My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
She smoothed her white apron twice, her fingers lingering on the cotton hem as if to rub away a stain.
“I did not hear you come up, Emily,” she said.
“I was bringing the linens,” I said, looking past her shoulder at the leather bound telephone log book lying open on the table.
“Your grandmother is resting in her study,” Linda said, stepping to her left to block my view of the small table.
“She does not like to be disturbed before her afternoon meal.”
She took the heavy towels from my arms and walked toward the linen closet without another word.
I looked down at the open log book, but the page had already been turned to a blank sheet.
By three o’clock, the wind had picked up, and the heavy smell of boiled vegetable broth filled the drafty kitchen.
I carried the small ceramic bowl up to Margaret’s study on a silver tray, the metal cold against my fingers.
The heavy oak door was slightly ajar, showing a thin slice of the interior.
