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  “Kitty!” her mother called again, louder this time.

  She laid her baby doll in the cradle, gently patting its cotton-stuffed tummy. “Mommy will be right back, Emily. You go to sleep now,” she whispered to her favorite doll.

  She ran into the hallway just as her mother reached the top of the stairs. “Here I am, Mama. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, Kitty! There you are. Nothing’s the matter, sweetheart. I… we have wonderful news. Come downstairs. Daddy and I have something very important to tell you.”

  She followed her mother down the staircase, only mildly curious. Her mother sometimes made a big deal out of seemingly little things, and Claire had learned not to take her too seriously.

  In the living room Daddy was sitting on the sofa, still dressed from the office in his suit and tie. “Hi, pumpkin.”

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said politely, turning her eyes toward the floor. She loved her father, but she feared him as well. Though at times he was one of her favorite playmates, she also knew the wrath that awaited her if she was careless or naughty. Her father rarely spanked her, but she would have much preferred a spanking to one of his frequent lectures.

  Daddy patted the space beside him on the sofa, and she climbed up to sit at his side, hands in her lap, while her mother took the rocking chair nearby. Now her curiosity was roused. If Daddy was here, it must truly be something very special.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Kitty, you know for a long time now we have been hoping for a little brother or sister for you.”

  Claire waited expectantly, not daring to speak. Daddy didn’t mention the baby brothers she’d had—and lost.

  Raymond Anderson took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow before he continued. “We always thought that a new brother or sister would be a baby. We’ve always talked about you being a big sister, Kitty. But you see, we have been given the opportunity to take in a little boy who is eight years old. Adopt him. You remember what adoption means, don’t you, darling?”

  Claire shook her head solemnly. They'd talked about this before.

  “You’re going to be a little sister, Kitty!” her mother interjected. “You’ll have a big brother to look out for you. Oh, I always wished I’d had an older brother, and now you’ll have one, Kitty. Isn’t it wonderful? His name is Joseph.”

  “When . . . when will he come?” she asked, bewildered.

  “We will go get him next Friday afternoon,” her father said.

  The next week had been busily occupied getting ready for the day when Joseph would become part of their family.

  Daddy moved the cradle out of the nursery and they painted the walls a bright sky-blue. Claire and her mother shopped for a new bedspread and curtains and even pillowcases with Joseph’s name monogrammed on them. Then Mama let Claire choose new linens for her own bed. Claire had never seen her mother so happy. She seemed to smile more than ever these days. And they hadn’t been to the cemetery for two Sundays in a row.

  For the first time she could remember in her short life, Claire had let herself feel happy—truly happy—and secure with the kind of joy that bubbled up inside her when she least expected it. It was an emotion she'd never dared to feel before. It was hope.

  She hadn’t known then that this was merely the calm before a ravaging storm.

  Claire woke with a start and sat straight up in the bed. As she'd done so many times before, she consciously pushed the memory away, not wanting the rest of the story to play itself out in her dreams.

  She heard Smokey meowing at the back door, and grateful for the distraction, she slid out of bed and padded down the hallway to let him in.

  Chapter 3

  Claire awoke on a cold morning in November to the season’s first frosting of snow on the ground. Autumn was her favorite season and she hated to see it end too abruptly. Though Hanover Falls was not officially on the tourist maps as part of the Ozarks region, Claire thought the city could boast at least equal beauty to anything farther south.

  The week before, Becky Anderson, the fellow teacher who shared Claire’s surname, had invited her for a drive deep into the heart of what the locals called the “mountains.” They'd driven almost to the Arkansas border, where the Ozarks were indeed resplendent with autumn foliage. Unfortunately, the roadways were equally resplendent with traffic. Claire decided the tourists’ view had nothing over the scenic panorama of her own backyard.

  The plants and flowers she'd carefully tended had faded long ago, but the trees made up for the loss of other foliage. The locust tree was aglow with an almost iridescent yellow, and the birches and other trees on the property added various shades of gold and brown and claret to the autumn palette. This morning’s dusting of snow added its own beauty.

  Claire dressed warmly for school in tan corduroy slacks and a new sweater she'd been anxious to wear. At least that was one good thing about the change in the weather. She was glad for a chance to bring some of her warmer clothes out of storage and add them to her meager wardrobe.

  The snow was still coming down in fine, soft flakes as Claire maneuvered her car cautiously over powdered streets. As she drove, she contemplated how she might incorporate the newly fallen snow into the day’s science lesson.

  The halls were buzzing with excitement when she walked through the front doors. Parents on their way to work and anxious to get a head start on the weather had dropped many children off earlier than usual. The students fed one another’s excitement until Claire’s classroom was near a frenzy by the time the bell finally rang.

  She decided to forgo any attempts to calm them down and instead allowed each of them to share their stories of getting to school that morning.

  “My brother and I had a snowball fight,” Talisha Jackson offered.

  “You shoulda seen my dad!” Lucas Crockett crowed. “He was shovelin’ the driveway and he fell down and slid halfway across the street on his . . . his backside.” Embarrassed, he snuck a glance at his teacher to make sure his choice of words was deemed appropriate. When Claire smiled her guarded approval, he trumpeted, “It was awesome!”

