Today's Reading
Harold's mouth dropped open. "I thought he was going to sleep in the barn. All the seasonal workers do that."
"It will soon be too cold for that." Mama didn't look at Harold, but Daddy did, and the look was hard. "Come with me, Curtis."
Harold started to follow but Daddy called him back and lowered his voice once Curtis left the room. "Harold, Ginny Dee, you need to understand that from this minute Curtis will be treated as part of our family."
"Family—and in my room? He's a court kid."
"His father died last year and his mother's hospitalized in a sanitarium with tuberculosis. She's not likely to make it. Curtis was charged with stealing food for him and his younger brother. They had nothing to eat. This is the least we can do." Daddy was like that, always ready to help anybody who needed it, kids most of all.
Harold looked away.
"Where's his little brother now? Will he come here too?" Ginny would like a younger brother, maybe trade in Harold.
"A cousin took him in. She can't take both, so Curtis is with us. I expect you both to treat him well. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Ginny nodded.
"Harold?"
Harold's mouth opened as if he was about to object, but he closed it and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Daddy laid his hands on both their shoulders. "That's settled."
If only it had been.
CHAPTER ONE
MAY 1992
CAPE MAY, NEW JERSEY
At sixty-five, Ginny Boyden knew the deep satisfaction of paying off years of debt—her car, her mortgage, her husband's medical and funeral bills, even his headstone—all while keeping his secret... and hers.
It had required the sale of her home and lean years of renting a single room with kitchen privileges and garden duties, but that was in the past. Finally, it was her turn. With a reasonable cushion in the bank and Social Security about to kick in, Ginny could breathe... breathe, and plan.
"That's it, Claire. My final one." Ginny slapped her signed paycheck onto the teller's desktop.
"Fully retired and off to parts unknown?" The bank clerk sighed. "Must be nice."
"Nicer than nice." Ginny smiled. "But all the parts are known. I'll leave as the last red maple leaf falls—for the duration."
"Mm-hmm. I'll see you back by Christmas, that's what."
"No, my friend. You won't." Ginny's brows rose. "No turning back." She wouldn't call it a trip; it was a journey into the future—her future, her first real step in fulfilling her lifelong dream. Ginny turned on her heel and made her way out of the bank, into the sunshine.
She'd leave the week before Thanksgiving, skirting one of those family holidays she'd long dreaded while living alone. Ten days touring formal English gardens out of season, then ten days touring Scotland's Highlands, islands, and gardens—cheaper by far in cold weather. She'd indulge in a short jaunt to Wales and a longer one to explore Ireland's Cliffs of Moher and castle ruins, then back to England and the Lake District for Christmas. Finally, she'd tour London and its museums in winter.
Mid-February she'd reach the village of Scrivelsby, her family's ancestral home, to begin greenhouse work with Logan Longwood, head gardener of Scrivelsby Park. The manor house, Scrivelsby Hall, was long gone, burned out, but the park boasted gardens that Ginny'd learned of and envisioned in her imagination at her mother's knee.
...
