Only the body shape differed. Mom had been a couple of inches shorter and more bosomy—something I’d inherited.

I swallowed heavily, forcing down the ache, and somehow croaked, “Aunt Riayn?”

Her smile was friendly enough, and nothing lurked in her gaze to raise suspicion. It stirred through me nonetheless, and I had no idea why, let alone if it was deserved.

“Bethany? It’s been a very long time. Please, do come in.”

She opened the door wider, then stepped to one side, keeping well out of touching range. I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t completely willing to trust.

I moved to the left and quickly looked around. The hallway was surprisingly spacious, with stairs that led up to the next floor directly ahead, and doors to the left and the right. Wainscoting lined the walls and ran up the stairs, the wood painted but its song so strong and vibrant I couldn’t resist reaching out to caress it.

My aunt had taken good care of this building. Even the timber framing sang, and with so much health and vibrancy it could have been harvested a few years ago rather than decades.

She closed the front door, then, with a brisk “Coat on the hook,” walked into the room on the right.

I hung up my coat as ordered, then followed her into what was a typical farmhouse kitchen running the full width of the building. An old green AGA dominated the massive brick fireplace directly opposite the door, heating the room and providing a resting place for the gently steaming kettle. Kitchen cabinets ran both to the left and the right of this, while more cabinets and an old butler sink lined the rear wall. The long, well-used oak table sitting in the middle of the room was surrounded by a cheerful variety of mismatched wooden chairs.

Aunt Riayn moved around them and said, without looking at me, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

I stopped behind one of the chairs but didn’t pull it out or sit down. The whole situation just felt... odd. She was acting like me dropping in unexpectedly was a regular occurrence rather than something that had never happened.

Maybe she was just being polite. In all truth, Mom would have acted in exactly the same manner had the situation been reversed and Vincentia had turned up on our doorstep unannounced.

She made the tea, pulled a brightly knitted cozy over it, then brought teapot and a couple of mugs over to the table. Once a jug of milk and a little container of sugar had joined it, she motioned me to sit and then did so herself.

I hesitated, then moved around to a chair that didn’t leave my back facing the door. One that was, once again, beyond touching range.

A smile twitched her lips, but she otherwise didn’t comment. After pouring the tea, she offered me the milk and the sugar and then finally said, “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? It has been, what? Decades since I last saw you?”