Jane stretched to cover as much as she could without moving the ladder. The lobby had seemed an overwhelming task when she'd started on it the week before, but now she was nearing the end. Not only of the room, but the job for which she'd been hired.

The uncertainty of her future, however, was now overshadowed by uncertainty of her past.

Last night in the solitude of her bedroom Jane had studied the girl she suspected was her biological mother. She searched for her in other photos to no avail. She looked at the ones of herself through the years, counting the blank pages between them and the snapshot of the unknown girl. She lay awake trying to remember all her mom had related about her birth.

She came up with nothing. Nothing but the overwhelming feeling her life had been built on a lie.

Then there was Catherine.

The run-away bride.

Something about her haunted Jane.

For there were rumors...

Rumors about what? Genevieve hadn't elaborated.

Jane had studied those photos, too, looking for clues. To what, she didn't know.

All she knew was by some twist of fate she had landed amidst her great-aunt's abandoned family.

No, not fate. I was brought here by a letter.

And the promise of money.

By Vivian Montgomery.

Not Vivian. Genevieve. She wrote the letter and sent the money.

Vivian agreed it was for a worthy cause...

For there were rumors...

Jane yawned as she climbed down the ladder. Staying up half the night hadn't brought her answers. If anything, it had increased her disquiet.

Before her arrival in Prairie Creek, she had felt untethered to anyone or anything; a leaf tumbling in the breeze, longing for shelter. This current venture was a temporary respite from the loneliness. Yet in this unfamiliar place she had found a connection to family, tucked away in boxes she'd once considered throwing out. These strands of the past had attached to her skin, threading their way to her heart. The yearning to discover more threatened to overwhelm her senses.

Then there were the Marvel brothers. She had upended their lives. Moving on now would leave them floundering.

Or make things better. I'm a curse. Danny's given up on Cadence. Val still doesn't speak much. And Prett...

Prett had devolved into an isolated state; a walking shell of a man.

As if on cue, the hotel door opened and he entered, holding the door while his brothers carried in long pieces of baseboard. As they headed to the dining room, Prett shut the door and acknowledged Jane with a nod.

"Looks like you'll finish today," he said.

"Yeah. I've painted myself out of a job." She ducked under the stepladder.

"There's still woodwork to put up. And I've started on the last fireplace. You can help sand and stain."

"And then what?" Jane grabbed the ladder's rungs and lifted. It seemed lighter than usual, and she turned her head to see Prett helping her move it. "You can't keep finding little jobs for me to do."

"I imagine I can," he replied as they set the ladder down.

She turned to grin at him. "Why Prettamin Marvel, are you trying to keep me around?"

For a moment he seemed to lean in to her, his warm brown eyes penetrating hers. Jane's lips parted, tingling with the memory of their kiss. Then his eyes glazed over and he retreated back into himself.

"If you choose to stay, I can find you work, is all." With another nod, he turned to join his brothers pounding nails in the adjacent room.

Jane sighed. Such were the exchanges they'd had the past couple weeks. No more banter. No more outrageous assertions. No more flirting.

Perhaps she should move on.

She climbed the ladder and resumed painting, her thoughts drifting back to the girl in the photograph. One thing was clear. Jane's parents had known her biological mother better than they'd implied. Maybe she should try to find her. Was it possible the girl had attended her parents' funeral? A few had identified themselves as cousins that day...

Maybe if I—

The hotel door burst open and a teenage girl rushed inside, wearing puppy-print flannel pajamas over tennis shoes and dragging a coat. Long white-blonde hair cascaded around her alabaster face. Her light green eyes, widened in distress, spotted Jane, who recognized her immediately.

Dona's Angel.

Jill Marquis' daughter served as caregiver for Dona, and Prett had recently increased her hours to include overnights. Jane had met her weeks prior, and in that brief interaction had determined Angelica lived up to her name in both appearance and personality.

Now, however, Angelica's face expressed anguish instead of serenity. "Dona—" she squeaked before dissolving into sobs. She buried her face in her hands, her crying muffled by the coat she held.

