Jane stood in Dona's living room, looking at discarded newspapers and ripped magazines strewn across the floor. Not a promising start for her new home.

Prett had assigned her clean-up duty, but at least she had help. Jill Marquis and two of her friends, Sherry and Katrina, had each cared for Dona the past few years and felt this was one last kindness they could bestow upon their deceased friend.

"What a mess!" Jill said now, her hands on her hips.

Sherry, a middle-aged blonde, shook her head. "Did Celia do this on purpose?"

"I wouldn't put it past her," Jill replied. "She never liked the fact Dona didn't own the place."

"But she owned the furniture," Sherry said, picking up a broken cat figurine. "I saw Celia's truck backed up here the afternoon Dona died. What a greedy little snot. Took what she thought she could sell and trashed the rest."

"Do you hear that?" Katrina asked. The lanky twenty-something crossed the room to the kitchen and unlocked the back door. A long-haired tortoise-shell cat ran in and immediately checked for a food bowl. Not finding one, she circled figure-eights around Katrina's legs until the latter scooped her up. "Princess! What are you doing here?"

"I'm not surprised," Jill said. "A couple of the cats we took seem to have run off, too. I wondered if they'd show up here."

"Let's see if mean old Celia left us any food," Katrina said to the cat while she opened the cupboards.

Jill flapped open a garbage bag. "The best way to get started is to jump in." She handed the bag to Sherry, then flapped open another for Jane.

"No food here, sweetie," Katrina murmured, still cuddling the cat. "If you're hungry, you'll need to go back home. Not this home, your new home."

"Better take her there, Kat, or she'll be underfoot all day," Jill said.

Katrina carried the animal out the front door, chatting with it as if they were old friends. The remaining women commenced picking up the strewn trash.

"Genevieve tells me you're helping her sort out family photos," Jill said to Jane.

"Yeah, it's amazing. She has photos going back to the civil war." Jane slid several magazines into her bag. "And letters and other documents. But they're all mixed together with more recent ones. I'm trying to sort them into a timeline and get them labeled. Then she wants me to scan them into the computer."

Jill chuckled. "I think I'm to thank—or curse—for that project. I've been doing the same for my family photos, and she heard me talking about it at Friends Club. She had all kinds of questions about it."

"Oh, I know. She's interested in everything. Scanners, acid-free albums, archival supplies. And how to convert eight millimeter film. We found a box of reels and now we're digging in the quonset to find the projector."

"It's like finding treasure." Jill pushed up the glasses that had slid part way down her nose. "When you go digging in the past. Never know what you might find."

"Speaking of digging," Sherry said, "what should we do with these plants? Throw them out?" She crouched next to several overturned flower pots, the carpet thick with dirt.

"Are any salvageable?" Jill asked.

"Maybe." Sherry scooped a plant back into its pot and turned it upright.

"If they are," Jane said, "I'd like to keep them. It'll be a nice remembrance of Dona."

"Well, these two are done for," Sherry said, dumping a couple into her bag. "And this container's cracked." She added it to the others. "But if you transfer this one into this pot..." She redistributed the dirt, ending up with three sad—but alive—plants.

Jane took them to the kitchen to add water.

"My bag's full," Sherry said. "I'm taking it out. Anyone else?"

"Mine's not full, but the magazines are making it heavy." Jane returned to the living room and tied the flaps on her bag. She allowed Sherry to take it out for her.

"I'm glad this house won't sit empty," Jill said. "We have too many of those as it is."

"Lindy said I could stay living at the hotel, but that seemed weird. Besides, they'll need the honeymoon suite for guests. I was looking for a cheap apartment when Prett said he knew of a cheap house." Jane shook her head as she flapped open another trash bag. "Between him and Genevieve...I don't think I'll ever get out of this town."

"Where would you rather be?"

"Truthfully?" Jane looked at the woman's cheery face. "I don't know. I was going to move to Texas because they have jobs, but..." She shrugged. "There's nothing for me anywhere, really."

