“Good, the idea shocks you. Now take my advice and destroy that garbage before someone’s hurt by the damn things. You can’t change the past, but you can let it be.” Let it be? That was something she couldn’t do, April thought heading into the house. Not if she intended to get her memory back. The only other person she felt comfortable approaching on the subject was Helga. However, the bluntness she’d used with March wouldn’t work for the housekeeper. This called for a subtle opening. As a self-proclaimed fan of Lily’s, Helga might consider it disloyal to indulge in the kind of gossip April wanted to hear. After a brief search, she came across Helga in the living room. Although the housekeeper was one hundred percent American, born and bred, she might’ve been plucked from the pages of the Farmer’s Daughter. Watching her apply spray polish and a cloth to the coffee and end tables prompted the memory of other times she’d seen Helga clean this room. Back then, waxing the wide pine tables, fluffing the deep cushioned white chintz furniture, or rubbing down the Dutch blue porcelain pieces which had once graced this room, she looked more like one envisioned the mistress of this oversized hunting lodge to look than had the actual one.
