“Oh, that’s . . . I’m so . . .” Words, Sydney.

But she couldn’t unearth the right ones. Not with the quiet of the attic wrapping around her and the expression on Maggie’s face beckoning her to stillness. There was something hallowed about this moment. As if . . . as if Maggie hadn’t unzipped that garment bag simply to show Sydney a dress.

But to reveal a piece of herself.

“Robert couldn’t have children.” Maggie finally spoke again, her voice soft. “He told me right away, so adorably worried it might send me scurrying away. But I assured him I was okay with that. I promised him we could adopt a houseful of children who needed us.”

And she’d kept that promise. What a bittersweet story. What a picture of devotion. They’d really only known each other for three weeks?

“Sometimes a feeling is just a feeling. Other times it’s truth wrapped in undeniable knowing.”

Maggie wiped a lone, stray tear from her cheek. “Anyhow, there’s something else I need to find but, oh, first. Over here, dear.” Maggie waved her toward the window at the back wall. “Come see the view. It’s the best view of the ocean in the whole house.” Maggie seemed somewhat breathless as she said the words. Was the dust getting to her too?

Or maybe the climb up the attic stairs had been too strenuous. Maybe that was why Neil insisted she not come up here alone.

“Just don’t hurt Maggie. Please.”

His quiet words from the barn came drifting back. She’d thought them bewildering at the time—almost unfair. It wasn’t as if she’d sought out this connection to their family.

But now, glimpsing the depth of Maggie’s love, her loss, maybe she understood a little.

“Come, Sydney.”

At Maggie’s bidding, she worked her way through the maze of boxes and old furniture, coming to the woman’s side in front of the circle window. Maggie nudged her head to the window—no longer out of breath, it seemed—prompting Sydney closer to the cool glass, and her gaze obeyed. An inhale caught in her throat at the sight awaiting her—the tops of autumn-brushed trees like a quilt of fall colors, giving way to sand and grass and water-edged rock.

And then, the sea—turbulent and yet somehow tranquil, waves of cobalt and azure, frothy white at the edges. “If I lived in this house, I’d clean out this attic and turn it into a bedroom so I could wake up to this view every day.”

Maggie’s laugh drew her gaze. “Neil’s long wanted to do the same thing. I always tell him to feel free, but then he starts going on about old wiring and insulation and what have you. But if that boy ever manages to take a break long enough, perhaps I’ll talk him into going for it yet.”

“He’s worried I’m going to hurt you.” The words slid out without her permission.

But Maggie didn’t look at all surprised. “He wouldn’t be the Neil MacKean I know and adore if he wasn’t. I’m not quite sure when he latched on to the old-fashioned idea that being the man of the family, as they say, means he’s solely responsible for everyone’s welfare. But I can’t help loving him for it.” She turned. “Now for the other reason we came up here. Somewhere around here, there’s a box of scrapbooks. I thought you might enjoy seeing photos of my Diana as a child.”