"No family?"

"No. Except...I found out my great-aunt was once married to Genevieve's dad."

"What?" Jill almost dropped the last stack of magazines she'd picked off the floor. "You're kidding!"

"No. It's strange, isn't it? That the people who took me in turned out to be sorta family."

"That would make a great plot for a novel." Jill grinned. "I'll have to keep it in mind for my next one."

Jane smiled back. "I've read some of your books. Prett has them all, you know."

"He does?"

"Yeah. He's even read them."

"Get outta here." Jill stared at her with amusement. "Just when I think I know him..." She shook her head. "I need to keep you around for myself. You've got the inside scoop on those boys. What other tidbits can you throw my way?"

Before Jane could respond, Katrina returned.

"How's Angel doing with the kiddos?" Jill asked her.

"They're wrapped around her finger. Joshie didn't even want me to hold him. He was too busy staring at her. I think he wanted to eat her hair."

They chatted amicably about their children and their husbands. Jane had nothing to contribute on either topic. By the time the noon whistle blew several hours later, the trash was cleared, and the carpets rolled up and removed.

Jill invited them to eat lunch at her house. Sherry left with Katrina to pick up the children while Jill insisted Jane ride with her.

They drove north out of Prairie Creek on a gravel road flanked by telephone poles and stubbled fields of dry cornstalks. The tillage remained doggedly still in the face of March's cold wind. High above the ground, motionless center pivots stood sentry over the sepia-colored cropland, silently awaiting spring.

Jane took her eyes from the landscape and used her new iPhone—a birthday gift from the brothers—to text Prett that her lunch plans had changed.

"There was a time I wanted to get out of Prairie Creek, too," Jill said after Jane put away her phone. "After I graduated high school. I went to Bible college in Omaha for a year, then transferred to the university. Spent twenty years in Lincoln. By then I'd had enough of city life. I convinced Auggie he could work from home." She shot at smile at Jane. "And that our home should be in Prairie Creek."

Jill turned into a dirt driveway nestled between tall evergreens and lined with maples. Between the latter's bare branches Jane glimpsed the house. Her eyes grew wide, and she fought to keep her mouth from dropping open.

"Auggie had drawn blueprints to my dream house as a wedding gift," Jill said. "But it took us almost twelve years to get around to building it."

Jane stared at the multicolored three-story Queen Anne Victorian, gaping at the gingerbread trim, front turret, and wraparound porch. She'd seen such houses before; century-old ones turned into museums or stripped down and converted into apartments. Never one built for a modern family.

"Wow," was all she could utter.

"Yeah," Jill said with a laugh. "It's a far cry from the house I grew up in."

But the house comprised only part of the scenery. The dirt road changed to gravel, then concrete, as it wove through the front yard's willow, crabapple and fruit trees. A man-made stream snaked through garden berms and shrubs. Small arched bridges spanned the rock-and-boulder banks. A brick walkway wound its way through it all, punctuated with wrought iron benches for weary wayfarers.

Val's design.

Even in browns and grays the front yard held an enchanting atmosphere, like a fairyland anticipating the lifting of winter's curse.

"You'll have to see it in spring," Jill said, seemingly reading her mind. "And summer." She chuckled. "And fall. Tom knew just how to extend the colors throughout the seasons. It's even pretty covered with snow. Not much to look at in the deep breath between winter and spring though."

"It's still amazing." Jane took her eyes off the yard to look at Jill. "You seem to be the only person who still calls Val, 'Tom.'"

"He was introduced to me as that. Why they all decided to change their names, I don't know." She added with a mutter, "Happens all too often around here." She smirked at Jane. "A body ought to pick a name and stick with it. That's what I say."

She parked in front of the four-car garage and they headed to the porch. "It's an amazing house and I love it," Jill said, opening a side door into a large mudroom, "but it's a bear to keep clean."

