Her Very Own Family. Trish Milburn

seemed a little lost,” she said to the young woman whose short, choppy magenta hair seemed out of place in quaint little Willow Glen. A quick glance at her name tag revealed her identity as Meg.

      “He is,” Meg said. “He and his wife were married for more than forty years.”

      His sadness suddenly made sense. “She died?”

      “Yeah, about a month ago. He had family visiting for a while afterward, but now he’s alone. I think this is his first trip to the store by himself.”

      Tears stung Audrey’s eyes. She looked toward the ceiling to close off her tear ducts, a trick she’d learned from her mother.

      “That’ll be $53.76,” Meg said, dragging Audrey back to the present.

      After paying and placing all her bags in her cart, Audrey headed outside, hoping the bright spring sunshine would burn away the sorrow she’d felt for the older man.

      She stuffed the groceries in the trunk of her Jetta, forcing her mind to focus on the endless list of tasks waiting for her when she got home. She liked staying busy even if she had given up a faster-paced life in Nashville for a more soul-nurturing existence in the mountains of East Tennessee.

      As she started for the driver’s-side door, she noticed the older man again. When he wiped his cheek, it tugged at her emotions. She wanted to help him, but what good could she do? Bringing back his wife wasn’t possible, and most people hated pity from others. Not to mention she was still wary about meeting new people, something she’d have to get past if she wanted to make a success of her new life here.

      Still, she found herself walking across the parking lot toward him, hoping she’d come up with something to say by the time she reached his side.

      “Excuse me,” she said as she came within a few feet of him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

      The man made one more quick swipe at his right eye before facing her.

      “I’m new to Willow Glen, and I was wondering if you could tell me if there is anywhere nearby where I could get some nice picture frames, bigger ones.” She held her hands about two feet apart.

      “There’s a Wal-Mart down in Elizabethton.”

      She shook her head but kept a smile firmly in place. “I was hoping for something a bit more unique, hand-crafted if at all possible.” She was a long way from needing the frames for her wildflower photos yet, but it was the first thing that had tumbled out of her mouth. And it proved a nice, neutral topic.

      “Well, I’ve fiddled with a few here and there, though I mainly make furniture now.”

      “Really? Then it’s my lucky day.” She extended her hand. “I’m Audrey York. I’m fixing up the old Grayson Mill, turning it into a café.”

      “Nelson Witt. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand, the calluses on his weathered palm revealing he did indeed work with his hands. “The old mill, huh? That’ll probably take a lot of work.”

      She laughed. “You’re right there. I think I’ve already swept out enough dirt to create a new county.” Her mood lifted when she saw a hint of a smile on Mr. Witt’s gray-stubbled face. Despite everything that had happened in the past year to sour her outlook, it still felt good and natural to help people, to bring some happiness into their lives.

      “Guess I could put together some frames and bring them out there sometime.”

      “That would be great.”

      “When would be good for you?”

      Audrey detected how he leaped on the opportunity, probably looking for anything to keep his mind off the absence of his other half. “I’m there pretty much all the time except when I’m running errands.”

      “You staying out there?”

      “Yeah. I’m turning the loft into my living area, and the bottom level will house the café.”

      “I’d say something about wondering if that was safe, but I know you young people think yourselves invincible.”

      “Considering I’ve lived in the city and been flying across the continent nearly every week for the past five years, this feels as safe as Mayberry.”

      “Well, then, when I finish the frames, I’ll run them by.”

      “Thank you.”

      After a couple more minutes of talking, Audrey headed back to her car, her heart lighter. She’d probably had no more than five minutes of conversation with Mr. Witt, but she already really liked him. And if she could help ease a little of his pain, then it was a good day.

      Not to mention she yearned for new friends here, craved them. The past year had left a yawning, dark hole in her life, and she couldn’t wait to fill it.

      AUDREY SPENT the rest of the morning cleaning, burning useless debris and adding to her list of needed supplies while trying not to think about how much those supplies would cost. When she stopped long enough to fix a late lunch of grilled chicken and pasta salad from the grocery’s deli, she heard gravel popping on the lane leading back to the gristmill.

      She stepped out onto the small porch attached to the front of the mill. Eventually, it would be the attractive entrance to her café, but now only a cheap folding lawn chair and an upturned five-gallon bucket she used for a table occupied the space. She shaded her eyes against the sun and saw Mr. Witt stepping out of his truck.

      “That was fast.” She smiled wide, happy to see this potential friend so soon.

      Mr. Witt shrugged. “They don’t take long to make. Thought I’d whip together some samples, see if you like them,” he said as he lowered the tailgate of his pickup.

      When she saw the size of the wooden crate he pulled toward the back of the truck, she hurried to help him. “Here, I’ll get this side. I’m not much for watching other people do my work.” She added the last, hoping to forestall any argument that he was still capable of carrying a heavy box. She figured he’d had enough reminding today that things weren’t as they’d always been.

      Audrey backed her way toward the mill, Mr. Witt following. Once inside, she guided the crate onto the bench stretching along the length of one wall.

      “I haven’t been in here in years,” Mr. Witt said as he scanned the interior. “I remember coming here with my daddy when I was a boy.”

      “Really?”

      “Oh, yeah. Even though you could get cornmeal in the stores, he always liked what came from the mill better. I remember sitting on the creek bank, just watching the wheel turn round and round.”

      “That’s one of the things on my extensive to-do list,” Audrey said. “I want to get the wheel operational again. I think it’ll add to the atmosphere.”

      Mr. Witt looked around at the mill’s silent gears and aging wood. “Hard to imagine this place as a restaurant.”

      “I admit, it’s got a long way to go. But as it happens, you’re my first dining guest.” She extended her arm to point out the small table in the corner, covered with a white cloth and with a vase of daffodils. Her attempt to add a little cheer to the place. “I was about to have lunch, and I’ve got plenty to share.”

      “I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

      “It’s no trouble. I have to eat anyway, and it’s the least I can do for you bringing these frames all the way over here.” Plus, if Mrs. Witt had always done the grocery shopping, chances were she’d also done the cooking. That led Audrey to believe Mr. Witt might not have been eating properly since his family’s departure. Something about him brought out her protective instincts.

      “It’s not too far,” he said as he took a seat. “I just live a couple miles down the road from your lane.”

      Audrey