The Lost Girls of Devon by Barbara O'Neal

Author:Barbara O'Neal [O'Neal, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Zoe

Restless and unsettled when I returned to Woodhurst Hall, I sat at the kitchen table drinking hearty tea with milk and looked over the notes my mother had made last night about Gran’s meds and routines. Her handwriting gave me a peculiar pang, as if seeing a letter from someone long dead. I thought of her sitting at this very table last night, with Isabel, making friends with her. It made me uncomfortable.

Because it wasn’t like Isabel was at a strong point in her life. What if my mother betrayed her too? Let her down? Poppy didn’t have a great record, after all.

Isabel came banging in through the back door, her camera bag on her shoulder. She was still draped in the hoodie, but at least she hadn’t pulled it over her head. Her dark curls shone in the bright day.

“Hello,” I said. “How was your morning?” I had tracked her on Find My Friends, and her trail had been straight to a hilltop outside the village, then back down to the hill fort.

“It was good. Do you want to hear about the workshop on the Hare Moon?”

Did I? I felt raw and emotional still after the scene at Diana’s business. Maybe I didn’t have to pile on anything more just this second. “No, thanks, unless you have some illumination you want to share.”

“Not really.” She turned on the kettle and leaned against the counter. “I did what you suggested—I went back to the hill fort and took photos anyway, even if I’m not going to post them.”

“A friend of mine suggested that we could go to the next village over and see if there are some old-school scrapbooks and things.”

“I need a color printer if I’m going to do that,” she said.

“Gran probably has one.”

“No, I checked. Old-school black-and-white laser.” She indicated the size with her hands, a giant of a thing. “It would only cost a couple hundred, which I have in my savings.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t mind buying it. We can find something you can use with the camera.”

“Okay.”

“We can ask Gran—”

“Ask me what?” she said, making her way into the room with the help of her cane. She did not love using it, but it gave her a little help on the uneven floors of the ancient house.

“Where to buy a color printer for my photos. I can leave it here for when we come back to visit, and you can use it if you want.” Isabel waved Gran into a chair. “I’ll make your tea.”

“I have one, but it won’t be powerful enough for your photos. You’ll need to drive into Exeter, I expect.” She slid a bright floral napkin from its ring and shook it.

I nodded. “We can go Monday.”

“Monday! Why not today?”

“We’re going up to Dartmoor this evening, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Okay.”

Gran said, “Will you make me some toast, dear Isabel? On the thick bread. And I’ll need a little marmalade.”

Isabel said, “Of course.”

I gave her a smile and stood to fetch the fat pot of marmalade, a clear glass jar with its own spoon that had been part of my childhood.

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