They stepped over a smattering of child-sized shoes and coats before entering a large gourmet kitchen. A pale man with snowy-white hair stood at the center island, holding half a caramel roll in one hand and licking the fingers of the other.

"Taste testing?" Jill asked as she dropped her purse and keys on a corner counter.

"My second one," her husband replied. Bright sunlight streaming through the windows made his skin seem translucent and turned his clear blue eyes violet. "Can't tell if they're up to standard. Might have to test a third." He gave a nod. "How are you, Jane?"

"Good. You?"

"Fair to middling."

A.J. Marquis was an affable man whom Jane had met a handful of times. She had yet to hold a conversation with him beyond pleasant greetings, but she found him fascinating, nonetheless. The "albino architect" as Prett called him, exuded an easygoing, good-humored personality that meshed well with Prett's too-often tightly wound temperament.

"We have a few minutes before the others get here," Jill said to Jane. "Would you like a quick tour?"

Jane forced herself to stop staring at the man. "Absolutely."

Jill touched her arm. "We'll start with the parlor and my infamous fireplace." She headed towards a butler hall.

"Beware the Barbies!" A.J. called.

"Naturally!" Jill replied with exasperation, stopping for a moment to scowl at the hallway. Then she carried forward, leading Jane through a maze of Barbie dolls. Some perched on tiny plastic chairs and some on miniature beanbags, while others leaned stiff-backed against the walls. Most, however, lay on the wood floor, their arms stretched up in supplication. 

They exited into a dining room dominated by an antique table and chairs. Jane had a moment to glance at a sideboard and small china cabinet before they swept through to the foyer, past a grand staircase and entered a room with a Victorian sofa, loveseat, and several wingback chairs. Jill pointed across the room to the fireplace mantle, a replica of the one in the Prairie Creek Hotel's lobby. "Can you see the defect?"

Jane moved closer, examining the angry wind-face and foliated reliefs. "No."

"Look right here," Jill said, pointing to the left side. "This leaf is smaller than the one on the opposite end. So it isn't completely symmetrical."

Now Jane could see the difference. "That's it? That's what the fuss is all about? I was expecting something...more."

Jill laughed. "I know, right? I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it in his scrap heap. He wouldn't even let me buy it. Tried to sell me on getting a perfect one. I told him this one was perfect. Imperfectly perfect. I paid Tom to sneak it out to me and install it. The mortification almost killed P.J." Jill grinned. "But he'll get over it. Eventually."

"You weren't worried about making him mad?"

"P.J. doesn't get mad. He gets morose. And besides, I told him why I wanted it. It reminds me that our Maker knows our flaws, even when we present a perfect picture to the rest of the world. P.J. needs to be reminded of that, too. He needs to learn we're loved in spite of our asymmetry. He understands it here—" She touched her temple. "—But not here." She patted above her left breast. "Not yet, anyway."

"How long have you known him?"

"Oh, ten, twelve years. Auggie hired him soon after he moved to Nebraska."

Jane smirked. "Or when he was kidnapped to Nebraska."

"Kidnapped?" Jill looked perplexed. Then her expression softened. "Ah, yes." She nodded, looking away. "Those boys have had some rough times." She turned back to Jane. "You've been good for them, though. I've never seen them so happy. Especially P.J."

Jane's face grew hot.

"Except lately," Jill added with a sigh. "He's gone back to carrying the world on his shoulders."

Jane's own shoulders slumped. "That's my fault. I think I did something to offend him."

"Not likely. He wouldn't keep you around if you had."

"Genevieve's the one keeping me around now."

"And she wouldn't have, if P.J. didn't approve."

"I don't know about that. He doesn't seem to want me sorting all her photos."

Jill watched her a long moment then looked at the fireplace. "No. He wouldn't."

"I don't know how to reconcile it," Jane said. "I mean, Genevieve is really into getting her history organized, but Prett gets in a black mood whenever we discuss it."

"He does guard his privacy with a passion."

"I've noticed."

