Butterfly Summer

Amy did a little victory dance and went on her way. That pretty much summed up how Heather was feeling at the moment.

It was just too bad that the person who had set this in motion wasn’t here to see the results of her handiwork.

Heather straightened the seams of the tiered chiffon skirt before pulling on the white knit top, then slid her feet into thong sandals with tiny heels. As inexplicably nervous as the day before, she slowly turned to face the full-length mirror on her closet door.

Surprisingly, the flowered, coral-hued chiffon that ruffled about her knees looked just as trim and fashionable as it had in the dressing room of Engel’s department store. Moreover, the simple scoop-necked top set off the skirt perfectly, and she didn’t even mind that it exposed her birthmark.

Tentatively skimming her fingers over the irregularly shaped spot, she remembered how intently Ethan had focused on it yesterday. He’d murmured something about it being shaped like a rose as he’d positioned her to get the best shot of it. Funny, she’d never thought of it like that, but now that he’d mentioned it, she was seeing the mark in a whole new way. She was seeing everything about her appearance in a whole new way, from the top of her newly styled head to the tips of her toes in their flirty coral sandals.

She stepped closer to the mirror. As her image filled up more of the space, the spring green walls, ivory lace and French Provincial furnishings of her roomy bedchamber receded. Heather focused on her face, trying to find fault with the subtle cosmetics that she had applied earlier.

She hadn’t forgotten how it was done, after all, and she couldn’t deny that she was pleased with the result. Touching her fingertips to the mirror, she half expected to feel them against her cheekbone. It was as if she were really seeing herself for the first time in a long, long while.

Suddenly ashamed, she bowed her head, telling God how sorry she was for thinking that He’d shortchanged her in the looks department when all along the problem had been her own laziness and perhaps a misplaced sense of modesty, as well. Not to mention an unwillingness to compete with her sisters. She shook her head at that, marveling that she could have been so silly.

Maybe she wasn’t a raving beauty, but the resemblance between herself and her sisters was stronger than she’d realized. Even more surprising was how much she looked like her beautiful mother, especially around the eyes. Their coloring was different, of course. Heather’s hair and eyes were a medium brown, or rather a rich chestnut with fiery highlights now, while Nora was blond and hazel-eyed. Nora’s mouth was a little wider, her face more classically oval and her frame even more petite, but Heather was suddenly liking her more angular, slightly sharper features now that the subtle cosmetics and the new hairstyle had softened them a bit.

“I’ll make the most of what You’ve given me from now on, Lord, I promise,” she whispered. “And please be with Dad and Mom today. I know You can heal him, Father, and I know You will. Amen.”

Nodding confidently at her smiling image, she went out to meet the day. Her feet fairly skipped along the landing and down both flights of the sweeping central staircase to the large foyer below, her heels clicking daintily on the polished hardwood floor. She gathered her handbag and briefcase from the antique wardrobe that stood against the parlor wall.

Actually, there were two parlors, the front parlor, which contained her grandmother’s grand piano and a very good collection of antiques, and the family room, where the marble fireplace furnished the focal point for comfortable, overstuffed couches and chairs. The interior wall shared by the two rooms contained a pair of wide pocket doors that could be opened to make one enormous room for entertaining, making the library at the back of the house the most private of the public rooms.

The dining areas on the opposite side of the foyer from the living area had once enjoyed a similar arrangement, but with the kitchen—complete with butler’s pantry and laundry room—rather than the library, beyond. Now, however, the formal and informal dining spaces had been combined into one large room with an enormous table handmade to accommodate six children and company.

All of the bedrooms, six in total, were on the second and third floors. Two others had been sacrificed to private baths and larger closets, changes her great-grandfather probably could not have even envisioned when he’d bought and renovated the elegant old redbrick Greek Revival–style house on the very outer edge of north Davis Landing.

There were larger, grander houses in the area, frankly, but not a single Hamilton would have traded this grand old place, with its expansive grounds, for any one of them.

