My breath caught as the train came around the bend and chugged into the station, bringing the scent of oil and smoke. Steam rose in clouds around the engine as it squeaked to a stop. I searched the windows of the first-class car for James. “There he is,” I said, breathless. At last he’d returned to us.

  Fiona, perhaps sensing my excitement, glanced my way. Her brow worried into a crease and those eyes of hers, those all-seeing eyes, could perhaps see straight through me. Did she suspect my secret feelings for James? I’d told no one, not even Delphia. Not Cym or Jo or even my mother. It was too embarrassing as well as possibly mortifying if my affection was seen as a foolish little girl’s crush.

  He appeared in the doorway of the passenger car and then, seeing Fiona and me standing together, waved. Grinning, he bounded from the train and headed our way. His smile, etched into my memory and my dreams at night, had the same effect it had the first time I ever met him. I’d been only fourteen that summer my sister and Li brought him home with them from Paris. A penniless nobleman, Fiona had said. James had dreamt of being a book editor back then. He’d made his dreams come true, working at one of the New York publishing houses. Despite the depression that had swept the nation, he had managed to keep his job. He worked with several successful novelists, and it was said that without him the books would not have seen the light of day. Fiona believed the reason for their success was James’s excellent taste and nurturing guidance. I had no doubt that she was correct.

  I thought of my finished manuscript. Would James think it had promise, or would he pat me on the head and send me off to my dreamland? Never mind that. James was here. That’s all I cared about for now.

  The sunlight glinted off his thick copper-tinted dark blond hair. A lock had broken free of the pomade and hung attractively over his forehead.

  “Only two of the infamous Barnes sisters here to greet me?” James asked, teasing us in his delightful English accent. “Have I fallen out of favor with the others?” He kissed Fiona’s hand and then turned to do the same to mine.

  I breathed him in. He smelled of soap and another scent that I could think of only as James. Different than anyone else. A scent I wished I could keep on my pillow and have with me every night as I fell asleep. Although perhaps that would have kept me from sleep. His scent wakened desires a proper young lady should not have. Nonetheless, they were there, calling to me, begging James to touch me with his long, graceful fingers.

  Deep blue eyes studied each of us in turn. He had a way about him that reminded me of a clergyman, curious yet compassionate. I’d noticed that I wasn’t the only one who wanted to tell James every detail of my life, both for redemption and counsel. All of my sisters reacted to him in a similar fashion. Mama, who shared many qualities with James, had once said she thought he’d missed his calling as either a teacher or a pastor. Perhaps this was the secret to his editing genius? It took a combination of the two when partnering with a writer. Were these the qualities from which a writer’s finest work evolved?

  “You know the answer to that, dearest James.” Fiona held her cheek up for him to kiss. “You could never fall out with our family. You belong to us, you know.”

  “How I love to hear it.” James looked from one of us to the other. “I can’t say either of you look anything short of exquisite. In fact, you’ve both grown lovelier since my last visit.”

  “That’s what we do.” Fiona tossed her dark curls and gave him one of her heart-melting smiles. There wasn’t a time or circumstance that my sister’s glow and compassionate heart couldn’t make everything better. Or almost everything. She could not distract me from my undying devotion to James West or the fact that he looked at me with the eyes of an older brother. How would I live without his love? At some point, I would have to let go of my fantasy world. There would be a time when he disembarked from a train with a wife on his arm. That would be the day that part of me died.

  “Come, the car’s parked in the shade.” Fiona hooked her arm through his. “Wait until you see the new road. Roosevelt’s sent his WPA workers here, you know. And they’re making the road to Louisville as smooth as a baby’s cheek.”

  James grimaced. “It wouldn’t take much to improve that road. The last time we were on it, I thought the contents of my brain would be scrambled like one of Lizzie’s egg dishes by the time we were through.”

  “That was Cym’s driving more than the road,” Fiona said. “A preamble to the rest of that decadent, eventful evening, if I recall correctly.”

  They laughed. A private joke between them. One that excluded me because I was too young. Perhaps, even, too fragile. In their eyes, anyway. I’d been sickly as a child and had almost died. Until clever Theo figured out that it was anything with wheat that was making me so ill. After I quit eating the delicious-smelling stuff, my health restored. I was as robust as Delphia these days. Not robust, really. That would imply a curve or two. Instead, like my mother, I was straight as a board. Delphia was a few inches shorter than I and shaped like an hourglass. Her skin was pink and pretty, like a peach, whereas I was more like a pristine white rose.

  My hair was almost white and indistinguishable from my milky skin. Sometimes I thought I looked like a ghost. Often I felt like one, roaming around the world unseen. I tried to convince myself that being uninteresting and quiet made me a better writer. While the rest of the Barnes family were making others laugh or capturing their attention with stories of their antics, I was in the corner observing. The wallflower.