"You have to let him come around on his own time. I think he's trying to work something out right now. When he does, he'll talk about it. Or not." Jill smiled. "I didn't know that at first. For years I went about it all wrong. I knew some about him already, being Genevieve's great-grandson and all. I tried to ask him about his family and got nowhere. Still, I'd ask all sorts of questions, trying to get to know him. Took me a couple years to realize I was making him uncomfortable, since he was so good at being polite."

She jabbed her elbow at Jane. "Comes from being southern."

She held out her hand to a chair. Jane sat and Jill settled opposite her.

"Then one day, after I'd long given up on him," Jill continued, "he told me about Danny. How much he worried about him being overseas. It was the first time he had let me in. And that's when occurred to me: P.J. was just like my chicken."

Jane wrinkled her forehead, and Jill laughed.

"When I was in kindergarten, we had show-and-tell," Jill said. "And one time I brought my pet chicken."

Jane let out a laugh. "Pet chicken!"

Jill grinned. "I grew up on a farm. Had several pet chickens. Even a pet pig once. Anyway, I carried my chicken in a five gallon bucket with a grate over the top. Everything went fine until school was out. The other kids convinced me to take her out of the bucket so they could see her better. Well, she got scared of all these kids wanting to touch her, so she flew out of my arms. The other kids chased her around the schoolyard, trying to catch her. Finally I yelled at them to stop running. Everyone went still, and I crouched down and called her to me. She came right over and I popped her back into the bucket.

"P.J.'s like that chicken," Jill continued. "Chase him and he'll run. Corner him and he'll hide. But sit still and call him to you and eventually he'll trust you enough to talk."

"He has talked to me, some." Jane thought a moment. "Usually when I've stopped talking."

Jill laughed. "The secret to getting men to talk is for we women to shut up once in a while. P.J.'s no exception." She looked at the fireplace again. "He told me recently wood-working settles his nerves. That the sound of saw blades calms him. But he's convinced he'd never make money doing it full-time."

Jane wrinkled her forehead. "But isn't that what he does for A.J.? Contracts carpentry work for building projects?"

Jill turned to her with a befuddled smile, but before she could reply, the front door burst open and a handful of children spilled inside. Jill stood, diverting her attention to the two youngsters running towards the staircase. "April! You still haven't picked up your Barbies!"

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 Facts: One of my great-aunts once owned a tiny home in my town. It no longer exists, but I thought of that when I created Dona's house. I decided that Genevieve bought a small house in Prairie Creek after her second husband died. When she eventually married George Gingery, she moved to her current home, but kept the tiny house as a rental. After Dona's husband died, she moved into it. I imagine the cats showed up later. 😊

Jill's Victorian house is based on my favorite one, the Andrew M. Hargis mansion in Grand Island, NE, now owed by the Women's Club. I gaze at it longingly whenever I drive by. 😁

My husband rented it one afternoon for a romantic date (in which he woefully attempted to make french toast 😂) and we held our wedding rehearsal dinner there. I dream of having a house like it some day. When I can also afford a maid. LOL.

A.J. Marquis is based on an albino character I read in "Golden Urchin" by Madeleine Brent. He was the heroine's guardian (though I thought he should have been the romantic lead, since he was such a great guy. The actual romantic leading man was like every other one in paperback novels.) I read this book in my teens and became obsessed with having an albino character of my own one day. 😄

The Barbies is an homage to my daughter, who is obsessed with them. Though she thinks when she turns nine she'll be too old to play with them. (Hey, I played Barbies until I was thirteen...😎)

And as for Jill's story about her pet chicken, it's true. 😄 I had at least two growing up: a Rhode Island Red named Penny, and a white leghorn (I can't remember its name.) I took the white one to school for show-and-tell in kindergarten, and it really did escape outside. The kids made spectacles of themselves trying to chase her down. I made them stop running and my hen came right to me when I called. You should have seen the astonished faces of my peers (and the older kids, too! 😂😂😂)

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