Chapter 1

As the car crested the hill, the view of the old homestead was magnificent. It was just as she remembered it in all its glory. The magnolias, which lined the drive at the front of the house, had just lost their blooms as fall drew to a close in a splendid array of color. The windows of the house reflected the morning sunlight and the red, orange and golds of autumn, which cast the entire scene in the enchanting aura of days gone by. Though the gutters of the stately old house were slightly sagging and the wraparound porch could have used a fresh coat of paint, to her it was as beautiful as ever.

Anticipation fluttered in her belly as she swung the car around the circled drive. But when the car crawled to a stop at the front of the house, the fluttering ended with a wrenching thud. It was then that she remembered Granny was not going to rush out onto the porch to greet her. Never again would she fall into the arms of her Granny, still strong even at the age of eighty-nine, to be crushed in a hug filled with love. The summers were always the most fun, she thought as she closed her eyes against a rush of memories. Granny puttering around in the garden, long walks in the woods, the way Granny always smelled of lilacs in bloom.

She walked to the steps of the porch and her eyes searched the windows lining the front of the house. In her mind, she saw the way the windows were always steamy at Christmas when the family arrived. She and her sisters would sit lazily on the couch in the front parlor and draw pictures in the steam on the glass. A sob rose unexpectedly echoing the deep ache in her belly and she bent at the waist with the weight of it, grasping the railing of the sagging porch steps.

Elizabeth Anne O’Grady Hall, family matriarch, loved by all, had died only a few days ago. Until that very moment, it hadn’t seemed quite real. Now she let the tears flow freely as she slowly climbed the steps and reached for the door. It was locked. She sighed with relief because the locked door meant her sisters had not yet arrived. Once they arrived, there would be no time to give in to grief, no time to relax and slowly remember the special times she and Granny had shared. She was glad that her first moments in the house would be spent alone.

One of four daughters born to James and Sara Brighton, Johanna was not the oldest, but she was definitely the leader of the foursome. While each of her sisters was accomplished in their own way, she was the overachiever of the bunch. As a result, her family often turned to her for emotional and financial support. It was a burden she bore without complaint, but a burden nonetheless. Johanna loved her sisters deeply, and yet she couldn’t help resenting always being relegated to the position of leadership. Even now, she would be the one to handle the task of sorting through her Granny’s belongings. As the attorney of the family, she would ultimately decide what to do with the house.

Johanna reached under the worn doormat and lifted the floor plank that hid the spare key. She smiled sadly at the words on the mat, “Welcome.” Worn by years of feet passing across the threshold, the mat was a true testament to Granny’s home. Open to family, friends, and neighbors alike, many had found solace and comfort in the loving confines of the old plantation house. I can’t believe it was only a month ago that I was sitting in that rickety ole’ porch swing listening to Granny and Old Mrs. Beasley, she thought as she unlocked the door and passed over the “Welcome” mat once more.

Stepping into the house was like stepping into another time and space. When she crossed the threshold the house gave a gentle sigh — as if it too were mourning Granny’s passing. The silence was deafening and it settled in her stomach like a stone. Wearily, she turned to close the door. She laid her hand against the wooden door, intending to give it a firm push, but as soon as her hand connected with the surface, an icy blast enveloped her. Johanna stared in amazement as puffs of her own breath appeared in the air before her. It was then that she felt it. With the cold came a presence she felt as surely as she felt the cold. In a flash of light, something whisked by her face, brushing her cheek as it passed. Fingers of ice trailed across her face and stifling a gasp, Johanna whirled about wildly, searching for the thing. But it, whatever it was, was gone. All was still as she stared at the particles of dust dancing in the light. Slowly she touched her cheek. At that moment, she saw movement to her left. Spinning quickly, her heart raced until she realized it was only her own movement reflected in the mirror hanging above the foyer table. Johanna laughed nervously as she walked over to peer at the brown-skinned woman reflected in the mirror. Her laughter ceased when she saw a haggard and drawn young woman looking back. Johanna stood silently as she appraised her appearance. Rather plain, she thought. And the red-rimmed eyes, swollen with fatigue, certainly don’t help. “You’re just tired, that’s all,” she said aloud as she touched her face again.

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