Tessa began to think of herself as a married woman. She loved making him happy, and his long absences on the road seemed a small price to pay for the days he was home. It even felt as if fate, after toying with her for so long, had finally forgotten about her, and she could now live in peace.
When Tony gave her a beautiful ring on her birthday and asked her to officially be his wife, she cried. “I’m so happy. But if it’s okay, let’s not have a big wedding.”
Tony shrugged. “All that matters to me is being with you. The rest is up to you.”
The couple chose a date in mid-August, planning to spend their honeymoon at the country house. Tessa was touched that Tony had developed such respect for her beloved grandfather and that he was so understanding about her trips to the country, even helping out when he could. Of course, she invited her grandfather to the wedding and, trying not to jinx her happiness, began to prepare for the big day.
Just two weeks before the wedding, a neighbor from the country called to tell Tessa that her Grandpa George was in the local hospital with a suspected stroke. Tessa rushed from work to be with him, hoping to transfer him to a better hospital in the city if the doctors allowed. But it was too late. His heart, worn out by life’s hardships, gave out. Her grandfather passed away as she stood by his bedside, tears streaming down her face.
The grieving bride-to-be canceled the wedding. Neither her fiancé nor the guests, however disappointed they might have been, dared to object. Tessa didn’t even want to go through with a simple courthouse ceremony. “If you can,” she asked Tony, “please stay with me at the house for a little while. I don’t want to leave it empty until the forty days are up.” Instead of a joyful honeymoon, they had a somber work session. Tessa had to harvest the crops her grandfather had worked so hard to plant and tend.
Tony’s help was a blessing; without him, she probably would have cried constantly. The smallest things set her off. Picking up a shovel, its handle worn smooth by her grandfather’s hands, or catching his familiar scent from the clothes still hanging in the closet, would send her into a fresh wave of grief. The newly orphaned Tessa’s nerves were frayed, and she struggled to cope.
Despite the physical labor and fresh air, she developed insomnia. Lying awake, trying not to disturb the man sleeping beside her, she would torment herself with thoughts of what might have been. *Why didn’t I insist he move to the city? Or at least drag him to a doctor for a check-up? Maybe we could have had more time with him.* These unanswerable questions plagued her. At the pharmacist’s suggestion, Tony bought her a mild sedative, which helped dull the ache in her heart. At least she stopped crying all the time and started sleeping through the night.
Tessa couldn’t bring herself to sell her grandfather’s house. It was where she had spent her formative years, warmed by her grandparents’ love. Within its familiar walls, she felt a sense of peace. Tony, stuck in the role of perpetual fiancé, was often on the road, and she suggested, “Listen, if you’re ever passing through on the highway, you can always stop at the house to rest. Park the truck in the yard, get a decent night’s sleep. Here, take a spare set of keys. Don’t be a stranger. I think Grandpa would be glad the house isn’t sitting empty.”
In the spring, Tessa hired a local man to plow the garden. She knew she couldn’t manage the whole property herself, but she couldn’t bear to see the land her grandparents had poured their souls into become overgrown with weeds. Tony was on a long haul over the Memorial Day weekend, but Tessa, accustomed to farm work, managed on her own. She planted a few rows of potatoes and sowed the rest of the plot with mustard greens, leaving a small patch for hardy squash and zucchini that didn’t require much care. When she returned for the anniversary of her grandfather’s passing, she and Tony quickly harvested the modest crop.
And now, just over a month after that somber date, she was once again traveling to that familiar place, her mind filled with memories of the people she loved. Lost in thoughts of her grandparents, and the grandfather who had so unexpectedly appeared in her dream, the miles flew by.
Tessa felt a sharp pang of loneliness and wished she could talk to someone. Tony hadn’t called in a couple of days. That happened sometimes when he was in areas with poor cell service. But right now, she desperately needed to hear his voice. She scrolled through her recent calls and tapped his name. A robotic voice informed her that the subscriber was out of the service area.
The bus was approaching her stop. No one else got off with her, and Tessa noted with a touch of sadness that the small town was still far from revival. Her legs were stiff from the long ride, and her office pumps were ill-suited for a walk to the cemetery. A glance at her phone showed that it would be dark in an hour or two, so she decided to postpone visiting the graves until morning. She hurried toward the familiar house, just a few blocks off the main road.
Her Grandpa George used to tell her, “Tess, you can change anything you want on the inside of the house, but leave the outside as it is. And after I’m gone, don’t forget to repaint the window trim. I picked out the patterns and carved them for your grandmother. So you keep them up, in our memory.”
Tessa would always scoff gently. “Oh, stop being so morbid. You’re still strong as an ox.”
Now, as she did every time she returned, her eyes automatically went to the trim. The paint was peeling in places, and a few of the carved boards seemed to have shifted. A house without its owner is an orphan, she thought. She began making a mental shopping list for the next morning, planning her day to get everything done.
But when she stepped inside, her plans were forgotten. She was surprised to find the circuit breakers by the door were flipped on. She always cut the power when she left, just in case. She shrugged it off. Her last departure had been rushed; she could have easily forgotten. Or maybe Tony had been by and hadn’t turned it off.
Tessa flipped on the light in the mudroom—the “porch,” as her grandparents had called it. She gratefully kicked off her uncomfortable shoes and walked into the main room. It turned out the circuit breakers weren’t the only surprise. Curled up on the high bed, like a kitten, was a little girl.
Tessa felt a chill. It wasn’t fear, but the unsettling feeling of an intrusion into her private space. “Hey, hi,” she said softly. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
The girl lifted her head. She squinted sleepily at Tessa, then blinked her long lashes. “My name is Sophie. I’m six. I came here with my mommy and Uncle Tony because we had to leave our apartment in the city really, really fast. Mommy said we had to.”
Looking closer at Tessa, the little girl exclaimed,
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