Epilogue
Six Months Later
A big part of stepping out of the shadows included taking pictures, documenting, and celebrating. And today’s photo deserved framing.
Standing on the cleared spot that had once housed the barn, Bailey Rae held a shovel, flanked by Libby, Thea, and June.
Together, with their breaths puffing clouds into the cold winter air, they posed for the photographer from the Bent Oak Weekly documenting the groundbreaking ceremony for the Ballard-Davis Sanctuary House.
Bailey Rae still couldn’t believe how smoothly the pieces had fallen into place to open a shelter for women in crisis. Perhaps because the need was so great. Or maybe because Winnie was smiling from heaven, punting any roadblocks out of their way—starting with the funding.
Phillip Curtis III had been persistent about reaching out, even after seeing Winnie’s birth certificate. So much so, Bailey Rae worried he might stumble on the truth if she didn’t give him some way to pass along Eloise’s inheritance. She’d never seen someone so eager to unload a ton of money.
Well, no one except Aunt Winnie.
Finally, Bailey Rae had responded to Phillip’s fourth inquiry and told him about the women’s shelter she and Winnie’s friends were opening. Would he be interested in making a donation? He’d been prompt in his response and in cutting a check.
A big check. She’d been taken aback by all the zeroes. Winnie truly had left behind a fortune. She must have been desperate beyond belief.
Admiration doubled for the woman who’d brought her up, who’d helped Bailey Rae through struggles and trauma, while managing to put her own in the past. Winnie had given her the greatest of gifts by teaching her to build a beautiful life centered around what mattered so much more than material possessions.
Friendship. Loyalty. Love.
Tears welled and Bailey Rae let them stream free, missing Winnie today more than ever. Although these days she didn’t suppress her emotions. Good. Bad. Happy. Sad. She embraced them all.
Only a week after that chaotic July Fourth market, Winnie’s body had been found, far downriver in a peaceful cove. They would never know if her drowning had truly been an accident or if Winnie had surrendered to her grief over losing Russell.
Either way, until that moment, Bailey Rae hadn’t realized how, in a deep corner of her heart, she’d been holding out hope that her aunt would turn up on the doorstep with her bottomless purse and a family in need.
Truth be told, she still liked to fantasize about Winnie riding a Greyhound bus along the coast, visiting beach after beach.
Maybe even putting down roots in some sandy locale and selling blown glass to tourists.
Thanks again to Phillip III, a piece of Winnie’s art would be displayed in the lobby of the completed shelter—a blown-glass creation of a mother and child nestled inside an oyster shell like a pearl.
Thea clapped her hands, in charge as their new de facto leader. “Don’t forget we’re having a pig picking over at the house tonight to celebrate. Howard has been out tending that pig in the roasting pit all night.”
Pushing Libby’s wheelchair, June cheered. “Party time. We’ll bring the Southern Comfort. Right, Libby?”
Libby smiled up from her chair wordlessly as they made their way toward the minivan.
Martin stepped forward, looking too handsome in his uniform. “Bailey Rae, I’ll get the heater running in the truck.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth, squeezing her hand and whispering, “Great job here today.”
She stroked his bristly jaw. “Great group effort.”
They were all finding a niche. She’d already begun a soup kitchen from her shiny new food truck, a service that would expand upon the opening of Sanctuary House.
June now offered GED prep classes, with Gia’s assistance.
Thea, of course, was already keeping the books.
Keith had even managed to hold down his new job and would be working on the construction crew contracted to build the shelter where the barn had once stood.
In a poignant twist, Libby had a contribution as well. For decades, she’d been hiding her skills as a pianist, and while words faded for her more and more each day, her fingers had rediscovered the keyboard. The shelter would be filled with music for both adults and children.
The playground had already been constructed by the high school’s carpentry class.
Stepping stones that Winnie had made wound pathways through the equipment, a fanciful castle turret at one end and a row of swings at the other.
Bailey Rae remembered well from her childhood the sensation of feeling safe under these very trees.
Taking one last instant to soak it all in, she traced the lettering on the rough-hewn sign proclaiming: Future Site of the Ballard-Davis Sanctuary House .
A tribute to Winnie, Russell, and Annette.
Their names said it all.