Angel's Rest(28)
“We lived in a very conservative town. It was hard.”
“I know, dear. And I know that you were hurt by Greg and his wandering penis. I’ve been afraid you wouldn’t stay at the plate and take another pitch.”
Nic grinned at the expression her aunt had used, then declared, “I refuse to be a quitter, Aunt Janice.”
They reached the corner of Aspen and Seventh and turned toward home. Nic’s gaze lifted toward Murphy Mountain. “That said, I’m afraid that learning to trust a man again will be more difficult than falling in love will be. Trust is a tough one—just look at Mom.”
“It’ll happen for you.” Aunt Janice linked her arm through Nic’s. “I believe in that old cliché about time healing all wounds.”
Nic nodded and added, “Time, distance, and Eternity Springs.”
Ten days later, Nic recalled the conversation as she pulled her truck into the driveway at Cavanaugh House and sat for a moment, looking at the sprawling Victorian. The place looked postcard pretty with snow icing the gables, the mountain behind it, and expanse of yard in the front. “Time, distance, and Eternity Springs,” she murmured. That would make a good marketing slogan for Celeste’s healing center. She’d have to remember to tell her.
The initial cleanup in the wake of the fire was just about finished. Unfortunate though it had been, the fire had worked magic on the town’s off-season economy, providing a windfall to local contractors and the building supply store. The Elkhorn Lodge benefited from visits by various inspectors and historical experts brought in by Gabe, and Sarah said the sales of the cinnamon rolls she baked for the Mocha Moose had tripled in the weeks following the fire.
While the north wing of the house had been a total loss, harm to the rest of the manse was for the most part limited to smoke and cosmetic damage. Celeste had moved home over Thanksgiving weekend. She liked being on-site and in the thick of things, able to interact with the workers as they wired and papered and painted. Because Cavanaugh House’s current kitchen facilities—a dorm-size refrigerator, a coffeepot, and a microwave—gave her the perfect excuse to dine out most evenings, she often shared supper with Gabe at the Bristlecone and discussed her ideas for the prayer garden, the hot springs pools, and any other new thoughts that had come to her that day.
Nic exited her truck, then hurried up the walk and onto the Victorian house’s sprawling porch. Light from the entry hall fixture shone through the front door’s leaded glass. She wiped her boots on the doormat, then stepped inside. The scent of sawdust and popcorn greeted her. As she removed her coat and gloves and hung them on the hall tree, in addition to the banging of hammers from somewhere upstairs, she heard female voices coming from a room down the hall. Sounded like Sarah and Sage were already here.
With her plan moving forward, Celeste had determined that she needed help compiling a formal inventory of the contents of Cavanaugh House, particularly the basement and attic. Nic, Sarah, and Sage had jumped at the opportunity to explore the multitude of boxes, trunks, and chests squirreled away in the nooks and crannies of the Victorian house, and they’d taken to spending a couple of hours each afternoon at the task. The inventory already had unearthed some gems. The vintage clothing had caught Nic’s fancy. Sarah swooned over the silver tea service. Once Sage got a look at the art glass they uncovered, she eyed each unopened trunk like a gift box on Christmas morning.
In addition to dozens of pretty things, they had unearthed a mountain of paper. Town records, old newspapers, account books, and diaries offered a potential treasure trove of information. Once they made a master list of everything, they intended to dive into those. They all hoped the written records held the key to the Cellar Bride’s identity.
Nic walked into the room to see Sage at the desk in front of the computer and Sarah seated on the sofa, a box of delicate glass Christmas ornaments at her side, a yellow legal pad and digital camera in her lap. “Sorry I’m late,” Nic said.
“Lori told us you had to make a run out to the Double R this morning. Is the horse okay?”
“She will be.”
“Good.” Sage reached into the bag beside her desk, saying, “And, now that we’re all here, I want to show you what I found. Wait until you see this.”
She held up a small leather-bound book. “Remember that photo album I took home yesterday? This was tucked inside it. It’s a diary written by a woman named Elizabeth Blaine.”
Sarah carefully set down a hand-blown glass Christmas ornament and looked at Sage with interest. “Elizabeth Blaine married Harry Cavanaugh, one of the founders of Eternity Springs.”