“Exciting?” Emily said, giving a short laugh. “I don’t know about that. It’s pretty scary to start over again.”
“Now you’re being modest.” Mrs. Ludlow slowly sat down at the table. “I think you’re very brave.”
“It’s brave to do something important that you don’t have to do,” Emily countered. “I have no choice. I think that’s called desperation.”
The widows laughed, and although Emily joined them, she wasn’t joking. They all gathered around the table, and after they oohed and ahhed over her cooking until she was blushing, she needed to change the subject.
“I’ve been going through my mother’s yearbooks,” she began slowly, buttering a slice of pumpkin bread. “Before I leave town, I’d like to talk to people who were friends with my mother. Cathy Lombardi wrote in every yearbook. Does she still live in town?”
“Cathy? Of course she does!” Mrs. Thalberg beamed. “She’s the secretary at St. John’s Church, and her married name is Fletcher.”
A church secretary? The woman’s photos made her seem like a refugee from the sixties, with her tie-dyed shirts, headbands, and colored glasses.
“She’s there every day,” Mrs. Ludlow said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you dropped by.”
“I will. Which church is it?”
“The Catholic one on Third and Grace, just the next block over from your building,” said Mrs. Thalberg. “Now before you get going,” she added, when Emily started to rise, “we have some things we’ve been collecting for you.”
Emily was surprised and even embarrassed when the widows handed her several bags filled with linens. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”
“Now why should you waste your money buying new towels and sheets?” Mrs. Thalberg demanded. “We’ve lived so long that we have plenty, and we’re happy to share.”
Emily felt herself blinking back tears as she looked at the three widows. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been so kind to me, accepting me into your home and treating me like family.”
It was like she had grandmothers—three of them.
Mrs. Thalberg patted her arm. “You are like family, my dear. That’s how we felt about your grandmother.”
“I’m going to miss you all, but I will certainly come visit, and I hope you’ll do the same.”
“I’ve been waitin’ for a tour ever since you got here.” Mrs. Palmer rubbed her hands together with glee.
And this was the moment Emily should have told them about the interest from Leather and Lace, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to risk spoiling her last morning with the widows, especially when Mrs. Thalberg so graciously insisted she would drive Emily and her possessions into town. Or perhaps she wasn’t giving the widows enough credit, but Nate’s concern wouldn’t quite leave her.
Chapter Ten
St. John’s Church was built of stone, with a tall spire that topped town hall. Though it looked majestic and conservative, Emily had to laugh, because right across the street was the Mystic Connection, the new age store the old men had been grumbling about. She wondered what the priest thought of the Wiccan priestesses who might frequent the shop.
The rectory and the church office were next door to St. John’s, and when Emily entered, the woman at the front desk rose with a smile.
“You must be Emily Murphy,” the woman said, coming around the desk and holding out her hand. “I’m Cathy Fletcher. Mrs. Palmer gave me a call.”
She should never trust the widows with an actual secret, Emily thought with resignation. She shook hands with Cathy, a plump woman with a matching skirt-and-sweater outfit. Short, curly brown hair framed her face, and she wore stylish glasses. No longer a rebel teenager, Emily thought with amusement.
Cathy gestured to a chair and sat down beside her. The rectory looked to be a converted Victorian home, complete with a two-story foyer that was outfitted for the receptionist.
“Mrs. Palmer tells me you’re Delilah’s daughter,” Cathy said.
“Had she already changed her name in high school?” Emily asked ruefully.
Cathy laughed. “She loved that name, but no, it wasn’t official. Mrs. Palmer told me about the change, and that you came to town to sell the old store because your mom died last year in a car accident. I was so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
“It feels like a part of my childhood is gone.” Cathy sighed.
“Did you keep in touch with my mother?”
Cathy took a deep breath and straightened her skirt over her knees. “Not for long although I sometimes like to think that if we had e-mail back then, we would have remained friends. Letters