug, then stepped back. "Other than the house being abandoned, what brought you here, on a bicycle, no less?"
"To simplify a long story, I found a deed in my father's old papers and want to find out if I have a house or not. I've concluded I am not cut out for riding a bicycle wherever I want to go, and I'm out of practice with the horses. An auto seems a more reasonable prospect, and you know more about them than anyone."
"You want to purchase your own auto. Today?"
"If possible, yes. Do you have time?"
"Of course. Let's go see Lance Ashby. He'll have the best selection and give you a fair price."
Harley John stepped off the porch, then looked around. "Oh, I forgot I didn't borrow a vehicle today. You mind riding on the motorbike?"
"Motorbike? When did you buy one?" Molly asked as they walked over to where he'd leaned the motorbike against a tree.
"I got it from Nik. It's the first one he bought, and there were a lot of miles on it. He didn't want much for it. I figured the motorcycle would give me an idea of how badly I want to spend money on a new one before I make that investment. If I do buy a new one, this one can be used for spare parts."
Harley John got on the bike and started it, then gave Molly a hand to steady herself as she hiked up her skirts and climbed on behind him.
"Hold on!" he shouted, and shifted into gear.
She wrapped her arms around him, and they were soon roaring down the road and into town. Harley John went straight to Mr. Ashby's business. The man had started out as a blacksmith, but as more and more people bought automobiles, he'd converted part of the blacksmith shop into buying, selling, and repairing vehicles. Harley John had worked for him until leaving for Camp Lewis. In fact, Molly knew Harley John would have been happy to continue working for the man if he hadn't been up to his eyeballs in his own projects.
"Harley John! How are you, son?" Mr. Ashby asked as he walked outside to see who had arrived. He shook Harley John's hand, then nodded politely to Molly. "And Miss Thorsen. Nice to see you."
"Thank you, Mr. Ashby." Molly glanced around, seeing several autos with For Sale signs.
"What brings you two this way?" Mr. Ashby asked.
"Molly needs an automobile," Harley John said.
"Well, we've got several. There are half a dozen new Fords that are simple and basic. There's a beaut of an Oldsmobile I ordered in for a rancher in Weston, but he changed his mind and bought a Buick. I've also got a few Chevrolets and a couple of Nash autos. What are you interested in, Miss Thorsen?"
"Something dependable, easy to handle, and fun to drive."
Mr. Ashby looked over at Harley John. "Hmm. Harley John, what do you think?"
Harley John was walking among the cars. Molly trusted him to choose one she'd like. He pointed to one at the end of the lot. "What's the scoop on this one?"
"That's a new Hudson Super Six. Boy did they tell the story right on that one. It can climb a mountain, race on a speedway, and carry seven passengers while doing it. It's got a good feel on the curves, a powerful engine, and the seats are rich leather. The top folds down, and it has wooden spoked wheels. A banker from Stanfield ordered that car and drove it a month before he brought it back and traded it in for a smaller Ford. He said the Hudson was more than he wanted to handle. It doesn't have many miles on it, but I have to discount it because it isn't brand splintering new."
Lars had taught his children to drive, and drive well. Any instruction Lars had inadvertently failed to cover, Harley John had added with his love of automobiles. Molly figured with a little practice, she could handle whatever car she wanted to.
"Can we take it for a drive?" Harley John asked.
"You betcha." Mr. Ashby went inside, then returned with the keys and handed them to Molly.
Together, they walked down to where Harley John waited next to a car that was a glorious shade of deep blue. If Molly knew nothing else about the vehicle, she knew she loved the color.
"You drive it first, Harley John, to get the technical review out of the way," Molly said, handing him the keys.
Mr. Ashby held the passenger door for her and she got in. Harley John started the car, and off they went down the street at a sedate pace. Harley John pushed every button, turned every switch, even tooted the horn and made Hunter Douglas jump a foot in the air as he was getting into his automobile in front of the Western store.
Harley John waved, and Hunter laughed as they continued on their way. When they reached the far end of town, Harley John hit the gas and the Hudson was quick to respond. He turned the wheel sharply to the right and the left, then spun the auto around in a circle while Molly held on, thinking of some of the wild rides she'd laughed her way through in France.
The gas pedal was hit a second time, and they sped back toward town. About halfway there, Harley John slammed on the brakes, and the car came to a quick stop.
"That's good," he said, rocking back in the seat. He put it in park and got out, then motioned for Molly to slide over. "You give it a try."
Molly wrapped her hands around the steering wheel and put the car in gear. She slowly eased into the gas and found the vehicle to be responsive. It handled easily and felt sturdy, even on a sharp curve. She pulled over on the side of the road and stopped just before they reached Pendleton. "Tell me what you think."
"I think it's a great automobile, Molls. It's safe. Handles easily. Will get you where you need to go. There's oodles of room, which is nice if you plan to take any of the kiddies with you. I know you love the color. I think it's a good, solid vehicle. The question is, can you afford it?"
"I didn't even look at the price. What's Mr. Ashby asking for it?"