Jane hurried down the ladder and over to her. As soon as she touched Angelica's arms, the shaking teen buried her head in Jane's shoulder. The action almost send Jane toppling, for the younger girl was several inches taller.

Prett rushed into the room. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Jane said. "I think something's happened to Dona."

Prett sprinted past them and was out the door before she finished speaking. Danny ran after him. Val stopped long enough to place a hand on Angelica's shoulder with a questioning look at Jane. The latter gave a nod, and Val trailed his brothers out, shutting the door behind him.

Jane's spine hurt from her backward bent trying to keep themselves upright. "Let's sit on the stairs," she said, her voice breathy from the strain.

Angelica straightened and allowed Jane to lead her to the staircase. They sat, and after much sniffling and wiping her face with her sleeve, Angelica calmed enough to speak.

"I slept late 'cause Dona was up half the night again. I finally got her to bed around three. But when I woke up and went to check on her, she...she didn't look right. So I touched her, and...she was...cold." Angelica sniffled and wiped her nose again. "I've never...I mean, I've been to funerals before, but..." Her face shriveled and her tears began anew.

*****

"That poor girl," Genevieve said. "I told you she was far too young for the responsibility, Prettamin. Now she'll suffer nightmares."

"Has to get used to death sometime," Prett answered in a flat tone. "If she plans to be a nurse."

"Nonsense!" Genevieve waved her hand. "No one should get used to death. It's unnatural."

"It's more natural than living."

Genevieve huffed, her fork clattering onto her plate. "I'll not hear such morbid talk! Now have you met with the funeral parlor yet?"

Prett gave his head a shake. "Celia's in charge of that."

"She'll get to it after she clears out the house," Cadence muttered.

"She texted me she's going to cremate Aunt Dona," Holly said. "Have a memorial later."

"Cremate!" Genevieve exclaimed.

"It's cheaper," Cadence said.

"What is she going to do?" Genevieve asked, her voice filled with agitation. "Display her on the mantle? That isn't what Sidona wanted. She wanted to be buried next to Vernon. Prettamin, you need to make sure Celia gives her a proper funeral."

"There's only one way to make that happen," Prett said. "Offer to pay for everything."

"Yes, yes. Pay for it, then. I won't have it on my conscience that I ignored Sidona's last wishes."

"Yes, ma'am." Prett pulled out his phone.

Jane remained quiet. She missed Dona's presence in the adjacent empty chair. They didn't usually eat dinner at Genevieve's on weeknights, but Dona's death had upended everyone's routine.

Over the next few days, they spent much of their time with Genevieve, for the old woman had taken Dona's death particularly hard. She slept more, agitated more, reminisced more. When Friday came, Jane expected yet another melancholy meal. Instead, bright balloons decorated the stone archway between the foyer and dining room, with a "Happy Birthday" banner strung across the top.

For a brief moment Jane wondered whose birthday was unfortunately timed the day before a funeral. Then she saw Holly's knowing smile as the latter greeted her, silverware and napkins in hand.

"How did you know?" Jane asked.

Holly pointed the forks at Prett as he walked past. "Originally we were going to do black decorations, but under the circumstances..."

"We were also going to take you bar-hopping, but that didn't seem right anymore, either," Cadence said.

Holly sighed. "Especially with my parents here."

"That's okay. I like a family birthday party." Jane added with a smirk, "As long as there's cake."

 Holly laughed. "There's even ice cream. And the sooner we set the table, the sooner we can eat."

Several minutes later Lindy was dishing out cheesy lasagna. "What happened with the cats?" she asked Prett as she handed a filled plate to Danny, who slid it down to Jane.

"Found homes for them," Prett replied.

"Celia was going to put them all to sleep, poor things," Holly said.

George studied the garlic bread before picking out a slice. "How many were there?"

"Nine," Prett said.

George tsked and shook his head.

"What should be done with the house?" Lindy asked. "Sell it or rent it out again?"

"It needs a bit of cleanup first," Prett said.

"I can imagine," George said.

"I thought we'd rip out the carpeting," Prett added. "Update the kitchen. Paint."

