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  Georgia knelt at the window and wondered how similar the scene was to the one that would have greeted Nell when she’d looked out the window. What had it looked like in 1919 when Nell and Luther had first moved here? There wouldn’t have been any rosebushes in the garden then either. No need for them yet. What had the view looked like ten years later when Ralph had visited? What had it looked like when Nana Dana had lived here so briefly? Or when Georgia’s mother had been a little girl and visited the cottage with her best friend, who grew up to become Georgia’s aunt Kaycee? Georgia suspected that while the trees had grown, not much else had changed. The idea pleased her.

  She resettled herself on her bed and picked up the third journal, curious to know if Nell and Ralph had seen each other again after their first secret visit. She wanted this for them desperately, all the while wondering if she was wrong to want it so badly.

  But surely they could just be friends, couldn’t they? Georgia wondered. What would be wrong with a friendship? But if they couldn’t let Luther know about the relationship, then perhaps something was wrong. On the other hand, Luther seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t approve of his wife being friends with a man. After all, he didn’t even want his wife to have friends who were women.

  Georgia read on, hoping to see Ralph’s name again. She didn’t have to wait long. There were plenty of mentions of letters from Ralph.

  Heard from Ralph again!

  Lovely, long letter from Ralph.

  And mentions of Nell’s own letters to Ralph.

  Spent all morning writing to Ralph — ten pages! Who knew I had so much to say?

  At Christmastime in 1929, Nell had meticulously, lovingly, and privately made a card for him, working at odd moments when Abby and Rose were occupied and Luther was at work.

  Nell was an artist, Georgia marveled, just like her granddaughter, Dana.

  Time passed. The Great Depression descended on the country, although it didn’t seem to change much for Nell’s family. They had about the same amount of nothing once the Depression was underway as they’d had beforehand.

  The communication between Nell and Ralph continued. In secret, of course. Sometimes, though, Georgia read for pages and pages without a mention of Ralph Saunders. The Nell who wrote those entries sounded much more like the other Nell. Gone was the buoyancy and effervescence. She sounded like the Nell of the final journal.

  The entries wobbled between elation and despair. One day Nell would write: Heard from Ralph again! His letters fill me with sweetness! Three days later she would write: Yesterday was another hard day. I fixed Luther his breakfast, but after he left the cottage, I went back to bed. I know it’s wrong to leave Abby in charge of Rose, but I don’t know what to do. My brain is muddled.

  Georgia realized that while Nell was able to keep Ralph a secret from Luther, she couldn’t keep her confusion and sadness a secret from him. Luther has asked me to control my spells. He says they’re embarrassing.

  “Her spells,” murmured Georgia. “That’s what’s embarrassing. That Luther says his wife has spells.”

  The third journal came, depressingly, to an end, and after a trip to the kitchen for a plum and a glass of water, Georgia sat on her bed with journal number four. This one began in early 1930. Georgia drew in a breath and returned to Nell’s story.

  She read about dull days, and about chilly days as another Maine winter wore on. She read about washing clothes (by hand) and preparing endless meals for a family of four. Winter turned to spring, and then — at last — another letter from Ralph arrived.

  Too much to take in! Nell wrote giddily. Could we really do this? Could we really go away together? Even two days with Ralph would be heaven. But, but …

  Nell’s words drifted off, and Georgia easily filled them in. But how would Nell and Ralph achieve this? How would they manage to go away together, right under Luther’s nose? What would happen to Abby and Rose? What if Nell and Ralph got caught?

  Georgia was almost breathless as she read on. She wanted desperately for Nell, who now seemed quite real to her, to have this moment in her life. A spotlight moment. The next entry was dated several weeks later, and Georgia could tell just by looking at it (it was peppered with exclamation points) that somehow the trip was going to take place.

  The plans were in motion.