  “That’s nothin’,” Brianne Sizemore lisped. “My mom thpinned our car around in thircles in the middle of the road. We just about didn’t get thtopped in time before we hit a big truck!”

  Everybody had a story to top the previous one, and Claire knew the discussion was serving to bind the class together with a memory they would all share long after this day was over.

  Claire was telling her own tale of Smokey’s antics in the snow that morning when the principal, Marjean Hammond, stepped into the room.

  Claire excused herself with a discreet warning to the children to keep the noise down and went to the door with a questioning look on her face.

  “Sounds like you’re having fun,” Marjean said with a smile.

  “The natives were restless. I decided we might as well get it out of our systems. I’m afraid this may be the highlight of the year for my class so far.” Claire grinned wryly.

  “Well, it gets better. The superintendent has just decided we’re going to go ahead and dismiss school at ten o’clock. The forecast is for a couple more inches, and we don’t want to wait until it gets dangerously slick out there.” Marjean motioned toward the wall of windows framing the wintery scene.

  “Oh, this will be fun news to deliver.” Claire rubbed her hands together. “You wouldn’t want to stick around and help with crowd control, would you?”

  “I’m afraid you’re on your own there. I get to call some parents who will be considerably less happy about the news.” Marjean waved to the now curiously silent children and breezed out of the room.

  It was almost eleven-thirty before Claire had delivered the last of her third-graders to a parent and battened down her classroom in the likelihood there would not be classes the following day. The sky had grown darker, and though the wind remained calm, the snow continued to fall steadily.

  Claire was pulling on her gloves near t
he front door when Becky Anderson came down the hallway. “Hey, Claire, got everybody accounted for?”

  “Finally,” she sighed.

  “Do you feel adventurous? Norma and I are going to slip-slide out to Happy Chef for some of their great chili. Want to come along?”

  “Sure . . . Why not? Sounds great.” Claire didn’t know Norma Blair—one of the kindergarten teachers—very well, but she'd gotten to know Becky over the past weeks when they served on a parent/teacher committee together. Their long drive through the Ozarks the week before had sealed their friendship.

  Becky was a plump, pretty, likeable mother of two preschoolers. Her husband traveled often during the week, leaving Becky alone with the adorable, ornery boys. Claire knew it was a stressful situation, but Becky seemed to handle it with good humor.

  “I called my babysitter and told her not to put the boys down for naps yet. With any luck I’ll get two glorious hours to myself this afternoon—and lunch with the girls to boot!” She tossed her blond hair off her shoulders and laughed.

  Norma, a petite, attractive grandmotherly woman, came bustling down the hall, and the three navigated their way across the parking lot and piled into Becky’s van. Apologizing for the fast-food wrappers and Sunday school papers that littered the well-used minivan, Becky revved the motor, and while the car warmed up, Claire and Norma got out and helped her scrape the windshields.

  Half an hour later the three were in animated conversation over steaming bowls of soup and bottomless cups of fresh coffee. The restaurant was crowded with downtown businessmen and women on their lunch breaks. There was a spirit of community in the casual dining room as friends and acquaintances shouted greetings to one another across the room, commenting on the weather. The unexpected storm seemed to have everyone in high spirits, and no one seemed in a hurry to get back to work.

  While Claire listened to school gossip from her coworkers, Becky was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey, Becky.”

  “Michael! How’s it going?”

  Claire glanced up from her bowl of chili into the eyes of Michael Meredith.

  “It’s going good. Isn’t this something?” he asked, glancing toward the snowy panorama outside the restaurant’s windows. “Hi, Mrs. Blair.” He recognized Claire and gave a friendly nod in her direction. “Hello there.”

  Becky jumped in. “Oh, I’m sorry. Claire, this is Michael Meredith. Michael is the administrator of Riverview Manor, the nursing facility out on Broadway. Michael, this is Claire Anderson. Claire teaches third—”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Michael interrupted politely. “How are you, Claire?”

  “I’m fine. School’s out.” Her voice came out an octave too high and her palms had grown moist. Why did this man unnerve her so?

  Not seeming to notice, Michael turned to Becky. “Ah, I see. I thought maybe you were all playing hookey.”

  “I guess I sort of am . . . hookey from parenting, anyway,” Becky said, explaining her baby-sitting arrangements for the day.

  There was a lull in the conversation, and Michael scanned the crowded restaurant. “Well, I guess I’d better get in line for a table. Nice to see you all.”

  “Hey, listen,” Becky said suddenly. “Are you by yourself? You’re welcome to join us. It may be a while before you get seated in this madhouse. We’re just about finished, anyway. You ladies don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” the other two women chimed in unison.

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind. It does look like tables are at a premium today. And I’m kind of in a hurry. I’m supposed to be back for a one-thirty meeting.”

  He glanced at his watch and pulled out the empty fourth chair from their table.

  “So, Becky. . .” Michael’s voice held a teasing note. “That wonderful civic club of yours wouldn’t have any more money they don’t know what to do with, would they?”

