“Well, maybe,” Lori replied. “I could be getting closer. I think I’ve located my adoptive mother’s sister.”
“Oh, really?” Ruby said. “That’s exciting, Lori!”
Lori nodded. “Aunt Josephine and my mom—my adoptive mom—were estranged for years, so as a child, I never met her. I found her through a search on Ancestry dot-com and emailed her this morning. It could be another blind alley, but I’m hoping I can learn something from her. If she’s the right person. And if she replies to my email.”
Lori was fourteen when she learned that she was adopted. Her adoptive parents were living in Little Rock when they found her—a week-old baby—in a home for unwed mothers. The agency that handled the adoption is now defunct, and its records, if there were any, have long since disappeared. According to Arkansas law, her biological parents’ names were removed from her birth certificate and replaced by the names of her adoptive parents, and all the court records and documents were sealed. Her adoptive parents hadn’t known her mother, so they couldn’t help. And now they were gone, too. There was nobody to answer Lori’s questions—except maybe, just possibly, this aunt.
“Fingers crossed,” Ruby said emphatically, holding up both hands. “Old Irish blessing,” she added, and we all laughed.
Ruby has her own reasons for encouraging Lori in her search. Ruby got pregnant when she was a teenager, and her mother sent her to a home for unwed mothers, where she was forced to give up her baby for adoption. Her daughter Amy found her at last, and now there’s little Grace, Amy’s three-year-old daughter and the joy of Ruby’s life. Ruby sees Lori’s search from the point of view of a mother reunited with the daughter she thought was gone forever.
“Yeah, well, I’ll get back to it tonight,” Lori said. “I thought I’d take advantage of the free afternoon to warp one of the looms. It’s not something I like to do when I’ve got a roomful of distracting students.” She looked down at the lace spread out across the table. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Where did you get all this loot?”
“We were cleaning out the storeroom,” I said, and pointed to a couple of boxes by the stairs. “We’ll get that stuff out of your way in a little while. It’s headed for Goodwill. But you might be interested in this lace,” I added, remembering that Lori had done her master’s in textile history.
“It was all stuffed in that box,” Ruby added, nodding toward the wooden chest. “We were just thinking that it looks like it’s pretty old.”
“Old is right.” Lori pushed her glasses up on her nose and bent over the table. “And all handmade.” She held up the filmy embroidered net veil. “This might be a bridal veil,” she said.
Lori picked up another piece, then another. “Just gorgeous,” she said. “You know, I really think they ought to be looked at by an expert. Some seem to be quite unique. And in amazingly good condition, too. A lot of very old lace is nothing but rags and tatters.” She glanced at me. “Christine Vickery teaches textiles at CTSU—I had her for a couple of classes, and I know she’s interested in lace. She might be able to tell us how these were made, and perhaps even when. Would you like me to ask her?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said. “Yes, please do.”
Lori picked up her bag, found her cell phone, and snapped several quick photos. “I’ll send her these. If she’s interested enough to take a look, I’ll give you a call and we can set something up.” She straightened up with a sigh. “Well, if I’m going to get that loom warped today, I’d better get started.”
“Have fun,” Ruby said, as Lori went to the large loom on the other side of the loft.
I scooped up the laces and put them back into the chest. “Maybe I should take this home for safekeeping.”
“Sure,” Ruby said. “I guess we’re done here for now.”
I nodded. “Then let’s tote those cardboard boxes out to my car. I’ll finish the menus and email them back to you, then drop the boxes off on my way to pick up Caitie at rehearsal. We’re giving her chickens a bath this afternoon. And Brian and his girlfriend are coming for supper this evening.” The whole family would be there, gathered around the table—these days, a rare occasion. I was looking forward to it.
“Caitie’s chickens are getting a bath?” Ruby gave me a disbelieving look. “I know your daughter treats those chickens like family, but isn’t that . . . well, a little extreme?”
“Probably,” I said with a grin. “But she’s got her heart set on winning at least one ribbon at the county fair. So chicken baths are what we do.”
Ruby rolled her eyes.
Chapter Two
Pecan Springs, Texas
1885–1888
Annie’s pregnancy filled her with a surging joy that grew greater by the day. The baby would be a boy, she hoped—Douglas, after his father. If a girl, she would be Laurie, after Annie’s mother. And now that they had finally begun their family, surely other children would follow in quick order. That’s how it had been for her mother. The first child—a daughter—hadn’t put in her appearance for several years, and then it was Katy bar the door. One baby every twenty-four months until there were nine and her father made his bed in the loft.
But Annie knew that Douglas Duncan would never be content to make his bed in the loft. He knew what he wanted and he wanted it now. He hated to wait for anything. For instance, he hated to climb out of his buggy and hold his nervous horse while the train rumbled past the railroad crossing just north of the International and Great Northern railroad
