“Men in this town learn their lesson young when it comes to Waverley women,” Lester said, reaching for the cane he’d rested against the tree. He slowly stood. “Whenever there’s one around, sit up and pay attention.”

The next afternoon Claire heard Sydney’s voice upstairs. “Where is everyone?”

“I’m down here,” Claire called to her.

Soon she heard the creak of the dusty stairs as Sydney walked down to the basement. It was cool and dry, and sometimes grown men who had too much to do would knock on the front door and ask to go sit in the Waverley basement for a while because it cleared their thoughts and brought back their equilibrium.

Sydney’s footsteps drew closer as she followed the racks deeper into the basement, toward the shine of Claire’s flashlight. The lightbulbs in the basement had all burned out in 1939, and what had started out as someone too tired to replace them had turned into a family tradition of keeping the basement in the dark. No one knew why they did it now, just that this was the way it had always been done.

“Where is Bay?” Sydney asked. “Isn’t she down here with you?”

“No, she likes to stay in the garden most of the time. She’s okay. The tree stopped tossing apples at her when she started throwing them back at it.” Claire handed Sydney the flashlight. “Help me with this, will you? Shine here.”

“Honeysuckle wine?”

“The Fourth of July celebration is next week. I’m counting the bottles to see how many we have to bring.”

“I saw a bottle on the kitchen table when I came in,” Sydney said as Claire counted.

“That’s the rose geranium wine Fred gave back to me. He wouldn’t let me return his money. I think it might be a bribe to keep quiet,” Claire said, then clapped her hands together to get rid of the dust. “Thirty-four bottles. I thought I made forty last year. No matter. This should be enough.”

“Are you going to give it to Tyler?”

Claire took back the flashlight. “Am I going to give what to Tyler?”

“The rose geranium wine.”

“Oh,” Claire said, walking away. Sydney was soon on her heels. “Actually, I was sort of hoping you would take it to him for me.”

“He’s teaching his summer-session classes,” Sydney said. “He won’t be around much.”

“Oh.” Claire was glad Sydney couldn’t see her, see her confusion. She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again. It made no sense.