Free The Rose Legacy by Kristen Heitzmann Page A

have improved.”
    Not tremendously , Carina thought. She handed Mae the finished dish tray. “Will you stay here always?”
    Mae shrugged. “I have nowhere else to go. And I’ve come to know it here. Leastwise, it knows me.”
    It was good to be known, respected, Carina thought. Mae had dug into the mountain and found her place. It was possible. But was it what she intended for herself?

S IX

    How can one change a moment passed? Even a moment that should never have come.
    —Rose
    T HE NEXT MORNING Carina felt stronger than she had in days, having slept through the din without waking. Maybe she had grown used to it. Maybe Mae’s care had fortified her. She rose from the couch, washed, and dressed, then with a deep breath left the haven of Mae’s rooms.
    Mae was serving breakfast on the long tables in the dining room, hot cakes and pork sliced thick and fried. Sweat beaded Mae’s forehead, and her cheeks were flushed and red. There was a greasy sheen to her hands as she plopped a plate down where Carina sat awkwardly between two men who had made room for her.
    Carina eyed the crisp, blackened bacon and spongy hot cakes with thoughts of Mamma’s sausage and peppers, fresh bread and milk. She picked up a charred stick of bacon. With a sigh, she said a silent blessing, then, like the men around her, she devoured it.
    After eating, she took the box of silver and made her way down Drake to Central Street. As she reached Berkley Beck’s office, the door opened and a gruff, sour-faced man pushed out. He neither looked nor spoke to her but grumbled under his breath. At least he didn’t spit. She went inside.
    Berkley Beck stood immediately. “Miss DiGratia. I’m overcome at seeing you so hale. I was terribly concerned.” His hair was smoothed back and parted, his suit uncreased, but he wore no daisy in his lapel.
    She breathed her relief. “Thank you, I’m quite recovered and ready to work. But could you recommend a safe storage for this?” She held up Nonna’s silver. “My walls are canvas.”
    He eyed the box. “Certainly. I have a small safe; though if you don’t mind, I’ll keep its location to myself.”
    She handed him the wooden box. Whatever place he had would be more secure than a room with a door that locked but walls that could be cut with a knife. She hadn’t risked the steep slope only to have some ruffian steal the silver from under her bed.
    He set the box on the desk. “As you see, I’m prepared for you.” He motioned to the crude desk he had placed opposite his own. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll have to do, I’m afraid. I regret we haven’t more room. Unfortunately, my living quarters take up the balance of the space behind the office. At some point I hope to move, but until then …” He spread his hands.
    “This is fine, Mr. Beck. Only show me what you need me to do.”
    “Yes, of course. Well, for a start I thought maybe you could bring some order to these papers.” He looked sheepishly over the piles.
    Carina eyed the mountainous range of stacks along the wall. Mr. Beck’s office was not as meticulous as his dress and demeanor. He obviously paid better heed to his person than his work. She thought of Papa’s clinic, spotless and orderly, everything in its place—though sometimes Papa’s thick, shiny hair stood in graying blond spikes and his collar protruded at odd angles. Still, Mr. Beck seemed earnest enough.
    She returned her gaze to him. “Will you excuse me?” “I beg your pardon?” He rested his hand on his vest.
    “I have a thought for filing your papers, but I need to get something.”
    “Oh. Yes, of course. Come and go as you please. You’ll find I’m frequently out myself, so here is a key to the front door.” He held it out.
    Carina’s eyes widened involuntarily. Mr. Garibaldi had watched her like a hawk. Never would he have trusted her with a key. Yet Mr. Beck handed her his now, and they had only met two days before. She tucked it safely into her