Free The House on Sugar Plum Lane by JUDY DUARTE Page A

noting that the stitches were slightly uneven, the kind made by hand and not a machine. She wondered who’d made it. An older relative? A dear friend?
    Ellie Rucker herself?
    But enough woolgathering. She would never get anything done if she didn’t stop dawdling. So she released the quilt and went to the closet. As she slid back the door, she spotted a gap between the hangers. Some of the woman’s clothing appeared to be missing, but that would make sense if someone had moved her to a rest home.
    After removing the remaining dresses, sweaters, and pants, she laid the clothing across the bed, then folded each item and placed it in a box. Next she emptied the drawers in the bureau, which was quick work. She suspected whoever had packed Ellie’s essentials for her move to the home also had taken undergarments and nightgowns.
    In the top drawer of the nightstand, she found a daily devotional, a white handkerchief with H.E.R. monogrammed near the edge, a booklet about angels, and a travel brochure for a cruise to Hawaii, among other things.
    As Amy carefully emptied the drawer, she scanned each object before placing it in a second box. But when she withdrew a bundle of old letters, she paused. A white satin ribbon that had been tied and untied many times over held the missives together, as well as a small box of some kind. Still, she couldn’t help noting the address on the top envelope, which had been sketched in a bold, cursive script.
    Mrs. Eleanor Rucker
    Star Route Three
    Fairbrook, California
    USA
    It was from Private Harold Rucker.
    Amy took a seat on the edge of the bed, untied the satin, and set everything but the top envelope next to her. Then she removed the letter, unfolded the aged parchmentlike pages, and read the words.
    Friday Nite
June 1, 1942
    My Dearest Ellie,
    I sure do miss you, Baby. I don’t know how I’m going to get along without you for so long. I really do love you, Baby. All of my thoughts are of you. I can’t help but think about the day when we will be together forever.
    I sure hope you don’t feel bad about getting married. I want you to know that I’ll never regret it and hope you don’t, either. I told you before that it was the smartest thing I ever did, and that’s saying a lot coming from a smart guy like me.
    I know there’s a chance you could be pregnant, and if you are, it’s all my fault. I should have taken better precautions, especially on our wedding night. But I have to tell you, Ellie, while I’d hate to have you go through something like that alone, I kind of hope you are.
    Sure, I know you would rather not be. I remember you saying something about that.
    So Ellie hadn’t wanted children? Did she not like them? That certainly could be one reason there weren’t any pictures of grandchildren in the house. At least none that were displayed.
    According to the research, Eleanor Rucker was Barbara Davila’s mother, so she’d at least had one child.
    Amy continued to read.
    I’ll tell you again how I enjoyed myself that nite and how I’m looking forward to many more years of the same thing. When I get home, you will probably be just like a blushing bride again, huh? We will have been apart for so long that I’ll have to start very slowly, like the first time.
    Seriously, though, Ellie, I dream of the nights we spent together and of the ones in the future. No matter how distant they seem from us now, that day will come, and when it does, we will live happily together and raise as many kids as we can afford. OK?
    That part didn’t sound as though Ellie hadn’t wanted children. Maybe it was just a matter of timing. After all, when this letter was written, Ellie was young and newly married. There was also a war raging in both Europe and the Pacific.
    I love you, Baby. I know I keep saying that, but it’s all I can think of. While I’m away, I’ll probably write a hundred letters telling you