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Heather's laughter rang above the murmur of conversation like a bell. Abigail paused in the doorway of Beacon House's garden courtyard, a tray of lemonade balanced in her hands, and took in the chaos of the birthday celebration.

The yard overflowed with guests milling about the long tables that had been pushed together and draped with mismatched linens. Autumn blooms spilled from chipped teacups and jam jars, arranged by Mary Ann with meticulous care that morning. Paper lanterns hung from twine strung between the apple trees.