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" Keeper of the Well"
by Deb Stover
~ Terrie Figueroa, ROMANCE REVIEWS
TODAY
" An enchanting tale of love, family
and second chances."
A novella included in Murder Most
Romantic
January 2004 -- Gramercy -- ISBN:
0-517-22159-4
copyright 2003 by Deb Stover -- All Rights
Reserved
Rural Kansas--Present Day.
Hana Gillespie stared at the key cradled in
her open palm as if seeking its permission to
enter the rundown old farmhouse. Face it,
Hana--it's really yours. She looked past
the missing shingles and broken windows to
sweep the landscape beyond the house, and
released a contented sigh. This place was
worth every penny it would cost to restore. It
was her future.
And she didn't really care what old Mrs.
Fleming--the woman who owned the hardware
store--had said when she heard which farm Hana
had bought. Mrs. Fleming proceeded to tell
Hana a bizarre tale of murder and ghosts.
According to Mrs. Fleming and her fertile
imagination, a little girl named Annie had
drowned in the well over fifty years ago,
murdered by a farmhand. A few days after the
man's execution, the girl's mother took her
own life. Brokenhearted and alone, Mrs.
Fleming claimed the little girl's grandmother
had simply walked away from the farm.
This farm.
Even if that morbid tale proved true, Hana was
determined to make it a happy home for a
child, once the adoption agency approved her
application. So there, Mrs. Fleming.
Each time Hana entered the old house, she
realized what a disaster the place was. At
least the downstairs was clean now, but still
decrepit. Today she would explore the upstairs
and make a list of the needed repairs.
Glancing across the parlor, Hana did a
double-take. In the doorway to the kitchen
stood a child. She estimated the girl's age at
around five. Bare feet and legs stuck out
beneath a faded brown dress that reached just
below her knees. Her blond hair hung straggly
and unkempt.
Hana's gaze traveled back up to the child's
smiling face. Something besides the endearing
grin drew Hana's scrutiny. Need. The little
girl needed something.
Or someone?
Why would anyone permit a child to roam around
the countryside alone? Hana took a tentative
step toward her, noting the physical
characteristics of Down Syndrome in the
child's face. The little urchin grinned, then
simply disappeared. Poof.
Hana's blood turned cold and her heart slammed
into her chest. She blinked, willing the child
to reappear. No such luck.
Was she imagining things? Was her desire to
adopt a child threatening her sanity? Or had
the hardware store clerk's tale planted the
seeds of this hallucination?
Hana closed her eyes again for as long as she
dared, then reopened them, squared her
shoulders, and walked into the kitchen. The
child couldn't have been real. The way she'd
dissolved into nothingness was impossible. But
if she was real, Hana would have been aware of
her turning to run away, not simply vanishing.
Like a ghost.
Educated, intelligent people like Hana simply
didn't believe such nonsense. Only my
imagination.
Humming " Lions and Tigers and Bears" as a
defense mechanism, Hana peeked around the
corner at the back porch, where pails and
other discarded items were stored. No little
girls--only more evidence of the hard work
Hana had ahead of her.
" Get to work, Hana." She walked outside to her
car and opened the trunk. It was time for her
to get her act together. Past time. Ghost or
no, Hana Gillespie was moving in.
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