  Becky was always ready to banter. “Hey, buster! We’re still recovering from that last fund-raiser. You guys cleaned us out!”

  “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to ask.” He feigned embarrassment. “Seriously, Becky, we really do appreciate what the club raised. It’s made a big difference.”

  “I don’t want to speak too soon, but we have talked about the possibility of another fund drive for the center. It probably won’t be until spring, though. Things just get too busy for everyone until after the first of the year.”

  “Oh, I understand. But, hey, that would be great. Really, I was kidding.” He turned to Claire. “Becky’s club raised almost five thousand dollars for the new senior center going up near Mrs. Overman’s apartment,” he explained.

  “Oh, I remember reading about it in the Record” Claire told him. “Millie Overman is the lady I rent from,” she explained to Becky and Norma. Turning back to Michael she asked, “Did Millie ever get that questionnaire turned in?”

  He laughed. “Let’s just say she did so under duress. I didn’t get the pleasure of tabulating the answers, but I expect she ripped us to shreds.”

  His playful bantering put her more at ease. While Becky and Norma discussed a situation at school, Claire turned her full attention to Michael Meredith.

  “Poor Millie,” she said. “I don’t think she’s adjusting too well to the move. Especially leaving her beloved kitty behind. I thought I’d die when Smokey walked into the room the other night. That wasn’t a problem, was it—having the cat there for a visit?”

  He laughed at her sheepish expression. “No. The only thing I’d worry about with that particular woman is she’d try to turn a little rendezvous into an extended visit.”

  “Millie would have to fight me for custody of Smokey,” Claire joked. “I’m getting pretty attached to him. I’ve always wanted a cat.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “I can’t say I see what all the hype about cats is. Give me a dog any day. A dog . . . now there’s a pet worth the trouble.”

  “You obviously have never held a purring cat in your lap on a cold winter night,” she said with mock offense, a flirtatious edge on her words.

  “And you obviously have never had a dog bring your paper and slippers to you on a cold winter morning.”

  She threw him a suspicious glance. “You’re kidding, right? Your dog can’t do that.”

  “Oh, I never said I was talking about my dog. Shoot, I don’t even have a dog!”

  They both laughed, and at Becky and Norma’s questioning looks, Michael filled them in on the debate. As the four of them laughingly discussed the pros and cons of dogs and cats, the waiter brought the women’s checks. Norma excused herself to get her coat, and Becky asked Michael about the progress on the construction of the senior center. He spoke animatedly, obviously enthusiastic about the project.

  Surreptitiously, Claire watched his face. In a dark suit and tie he was undeniably handsome. The fairy-tale description “dashing” came to mind, and she had to confess that his presence made her heart beat faster. But somehow their brief visit had made him seem more approachable.

  Michael’s lunch arrived and the women said their good-byes and bundled up against the cold.

  When they got back to the van, Becky asked dramatically, “Is that not the most gorgeous man you have ever laid eyes on?”

  “Rebekah Anderson!” Norma chided. “The last time I checked, you were a married woman.”

  “And a very happily married one, Norma, but I’ll tell you what—it’s hard not to notice a man like that. And he’s such a sweetheart, too. Not a bit stuck on himself. Hey, Claire. How do you know Michael?” she asked suddenly.

  Claire explained their meeting at Millie’s apartment.

  “If I were you I wouldn’t waste any time going after that one. He’s single and available, you know. At least I think he’s still available.”

  Claire felt herself blush. “Becky. . .”

  Norma laughed, and from her perch in the front passenger seat, she playfully smacked Becky in the arm. “You are hopeless, Be
cky.”

  She turned to Claire in the backseat. “Don’t you pay one bit of attention to this woman, Claire. She likes to think she has the gift of matchmaking, but I happen to know her success rate leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Claire smiled, grateful for Norma’s intervention. “Thanks for the warning, Norma.”

  Claire lit her first fire of the season in the fireplace that night while the snow continued to fall softly. It was heavenly being curled up in front of a warm fire with a good book and cup of hot cocoa, knowing she didn’t have to get up and go to work the next day. Mozart played softly on the stereo, and her own personal lap warmer purred with a contentment matching her own.

  She'd loved sharing the first snowfall with her students this morning. Her friendship with Becky had deepened, and she made a new friend in Norma today. And, she had to admit, she met a man to whom she was more than a little attracted.

  For the first time in her life, Claire began to think she might truly have found shelter from the haunting memories of her childhood in this little town and its people.

  Chapter 4

  Michael Meredith closed the drawer of the large oak file cabinet and locked it. Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the nagging concerns that pelted his mind, he dropped the key into his pocket and reached for his coat, which hung on a hook on the back of his office door.

  The papers in the file he'd just put away seemed, on the surface, to be in order. And yet—if one was looking for discrepancies—there were several entries in the medical chart and nursing charts of this patient’s file that might conceivably be interpreted as contradictory.

  He had studied the file carefully this afternoon and had almost convinced himself everything appeared in order, but now his earlier doubts resurfaced. He couldn’t be too careful. It would never do to have anyone question the information in a patient’s file—especially a patient who had died only one week after entering Riverview.