Nosy neighbors had been the bane of Rachel’s stay in Johnstonville. The phone lines had probably started humming with the news that Rachel Bishop was back the moment she identified herself at the lawyer’s office. The good citizens would wait with baited breath for Rachel’s next scandalous move. She’d disappoint them this time, though. She didn’t create havoc anymore. She brought order. And she definitely wouldn’t be corrupting any more golden boys.
As soon as they pulled in the driveway Chastity jumped out and sprinted toward the house. Rachel exhaled slowly. How was she going to become Chastity’s mother? She’d never measure up to Hope’s perfection. But she had to try. Chastity was her daughter, and she wouldn’t fail her this time.
Rachel grabbed her duffel bag from the back seat and followed the teen up the flower-lined walkway. By the time she reached the shady porch Chastity had retrieved the key from beneath a flower pot full of blooms and unlocked the door. In the corner of the yard Hope’s tiny vegetable garden was already green with the promise of summer fruits and vegetables.
“Matt said you’ve been staying with friends until I could get here?”
“His sister, Pam. I’ll have to go and get my stuff.”
Chastity had been staying with her aunt and didn’t even know it. Rachel sealed the thought in a vault with other taboo memories.
“In that case, the house will probably be musty and dusty and—” Chastity shoved the door open, and a waft of lemon polish–scented air cut off Rachel’s words. Not one dust mote had settled on the hardwood floors or danced in the sunbeams streaming through the sparkling clean windows. Goose bumps lifted Rachel’s skin. She almost expected Hope—the impeccable homemaker—to stroll from the kitchen at any moment with her apron on and her blond hair perfectly styled.
Chastity flounced down the hall, leaving Rachel frozen in the foyer. Maybe it was all a cruel joke. Maybe Hope wasn’t gone. Rachel’s gaze landed on an old family photograph hanging on the wall. Hope, their mother and grandmother were all blonde. Rachel, her father and Grandfather Bishop had darker coloring...like Chastity’s.
A tap on the open door behind her brought Rachel around. Alice Wilkins, the worst busybody on the planet and Hope’s next-door neighbor, stood outside. Small and birdlike, Alice had made a career out of chirping to Hope every time Rachel had sneaked out. She’d been friends with Rachel’s great aunt who’d originally owned the house and left it to Hope.
“Martha called from the school to tell me you and Chastity were on your way home. There’s nothing in the refrigerator, so I brought a casserole for your dinner and a salad. I grew the lettuce myself, and the dressing is my secret recipe.”
The thoughtful gesture was unexpected. Rachel didn’t know how to handle it, but then she stiffened her spine. No doubt Hope’s neighbors thought Rachel the Rebel incapable of feeding a child. But Rachel swallowed her pride, set down her bag, took the dishes and forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“The church women’s group and I have been keeping an eye on the place and straightening up a little since our dear Hope passed. She will be sorely missed.”
That explained the spotless house. “Yes.”
Alice showed no sign of leaving. The polite thing to do would be to invite her in, but Rachel couldn’t imagine Alice wanting to chat with the girl who’d rearranged her flower beds until the purple and yellow pansies spelled something vulgar.
“Chastity tells me you’re a nurse now.”
“I am.”
“She talks about you all the time. Wants to grow up to be just like her aunt Rachel and see the world. Of course, it used to break her mother’s heart to hear Chastity say she wanted to move away like you did. But Hope was quite pleased with the way you turned out after she convinced you to finish school and get a responsible job.”
Stunned speechless, Rachel merely stared. Hope hadn’t said anything, and one word of praise from her sister would have been more welcome than a winning lottery ticket. The only thing Rachel had known for sure was that she’d disappointed Hope and their parents on a regular basis.
Miss Wilkins pointed to the casserole. “Bake it at three-fifty for thirty minutes. Call if you need anything. I can pop over anytime. I left my number on the pad by the phone.”
“Thanks, again.” For more than the food. Rachel shut the door behind her. After all the effort Rachel had expended to make the woman miserable, she couldn’t fathom why she was being nice...unless she was fishing for information.
“Who was that?” Chastity had changed into jeans and a T-shirt and pulled her hair up into a ponytail on top of her head. Even though she still wore the heavy makeup, she looked more like a thirteen-year-old now than the thirty-year-old she’d been impersonating earlier.
“Miss Wilkins.”
Chastity grimaced. “Whatever she says, I didn’t do it. I’ve been at school all day.”
Rachel laughed. “I used to say those same words. She brought dinner.”
“Nah, she was checking up on us. Dinner is an excuse. What is it?” She peered under the foil. “Mmm, her chicken casserole. The old bat makes the best chicken casserole on the planet...even if she does make a career out of spying on me and making my life miserable.”
Grabbing the dish, Chastity headed for the kitchen. Rachel followed with the salad. A smile tugged her lips at yet another familiar refrain. She’d hated the neighbors who seemed determined to mind her business and offer unsolicited advice. It seemed she and her daughter had more in common than genetics. Rachel shoved the bowl into the empty and sparkling clean refrigerator.
“You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll help you unpack.” Chastity reached for the duffel bag Rachel had dropped on the floor.
“Thanks, but I’ll do it. I need to do my dirty laundry anyway.”
“This bag feels empty. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“I left most of it with the village women.”
“Why?”
How could she explain the horror of watching children sift through the dump for clothing, food and supplies? “Because they don’t have much, and there are no Walmart stores over there.”
A moment of silence passed. “I guess you could borrow some of Mom’s clothes. You’re taller, but otherwise about the same size.”
Stepping into her sister’s shoes or clothing wasn’t something she’d wanted to do if she could avoid it. “I’ll wash what I have.”
The phone rang, and Chastity bolted to answer it. While she chatted, Rachel headed to the laundry room. She dumped her soiled clothes in the washer and turned it on. While the tub filled, she opened the cabinet where Hope had kept the detergent. The box was empty. She searched every other cabinet and realized they were out. She turned off the machine, but it was too late. Her clothes were saturated.
Carrying her bag she headed toward her old room. The first room she passed was Chastity’s. It was decorated in ballerina pink with matching quilts on the twin beds and airy tulle bed skirts. It was every bit as adorable as the pictures Hope had sent.
Hope’s room was next. Her sister had redecorated the space in creamy white since Rachel’s time here. A pure room for the pure sister? Hope had been the unreachable ideal that Rachel’s parents had expected her to model. But now Hope was gone. Loss swelled in Rachel’s chest and tightened her throat. She swallowed, trying to ease the grip of grief. She and her sister had never been close. Even without their personality differences, the ten-year age gap had been too wide to bridge—and now it never would be.
And then an