She’d tried to sleep most of Sunday after she’d made it home from the hospital, but today she had far too many things to do. Only, the house seemed to call to her as the shadows grew long. Memories lined the walls of the old place that had been in the Truman family for more than a hundred years. Lifetimes of living mixed with her short time among them. She thought of her first days here when she’d counted the hours until Jeremiah kicked her out. She’d shown up with nothing in her backpack but a few changes of underwear, a jacket, and a couple of old T-shirts. Reagan remembered the day he’d given her a roll of money and trusted her to do what was right. Old Jeremiah had been the first person ever to trust her or believe in her. He’d set up a charge account for her at stores in town and told her to spend what she needed and never questioned her on a dime she spent. She thought of the party when he’d handed her the deed to this place for her eighteenth birthday. He’d said he did it so she’d never have to worry about having a home.
