The Heart Remembers by Peggy Gaddis Read Free Book Online

for them through the weeds and undergrowth up to the small sagging porch of the forlorn little house. He took the key from her shaking fingers and unlocked the door, not seeming to notice that her hands were cold and trembling. He turned the key with difficulty in the cheap, rusted lock and shoved the door open. Damp and decay had made the floor sag a little so that he had to put his shoulder against the door and shove hard to get itopen.
    â€œSee?” he said over his shoulder. “You couldn’t have managed it alone.”
    But Shelley couldn’t answer him. She had drawn herself into a small, cold knot of hard-won self-control. She had wanted desperately to go into this little sad house alone. She had wanted to face the memories, bitter and sweet, without the necessity of maintaining an outward composure she wasn’t at all sure would be possible.
    Jim pushed in ahead of her and looked around. The shades were drawn. The house was dark, dank, cheerless with the odor of years of neglect and decay.
    Shelley was passionately grateful when Jim, his back to her, went to the windows and lifted the shades, raising the windows so that the warm sun and the soft wind, scented with the pines’ own fragrance, could blow into the room.
    Shelley closed her eyes for a moment, her hands clenched tightly in the pockets of her camel’s hair coat. And when at last she made herself open her eyes the full flood-tide of memory swept over her, almost engulfing her, and she had to set her teeth hard in her lower lip until the pain steadied her a little and helped her to fight back the tears.
    Had the little house always been this small, this shabby, this dingy? Memory said no fiercely. But memory held days and nights when the little house had been filled to overflowing with love and laughter and happiness. When three people had filled it to the brim with their own delight in each other. There had been poverty, of course, but a poverty faced with such courage and gaiety that it had been a sort of intangible wealth.
    Every chair, every scrap of meagre furnishings held its own message for her. And suddenly, in spite of her attempted composure, she was crying softly. And then strong arms were about her, steadying her, holdingher close, and Jim’s voice was warm, tender.
    â€œPoor little kid! You just wouldn’t let me warn you, would you? Heaven knows I tried to prepare you for it. I tried to make you understand how impossible the whole thing was, that you were trying to resurrect a ghost. And now that you have, you can’t take it. And who could blame you? You’ll just have to cut your losses and clear out.”
    Shelley had herself in hand by now and drew away from him, fumbling for her handkerchief and weakly accepting his when he pressed it into her hand.
    â€œI’m a fool,” she stammered her miserable apology, avoiding his eyes. “It’s just that—well, it isn’t quite what I expected. It’s so old and so shabby.”
    â€œFifteen years is a long time.”
    â€œBut it isn’t going to be so bad, after all. What it really needs is a good, thorough cleaning and some new draperies and slipcovers and things,” she stammered, and Jim stared at her, shocked.
    For Pete’s sake, you mean you’re going to
stay
?”
    â€œWell, certainly I’m going to stay. What else have I been trying to tell you all along? I’ve bought the place, haven’t I?”
    He studied her for a long moment and then he lifted his hands palms upward in a gesture of dismissal and sighed.
    â€œOh, well, I knew from the first that you were a stubborn little cuss,” he yielded. “Come on; I’ve thought of somebody we can get to help you clean the place up. We’ll go find her.”
    And without waiting for her answer, he tsrned toward the door.
    â€œWait until I close the windows.”
    â€œLeave ’em open, and the doors, too. Nobody ever locks a door