Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“And so you are child—always loved,” whispered the little voice in my ear again. This time it didn’t make me jump. It was almost like a warm hug—a welcome home.
“I’m going to love baking in this kitchen!” I said out loud and felt a smile on my face for the first time in weeks. Was I really home? This house—Morris—certainly felt like home—even more than my Mom’s house had.
I looked out the kitchen window and saw memories of myself sledding down the sloping backyard in the Winter and jumping into piles of leaves in the Fall. I saw younger me wading in the silvery stream in the Summer and I saw myself gathering apples—the big, golden kind with scarlet specks all over their satiny skin that only grew in Grandma’s garden. Freckled Beauties, she called them…
Wait a minute—apples? The same kind that had been in her pies? I looked harder—the backyard really was huge and it wasn’t fenced in or anything, so it wandered all the way down to a small stream flowing at the far edge of the property.
Most of the trees were Maples, but I saw a huge Weeping Willow at the edge of the stream and then—peeking through the colorful leaves of the other trees—I thought I saw what looked like the round, golden shape of an apple.
I was ready to go apple picking at once. I could just imagine recreating the delicious sugary pie my Grandma had made in this very kitchen.
Luckily, the kitchen door was to my right. There was even a coat hanger with three hooks on it beside the door. And hanging on one of the hooks was a thick gray cardigan that looked hand knitted.
I pulled the sweater on and noticed that it still held a faint, sweet scent—like the ghost of old perfume.
Grandma’s scent, I thought and pressed the collar to my nose to inhale deeply. Yes—there it was. A sweet, powdery, floral scent that was interwoven with the smell of bread rising and sweet things baking in the oven. How could I have ever forgotten that scent?
Feeling nostalgic for things I had only just remembered was strange, but it was a strong feeling, nonetheless. The younger version of myself I remembered from visits to Grandma’s house wasn’t the shy, anxious, timid woman I had become. The younger me was fearless and adventurous, ready to take on the world. And most of all, she had been happy. That was an emotion that had been in very short supply for me my whole life—but especially since my Mom had died.
Now I felt it again like the warm glow of sunshine on your face when you step out of a dark room. Was it possible that I really could be happy here? I didn’t know but I hoped so. If there was a way to regain some of the childish joy I had lost so long ago, I would welcome it eagerly.
Speaking of regaining the joy of my childhood, I had some apples to pick. Pulling the gray cardigan tightly around me, I reached for the kitchen door.
“Mmmrow?” Sebastian was suddenly at my feet again, curling around my legs inquisitively.
“Oh, got tired of exploring without me, did you?” I asked him. “Well, do you want to check out the backyard?”
He mewed again, this time with a positive note. Going outside was unusual for him—he liked the Florida heat even less than I did. But I couldn’t blame him for wanting to smell the brisk Fall air again—I wanted to myself.
“All right,” I told him. “But stay close—okay? And you have to come in with me when I say so. It’s going to start getting dark pretty soon and I don’t want you out alone at night.”
Sebastian purred and rubbed his cheek against my calf.
“Good—then come on,” I said and opened the kitchen door to let us out.
I had no idea what danger was lurking in the yard outside.
CHAPTER FIVE
The backyard sloped downward, as I said, so I went carefully. Beside me, Sebastian had no trouble, but I was extremely glad I’d been wearing my tennis shoes when I stepped through the door that led from my apartment to my Grandmother’s house. They gave me some traction that I would have lacked if I’d just been running around in a pair of fuzzy socks, which is my usual way when I’m home.
Despite the many fallen leaves, there was still plenty of greenish grass poking out. Also, most of the leaves had been raked up into huge drifts at the bases of a couple of the trees.
I frowned when I saw the leaf piles. Had someone else been out here, raking? Or did the house—Morris—take care of the leaves himself somehow? I’ve always loved fantasy books and Robin McKinley’s retelling of Beauty and the Beast came to mind—where the invisible servants take care of all the chores in the enchanted palace. Was it something like that?