Rather than exit via the front door with its heavy leaded glass inset, Heather turned and quickly made her way down the central hall and out the back to the terraced patio, where her mother habitually took her morning tea, weather permitting. Nora sat there now in one of the heavy, wrought-iron chairs, the morning paper spread out over a glass-topped table and fluttering unheeded in the breeze that sang softly in the tops of the trees. Clad in silk pajamas and a matching robe, she stared unseeingly across the property.

Heather dropped a hand upon her mother’s shoulder, feeling the frail bones keenly. Nora turned up a distracted smile, then twisted around in her chair as she got a good look at her middle daughter.

“Just look at you! How I wish your father could see you this morning.”

Heather bent forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’ll go by the hospital later, give him a preview of this month’s Makeover Maven feature.”

“It would do his heart good, I’m sure,” Nora told her. “It has mine. Goodness, you look so young all of a sudden.”

“Not so dowdy, you mean,” Heather retorted, wrinkling her nose.

“Funny what a haircut and a new wardrobe can do,” Nora mused, “or maybe I’m just feeling old this morning.” She sighed and made an effort to smile.

Heather put down her bags and wrapped her arms around her mother’s slender shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Mom. I just know it.”

Nora nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the hundred-and-third Psalm.” It was one of Nora’s favorites, and Heather knew it by heart.

“‘Bless the Lord, O my soul,’” she quoted softly. “‘And all that is within me, bless His holy name.’”

“‘Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases,’” Nora whispered, patting Heather’s arm. She looked up suddenly. “I don’t suppose your sister came in during the night, did she?”

Heather shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“You don’t think Melissa’s in some kind of trouble this time, do you?”

“I think she just can’t bear to see Dad in that hospital bed.”

Nora’s gaze drifted away again. “I don’t blame her for that.”

“Neither do I,” Heather agreed gently.

“Get on with you, darling. I’ll see you later at the hospital.”

Sensing that Nora needed solitude at the moment, Heather left her to her contemplation and hurried to her car, parked beneath the sheltered passage that ran between the main house and the old carriage house.

The morning had a golden cast to it that Heather could attribute only to God’s goodness.

Chapter Four

Heather smiled at the Gordons, who gave her a thumbs-up and silent applause as she strode toward the elevator. Dropping a silly curtsy as the elevator door rolled closed, she felt ridiculously pleased and oddly happy.

How strange that it should be so now, when her father was so desperately ill.

Yet wasn’t that the Lord’s way, to bring joy in the midst of woe? Even a small joy was doubly welcome when cares were so heavy.

Suddenly Heather remembered the verse between the ones she and her mother had quoted earlier that morning.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget none of His benefits.

She felt a decided zing pervade her steps as she strolled toward her office. It was early yet, so the receptionist was not at her desk. Heather could hear a few voices in muted conversation but saw no one as she made her way through the warren of cubicles.

To her surprise, Ethan Danes sat perched on one corner of Brenda’s desk. Clad in khakis and a dark brown T-shirt, he was studying a print, the top one of a stack that he held in his hands.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, aware of a shiver of excitement. Or was it trepidation?

Ethan looked up, a smile at the ready. That smile stilled, then gradually grew as he took in this latest version of the “new” Heather.

“Well,” he said, placing the photos on the desk, “I thought I’d picked my final shot.”

“Oh?” She craned her neck, trying to look past him to get a peek at the photo he hoped would close the piece.

He folded his arms. “The butterfly has not only broken out of her cocoon, she’s spread her wings, I see.”

Heather inclined her head, laughing. She couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t be pleased with such a statement from the best-looking man around?

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He winked at her. “And so you should.” Dropping his hands to the edge of the desk, he shifted around, crossing his ankles. “I think I’m finally seeing the real Heather, and that’s the ‘after’ photo I’d most like to see on the printed page.”