Page 19 of My Heart Will Find You

“Ah. Right. Flatulent constipation.”

Henry laughed. “Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

For the rest of the day, they burrowed into Henry’s extensive library. Over the years, he’d collected many obscure pamphlets and locally published books. The kind of things people threw away so they disappeared forever.

“Ben and I used to do road trips together,” he said as they ate roast beef sandwiches for lunch. He told how they drove to small towns, to places that no longer existed, and fantasized about what it had once been like. “We went to many cemeteries,” he said. “The older the better.”

“I’m going to check sites about who is buried where.” By nightfall, she’d found no record of the people she’d met, alive or dead. She and Henry had eyes that seemed to go in circles. Etta asked about Sophie, but she wasn’t singing that night. Henry knew her schedule and honored it.

Etta made dinner for them, tacos that she put on the table seemingly faster than the beef could cook. As they sat down, she said, “What if I dream again tonight?”

“Lucky you.” His head came up. “Please include me. And set me up with my wife.”

“The names are the same, but I don’t think your wife and the past Martha are the same person. The Martha of my dream was a bit, uh...”

“Grumpy? Sullen? Angry?”

Etta grinned. “Actually, yes. She looked like someone who could drive a mule train.”

“My Martha was no-nonsense.”

“I bet she was glad you took over the house and Ben.”

“Very glad. She liked that we were happy, and she loved hearing about our adventures around Kansas.” He picked up a piece of tomato. “Vegetables! Did you know that a lot of Mexicans lived in Kansas? I’ll bet you they planted gardens. You’d have something to cook besides beef and beans.”

“What a good idea! Not that I’ll go back. I mean, I won’t dream of the place again, but I’d like vegetables. You have any cookbooks around here? Historic, maybe?”

“Funny you ask that. Martha loved reading cookbooks.”

“This is the woman who never entered the kitchen?”

“The same. They’re in my house.”

“The one designed by Caroline-Cornelia with the whip? Has she ever, you know, struck out at Ben?”

“Ben is as quiet as Caroline is energetic. They complement each other. I have a feeling your husband is more like her. They would inflame one another.”

“My husband?” Etta said. “He’s not real! It was just a dream.” She got up and took the plates away. “Whatever, he’s not ‘inflamed’ byme.” She put the utensils in the dishwasher and turned it on. “Mind if I get a few cookbooks, then go to bed?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” He led the way out the back door.

Etta hadn’t seen the guesthouse. The one designed by the beauteous, flaming Cornelia.

She slowed down.Stop it!she told herself.It was a dream.Caroline was not Cornelia. And besides, Cornelia didn’t really exist.

Etta went around a tree and there it was. “Cute” didn’t begin to adequately describe it. She would have guessed that Caroline would make the guesthouse in the style of Henry’s Italianate house. But no. It was short and white, with glass-paned doors in the front. No modern sliders for Caroline!

Henry held the door for her. Like the interior of the big house, the little one was furnished in timeless modern. Very clean, white and blue, with splashes of dark purple pillows.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Really nice.”

“It suits me. I don’t need a full kitchen and all those rooms.”

“As long as you have your library, you’re fine.”

He laughed. “You already know me well.”

The guesthouse had only two rooms and a bath. The kitchen was at the end of the pretty living room, and the cabinets had been custom-made. “Caroline put all the pans I’d need on the dining table, then measured them. She had the cabinets made to fit them.”

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