"Sell or rent?" Lindy repeated.

Prett glanced at Genevieve, who was concentrating on her food. "Haven't decided yet."

Her own plate now filled, Lindy sat. "Does Celia need help sorting through Dona's things?"

"She did that already."

"She did that first thing," Cadence muttered.

"Efficient," Lindy said.

"Or something," Cadence said, with a wry smile at Jane.

Lindy continued to question Prett, ignoring Cadence's comments. "Will you get started on it right away? The remodeling?"

"After we finish the hotel. The siding company comes next week to do the outside."

"Such a shame we have to cover the original clapboard."

"Less maintenance. Better insulation."

George nodded. "A wise choice."

"Another couple weeks of work and you can move in," Prett said.

"Good. We'll be ready." Lindy leaned forward to look down the table. "Jane, Genevieve tells me your great-aunt and her step-mother were one and the same."

Jane nodded. "We found pictures of her—"

"How odd," Lindy interrupted, looking at Prett. "That the girl you hire happens to be a long-lost relative. What are the chances?"

Prett didn't answer this time. He stared at his food, quietly scraping the seeping sauce back onto the noodles.

Uneasiness crept back into Jane's chest. "Genevieve found out about me when my parents died."

Though she hasn't told me how.

She glanced at Genevieve before turning back to Lindy. "She wrote me a letter."

"Yes, yes. Holly told me all about it," Lindy replied. "Still, such a coincidence." She looked across the table at her daughter. "What's new on the recertification front, honey?"

As Holly replied, Jane watched Prett. He'd begun eating again, his face tight, his brows furrowed. He didn't look her way at all.

*****

"Prettamin tells me you're moving to Texas now," Genevieve said.

"Yes," Jane answered. "I've been looking at job opportunities in Austin."

The two sat in Genevieve's office amid an ever-growing stack of boxes. With Dona's funeral only a day behind them, Genevieve's spirits remained contemplative.

"I grew up in Houston myself," she said. "Never went back. Not once. Never wanted to. Instead I enticed John and Vivian to move here after Father died." Her forehead wrinkled as she stared at one gnarled hand rubbing the bony knuckles of the other. "When I ran away with Jakob, I was too afraid to look back. Too afraid Father would find us."

She squared her shoulders and looked at Jane. "I have never liked looking back. Never liked acknowledging my mistakes. But now...I come to the end of my life and all I have left is the past." She glanced around at the boxes. "I'm surrounded by ghosts. Memories. And I think...I have been a poor example."

Genevieve picked up a framed photo on the table beside her. "Howard. My second husband. He was a good man. Kind. But I never loved him. That's why he joined the war effort. As a married man, as a farmer, he didn't have to go. If I had loved him, been affectionate, he would've stayed. And Dona wouldn't have been deprived of the brother she so adored."

She set the photo back on the table. "I've never told anyone that. Instead I played the grieving widow. I was grieving. But not for Howard. For Jakob. Always Jakob." She took Jane's hand, her blue eyes watery. "It's time. It's time I look back and made sense of this long, winding life. And I want you to help me."

Jane's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Prettamin says you understand computers."

"Well, I—"

"Jill Marquis taught me a new word yesterday. Digitized. I've decided that's what I want." She released Jane to sweep her hand at the boxes. "I want all these documents organized and digitized. And you're just the one to do it."

"I...well...wouldn't someone in your family—"

"They're all too busy."

"Holly—"

"And they're too close to the subject matter. I need someone objective. Someone I can tell all my secrets without reservation. My family can read it after I'm dead."

"I don't know what to say."

"I'll pay you, of course. Double Prettamin's rate." Genevieve smiled. "You'll be my biographer. I rather like that. My biographer. Makes me feel important." She took Jane's hand again. "So you see, dear, you can't leave us just yet."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊

Fun Fact: I seem to have used up all my relevant photos for this chapter in my other recent postings. But I mentioned that my Uncle Paul resembled Johnny Carson, and here's the proof. He's the one on the right. The man on the left is my Uncle Allan. My brother was named for these two: Paul Allan Aurand.  

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