  Georgia wished she could somehow have witnessed the events leading up to Nell and Ralph’s weekend, but she had to satisfy herself with Nell’s journal entries, some of which were maddeningly brief:

  I asked Luther if he thought I might have a short respite, just a little time away. I said I need to be by myself for a bit, that I need to gather my thoughts. (Georgia didn’t know what the answer to this had been.)

  Another entry: Betty has offered to take the girls for a few days. (Did Betty know Nell’s secret? Georgia wondered.)

  The very next entry: Two days in Owls Cove! I told Luther that Betty had mentioned the inn there. It’s not fancy, but anyway Luther said never mind the expense. He’s worried about my health, I can tell. Should I feel guilty? Maybe.

  But I don’t.

  And on a Friday a mere week later: I leave this afternoon. Betty picked the girls up an hour ago. They’re excited about their weekend with their cousins — their first weekend away without Luther or me. I expected a few tears, and got them, but only from Abby. Rose dashed into Betty’s arms and hugged her, then climbed into the car without a glance back. Abby clung to me, even when I reminded her that she’s the big sister and Rose will be looking up to her.

  Now I wait. In two hours Luther will take me to the train station, and the dream will begin.

  This entry ended at the bottom of a page. Georgia turned it, expecting to see the next entry dated the following day, and was surprised to see that it was dated two weeks later. What had happened?

  Only good things, as it turned out. Nell simply hadn’t had much time to write, and, Georgia realized, probably hadn’t brought her journal to Owls Cove. But the weekend had been a success. Luther hadn’t discovered the true purpose of the trip. Far more important, Nell and Ralph had spent two idyllic days together. They’d checked into the inn as Eleanor Nichols and Robert Brown. Two separate rooms, and a fake name for Ralph, just in case Luther became suspicious about his wife’s weekend of healing.

  Nell wrote about walking and dining with Ralph as if we were husband and wife. Not near the inn, Georgia guessed, but elsewhere in the small town. Time for talking and sharing, time for remembering and dreaming.

  Georgia thought the last part was sad, since what could Nell and Ralph reasonably dream about? Not a future together. Not children. Not any of the things Nell had once dreamed for them.

  But Nell seemed happy anyway. Happier than she’d seemed at any time since Ralph’s secret visit to the cottage in Lewisport.

  He’s my soul, Nell reported. I have reconnected with my soul, and I feel whole again.

  Georgia felt tears spring to her eyes, and she swiped them away. If only Nell could have married Ralph, she thought. But if she had, there would have been no Great-Grandma Abby or Nana Dana or her mom or Georgia herself. Unless Nell had divorced Luther after her weekend with Ralph. But Georgia realized that was unlikely in 1931. Even if Luther had agreed to a divorce, he would never have given Nell custody of Abby and Rose.

  And Abby and Rose were Nell’s world. As happy as she had been to spend two days with Ralph — deliriously happy — she was just as happy to be reunited with her daughters.

  I was met with laughter and shrieks of joy when Betty and Marshall returned with the girls. Abby flew into my arms and Rose hugged me around my waist and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want to let go either. We embraced and cried and laughed. Rose chattered about their adventures, and then I gave the girls the gifts I had bought: a red hair ribbon for Abby and a shell necklace for Rose. How good it feels to be in their presence again. They are my shining lights. They make the dull days brighter.

  Georgia read to the end of the fourt
h journal. Ralph was mentioned less frequently, and Georgia wondered if maybe, just maybe, Luther had become suspicious. One entry read: Luther asked about Ralph this evening. He said, “Have you ever heard from Ralph Saunders?” An odd question since he thinks Ralph is dead. What happened?

  After that there were only two more mentions of Ralph in the fourth journal. And none, Georgia already knew, in the final journal. But for some reason she didn’t feel sad. Nell had reconnected with her true love. They had met and communicated and he had made her happy. Georgia tried to let that outweigh what she knew had happened eventually.

