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The house was a white clapboard structure that seemed larger than its two stories due to the knoll on which it stood. With a backdrop of pine trees and gently rolling hills, the clean white exterior of the manor seemed to reflect the pristine brightness of the new fallen snow. Teal-blue shuttered windows and a broad front porch of polished red brick enhanced the gracious, colonial house. The grounds, now blanketed with the new snow, were only a portion of the original, vast country estate. Most of the acreage that had been used for farming and timber had been parceled off to neighboring farms as the cost of machinery and taxes had escalated over the past few years.

Even in the severity of winter, rhododendrons and azaleas peeked through the mantel of dry white snow, exposing their still green leaves. Tufted grass pierced through the icy drifts to remind Mara of warmer days, and Mara’s words vaporized in the air as she whispered to her child. It was a bitterly cold day, and yet, even in the dead of winter, the Wilcox estate held the easy Southern country charm of North Carolina and welcomed the grieving family and friends of Peter Wilcox.

Fortunately for Mara, Angie had fallen asleep in the car. Lovingly, Mara carried the child into the house and headed directly up the sweeping staircase that flanked the elegant, marble-tiled foyer. Polished oak and rosewood gleamed as she cuddled Angie more closely to her. On this day, as she had often in the past, Mara felt a deep melancholy that made her cherish Angie as if she were the only child in the universe.

Although Peter’s mother protested, Mara stood her ground and insisted that the tired child rest. Mara didn’t want to chance another outburst from Angie about her late father, especially in front of the mourning guests. There was no need to add any further tension to the already gloomy and uneasy afternoon.

“Please explain to the others that I’ll be upstairs with Angie for a few minutes,” Mara pleaded with her mother-in-law.

June, usually agreeable, touched a nervous finger to the collar of her tidy, black silk dress. “But don’t you think that Angie should stay down here and . . .”

“No, I really don’t,” Mara interrupted, as kindly as possible, as she began to mount the ancient, curved staircase. “I’ll be down later, as soon as I’m sure that Angie is comfortable.” With her final statement, Mara continued up the stairs, carrying her limp child to the bedroom.

As Mara laid the girl on the bed, Angie’s eyes blinked open for just a moment, and once again Mara was reminded of how much her eyes were like her father’s. A hot pain seared her heart at the memory. Angie sighed deeply, her eyelids dropped reluctantly, and she snuggled contentedly into the blankets. Mara gently lifted the hat from Angie’s head. Golden curls splayed in unruly ringlets around her face, and Mara thoughtfully brushed the blond hair away from Angie’s cherublike cheeks. Despite her tension, Mara couldn’t help but smile down on the sleeping child—her only physical link to the girl’s father.

It took her nearly half an hour to descend the stairs and face the rest of the family, but Mara had taken time in preparing herself for the onslaught of condolences from bereaved family and friends. The funeral had been a draining ordeal, and Mara was beginning to feel the exhaustion of the day and the worry of the last six months wearing upon her. Her normally wholesome appearance paled, her color was washed away, and the skin over her high cheekbones was stretched tightly. Even the sparkle in her clear blue eyes had faded, and the smile, once quick and elegant, had seemed to disappear. The torment of Peter’s illness had affected his wife deeply. No matter how difficult the marriage had been, Peter’s painful death seemed brutal and senseless to Mara. So unfair! Now she wanted to be alone. She didn’t have the strength to smile or speak to any of the guests, especially Peter’s sister, Dena, whom she had been avoiding for the past few days. Dena had made it clear that she wanted to talk to Mara and discuss Peter’s will, and Mara could feel the inevitable confrontation in the air. She only hoped that Dena would have the sense and common courtesy to bring up the subject another day, in more private surroundings.

As Mara descended the stairs she realized that some of the guests were already leaving. June was escorting a young man, whom Mara recognized as a business associate of Peter’s, out of the broad front door when Mara joined her to smile politely at him and accept his condolences. Mara couldn’t help but notice that June’s nerves were tightly drawn and that the older woman’s eyes, though dry, were slightly swollen and red rimmed. There was a dead look of weariness in her face and her normally full lips had pulled into a tight, thin line that was neither a smile nor a frown. June Wilcox was a very private person, but Mara knew how devastated the older lady was over her only son’s death. Nervously, June fidgeted with the single strand of pearls at her throat.

The door closed as one of the last guests departed, and Mara and June were alone together for the first time that day. Mara gently touched her mother-in-law’s frail shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest,” she suggested. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m fine,” June insisted staunchly, dismissing Mara’s advice with a wave of her finely boned hand.

Mara wasn’t convinced. “No one will miss you. Most of the guests have already gone.”

“I know, but . . .” June wavered for a moment and managed a stiff smile for Dr. Bernard, the family physician and old friend.

“You should take Mara’s advice,” the kindly old man stated authoritatively. “It’s been difficult for you.” His brown, knowing eyes traveled over the strained features on June’s face. “And don’t be afraid to take any of those pills I prescribed if you feel that you need them.”

“I won’t,” June agreed hastily, but the doctor raised a suspicious gray eyebrow as he shrugged into his raincoat.

“Good day,” Dr. Bernard said with a wave of his broad hand, and once again Mara was alone with her mother-in-law.

“Pills?” Mara inquired.

“Oh, you know,” June responded with a shake of her perfectly coifed gray hair. “Tranquilizers, or some such nonsense.”

Mara pulled her eyebrows into a single line of concentration. “I didn’t know you were on any medication.”

“Don’t be silly,” June interrupted a little crossly. “It’s not medication—not like you mean. They’re just nerve pills. Doctor Bernard passes them out to half of the women in the county.”

Mara was about to disagree but was forced to let the subject drop as several of the remaining guests filtered into the hall and extended their final condolences to the family. She acknowledged the sympathy before making her way as gracefully as was possible through the open doors and into the drawing room, where only a handful of guests remained. She spoke quietly to some of Peter’s friends before they, too, excused themselves.

Fortunately, Angie, exhausted from the long ceremony earlier in the day, slept through most of the afternoon. By the time she did awaken, only the most immediate members of the Wilcox family were left in the house: Peter’s mother, June, and his sister, Dena.

The argument was just beginning to boil when Angie, dragging her favorite tattered blanket behind her, crept unnoticed down the stairs.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Dena,” Mara was saying in a tight but controlled voice.“Whatman was here?”

“It was really nothing,” June began, but was silenced by Dena’s icy stare.

“Oh, so now you’re pretending that you don’t know him?” Peter’s auburn-haired sister asked insolently.

“Don’t knowwhom?”Mara repeated. Her slim hands were turned palms upward in a gesture of complete bewilderment.

“Look, Mara, if you think you can pull the wool over my eyes the way you have with the rest of the family, you’re wrong. Wrong as hell!” Dena snapped, her green eyes glittering with an unspoken challenge.

“Dena!” June gasped. “Why must you be so crude?” she asked, before spotting a groggy Angie on the stairs. “Uh-oh . . . look who just woke up! Did you have a nice nap, precious?” June asked, turning all of her attention to her grandchild.