Free Carolina Mist by Mariah Stewart Page A

the front of the large metal box, hoping against hope that it would not be as empty as the bank accounts had been.
    The vault of the Primrose National Bank was as quiet as a tomb and just about as well lit. She pushed the lid back as far as it would go and turned toward the only light in the room, a small wall fixture with one bulb. Biting her bottom lip in anticipation, she reached her hand inside and pulled out a thick envelope of papers. Shuffling through them, she found the deed to the house on Cove Road, a copy of Thomas’s will, and some letters written on thin paper, yellow now with age. She tucked them into her purse to read later.
    Smooth cases of flat black leather, shaped like envelopes with small buttons on their flaps, lined the bottom of the box.
    “Oh, please be something good,” she begged hopefully.
    With trembling hands, she opened the top case. A necklace of amethysts the size of small birds’ eggs slid onto the table.
    “Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Edna!” The expletive long ago borrowed from a former McKenna housekeeper exploded from her lips.
    She held it up before her, admiring the stones, their plum hue lit by the light. Gorgeous. She sighed. And worth a pretty penny, no doubt.
    Holding the envelope sideways, she carefully emptied its contents onto her lap. Earrings, a bracelet, a magnificent ring, all of the same fine purple stones, sent sparks of light through the poorly lit cell.
    Hallelujah.
    She gently placed the amethysts on the table, and, her heart pounding, she opened the second case and coaxed out its contents. A necklace of gold, incredible in its color and design, fell into her hands. It was totally crafted into leaves, graduated in size from front to back, the longest falling almost two inches in length from the heavy gold chain that held it. The sight of it absolutely took her breath away. She had never seen anything so regal.
    After lining the necklace up with the amethysts, she opened the third envelope, her hands visibly shaking now. Sapphires, brilliant blue, tumbled into her hands. Two rings, a pair of earrings, and a choker of the clear blue stones.
    The last of the leather cases held emeralds—a perfectly matched set of earrings, oval-shaped stones surrounded by diamonds, a necklace, and a ring in the same lush shade of deep summer green.
    The jewelry was spread out across the table in sets. She sat and stared dumbly at the rainbow of precious stones.
    I may not be a gemologist, but I know the real thing when I see it. And this —she mouthed the words silently as she fingered the gold necklace— is definitely the real thing.
    Abby wished she had a mirror there, so that she could try on each piece, just once, before she sold them. And, of course, she would sell everything, first chance she got. She had no idea of the total worth of the jewels that lay before her, but she was reasonably certain there’d be enough to pay back Belle and have a fair amount of repairs done on the house. No, there was no question about keeping the jewelry.
    She fingered each piece gingerly, studying the fine workmanship, the beauty of the stones, wondering if they had been gifts from Thomas to his bride or perhaps family pieces brought east by Leila . The sapphires looked familiar, and Abby wondered where she might have seen them before. She slipped a ring on her finger and held out her hand to admire the blue fire that lay deep within the large center gem. Had one of her own Dunham ancestors worn this very piece?
    I can’t afford to be sentimental, she scolded herself, sensing that it wouldn’t take much to talk herself into keeping a piece or two. Which, clearly, she could not do.
    But still … she had lost so much of her past, maybe just one ring. Jus t one little sapphire ring…
    “Thank you, Aunt Leila,” she said aloud as she returned all the jewelry—with the exception of that one not-so-little ring—to the soft cases and stacked them back in the metal box, which she locked before