A Letter for Annie. Laura Abbot

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      ANNIE PULLED a deck of cards from the pocket of her overalls and sat down across from her aunt. “Gin rummy tonight, Auntie G.?”

      “No, petunia. I want to start on the family history.” From the chest, which had remained by her chair, she reached for a stack of photographs. “We’ll begin with my father and mother.” She drew out a picture of a handsome, dark-haired young man, wearing a World War I uniform and looking directly into the camera. “This is my father. He went over to France with the first wave of Yanks. In all the years I knew him, he never once talked about his war experiences. Only about the fine friends he’d made, many lost in the trenches.” She paused, thinking of all those soldiers who never returned home. “One of those friends gave my father a wonderful piece of advice in early 1929. ‘Sell your stock,’ he said. Because of my father’s respect for the man, he did exactly that, only a few short months before the October crash.”

      “I’ve always wondered how he managed to build this house during the Depression.” Annie fingered the faded photograph. “What about your mother?”

      “Lucy Windsor was from a wealthy Connecticut family that summered in Maine. Shortly after the war, she fell madly in love with William Greer and, despite her parents’ objections that he didn’t come from the ‘proper’ stock, she defied them by marrying him and, in essence, living happily ever after.”

      The ghost of a smile teased Annie’s lips. “I’m beginning to see where your independent streak may have originated.”

      “You come from a strong line, my dear.” Geneva pointed to a photo of a blond beauty with bobbed hair, clad in a fringed flapper-style evening gown. “My mother. People always loved being around her. My father built the cottage for her. She longed for the sea of her childhood, and he gave her the next best thing. Even though we lived in Portland, we spent every summer here. Happy times.”

      “I’ve always thought this house had ghosts, the good kind.”

      Geneva nodded. “That’s why it’s so important to me to preserve this place.”

      In her great-aunt’s words Annie heard the plaintive melody of nostalgia. “I hope new owners love and honor the cottage the way you do.”

      “New owners? I’m not fixing up the house to sell it.” Geneva smiled, then picked up Annie’s hand and held it in her own. “Oh, my little petunia, this place will be yours.”

      Annie’s mind reeled. Hers? That would mean staying in Eden Bay. “Auntie G., I’m not sure—”

      “This is your home. In time, I pray you will come to embrace this place.”

      What could she possibly say to her great-aunt? The gift of the cottage was more than generous. How could she disappoint Auntie G. by telling her she had no desire to remain in a town with such distressing memories? “I can’t promise anything.”

      The older woman nodded in understanding. “Not now, maybe. Just promise me you’ll give Eden Bay a chance.”

      It was a lot to ask, but under the circumstances she had little choice but to murmur, “I’ll try.”

      Later, as Annie snuggled under the comforter that smelled vaguely of lavender, she pondered how different things might have been for her in Eden Bay, if only…She shuddered and drew the spread up over her shoulders. So much had changed, and her future was a huge question mark. In another world, she might have been the one to continue the line of Greers living in the cottage. Now they would die out with Geneva.

      Perhaps that was just as well.