Child of Mine

Annie nodded sympathetically. “Matt works like an artist, gets all caught up in what he does.” She pointed across the room. “See that bench? He recreated it from some fuzzy old photos for my grandfather. Took great care with every detail. The original was lost in a fire. It was a wedding present to Gramps from my great-grandparents. And it meant so much to him when Matt was able to make another one. He said it brought Granny closer to him those last years.” Annie cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I said, Matt becomes really caught up in his projects.”

Leah understood, but it wasn’t getting her any closer to talking with him. “Thanks anyway.”

Climbing the stairs back to her room, she couldn’t help but wonder. Matt usually got back to people quickly. So, why wasn’t he getting back to her?

At breakfast the next morning, Leah dawdled over her French toast.

“Do you want another slice?” Annie offered.

“No, thanks. It’s delicious, but I shouldn’t be eating anything this rich for breakfast.”

Annie chuckled. “The guests usually say that. But they rarely order anything else after they try it. It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

“I’m guessing you were close to your grandparents.”

“This was their place. The one that didn’t burn down.” Annie lifted the coffeepot. “More coffee?”

“Since I’m the last one in the dining room, why don’t you join me, unless I’m keeping you from something?”

“Best offer I’ve had all morning.”

Leah added more cream to her cup. “Do you ever get tired of having your house full of people?”

Annie hesitated. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I’ve been considering combining work and home spaces—I’m a designer.”

“Really? That must be interesting.”

“I like it. But then I kind of fell into it. It’s my family’s business. A third-generation business.”

“Like mine. This was a bakery during my grandparents’ time.”

“So you know what I mean. I grew up playing with fabric and paint. I thought sample books were toys.”

Annie grinned. “I’d have loved that. I’ve always wanted to do something more with this place.”

“It’s beautiful. Fits perfectly with the period of the building, of the town actually.”

“Thanks. For the most part, these were my grandparents’ furnishings. They used this room for the display area so it was a natural for the dining room. But I’d like to put my stamp on another room.”

“It’s the woman in us,” Leah commiserated.

“True.”

Leah sipped her coffee. “Do you know if Whitaker’s combines its workshop and retail space?”

“Hmm? Oh, there’s a work space at the store, but Matt does most of his work at the shop behind his house.”

“Did you have a particular room in mind to redo, Annie?” Leah asked, picking up on her earlier comment.

“One the public doesn’t have access to, I think,” she mused. “Maybe my bedroom.”

For a few minutes they talked about Annie’s decorating wish list. Leah didn’t want to rush the conversation, but at some point she intended to ask Annie just where the Whitaker house was.

If Matt Whitaker wouldn’t call her, she would have to call on him.

The rambling two-story house was old, well kept and surprisingly cozy-looking. It also appeared to be empty.

First, Leah rang the bell at the front door. Then waited. Then rang it again. And again.

She tried knocking.

She tried the back door.

Not thwarted, she searched out the shop. A tall, wide double door stood open. Apparently theft wasn’t an issue in this part of the world.

She found nothing but wood and tools in the orderly, pine-scented shop. She breathed in the smell of newly cut timber and wood dust, but they didn’t tell her if Whitaker had been there that day or even that week. She suspected the shop always smelled of freshly cut wood.

Going back to the house, she took out a card, scribbled a message on the back—explaining that she urgently needed to speak to him—and tucked it in the space by the front door.

Leah considered camping out until Matt Whitaker returned, but who knew when that would be?

So she checked again at the store. Nan was apologetic, assuring her that Matt would be in touch at some point.

She waited at Borbey House until after five o’clock and drove out to the Whitaker house again. No one was home.

Frustrated, she returned to the bed-and-breakfast.

Annie was tidying the parlor. “Any luck?”

“None.” Disheartened, she started climbing the stairs.

“Wait.” Annie put down her feather duster. “I know it’s exasperating, I mean, you driving all this way, not being able to get in touch with Matt. Why don’t you come with me this evening to the church supper? It’s always fun. We have games afterward.”

Leah was about to refuse. “And Matt might be there.”

That clinched it for her. “Oh? Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

“At our church? Never. It’s a potluck and we always have plenty of food and then some.”

Annie was about Leah’s age, and her lively dark eyes were warm and inviting. But Leah didn’t want to take advantage. “Then, can I make a donation?”

“It’s not necessary. Really, everyone’s welcome.”

“Hmm. I couldn’t help noticing that you make a lot of extra pies.”

“This is Borbey House—Hungarian for ‘baker.’ Selling the pies is a holdover tradition from the days when my grandparents ran the bakery.”