By early afternoon Trudy was finished with her work—My materials are not cooperating, she’d scrawled on a note—and Violet had sold a dozen of their bestselling pinch pots. The little containers—perfect for holding small odds and ends on a dresser or by the kitchen sink—were made from river clay Trudy had shaped and fired. When they cooled, Violet glazed them to resemble birds’ eggs: brown-and-cream speckled for nuthatches, bright blue-green for robins, a mottled gray-brown for sparrows, pale blue with scattered dark spots for house finches.

As Violet wrapped up a sale, Trudy appeared at Violet’s elbow holding a note. I’m heading home. I’ll get things ready for dinner.

Violet nodded at her sister. “I won’t be too long. I’ll probably close around four.” Most shops in town had fluctuating hours, and no one but outsiders minded.

With her messenger bag tight across her chest and her tackle box of supplies in hand, Trudy slipped quietly out the door and headed west on Water Street toward home. Violet took off her glasses and cleaned the lenses with the hem of her shirt. As she put them back on, a young woman paused outside the front window. Long dark hair fell in waves down her back, one side tucked behind a delicate ear. Proud nose, full lips, and wide, long-lashed eyes scampered this way and that, as if she was searching for someone. She seemed too young for the worried crease between her brows.

After a moment of hesitation, the girl opened the door and walked in. The bell jangled a happy tune.

“Welcome to Two Sisters.” Violet smiled warmly. “Are you shopping for anything particular?” The girl shook her head and ran her fingers across a set of dish towels splashed with bright yellow flowers on a table by the door. “Well, I’m here if you need me.”

Violet puttered around, dusting shelves and neatening up displays. She kept an eye on the new customer as she moved through the shop, her face still etched with concern. What was roiling inside her, itching to be freed?

The girl lifted the lid of a shell-encrusted box barely larger than a deck of cards. The inside was lined with pale pink velvet.

“My sister Trudy made that.” Violet’s words startled the girl, who dropped the lid closed. Violet tried to set her at ease. “She collects little things everywhere she goes—shells, pieces of wood, bits of twine and feathers—and she uses it all in her artwork. Many of the sculptures and art pieces here are hers.”

“I like them.” Her voice was deeper than Violet had expected. Mature. Violet had guessed her age to be fifteen or sixteen, but now she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll tell her you said that. Where are you from?” Violet was sure she’d never seen the girl, and at this point in her life, she knew most everyone in Sugar Bend, if not by name, at least by face.

The girl didn’t answer.

“Are you here on vacation?” Violet prodded.