Page 77 of Borrowed Time

With a grim inner smile, Seth guessed she was keeping it carefully hidden so there was no chance of Charles seeing the thing.

She’d pulled her hair back into a scarf patterned in black and red and green and wore plain black shoes with modest heels. Although he hadn’t seen her add any cosmetics to her pile of clothing, he thought she must have, because her full lips now gleamed a deep crimson, and her lashes, long and thick enough on their own, somehow seemed twice as dark and full.

No matter what decade she was in, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Charles, on the other hand, didn’t appear too moved by this vision, because he only said, “Let me lock up, and then we can go talk to Abigail.”

A pause on their way out so he could lock the mercantile’s glass front door, and afterward, they began walking up the hill. At least that part hadn’t changed — everyone in Jerome walked where they needed to go in town unless they had some kind of heavy load to bring along.

“Your house is empty, too,” Charles commented as they steadily made their way up Clark Street. “Mother couldn’t bear to sell it, so she started renting it out. Margie O’Dowd and her husband lived there for a few years, but then he was laid off from his job at the mine and they moved to Payson, where a cousin got her husband a job at a sawmill there. They would have had to move anyway — baby number two was coming shortly, and your bungalow would have been far too small for a family of four.”

Seth found it hard to imagine his cousin Margie grown up and with a husband and one baby, let alone two — she’d only been six the last time he’d seen her — but he knew he had to figure out a way to get his mind to accept that twenty-one years had passed during his absence, and all the children he’d known then would now be adults with families of their own.

“Is the house all right?”

“It’s fine,” Charles said, his tone now almost indulgent, as though he thought his brother had much more important matters to be concerned about. “Everyone’s always kept an eye on it, so there hasn’t been any vandalism even though it’s been standing empty for almost eight months now.”

Seth supposed he would have to be satisfied with that answer. Walking next to him, Devynn gave him a questioning look, but he only shook his head. They needed to get this conversation with Abigail over with, and then he and Devynn could figure out what they should do next.

He knew one thing, though.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to worry about what it might “look” like to have her stay with him at the bungalow. After all their forced separations, they were going to be under the same roof, damn it.

Well, as long as she was all right with the idea, obviously.

At least theprima’shouse on Paradise Lane looked the same as it always did, its paint white and fresh, its shutters a friendly green in contrast. True, the front lawn was starting to look yellow, but that always happened in late October.

It did feel a little strange to simply walk inside rather than knock and wait, but Seth reminded himself that this was Charles’s house as well, and he certainly didn’t need to stand on ceremony.

They passed the large formal parlor at the front of the house, clearly headed for the much homier space at the rear, the one that overlooked the gardens. A fire danced in the hearth, even though the day had felt mild enough to Seth and he really hadn’t thought such a thing should be necessary.

A woman sat in an armchair there, a piece of tatting lying neglected in her lap as she seemed to stare out into the garden, already trimmed back in anticipation of the coming winter. Herhead turned toward them as they approached, recognition and shock registering in her pale blue eyes.

This had to be Abigail, but she was even more changed than Charles, her fair hair now almost entirely silver, dark shadows under her heavy-lidded eyes. She’d always been thin bordering on frail, but now she seemed nearly translucent, as though the October sun could somehow shine right through her fragile skin.

“Seth?” she said, her voice almost sounding like a ghost’s as well, thin and whispery.

“Yes,” he replied, stepping forward. “I’ve come back.”

Her faded blue eyes shifted toward Devynn. “Who is this?”

“Devynn Rowe,” she replied, moving so she was shoulder to shoulder with him. “I was here briefly in June of 1926, but you might not remember that. I don’t think we were ever formally introduced.”

Abigail’s sparse brows pulled together, and then she nodded. “The girl who was found at the mine?”

“That was me,” Devynn said. “And I’m a witch, although I was doing my best to hide it from everyone.”

Theprimaseemed nonplussed by this information. “Charles, did you know about this?”

Seth’s brother stepped forward. “Not until the end, right before they both disappeared.”

“How very curious.” Abigail paused there, and one thin hand plucked almost fretfully at the tatting in her lap. “But I suppose we should tell the elders — and let everyone else know Seth is back, just so they aren’t startled to see him wandering around town.”

He didn’t know whether he was in danger of that, since they hadn’t passed a single soul on their way up to Paradise Lane. Then again, it was the middle of a workday, when most people would be otherwise occupied.

“I’ll send word,” Charles said, then glanced over at Devynn and Seth. “If you’ll excuse me for a few moments.”

He went out then, leaving the two of them to stand awkwardly in the back parlor. Abigail hadn’t invited them to sit down, so Seth thought it was probably better for them to remain where they were.

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