to do about this job offer.”
“Make peace with it,” Mack suggested. “Get out a piece of paper and write down the pros and cons of each job—the one you have now and are comfortable doing, and then the one that Sally offered you. Make a decision and then forge ahead with no regrets.”
It sounded like good advice, so she went up to her room, got out a notebook, and began to write. When she finished, she was amazed to see that the side with Sally’s offer had the most pros. She’d have to think about it another day or two, but she liked the idea better and better.
She was about to close the drop-down flap of the secretary when she noticed the journal again. Still feeling like she was reading a friend’s personal diary, she opened it and turned the first two pages. This entry was dated May 1863:
I have no heart left to break. It’s all shattered into a million pieces that will never be put back together. I hate being under my brother’s thumb, and hearing him curse my son every day, but we have no choice. My niece treats Matilda like her own chambermaid, and Matilda rebels. There is so much tension in this place that I wish the Union soldiers would have shot me instead of William. I’d do it myself if it wasn’t for the fact that Matilda needs me. I’ve started taking in sewing for extra money, but Walter requires nearly all of it for our room and board. The rest I’m saving to go home when this miserable war ends. Maybe we can reclaim our home there, if there’s anything left.
Part of Lily wanted to read more, but the desperation in Ophelia’s words broke her heart again. Now that she’d started reading the journal, she intended to read it all, but she’d have to do it in small doses. She flipped over to the last page and was surprised to see her own mother’s handwriting.
“Good Lord,” she gasped as she realized that this wasn’t just a journal Vera had picked up at an estate sale. By her mother’s writing, it must mean that this was a history of her own.
Lily closed the book and put it back in the secretary, vowing that she’d read it more slowly now that she realized what she had in her possession. She thought about her ancestor, Ophelia, and the circumstances she was living in during the Civil War.
Lily had a home that had been left to her by her parents. She’d never had to worry about coming back to nothing like Ophelia did. Lily had two kids who’d disappointed her, but like Ophelia, she still loved them both—even if both of them had pulled some crazy stunts. A mother might not like her children at times, but she always loved them.
Chapter Six
Lily could feel the angst in the car on Tuesday morning when she drove to the school. Of course Holly had dressed in a pair of her best jeans and the boots she’d gotten for Christmas. Her cute little pink hoodie was zipped up to her neck, so Lily had no idea what kind of shirt was under it—she just hoped that it was school appropriate. Her makeup was perfect, and her hair had been curled. Braden wore a pair of jeans—thank God they were pulled up to his waist and not showing his underwear—his oldest faded black hoodie, and a T-shirt with Blake Shelton on the front. Hopefully, the school didn’t have a problem with writing or pictures on kids’ shirts.
Braden and Holly were both wide-eyed when she pulled into the parking lot in front of the school. There were only somewhere between ten and twenty vehicles there, so she had her choice of spaces. She chose one closest to the front doors.
“Is this the whole thing?” Holly gasped. “Our science department was bigger than this.”
“It’s the whole enchilada.” Lily turned the key, undid her seat belt, and opened the door. “Just be thankful that it’s a small school. You won’t have trouble finding your classes.”
“I’m more thankful that Rose and Ivy ride the same bus as me so I’ll know someone,” Holly said as she and Braden got out of the car and followed their mother.
The last time Lily had been in this building was the night she’d graduated. A few things had changed, but not much. She had no trouble finding the principal’s office. She knocked on the closed door, and a woman’s