“I came here on holiday. I had some money saved and my chum Carole said it was a lovely place. Neither of us had a vacation in years, so we went all-in. Took the train from Syracuse, booked a room at the Fisher Hotel. I saw the sign saying ‘help wanted’ in the window. I told myself if it was a nice stay and a nice town, and if the sign was still in the window at the end of the trip, I’d inquire within. I spoke to your Pa—he’s ever such a nice man—and he sent me over to the house to talk to your Mum.”

Kennet had still been gazing at her through the camera. He’d always enjoyed his status as the eldest child, but now wondered if having a smart, worldly, slightly bossy older sister wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. He lowered the camera and smiled deep into his cheeks.

“And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

He carefully pressed the camera back down into its case and handed it to Marta. “I haven’t been anywhere really. Except Canada.”

“That’s somewhere.”

“I know, but it’s right…there.” He gestured vaguely toward the windows and the river. “I can get in a boat and go there any time I want. I haven’t taken a trip like you. I haven’t been on a journey.”

“You will.” Marta held up the box of tacks. “Tell you what, all the green tacks in here? Those are for you. When you grow up and start making trips and journeys, you’ll send me postcards and I’ll put the pins in the map.”

“What if you don’t work here anymore?”

“We’ll be pen-pals. I love writing letters. I write regular to all my girlfriends from the Harvey House, and my Mum and my sister. And my little cousin, Astrid. You wait—your Pa will have to paint your mailbox red when all my correspondence starts coming in. So what do you say? We’ll be pen-pals. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, then Marta looked at her wristwatch. “Am I keeping you from chores or homework or bedtime?”

“One of those,” he said sheepishly.

“Then vamoose.” She grinned. “I learned that word out West.”

The visit had been satisfying as a piece of cake. On the way out the door, Kennet stopped dead, his attention seized by a picture on the dresser. A photograph of a girl. Not just a girl but a…girl. She was perched on a high-backed chair, feet neatly together, hands folded in her lap. Rendered in black and white, her blonde beauty was dazzling as the sun on the river. Sharp and keen, like the blade of a sword.

Kennet took two steps sideways and the girl’s eyes followed him. He backtracked and her gaze followed.