Child of His Heart. Joan Kilby

as it had in high school—high ceiling, pale cream wallpaper sprigged with rosebuds, white-painted iron double bed covered with a patchwork quilt. Her heels tapping on polished floorboards, she crossed to the wide bay window, where as a girl she’d curled up on the window seat and read, or stared out at the full moon to dream. Many was the time she used to push up the sash and crawl onto the huge old maple, or nimbly descend its broad limbs rather than mundanely take the stairs.

      Nostalgia flooded through her, warring with a niggling sense that she was going backward in life. When she’d left Hainesville for college she never thought she’d return here to live. Had she done the right thing in coming home? She’d been happy in the small town as a child and a teenager, but she was an adult now, and used to a wider world. What kind of future could she have in Hainesville?

      The move was only temporary, she reminded herself. She would stay as long as Gran needed her, and long enough to rejuvenate her spirits.

      She began to unpack. One suitcase was devoted to her shoe collection—part of her shoe collection, that is. Jimmy Choo, Dolce and Gabana, Manolo Blahnik, Prada—she adored them all. She lined up the shoes in neat rows in the closet and hung her clothes above. On top of the old maple dresser she placed her favorite clock, a brass turn-of-the-century German mantel clock decorated with cherubs. Beside her bed she set an Aynsley china arch clock, white with pink roses. The rest of her clocks and shoes she’d packed for shipping; they would arrive tomorrow.

      When she’d finished unpacking, she went down the hall to shower, then changed into a skirt and fitted jacket in gray linen. After some consideration she chose a pair of black crocodile skin pumps with kitten heels. She brushed her long hair, letting it fall in loose waves over her shoulders. Then, checking that her briefcase held a copy of her résumé, she slipped quietly downstairs.

      Outside, her gaze went to the basketball hoop above the garage door. She hadn’t played since college, basketball being one of those things she never found time for in Seattle. Coaching might be fun.

      She walked toward the center of town beneath the cool dappled green of overarching shade trees. Past the Contafios’ next door, with their orchard and horses; past the monkey puzzle tree on the corner. Children’s laughter, a distant lawn mower and the tinkling bell of the ice cream truck accompanied her. The fragrance of roses, warm grass and ripe apples drifted on the soft breeze. All at once she didn’t miss Seattle one bit. A spring came into her step and she smiled, thinking of her earlier doubts. Truly, life seemed to be taking a positive turn.

      On the outskirts of the town center, Erin went by the fire hall and waved to Steve, who was out in the yard, washing down one of the trucks. There was no sign of his new boss. She continued on, past Knit ‘n Kneedles, where Gran got her yarn and patterns, past the health food store and the bakery, then crossed the street at the single set of traffic lights.

      Between Blackwell’s Drugstore and Orville’s Barbershop stood the imposing stone building bearing the name Hainesville First National Bank on a brass plaque. Hainesville’s only bank, national or otherwise. With luck this would be her new place of employment.

      CHAPTER TWO

      EDNA THOMPSON, Gran’s oldest friend and Erin’s erstwhile piano teacher, was just leaving the bank. Erin held the heavy glass door open while Edna hobbled out, leaning heavily on her cane.

      “Erin, how nice to see you.” She clasped Erin’s hand and beamed. “I was hoping I might run into you. Ruth has been looking forward to having you home to stay.”

      “Thank you. It’s nice to see you, too,” Erin replied. She wasn’t surprised that news of her arrival had already spread through town. She would probably make the front page of the Hainesville Herald this week. “How have you been?”

      “Well…” Mrs. Thompson paused only long enough to take a breath before launching into a recitation of her ailments. “My arthritis pains me something fierce. I have to go in for a cataract operation next week, and yesterday I had another gallbladder attack. This morning I woke up with a pain here.” She pointed to a spot on her right side, below her ribs. “But, I can’t complain,” she said with a cheerful smile. “No, I never complain. Goodbye for now, my dear.”

      Erin smiled to herself and started through the open door. The bank was empty but for the tellers, who eyed her with obvious curiosity. A beautiful black woman she didn’t recognize stood at one window, while at the other lounged a pimply faced young man she was afraid she did. Could that possibly be Bobby Murchison, a boy she used to baby-sit?

      “Bobby?” she said, moving across the carpeted lobby to the counter.

      “Oh, hi, Erin.” He straightened anxiously, as though Erin might even now punish him for putting that garter snake in her tennis shoe so many years ago.

      “I’ve come to see Mr. Haines. He’s expecting me.”

      “I’ll tell him you’re here.” Bobby wove past a cluttered desk, a photocopier and a check-printing machine to knock on a corner office.

      Erin smiled at the other woman. “Hi, I’m Erin.”

      “Tracy.” She regarded Erin frankly. “So you’re the paragon I’ve been hearing about all week. Straight-A student, star athlete, girl most likely to succeed.” She grinned. “I don’t even know you and already I hate you.”

      Erin grimaced. “People exaggerate.”

      Tracy leaned over the counter, winked and in a low voice confided, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to having another female around the place.” Then she spotted Erin’s crocodile-skin high heels. “Man, I love those shoes! Where’d you get those, girlfriend?”

      Erin recognized a fellow devotee when she met one. “There’s this fabulous little shoe boutique in Seattle—”

      Jonah Haines’s door opened, causing her to break off. He looked exactly as Erin remembered, like a big absentminded teddy bear. He wore a moss-green cardigan over a navy blue shirt with a clashing mustard yellow tie, and his brown suit pants were baggy and creased. Gray hair puffed above his ears on either side of his balding dome.

      “Erin, my dear, wonderful to see you.” He peered at her over half glasses perched midway down his nose. “Come in.”

      Erin followed him into his office and took the seat he indicated with a vague motion of his hand. Oil paintings of river scenes with herons and fishing boats decorated the walls. On his desk, hooks, fishing line and wisps of colored feathers were laid out on tattered blue felt.

      He sat down heavily in his creaking leather swivel chair, picked up an unfinished fly and resumed tying a bright red feather to the hook. “I still remember the day you opened your first bank account. You were only five, and already so grown-up and responsible.”

      Erin well remembered coming into the bank clutching her savings—$6.50. Her mother and father had died in a car crash a month earlier, and to take Erin’s mind off her loss, Gran and Granddad had given her chores to do around the house. They’d paid her for her efforts and encouraged her to deposit her pocket money.

      “I was so proud of that little blue passbook,” she said, adding with a chuckle, “although later I regretted not keeping out a nickel for an ice cream. I certainly never thought that twenty-five years later I’d be in here applying for a job.”

      “You were at City Bank in Seattle until recently, I understand. I always knew you’d amount to something.”

      “I managed the Loans Department.” Erin opened her briefcase and handed him a copy of her résumé. “Before that I worked with a financial consulting firm in New York. Please feel free to contact any of my supervisors for a reference.”

      Still holding the fishing fly in one hand, Mr. Haines glanced at her résumé. “You did a double major in business administration and economics. Impressive.” He regarded her over his glasses. “Hainesville will seem a bit of a backwater.”

      “I’m sure you’re aware I came