Carla nodded and left as silently as she had come.
“She’s helpful, that one,” Thaddeus said with a short laugh.
“That’s wonderful,” Sophie said, not knowing what to say.
His tone changed then. “You watch your step, girl. Snakes move about here, and you can’t tell who they are. I don’t even know,” the old man, eyes going wide. “Even she walks these halls nights now. She’s in my dreams. She won’t leave me alone.” He whimpered.
“Sir, who? How can I help you?” He was obviously distressed, and Sophie didn’t know what to do.
“No one can help me now,” Granger said and wailed like one of the damned. “I’ve seen the reaper. He stands at my bedside most nights now after everyone else is sleeping.” The keening continued.
Sophie’s skin shriveled at the horrid sound. She stood, wringing her hands, looking on the bedside table for something to calm the old man.
Carla appeared at her side with her usual silence, and Sophie jumped. “I’ll take care of him.”
Sophie nodded and hurried out of the bedroom. She opened the door and ran right into a man.
“Oof. Watch where you’re going. Who are you?” A man glowered at her.
He’d stepped on her toe, and she was sure she had wounded him, too. She had been looking at the floor, in a hurry to escape the mad, frightening scene with her future father in law.
She looked up, stepping away. “I’m Sophie Banister, John’s fiance.”
“Oh, of course you are.” The man gave her a nasty smile. “I’m Evan Granger, his little brother. I’m sure he’s at least mentioned me. That’s probably all he’s done.”
“Oh, yes, he has. I’m sorry for—”
“You were in a hurry. It’s understandable you were trying to get away from the mad old man in there. He is crazier by the day.” Evan sighed. “He’s still gibbering on.”
They could hear him outside the closed door and Carla’s softer tones.
“Maybe Carla can work her magic on him,” Evan said, smirking. His expression seemed to be stuck that way. His full mouth was slightly quirked, but no woman would miss that he was a Granger—dark, shorter hair than his brother, lighter hazel eyes, and a more compact build. He was a handsome, cynical devil—wiry where his brother was lithe—and meaner looking somehow.
“It was nice meeting you. I’ll just be going now,” Sophie said.
“Don’t be a stranger. We’ll be family soon enough,” Evan said, laughing softly.
She ignored the comment and hurried down the hall.
* * * *
Sophie made her way to the nursery. Her pulse had slowed now, and she felt a bit foolish for her panicky reaction to the scene in Mr. Granger’s bedroom. He was an old, dying man. Such things happened when death was near. But she remembering his words about a woman who wouldn’t leave him alone—and her dream. She brushed it off as she opened the nursery door. All was quiet.
The clock struck 8:00, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, clapping a hand over her mouth so as not to wake Maya. The baby slept sweetly in her crib, dark hair damp and a smile on her face. She was in a night time one piece, snug and calm.
Sophie ached to hold her, but she wouldn’t disturb her sleep. Perhaps she would tell Carla she wanted to do the middle of the night feeding. The baby had dropped to just one in the wee hours of the morning at ten weeks old. She left the nursery, reassured that all was well with her child. They were safe and warm, not fighting for food or the next month’s rent. How could she ask for more?
* * * *
Sophie decided to explore the house a bit. John hadn’t told her she couldn’t, and her nap earlier had made her restless. It was too early to sleep, and she wanted to see him when he came by her room later.
After changing into comfortable blue jeans and her least ratty sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, she descended the stairs to the first floor. The house was quiet now. Carla must have settled the old man down. After poking her head into a few rooms, Sophie found the library. It was impressive, with red leather bound editions of most of the classics, wall to wall and many other books, including well worn paperbacks. The Grangers obviously weren’t just collectors but also readers. Books had long been Sophie’s best friends, and never more so than in the previous few months. Many nights were spent reading herself to sleep, trying to forget her troubles.
A cozy fire roared in the fireplace, and a welcoming green brocade couch and matching love seat beckoned her in the center of the room. Sophie perused the shelves for a few moments and found an early edition of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities—an old favorite. A decanter of sherry caught her eye on the end table near the couch. She poured a generous amount of the red liquid into a crystal cut glass.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, sighing as she burrowed into the couch with the book. Sophie was lost in Dickens’ world and had forgotten her own troubles soon enough. Her eyes were growing heavy when a shadow fell over her.
She turned, startled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” John said. “Pour me a drink, too?” He smiled.
“Certainly.” She poured a generous amount of sherry in a glass for him.
He took it and sat on the couch a comfortable distance from her. “Am I interrupting your reading? You look comfortable.”
“No, of course not. I was just trying to shut my mind off for the night. I often read before bed or in the evenings.” Sophie put the book down on the end table.
“It’s a good habit. I don’t read often enough—at least not anything other than business reports and stock tips.” He sighed. “I heard you had some excitement earlier and that you ran
