“You’re mean!” Holly ran her fingers over her flawless face. “Mama, tell him to shut his mouth.”

“You started it, Holly Jo,” Lily told her.

“I did not,” Holly protested. “Braden did, and if I start getting wrinkles, I’m going to run away.”

“The goats turn into zombies at night,” Braden said. “You better stay in the house after dark.”

“They only eat little boys. They hate girls,” Holly told him. “So you better not go outside to smoke. Did you throw away that pack you had hiding in your underwear drawer?”

“Yes, I did, tattletale,” Braden replied. “Did you throw away that joint you had in your purse?”

“I flushed it down the toilet.” She blushed.

“That’s enough out of both of you,” Lily said.

Mack chuckled under his breath. “This is going to be an adventure.”

“More like a nightmare,” Lily whispered.

Chapter Four

The first major fight between Braden and Holly came about on Saturday evening. They both wanted to have first dibs on the single bathroom on the second floor. Lily came out of her bedroom and got between them before they started throwing punches. “Braden, you go take a bath and get to bed. You can read until eleven since this is Christmas break. Lights go out at ten on school nights.”

“Ten! That’s for babies,” Braden argued.

“You always take his side.” Holly crossed her arms over her chest and fumed.

“You will take a morning bath.” Lily turned and waggled a finger at her daughter. “The bathroom is off-limits for putting on makeup or primping, and that goes for both of you. You each have a mirror in your room. And ten o’clock is bedtime, and there will be a bed check.”

“I don’t primp,” Braden declared. “And I want a shower, not a bath.”

“You’re out of luck, kid. Our bathroom only has a tub, and the weatherman says there’s no chance of rain for a couple of days,” Lily told him.

“What’s rain got to do with it?” Braden asked.

“Duh!” Holly snorted. “You have to go outside and dance around naked if you want a shower.” She clamped a hand over her mouth and groaned. “How am I supposed to wash my hair with no shower?”

“See that plastic pitcher sitting on the ladder-back chair?” Lily pointed.

“Are you serious?” Holly asked.

“Yep, I am, but on the positive side, that big old claw-foot tub is deep enough that you can sink down in it all the way to your chin,” Lily said. “You might even learn to like it after you take a few baths.”

“Yeah, when them goats out there sprout wings and fly.” Holly stormed off to her room and slammed the door.

Lily remembered the last time they had been there, Braden had called the deep tub his swimming pool. In those days, Holly had been content to read her Harry Potter books in the evenings, and there was no problem with sharing a bathroom. Wyatt was still with her then and had comforted her all through the days leading up to the funeral and even on the way back to Austin when she’d been so sad. Two days later, he’d told her that he wanted a divorce.

She went back to her bedroom and closed the door, sat down on the bed, and stared at the old oak secretary without really seeing it. “The bastard,” she whispered. “He was holding me and thinking of Victoria the whole time. Thank God I didn’t get pregnant that last night we were in this house.”

She blinked, bringing the secretary into focus. Lily had played at her mother’s feet when Vera would lower the little flap to make a desk so she could answer letters every Sunday afternoon. Her mother had warned her constantly to be careful with the curved glass door, behind which Vera’s most prized knickknacks were kept.

Lily stood up and lowered the flap. Each of the little cubbyholes was filled—one with stationery, another with matching envelopes, and still another with a roll of forty-nine-cent stamps. In the space under the cubicles sat a leather-bound book about two inches thick. Thinking it might be a first edition of one of the classics that her mother loved, she slid it out slowly and laid it on the desk. A thin piece of leather wrapped around a big brown button on the top kept it closed. She ran her fingers over the tooled title: Family Journal. Why hadn’t her mother ever showed it to her or even mentioned buying it?

She unwound the leather latch and opened the book. “Holy smoke! It’s not a book. It really is a journal. I wonder where Mama got it.” She opened it and started to flip through it when Holly peeked in the room.

“Mama, I hate it here. You’ve proven your point. Please take us home,” she begged. A tear slowly made its way down her cheek, showing that she was truly miserable.

Lily almost caved, but then a voice in her head reminded her to deliver what you promise. She remembered her mother saying those very words.

“But you haven’t proven your point,” Lily said. “When you’ve proven that you can be trusted, then we’ll have this discussion again. Until then, we’re staying right here.”

Holly wiped the tear away with the back of her hand and glared at her mother. “I’ll never forgive you for making me do this.” She turned around, crossed over to her room, and slammed the door.

Feeling as if she was reading something sacred, she stared at the first entry—small, neat handwriting from someone named Ophelia Smith.

June 1862, Vicksburg, Mississippi: My heart is broken. My life is in shambles and I have no idea what to do. I can run a household, but William took care of the plantation, and now he’s dead and gone. I’ve kept things going, but it hasn’t been easy. A woman doesn’t have the authority that a man does. William left six months ago to fight for the Confederacy. They brought his body home yesterday, and we buried him today. Now I have two children, a daughter, Matilda, and a son, Henry, to raise on my own. Times are hard right now, and children need a father, especially Henry, who isn’t old enough to help me run this place, and is already showing rebellious signs. I fear he’ll run off and join the fight as soon as he’s old enough. Our foreman left today, and several slaves have already run away, too. I can see nothing but disaster in the future. Our way of life is gone, but it’s all I know, so what do I do now?