Harley John shrugged as she put the auto in gear and continued into town. "He didn't have a price on it. Usually, that means it is negotiable. I know what the auto would sell for new. The miles are low, so he won't knock off too much, but he'll give you a discount. Ask him what he wants for it, then offer six hundred less."
"Six hundred less!" Molly had hoped to not spend much more than that for the car. "Maybe I should get one of the Fords. Aren't they around four hundred?"
"Yes, but you're getting a lot better car with this, more room, bigger motor. You should be able to drive this in the winter in the snow. I'd buy it myself if I were planning to stick around long enough to enjoy it. I'm hoping any day to get a telegram from Sadie that she's on her way." Harley John looked at her. "Do you need some money, Molly? I can give you a loan."
"No, Harley John. Keep your money. You and Sadie are just getting started, building a house and your dreams. You save every penny. I have money saved. I just wasn't planning to spend quite that much is all. It's just money, though, right?"
"Sure. Only when you don't have two nickels to rub together it's never just money."
"I know, my friend." Molly pulled into Mr. Ashby's lot and parked the Hudson.
Mr. Ashby walked over and opened the door to help Molly out. "What did you think?"
"My advisor thinks it is a good, solid car. What are you asking for it, Mr. Ashby?"
"How about fifteen?"
"Fifteen dollars? I'll take it!" Molly winked at Harley John, knowing Mr. Ashby meant fifteen hundred dollars.
"Now, Miss Thorsen. You couldn't buy the wheels for fifteen dollars."
"Oh, well, would you take eight hundred for it?"
"That's a little lower than I'd like to go. How about twelve hundred?"
"Nine hundred."
"An even thousand."
Molly looked at Harley John who nodded his head.
"Sold!" she said.
She and Mr. Ashby shook hands. It didn't take long to complete the paperwork or for her to run over to the bank and get the cash from Grant Hill.
Half an hour later, Harley John joined her as she drove to Mitchell Lawry's office. The attorney was honest and knowledgeable. Molly was glad to have Harley John with her as she went in to see the man, even though she didn't have an appointment.
"Miss Thorsen, Harley John! What brings the two of you in today?" Mr. Lawry asked as he stood behind his desk and motioned for them to have seats in chairs in front of it.
"I found a deed that belonged to my birth parents, Mr. Lawry. I wanted to see if you could tell me if I would now own the property, being their only heir."
"Do you have their will?" Mr. Lawry asked.
Molly's hopes crashed. "I do not. It might be there, in some of the papers, but I didn't see it."
"Let's see if we have anything on file." He picked up a pen. "Your parents were …?"
"Banks. Oliver and Adeline Banks. They died in 1904."
Mr. Lawry wrote down the information, then opened one of his filing cabinets and began thumbing through the files. "Ah. Here it is. This is a file I inherited when one of our partners retired. Oliver and Adeline Banks. This was dated in 1902. Looks like they named you as their sole heir. Perfect."
Mr. Lawry set the file on his desk, then looked to Molly. "You have the deed?"
"I do." Molly took it from her handbag, smoothed out the wrinkles, and handed it to the attorney.
He was quiet for several minutes as he read through each line. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. "As far as I can tell, Miss Thorsen, this is a true, legally-binding deed. As their heir, the property should rightfully belong to you. There's probably taxes that will need to be paid on the place. If I were you, I'd go take a look at the property, then go to the courthouse and ask to speak with Mr. Jameson. He can help you."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Lawry. Do you, by chance, have a copy of the will?" Molly asked as she stood.
"It looks like there are three copies in the file, so you are welcome to take one. If you need anything further, let me know." He handed her a copy of the will, and she placed the deed on top of it, tucking the papers into her handbag.
"Shall I pay you today, or will you send a bill?" she asked.
"Let's call it a thank you for the service you two did for our country, Miss Thorsen. We're all grateful."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Lawry. Truly."
"My pleasure." He walked them to his office door. "If you need anything further, feel free to stop by."
"We will," Molly said as she and Harley John returned outside. She handed Harley John the keys to the Hudson. "I'm too nervous to drive, and I'll have to remember exactly how to get there. Do you mind driving me?"
"Not at all," Harley John said, and they were soon headed out of town. Molly remembered the first road they needed to turn onto, but missed the second, and they had to turn around and come back. The road went down a little draw. To the left, what had once been a lane was now overgrown with weeds.
"That's it. Right there," Molly said, pointing to the house they could see in the distance.
Harley John eased the car off the road, and they bumped over the weeds until they reached the house. It looked both wonderful and abandoned. Like the people who had lived and loved there had just left one day and never returned.
Molly got out of the car and stood beside it, remembering when flowers had bloomed all around the porch, and there had been a big garden out back. The gingerbread trim on the porch was falling off, and the paint had peeled away, exposing raw boards, but she could see it as it had looked before she and her parents had been sick.
Silently, she started toward the house, stepping around big weeds too tall to walk over. The porch steps were rotten, and she carefully went up them. At the door, where a red X had been painted to mark the house was under quarantine, she paused, then pulled open the screen door that hung by one hinge. A bull snake coiled up and hissed at her, causing her to scream.
