The house was a gift. That it was also her oldest nightmare couldn’t stop her from accepting it. Forcing her feet to move, she marched up the remaining two steps to the front door, dug the key from her pocket, and went to open the door.

But the key wouldn’t open the lock. After the third try, it finally sank in that the key didn’t fit. Her grandmother’s attorney had given her the wrong key.

She couldn’t have gone inside if she’d wanted to. Not today, anyway. The relief that geysered up inside her made her a little ashamed. You’re a coward, Faith.

It was just a delay of one day, she reasoned. Tomorrow she would get the right key, but for the moment her inability to enter bolstered her courage.

Peeking through the dirty glass on the front door, she saw a room full of furniture, draped in sheets. Her grandmother had taken only a few favorite pieces when she’d left the house for a townhouse in the city twenty-three years ago. The rest she’d left to Faith.

The thought of unveiling the furnishings elicited the first spark of excitement Faith had felt in a long time. Many of the items were museum-quality, or so her mother had told her on many occasions. This will all be mine someday, Faith, and when I die it’ll be yours, so pay attention. This is your legacy and it’s high time you learned to appreciate it.

The memory of her mother’s voice doused her excitement. She could recall the fear that had filled her at her mother’s words as if it were yesterday. But I don’t want my legacy, she’d replied. Not if it makes you die, Mama.

An affectionate tug on her pigtail. Silly girl, I’m not going anywhere for years and years. You’ll be Gran’s age before this place is yours.

And in her eight-year-old eyes, Gran was already ancient. Then I have lots of time to learn about my legacy, don’t I? She’d hidden her relief with a roll of her eyes, she remembered. She’d also remembered being far more interested in the golden retriever that belonged to the cook’s son than in the silver teapot in her mother’s hands. Can I go outside and play? Pleeeease?

An exasperated sigh had escaped her mother’s lips. Fine. Just don’t get dirty. Your father will be back soon with the car and we’ll head home. But next time we’re here, young lady . . . Her mother had shaken her finger at her with a smile. We do teapots, 101.

But the next time Faith had come to this house there had been no talk of teapots or anything else that was happy. Her mother was gone, leaving her life irrevocably changed.