Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Blackwood Estate
Six Weeks Before Mabel Blackwood’s Death
Mabel Blackwood sat alone in the library, a glass of Chardonnay untouched beside her elbow as afternoon light slid through the tall windows.
A cardboard box rested open on the desk. Photographs—thirty years of bad blood and good summers, all in one battered container. She smiled as she lifted one from the stack.
Anne at sixteen. Wild and beautiful even then.
Lord, that girl had been trouble from the minute she discovered she could smile her way out of almost anything.
Mabel’s smile thinned.
The next photograph showed Harold with both Blackwood sisters at the first harvest festival. Smiling. Laughing. Before everything broke.
She set it aside and reached for another. This one stole her breath.
Aubrey.
Tiny and pink-faced, wrapped in a yellow blanket in the hospital nursery.
Mabel’s fingers trembled on the worn edge.
"My sweet girl," she whispered, tracing one tiny cheek with her thumb.
Beyond the library window, the curve of the upper path and the white gazebo perched above the vines. Once upon a time, there had only been a crooked fence post and a lopsided blanket fort in that spot.
The photograph blurred, and the library fell away. Summer. The vineyard shimmered beneath a hot sun.
Six-year-old Aubrey tore through the rows with all the reckless determination only a child possessed.
“Mabel!”
Her small voice carried up the hill.
Mabel laughed and set down the basket she was carrying.
“Slow down, baby. You’re gonna fall.”
“I found one!”
Aubrey came charging toward her, blonde hair flying like a flag. Dirt streaked her knees. One shoelace trailed behind. She held up a single grape like it was buried treasure.
Mabel gasped.
“Well, I’ll be.”
“Is it ready?” Aubrey asked.
Mabel took the grape with all the seriousness of a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
She turned it over.
Squinted.
“Hmm.”
Aubrey bounced in place.
“Well?”
Mabel popped it into her mouth.
The child practically vibrated.
“It’s perfect.”
Aubrey threw both hands in the air.
“I knew it!”
“You did not.”
“Did too.”
“Absolutely did not.”
Aubrey giggled so hard she tipped sideways. Mabel caught her before she hit the ground.
Aubrey wrapped both skinny arms around her waist. Mabel held the girl close, swallowing the ache in her throat.
Aubrey smelled of sunshine and grape juice, and the strawberry shampoo Mabel kept in the guest bathroom just for her.
“Love you, Aunt Mabel,” Aubrey mumbled into her shirt.
Mabel closed her eyes.
“Love you too, baby.”
More than you know.
Aubrey pulled back and grabbed her hand.
“Come see my fort.”
“Your fort?”
“Uh-huh. I built it.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No.”
A beat.
“Maybe a little.”
Mabel let herself be dragged along the upper path, toward the quieter edge of the hill.
The “fort” turned out to be three crooked branches leaning against a fence post and a faded beach towel printed with sun-washed blue stripes.
Aubrey looked very pleased with herself.
“It’s beautiful,” Mabel said.
Aubrey’s grin lit her whole face. “I know.”
Mabel huffed out a laugh.
Inside the “fort” sat two plastic teacups and a stuffed rabbit missing one eye.
Aubrey patted the towel beside her.
“You sit here.”
“Bossy little thing.” “Mom says I’m ‘termined.” Mabel huffed out a quiet laugh and lowered herself onto the towel.
“When’d your mama say that?”
Aubrey frowned, thinking hard.
“Dunno. Long time.”
She picked at a loose string on the beach towel.
Then she leaned against Mabel’s side, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Can I stay here forever?” she asked, eyes on the rabbit.
Mabel kept her voice light.
“Forever, huh?”
Aubrey nodded, still tracing circles on the towel.
“Why would you wanna do that?”
Aubrey shrugged. “You and Uncle Harold are always happy when I come.”
Something pinched behind Mabel’s ribs.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Aubrey lifted one shoulder again, like it didn’t matter.
“I like it here,” she said.
Mabel slid an arm around her and drew her fully into her lap.
Aubrey came without hesitation, curling in as if she’d been waiting to be gathered up.
Mabel wrapped both arms around her and pressed a kiss into her hair.
For one selfish moment, she let herself imagine Aubrey staying. Growing up here.
Bare feet on these porch boards every summer. Scraped knees and sticky fingers and laughter running through these rows until she was too old to be caught.
Knowing—without ever having to ask—that she was wanted.
The screen door slammed somewhere down the hill.
Aubrey went still, shoulders inching up as if she could make herself a little less noticeable.
Anne.
Mabel felt the change like a string pulled tight—the small body in her lap tensing, the quick tilt of her head toward the sound.
Six years old, and already reading weather in other people’s footsteps. Mabel heard the sharp scrape of heels on the porch boards and knew, without looking, what kind of storm was coming up the hill.
Mabel closed her eyes.
Later, Mabel would remember this as the day she realized the past hadn't stayed in the past. It had found Aubrey too.
If she ever got the chance, she would bring Aubrey home. Not for the land or the wine or the legacy, but because this child had always belonged here. There ought to be at least one place in the world where she never had to wonder if she was wanted.
The memory thinned at the edges.
The sound of the slammed screen door faded, replaced by the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the present-day library.
Mabel blinked.
The photograph of newborn Aubrey lay trembling slightly between her fingers.
Outside, late light slid across the upper path toward the white gazebo.
“It’s time,” she whispered to the empty room.
Time to fix what she still could.
Time to bring her girl home.