  She closed the fourth journal and glanced at the fifth. She looked at her watch. Almost six o’clock. She let out a sigh. Then she stacked the journals into a careful pile and set them in the hidey-hole. She replaced the piece of paneling and eyed it. She was certain no one would mistake it for anything other than a portion of the wall. Just in case, though, she tore the cover off of a magazine and hastily taped it over the panel. The picture was of the ocean, a scene so bland that Georgia was certain no one would be interested in it.

  Georgia said good-bye to Nell.

  * * *

  It would be a year and a half before she would look at the journals again. And that time she would share them with someone.

  Georgia stood on her front porch, eyes scanning Blue Harbor Lane for Mr. Norwood’s car. It was the first day of high school and Ava’s father was the driver of the morning carpool — Georgia, Ava, and Talia, but not Richard, who had announced over breakfast that he would no longer be part of it. His older friends could drive him.

  Georgia’s parents had protested, and Richard had ignored them. In fact, he had already left the house.

  Behind her, Georgia heard the front door open and close.

  “Are you nervous?” Henry asked her.

  “No,” said Georgia, who was so nervous she wondered if she was about to barf up her breakfast.

  “But I heard that at the high school the big kids make the freshmen —”

  “Stop!” cried Georgia. “I don’t want to know.”

  “So you are nervous,” said Henry, sitting on the top step and patting the space next to him.

  Georgia sank down. She tried to calm her stomach.

  The day before, she and Great-Grandma Abby had also sat on the porch, but in chairs, since Great-Grandma said her knees hadn’t worked properly since 1982. And they had talked about high school.

  “It’s hard to believe that my own great-granddaughter is about to become a student at my alma mater.” Great-Grandma shook her head.

  (Neither of them mentioned that Richard was already a student there. His freshman year record had been far from stellar.)

  “What was it like when you went to BPCHS?” Georgia had asked.

  She and her great-grandmother were sitting in cushioned wicker chairs, drinking iced tea that Georgia had made with her own special process, which she would reveal to no one. She always worked behind closed doors.

  “Well, the school seemed enormous, but it was actually smaller then than it is now,” Great-Grandma replied. “The new addition in the back was put on about thirty years ago. I suppose some things aren’t very different, though. We had graduation ceremonies and award ceremonies, and there were lots of clubs to join. On the other hand, even though there was no dress code, girls always wore dresses. We would never even have thought of wearing pants.”

  “Really?” asked Georgia, who rarely considered wearing anything other than jeans to school.

  “Really.” Great-Grandma smiled and sipped her iced tea. “This is wonderful. Would you share your recipe with me?”

  “Nice try,” said Georgia, grinning. “It’s a secret from everyone. Great-Grandma, do you remember your first day at BPCHS?”

  “I do.”

  “Were you nervous?”

  “Not nervous, exactly.”

  “What then?”

  Great-Grandma set down her glass and looked thoughtful. “It wasn’t an easy time in my life.”

  “Were you afraid you wouldn’t fit in with the other kids?”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Georgia nodded.

  “Well, that was part of the problem,” said Great-Grandma, “but I thought I wouldn’t fit in because our family had so much money, and most of the students back then had very little. Our country was still recovering from the Depression. And while we’d been poor at the start of it, we weren’t by the end of it. My father had made a small fortune during the years of the Depression, which was almost unheard of.”

  “Oh. That’s sort of the opposite of my problem. What was the rest of your problem?”

  “You remember hearing about my friend Sarah, don’t you?” asked Great-Grandma.

  “The one who drowned?”

  “Yes. The one who drowned. She’d died less than a year before, and everyone knew I’d been her best friend. My classmates tried to be nice to me after that, but eventually they just felt sorry for me. I became the girl whose friend had died tragically, and I found myself on the fringe of things by the time I started high school. But guess what.”

  “What?”

  “There were so many more kids at BPCHS than there had been at my elementary school that most of my classmates didn’t know anything about me. It was a chance to start over. Almost as if I’d moved to a new town.”

