The Path Through the Trees. Peggy Dymond Leavey

little,” Norah admitted. “I had a nap, and I always feel chilled when I wake up. Don’t you?”

      “I do not take naps during the daytime, unless I am ill.” The woman spooned some stew onto Norah’s plate and looked at her over the top of her eyeglasses, adding, “You’re not ill, I hope.”

      “No, I’m fine.” Norah set her fork back onto the table. “But I was wondering, Aunt Caroline, there doesn’t seem to be any heat in that bedroom.”

      “If you leave your door open, you’ll be warm enough,” the woman said. “I trust the room suits you, otherwise?”

      “Oh, yes. It’s fine.”

      The woman nodded. “It was good enough for me when I was a girl.”

      “Really? It was your room? Then, you’ve always lived here?”

      “I have. This house was built for my father.” Great-aunt Caroline set her mouth into a straight line again and peered critically at the food that remained on Norah’s plate.

      Norah returned her attention to the meal. The stew, if not her hostess, was warm and delicious. There was homemade bread to go with it and a fragrant spice cake for dessert.

      “You’re a very good cook, Aunt Caroline,” Norah said, sitting back against her chair and putting her hands on her full stomach. “I’ll help you with the dishes whenever you’re ready to do them.”

      “No, thank you.” Her great-aunt rose from the table. “I suggest you go find a book to read.” She hesitated. “You do read, don’t you?”

      Norah gave a little laugh. “Of course.”

      “Well, it’s just that I heard with all your TVs and computers, children don’t read these days. More’s the pity.”

      “We still read,” Norah protested. “I brought two books with me, in fact. I love to curl up with a book. But I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

      “Well, that’s considerate of you, I suppose, but I am used to managing on my own,” Aunt Caroline retorted. And just before she disappeared through the swinging door, “You may bring your book into the kitchen, if you wish.”

      Norah didn’t wait to be asked a second time. She flew from the room and was back downstairs with one of her paperbacks in two minutes, plopping into a rocking chair in the kitchen beside the stove. The wood in its belly crackled companionably.

      Aunt Caroline washed dishes in silence for a few minutes. “I think you’d better tell me about these cousins of yours that are coming,” she suggested grudgingly. She didn’t turn from the sink. “Are they noisy children?”

      Norah looked up in surprise. “No more than other kids,” she said, talking to her great-aunt’s back. “I guess you could say Becca gets a bit hyper at times, but she’s only ten. Andrew’s sort of serious.”

      The sound of gentle splashing continued from the sink.

      “Andrew is the same age as me,” Norah continued. “I think his birthday is in January. You know, Mom and I hadn’t seen them in such a long time, and then Uncle Richard brought them out west last summer. It was their first time seeing the Rockies and the coast. After that, we started emailing each other all the time.”

      Putting a finger in the book to mark her place, Norah went on, “It’s always been just Mom and me. But lately, Mom’s had this thing about reconnecting with any relatives we have. That’s why she wrote to you.” She saw Aunt Caroline reach for a towel from behind the stove. “You wouldn’t happen to remember my dad, would you?” Norah asked, hopefully.

      The woman took a plate from the dish rack and began to dry it vigorously. “He was my sister’s child. They lived down east.”

      “I know. I can’t remember him either,” Norah admitted with a sigh. “Sometimes I think I can, and then I see a picture of him with me when I was little, and I know it’s the picture I remember. I was only two when he died. I wish you had gotten to know him.” She didn’t add what she was thinking—that at least it would give them something to talk about.

      “Well, we all have our own lives to live,” declared Aunt Caroline. She finished wiping up around the sink, untied the apron and hung it behind the door. “Come along now. We’re finished in here,” she announced. She had her hand on the light switch already.

      Without another word, they left the kitchen. As she passed the buffet in the dining room, Aunt Caroline picked up a wicker sewing basket and proceeded with it through the living room and across the hall to the den. Norah followed on her heels. She stopped beside the television. “May I turn it on?” she asked.

      “You could if it worked,” replied Aunt Caroline, placing a cushion against the back of one of the leather chairs and lowering herself into it.

      “Oh. Well, maybe when they get here, one of the grownups can take it somewhere and get it fixed for you.”

      “Whatever for?” Aunt Caroline puzzled, scowling. “I never had television before, and I don’t need it now. I just wish someone would take the thing away.”

      “I thought it might be company for you,” Norah suggested.

      “How on earth can something as one-sided as television be company?” Aunt Caroline demanded. She opened the basket and drew out a square of half-finished needlework. “Anyway, someone I rented a room to at one time brought it with him. Said he was going to share it with me and had the nerve to set it up in here. It never did work.”

      She glared at Norah, who had not moved from the side of the offending television set. “Don’t you have any handwork you could be doing?”

      “Handwork?”

      “Something to keep your hands busy in the evenings. I always have something I can pick up, rather than sitting idle.”

      “Maybe I’ll just go up to bed,” Norah suggested. Anything was better than sitting here under Aunt Caroline’s critical eye. She saw the disapproving look her great-aunt gave the clock, ticking out the hollow seconds on the mantle. “I know it’s only seven-thirty, but I’m still kind of tired from the trip.”

      “Of course you are,” Aunt Caroline conceded, in a gentler tone. She was probably relieved, Norah thought, that the two of them wouldn’t have to make conversation all evening.

      Upstairs, having changed into her pajamas, Norah opened the door of the bedroom and climbed into bed with her book. But instead of reading, she let her mind go back over the afternoon, looking for chinks in the armour Aunt Caroline wore. It was only when she was telling Norah about her birds that Norah had glimpsed a warmer side to her great-aunt.

      There was no moon to light the path as Jody made his way back to the shed in the woods. In spite of all the years that had passed since the last time he’d been here, the route from the big house was still familiar to him.

      Once in out of the rain, the embers of the fire in his little stove provided enough light for him to find the tin of matches. Striking one, he held it to the wick of the lantern, adjusting the flame before he hung it back on the nail over the bench.

       The lady had looked well enough, he thought. Older, but that was to be expected after all this time. But what about this girl he’d seen with her? Could she be the reason he’d felt drawn to come back here? Maybe the girl was the one who would provide him with another chance to connect with the family. But who was she?

      Five

      The first thing Norah heard the next morning was the sound of freezing rain peppering the eaves. Tiny icicles hung from the trees and coated the wires into the house. The only good thing about the dismal scene from the bedroom window, in Norah’s opinion, was that the temperature must be falling,