Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm Read Online Free PDF

smoothed her hair back. Rose was poised and graceful as if she’d been taught to sit with the right posture and sip her tea daintily with her pinkie finger pointing out. I picked up my travel bag and my art portfolio.
    “It’s right this way.” Her skirt swished around her ankles as she strode.
    We went through the kitchen, its wooden benches orderly, and continued down a hallway with walls lined with family pictures.
    “Is this you, Rose?” I pointed to a picture of a glamorous woman, soaking up sunshine in a striped bathing suit, and big Jackie-O style sunglasses.
    “Yes, quite the starlet wasn’t I?” she joked. “That was me back in my beach bunny days—I spent far too long tanning myself to leather beneath the Californian sun, until I moved here, and swapped the sunbaking for hiking.”
    “You look great.” Despite her age, I could still see that twenty-something woman in Rose, the quick smile, the grace.
    “These are my grandbabies.” Rose pointed to a picture of three boys with cheeky smiles and dimples.
    “Are they in Ashford?”
    She shook her head sadly. “They’re all the way in Australia. My son moved there for work, so I rarely see them these days. The distance is too much for me to travel. My old bones suffer from the flight. Just because we said our goodbyes, doesn’t mean they’re not in my heart. Never mind.” She grabbed my hand. “I’ve got you to look after now.”
    I returned her hand squeeze. She had no idea how much her words meant to me. I was missing my mom fiercely, but maybe Rose would help curb that loss a fraction. Even though I was hesitant making friends, Rose had a grandmotherly way about her. “Thanks, Rose.”
    Girls my age probably had a much better hold on themselves at twenty-eight than I did. But I was all sorts of lost without the anchor of my old life. Regret sat heavy in my belly, as I rued making Mom the promise in the first place. It was a foolish idea to jet around the world like a carefree itinerant. The year was going to drag on, until I could finally go home where I belonged.
    Rose pulled me down the hallway until we came to a door. With a flourish she pushed it open. The room smelt musty, like it had been closed up for a long time, but it was neat. There was a double bed, and a small dresser. We shared a room in Detroit—usually I flopped on the sofa when I crept in. A whole bed to myself would be a luxury.
    “Here’s the bathroom.” She opened a door off to the side, and my breath caught. “Everyone always does that.” She laughed. While the bedroom was small the bathroom was huge, spacious enough for a double vanity and an old-fashioned claw-foot tub. “I made some renovations a few years back, and they knocked a wall through from the other side so the bathroom would be bigger.”
    “Wow, you did a great job. No flowers?”
    She chortled. “I thought maybe one room should be flower free.” She scratched her chin. “But I regret that choice every day.”
    The bathroom was all white, with touches of cream in the tiling. Thick, fluffy towels were stacked next to the bath. It was like an oasis for my tired, overwrought mind. I knew I’d spend a lot of time soaking in the tub. We didn’t have one at home, and just the thought made me want to buy bubble bath, and a book to while the hours away indulgently.
    “I’ll leave you to get settled,” she said. “There’s soap and a few toiletries under the sink, and you just yell out if you need a hand.” With that she stepped from the room leaving only the scent of her perfume.
    Casting another cursory glance around the room, I placed my art portfolio on top of the dresser drawers, and swung my backpack to the end of the bed. Time to unpack, and make the room my temporary home.
    From the front pocket of my bag, I took out a picture frame. In the photo Mom had her arms looped around my shoulders. The wind whipped around us making her strawberry-blonde curls tangle into my flaxen hair. Behind us the