  A chance to start over, Georgia thought now as she sat with Henry. Maybe BPCHS could be her chance to start over. But Georgia wasn’t sure. The kids who lived in Barnegat Point knew exactly which kids didn’t live there. They knew which ones lived in Lewisport and St. George, towns a fraction the size of the much more sophisticated Barnegat Point. Never mind that Georgia and her friends had gone to elementary school in Barnegat Point. When the bell rang at the end of the day, their parents picked them up and drove them back to their little cottages and their little lives.

  Georgia had a feeling this would make a difference in high school.

  “There’s Mr. Norwood’s car,” said Henry suddenly, and Georgia felt her stomach drop.

  It was beginning.

  * * *

  When Mr. Norwood drove away from BPCHS, he left three uncertain girls standing at the edge of the front lawn with their backpacks. The school wasn’t entirely foreign to them. They’d attended plays and concerts there, and just a week earlier, all the freshmen had been given a tour of the building. But Georgia could feel her heart pounding.

  She glanced at Ava and Talia. “You guys look scared to death,” she whispered.

  “So do you,” Talia whispered back.

  “What do we have to be afraid of?” asked Ava suddenly, feeling brave.

  “Lots of things,” said Talia.

  “Them,” said Georgia, pointing to a group of much older kids sitting on a brick wall, laughing and punching one another and smoking.

  Talia peered at them. “Isn’t that Richard?” she asked, pointing to one of the boys.

  Georgia sighed. “Yes.”

  “He could be your protector,” said Ava.

  Georgia didn’t answer. Richard might or might not protect her. Either way, she was going to have to live down his reputation, which so far consisted of flunking courses, being given detention, frustrating his teachers, and disrupting the homecoming football game by leading his friends in a series of cheers for the opposing team.

  Georgia planned to focus on her music and make her own kind of reputation. She looked at her friends. “Well, let’s go.”

  If the girls had been any younger, they would have grabbed hands and walked across the lawn linked together. Instead they clutched their purses. Georgia clutched hers so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  They made their way past Richard and his friends, who paid them absolutely no attention, and entered the large double doors of the high school. Georgia was thinking about her conversation with Great-Grandma the day before, and feeling a pleasant sense of history, when Ava said, “Okay, now what?”

>   “What do you mean, ‘Now what?’ ” asked Georgia, and was surprised to find that she was whispering again. She glanced around the crowded entryway, losing her footing when someone shoved her rudely aside.

  “I mean,” said Ava, who was also whispering, “now where do we go?”

  Automatically, all three girls retrieved their schedules from their purses.

  “We know what our classes are, but we don’t know where the rooms are!” wailed Talia. “Where’s Annex B-1?” She sounded near tears.

  “Do not cry!” hissed Georgia.

  “But this is like my nightmares,” said Talia. “I’ll probably wander around and around all day looking for classes and never finding any of them. And then I’ll flunk out.”

  Georgia felt hysterical laughter bubbling to the surface, but she said, “We can’t possibly be the only ones who don’t know where their classrooms are. Look, there’s Ginnie. Remember her? She’s —”

  At that moment Georgia felt a hand on her back and she nearly shrieked.

  “Are you girls lost?” Richard was suddenly among them, and he was smiling. “I saw you go inside. I’ll give you a piece of advice. Don’t look so terrified.”

  “But we are terrified,” said Georgia, as a guy wearing a leather jacket, his nose and lips pierced, brushed by her. He was at least a foot taller than Georgia and her friends.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Richard.

  Georgia leaned close to him and whispered loudly, “We don’t know where our classrooms are.”

  Richard smiled again. “Here. I’ll help you.”

  And he did. He pointed each girl in the direction of her first class and told her how to get to her second one. Then he said to Georgia, “You’ll probably want to sign up for band or something. All the sign-up sheets are posted in the hall by the principal’s office, which is right down there.”

  Georgia looked at her brother as if he had floated into the halls of BPCHS in a giant bubble along with the Good Witch of the North. “Richard?”