Harley John pulled her back and the snake slithered off. "That got our blood pumping," he said.
"Indeed it did." She stepped forward and turned the knob. To her amazement, the door opened. All these years, it stood unlocked, but perhaps the fear of illness had kept people away.
Inside, everything looked much as she remembered. Instead of seeing the dust, cobwebs, and years of filth, she saw the cozy sitting room with the cheery fireplace, the chair where she'd liked to curl up and read on cold winter nights. The dining room where they'd shared meals with neighbors and friends. The kitchen where her mother had taught her to cook.
Everything was still there. The furniture. The dishes. The grandfather clock that had stopped with both hands pointed to twelve. Most of the furniture had been inhabited by rodents, but the wooden pieces could be salvaged. The dishes could be washed. There were so many things here Molly would keep. So many treasures that tied her to the people who had given her life and loved her for a dozen years.
"You lived here?" Harley John asked quietly as he followed her through the house.
"I did. I used to love to sit there by the window and watch for Papa to come home. I'd completely forgotten that until just this minute." Molly moved into the room that had been hers. The bed looked like rats had used it for a nest. There weren't any clothes left behind, and the toys were all gone except for a dollhouse she'd gotten for her tenth birthday. It could be cleaned and repaired. She brushed a hand over the roof and smiled, remembering the happy hours she'd played with it. Perhaps someday she'd have a daughter who would enjoy it.
Molly doubted it though, since the only man she would ever love was Friday, and she'd walked away from him. From his love. From their future.
She turned and went into her parents' room. She opened a dresser drawer and lifted out one of her mother's lavender sachets. Maybe the mice hadn't liked the smell, because the contents of the drawer were undisturbed. They were coated in layers of dust, but the delicate lace scarves and gloves were all in one piece. Molly opened another drawer and found a jewelry box beneath a few old sweaters.
"What's that?" Harley John asked as she set it on the dresser and opened it, staring at the necklaces, rings, and bracelets. She picked up a bracelet and instantly recognized it as a match to the necklace Aunt Delphine had given her. She clutched it in her hand and started to cry.
She was shocked she had any tears left in her after crying for hours the day she came back from Dundee.
"Molly?" Harley John asked, looking like he wanted to do something to help her.
She shook her head, picked up the jewelry box, and left the house. He closed the door and cupped her elbow, helping her to the car. It was then Molly noticed the chicken coop had collapsed and the barn didn't look like it would stand through another winter.
However, growing in wild clumps between the house and the outhouse were big healthy bushes of lavender.
She felt like those plants were a sign from her mother.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to go to the courthouse," Molly said as she returned the bracelet to the jewelry box.
"Sure."
An hour later, Molly had paid the taxes due on the property and it was on record that she was the owner of one hundred and sixty acres of ground.
Exhausted, she was relieved when Harley John offered to drive her home.
They'd barely stepped into the house when Marnie rushed to them, wrapping Molly in a tight hug.
"We returned home, and you were gone, and the sheets were on the line, and I was so worried. We couldn't find you anywhere. Where have you been, and who bought the auto?"
Harley John grinned and nudged Molly. "She's had quite a day, Mama Marnie. She bought that handsome Hudson, found out she owns a quarter section of land, and walked through her past."
Marnie linked her arms through both of theirs. "Start at the beginning, Molly. You woke up this morning and …"
"Realized I'd forgotten about a trunk up in the attic."
A week later, Molly had come to the realization the house she'd inherited, the house where she'd had such a happy childhood, had to be torn down. The foundation was cracked, the boards were all rotting, and it was a wonder it was still standing.
After joining her family and friends for two days while they'd taken Harley John's father's house apart board by board, she'd been at her childhood home every day, sorting through what she wished to keep and what she would throw away.
She'd started a pile outside where she'd promised everyone from the orphanage they could come and have a big bonfire one evening after everyone got back from New York. Sadie was due to arrive there the day after tomorrow. Harley John had been so happy his feet had hardly touched the ground as he'd hurried to pack and get train tickets. Marnie, Lars, Noah, Alek, and Sophie went along. They'd invited Molly, but as much as she wanted to see Sadie, she had no interest in traveling anywhere right now.
Not when she was so intently focused on reclaiming her heritage from her parents' old home.
Much to her surprise, in her sorting and discovering, she'd found a large tin in the kitchen in the back of a cabinet that held little decorative cake tins she thought looked quite old, like something she'd seen at Aunt Delphine's home. Beneath them rested a cigar box. When she opened it, she almost fainted to discover it was full of twenty-dollar gold coins. She'd counted eighty-five of them. She wondered if it were money her mother had saved for a rainy day, or if her father had asked her mother to hide it. At any rate, Molly now felt like her bank account wasn't quite as depleted after paying the taxes and buying the automobile, which she loved to drive.
With a rag tied over her head to keep off the dust and a filthy apron covering her old dress, she rolled up her sleeves and hummed a snappy tune as she took everything out of the last kitchen cabinet that needed to be sorted.
The creak of a floorboard made her pause in her work.
"Hello?" she called, wondering if someone had come to help her.