“… until she resigned two years ago—she got offended by a remark someone made at a fundraising dinner. Then there was the United Way, and she was asked to leave after one year. I never did find out why. My daughter can be very closed-lipped when she wants to be.”
Rosa nodded politely.
“Now, this charity for Polio, which, as far as I understand, exists to raise money for polio victims. I can applaud Louisa’s desire to do some good in the world when she has all this money, but she does like to be the center of attention.”
Grandma Sally removed a handkerchief she had tucked in the cuff of one sleeve and dabbed at her eyes that watered in the brightness of the morning sun. “I always tell her to let some of it go. After she lost Harold, she immersed herself in his business affairs, so this passion for charities seems frivolous to me. Quite honestly, I don’t know what she’s trying to prove.”
Harold Forrester, Rosa’s uncle, had died during the war. Rosa remembered how distraught Aunt Louisa had been when she’d heard the news. She had had a hard time coming to grips with this tragedy. Besides the obvious heartache she suffered, it had also seemed inconceivable to her aunt that someone so rich and powerful would’ve been put in harm’s way, or could die.
Rosa poured a glass of orange juice for Sally Hartigan, who gave her a look of gratitude before drinking.
Her grandmother carefully set the glass on the table, then continued, “I hope I don’t sound callous. I understand the loss and emptiness a person can feel at the loss of a spouse. I lost my George long ago, back in 1923, and sometimes it feels like yesterday. But I didn’t try to be someone I wasn’t to forget him.”
Rosa had never met her grandfather. He died before her mother and father had even met, and he was rarely spoken about, though Rosa’s mother only had kind things to say when words were said about him.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Grandpa Hartigan.”
Sally Hartigan’s eyes grew soft with remembering. “He was older than me by quite a bit. Twenty-five years, in fact, twice my age. Perhaps I missed my own father. He passed away when I was just a girl. I can’t really say why I was drawn to George, but I was. He was kind, intelligent, very good at business. Some accused me of marrying him for money, but that was only partly true. I loved him, dearly.”
Rosa blinked at Grandma Sally’s admitting she’d married George Hartigan for money, even in part. But, in those days, a woman had to do what she had to do to survive, Rosa supposed. She was glad to hear love had been part of the equation.
“I’m sorry he was taken from you so soon,” she said.
“It was a dreadful disease, and a horrible time watching him die a little every day. It was very hard on Louisa. Oh, she likes to act like she’s a terribly strong person. I think it was her way of coping with life without her father.”
Rosa felt honored that Grandma Sally was confiding in her in this way and determined to be a little easier on Aunt Louisa.
Grandma Sally moved to stand up, and Rosa rose to help her.
“Anyway,” Grandma Sally started, “I better get ready. We have a visitor coming soon.”
Rosa raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Yes, that young Latino police detective is apparently coming by this morning to talk about what happened last night and . . . oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A rush of blood made Rosa feel off balance. Miguel was coming here? She blinked rapidly to regain her composure. “Um . . . I have to . . . I mean, it was nice chatting, Grandma Sally. I’ll see you later.”
Rosa darted back into the house, skirted the dining room, and ran up the wide staircase, puffing. She was quite out of breath when she reached her room. She had no makeup on, and her hair was a mess, and worst of all, she was still in her pajamas and her housecoat! Miguel was coming! As her mother liked to say, oh mercy!
4
Shortly after Rosa had arrived at Forrester mansion, one of the maids, Darla—Rosa was determined to learn all their names—had ironed and then hung her dresses in the built-in closet. They had only wooden wardrobes back home at Hartigan House. Though there were many similarities in the two large homes—entrances with high ceilings, large, curving staircases to the second floor, grand living rooms, dining rooms, morning rooms, and mature gardens, along with a full staff including housekeeper, cook, and gardener, there were many differences. Where Hartigan House was made of stone and had been standing for over a hundred years, the Forrester mansion was a newer wood-frame construct with a facade of white stucco. The gardens in England were typical for climates that enjoyed four seasons but lacked the dynamic and playful additions of palm trees and citrus plants.
None of these things was on Rosa’s mind which swirled in a state of irrational panic as she flipped through her dresses, unable to decide on what to wear to her first nonpublic encounter with Miguel.
Her heart raced. When she’d flown into Santa Bonita, she couldn’t stop the memories of her time spent here previously, which had included Miguel Belmonte, but she hadn’t anticipated seeing him again. He was supposed to be safely ensconced in Los Angeles.
Oh dear.
Mid-decade fashions for dresses were quite unified—some variation of a full skirt, a belted waist, and fitted bodice. The differences lay in the fabric, color, design, and type of sleeve—three-quarter length, capped, or without.
Rosa finally settled on a jade-green dress, no pattern, with matching green buttons that ran from her cleavage to the hem. A matching green belt brought the outfit together. It was
