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years—lots of experience.” Elias placed some bills on the counter, rose and waved as he went out the door.
    Lucky felt she could breathe again. She hadn’t forgotten Elias’s invitation. To tell the truth, it had been on her mind since the day she had slipped on the ice. Part of her had pushed the idea away, too afraid it was something offered in the moment and not genuine at all. She half expected that when she saw him next, he would have forgotten. She mentally shook herself.
He’s just being nice because you’re an orphan now. He wants to make you feel at home, as if you have connections again. Keep it together. Don’t let a schoolgirl crush put ideas in your head,
she told herself fiercely.
    Lucky carried Susanna’s order to her and busied herself picking up dishes and wiping down the counter, studiously avoiding the stares of the ladies. When they realized Lucky was not about to join them, they returned to their conversation. Lucky knew her dinner date with Elias was now grist for the gossip mill.

Chapter 8

    E LIZABETH STOOD AT the kitchen counter, carefully wrapping the pottery dishware in stiff paper and stacking each piece in a box. Lucky was busy going through the bookcases and bureaus for personal items she intended to box and store for now.
    The Jamiesons’ home was a modest farmhouse, a mile out of town. No one was very sure how old the building was, but originally it had been a barn, later converted to a home. Its clapboard siding was painted deep red, and a large peaked dormer dominated the center of the structure, part of the original barn. A pine wreath still hung on the front door, its needles and pinecones frosted with ice. Martha Jamieson loved decorating for the holidays, and Lucky imagined her mother struggling to get the wreath placed just so.
    “What did the Realtor say?” Elizabeth called out.
    Eleanor Jensen was the only Realtor in Snowflake. She had no competition in town but was savvy about the marketplace and knew what property was worth to the last dollar. Lucky halted in her task and rose from the floor. “Haven’thad a chance to talk to her yet. She’s going to stop by today. I’ve given her a key in case I’m not here. She’ll give me an idea what the market will bear right now.”
    Elizabeth turned to her. “Are you sure you want to do this? You might really regret selling your parents’ home—your home—someday.”
    “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have time to take care of a house, nor the money. There’s a second mortgage, by the way. I suspect my parents borrowed against the house to keep the business afloat.”
    “They surely had life insurance policies?” Elizabeth questioned.
    “I still have more papers to go through, and to answer your question, yes, they did. But it’s not a lot in today’s dollars. It really would be a relief for me not to be worrying about the house on top of everything else.”
    “I understand, dear, but let me know if you change your mind, or if a loan would help you out. I can help you. The Spoonful will do fine, I’m sure.”
    Lucky wasn’t so sure about Elizabeth’s confidence in her. She had moments when she thought that maybe the best thing would be to sell everything—the furniture, the house, the business—and pick up and start fresh somewhere else. But where? And there was Jack to consider. There was so much to do and so many things to take care of, every day felt like a long list of chores, with no end in sight.
    Lucky finished with the bookshelves and moved on to the bedroom. She pulled open the top bureau drawer and took out her mother’s small collection of jewelry, piece by piece—none of it valuable, but treasured because they were gifts from the people her mother loved most in the world. She had even kept the purple plastic earrings in the shape of pansies that Lucky, at age ten, had given her as a birthday gift. She came to realize as she grew older that her parents had expected their little girl to