Free Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series by Lynette Sowell Page A

greenhouse and in the direction of the back door to Gray House.
    He rapped on the door before he opened it. “I thought I’d get some water. It’s a little warm in that greenhouse.”
    “Sure. I’ll get you a glass.”
    “I can do it. Just point me in the direction of the right cabinet.”
    “Bottom shelf, by the sink.” Kelly nodded toward the cabinet. “There’s ice in the freezer, bottled water in the fridge.”
    His movements were smooth as he crossed the kitchen, denying any evidence of the seizure. She didn’t ask him how he felt because she already knew the answer.
    “The gardens look good.”
    Tom nodded. “There was a ton of overgrowth. I had to prune, a lot. It looks pretty decent now, but next year it’ll be back to its prior glory.”
    “You sound like you’ll probably be around here by then.”
    He pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and poured some into the glass, then plunked in a trio of ice cubes. “Maybe, maybe not.”
    “The inside of this place is amazing. Some dust and polish, some TLC to the textiles, and it’ll be a showpiece again. I found a ballroom, and that’s where I’ll set up a workshop for the quilt.” She hesitated a moment. Tom glanced at her. “I also found Mary Gray’s journal.”
    “Mary Gray?”
    “Captain Hiram Gray’s wife. He’s the one who built this house.”
    Tom nodded. “I’ve heard stories about him. He actually went to seminary, then left the preacher-hood, so to speak, and went to the ocean instead.”
    “Huh.” Kelly thought for a moment. “A pretty righteous man, then. I started reading Mary’s journal. I’ve read at least one section where he hit her for speaking out of turn. But what else do you know about this place?”
    “It was owned by the Grays until a fire sometime in the 1800s.” He took a swallow of water. “Now Firstborn Holdings owns it.”
    “Too bad it didn’t stay in the family.”
    “It happens to a lot of old places like this.” Tom shrugged. “Some families couldn’t keep up with the lifestyle after the whale oil industry died, so unless there was another moneymaker, the property would change hands and leave the family.”
    Kelly nodded. “That’s sad.”
    “That’s how it goes.” He paused for a moment. “Look, if you don’t really want to go to my family’s for supper tonight, that’s okay.”
    “You sound like you don’t want me there.”
    “I, uh . . .” His ears turned red. “No, it’s not that. My mother comes on a little strong.”
    “You should thank God every day that you have a mother who loves you like that.” Kelly cleared her throat. “I need to check on something upstairs. Holler at me when you’re ready to go for supper and I’ll be ready.”
    She left before he could say more. Tom Pereira was a blessed man. Maybe he knew it, maybe his mother’s concern bugged him a little. But for some reason, seeing Tom’s mother had reawakened the old ache. Frances Frost had taken her issues with her to the grave, but Kelly still wrestled with them sometimes, like now.
    She scaled the stairs and entered her room, the lady’s room, and picked up Mary Gray’s journal once again. Maybe she could read some more about Gray House itself. Tom mentioned a fire at one point. She recalled the scent of smoke in the little boy’s closet. Could smoke smell linger that long?
    Kelly situated herself in the side chair close to the window and opened the journal.

    December 1850
    I cradle an infant, much as Mary did in Bethlehem that first Christmas morn. What thoughts she must have had, looking upon the Savior, nestled in a manger. I share his mother’s name, but my child sleeps in a handcrafted cradle, made by one of the carpenters in town. My son. Nay, our son, Hiram, bears his father’s name. Only one letter since Hiram’s departure in March. I wrote him as soon as I thought it safe, while carrying a child. One must be careful in such matters, my mother told me once. Little Hiram shall