Free Larkspur Road by Jill Gregory

above, its cry the only sound piercing the silence. The closest house, old Abner Floyd’s place, was at least four miles down the road.
    In winter, it would be impossible to get in or out of here without a snowmobile. Good thing Winny hadn’t taken this tumble in January.
    Straightening her shoulders, Mia stepped down onto the gravel and drew out the basket of food and the pie. She started toward the cabin, noting in surprise the pretty row of lilac bushes abloom alongside the cabin and the pink andwhite hydrangeas and rosebushes planted in front. She’d never been out here in summer before, and if not for its weathered, ramshackle appearance, the cabin looked almost charming framed by those colorful blooms. She was so caught up in the pretty play of colors and the scent of the lilacs that she gave a small, startled cry when a small, almost feral-looking orange tabby suddenly lunged from the brush, darted up the porch steps, and beat her to the front door.
    As she followed it, the cat arched its back and glared at her.
    “Don’t look at me like that. I come in peace,” Mia said.
    The tabby emitted an ear-piercing screech. But when no sound came from within the cabin, and the scarred door remained closed, the creature whirled with a huge swish of its tail and, without another glance at Mia, leaped off the porch, past the glowing roses, and disappeared into the brush.
    Don’t even dream you’re getting rid of me that easily, Aunt Winny,
Mia thought.
    She shifted her weight on the creaky front porch, noticing the loose board that had caused her aunt’s fall and making a mental note to call Denny McDonald, who owned a construction firm with his father, to come out and fix it.
    “Aunt Winny? It’s Mia. I heard about your accident. Ellis Stone told me this morning. Please open the door—I’d like to help.”
    Silence as deep as a forgotten canyon greeted her words. Mia felt a stab of worry.
    “Aunt Winny, are you all right?” she called again, more urgently.
    The faded floral curtain at the front window moved. It was only a tiny, almost imperceptible flutter, but she knew suddenly that Winny was there, listening on the other side of the door, as stubborn and aloof as ever.
    “I was sorry to hear about your fall,” Mia called again. “I’ve brought you some supper. Please, won’t you open the door?”
    The curtain hung motionless. An almost eerie silence settled over the clearing. With the rough grandeur of the mountain and the vivid color of the flowers, it was actually a lovely spot, marred only by the rusted mailbox leaning sideways toward the road, and the old dank leaves from the previous autumn still matted beneath the tree trunks.
    “Aunt Winny, there’s a fresh blueberry pie here with your name on it. Please open the door. I’ve brought roast chicken. A salad, too. And…did I mention the pie? I’m not leaving until I know you’re all right.”
    “Since when am I not all right? And what do you care anyway, young lady?”
    The barked words rang with surprising force from behind the closed door.
    “I do care.” Mia spoke quietly in contrast to her aunt’s harsh tone. “And if you’ll open the door, I’ll show you. Please let me help.”
    “Get off my land.”
    “I just—”
    “
Go away.
And take that food with you. I’ve no use for your pity or your charity.”
    Mia closed her eyes a moment. Injured or not, Winny was always the same. Gruff. Ill-tempered. Gram had been so sweet—determined and strong-willed, yes, or she never would have finished such a wide array of intricate quilts—but also gentle and kind and wise. Her sister, on the other hand, had never seemed to possess an ounce of sweetness or a kind bone in her body. But Mia knew nobody could be all sour anger and vinegar.
    Not for the first time, she felt curiosity pricking at her. What had gone so terribly wrong between two sisters separated by less than two years in age? What could have caused such a rift, that the younger