  Still, I had hope that perhaps this summer James would notice me. He might see the spark that lived inside me, ready to be pulled out by the right man.

  We arrived at the car, parked under an aspen tree. The dust of the parking lot covered my shoes. I’d have to shine them tonight before bed, I thought, absently. James tossed his suitcase into the back.

  “Is that really all you’ve brought with you?” Fiona asked.

  “Your mother told me to pack lightly,” James said. “She’s arranged for Mr. Olofsson to make me two new suits this summer. I’ll have to send them home through the postal service.”

  “Don’t even think about that,” Fiona said. “You have two full months here with nothing to do but relax.”

  A shadow passed over James’s face. His cheekbones seemed more prominent than last summer. His face had thinned. Was he worried about something?

  “What is it?’ Fiona asked, stopping and looking over the top of the car at him. “What was that look?”

  He sighed and held open the passenger-side door for me. “My path’s a little uncertain at the moment.”

  “What? What happened?” Fiona asked.

  “My publisher sold out to a bigger publisher. It’s rather complicated. We can speak of it later.”

  “Should we be concerned?” Fiona asked, her sweet face scrunched slightly with worry.

  He flapped his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Not at all. Nothing to worry over. I’m here now, and that’s all I care about.”

  “You can stay with Mama and Papa as long as you’d like,” Fiona said. “If you decided not to go back.”

  He gave her a strange look, as if she’d come from behind and scared him, but didn’t say anything further.

  “Tell me, Miss Addie, what have you been doing to keep yourself occupied and out of trouble?” James held out his hand to help me into the back seat of my sister’s car. His accent, crisp consonants and vowels, were like fully open daisies, bright and wide and a salve to my soul.

  I allowed myself a quick peek into his eyes. They were the prettiest of blues, almost turquoise in the light of the afternoon. “I’ve been reading and writing. Spending time down at the creek, swimming and picnicking and helping Mama with volunteer duties at the church.” I cringed at the singsong tone of my voice. I sounded rehearsed. It was true to some extent. I’d thought over the details of this summer many times—what I would say, how I would hold myself so that he might have an inkling of what we could become together.

  “The creek. How I’ve missed it,” James said. “On hot days in the city, I think of the cool, clear water and almost salivate, as if it were a great meal and I a starving man.”

  “It’s not changed,” I said, leaning forward from the back seat as they settled in the front. “Nor has anything else.”

  “Thankfully.” James adjusted his tie. “You ladies have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to these two months here.”

  I had an idea. It couldn’t be as much as I’d looked forward to seeing him.

  As we bumped along the dirt road, a cloud of dust behind us, Fiona caught James up on the happenings of the Barnes family. The older twins, Bleu and Beaumont, were fifteen and had grown into tall, muscular young men. Neither of them had any interest in music but loved academics. In addition, they were athletic like my sister Cymbeline and her husband, Viktor. Winters were spent skiing and summers swimming or hiking through the woods. They were fluent in English now with only a trace of their French accents. Traces the girls in town swooned over.

  The little boys were musical like their parents, always singing, and had already begun lessons on the piano. Although many people couldn’t tell them apart, I had no trouble at all. Alexander was like his namesake, my papa, adventurous and mischievous with eyes that twinkled. James, named after James West, of course, was quieter and more cerebral.

  “They’re getting into all kinds of mischief,” Fiona said to James now. “Mostly Alexander. He reminds me, God forbid, of Flynn.”

  “How are Bleu and Beaumont?” James asked.

  “They’re rascals,” Fiona said. “Sometimes I wonder if I was too young when I became their mother. They’re as wild as these mountains. The lost little boys we knew are no longer.”

  “Praise God,” James said. He’d been there when Fiona and Li had found the twins living homeless on the streets of Paris.

  “Cym and Viktor are doing well,” Fiona said. “Their little girls are darling.” She sighed. “And smell so nice all the time.”

  Cymbeline, the tomboy of our family, had surprised us all by having two girls one after the other. The first, Annie, had come soon after Fiona and Li had returned from Paris. She favored her father, with reddish-blond hair and his light Nordic eyes. She was soon to have her sixth birthday. Holly had come right before Christmas the next year. Our miracle, as there was a snowstorm that night and Theo and Louisa hadn’t been able to make it to help with the birth. Viktor had delivered her himself. Holly looked like Cym and Fiona, fair but with dark curls and blue eyes. Oddly enough, Cymbeline seemed to have adjusted fine to having girls. Because the children were all so close in age, Fiona and Cym were second mothers to the other’s children. On any given day, the kids were in and out of the two houses, built only a half acre apart. They loved it that way. So did I, as I adored them all.

  We were pulling up to my parents’ home by then. The late June flowers and shrubs were in full bloom, including the rhododendrons in their pink glory. Bees traveled from one honeysuckle flower to another. Fiona claimed she could hear the insects buzzing this time of year.

  She parked in the front and turned off the car. She looked over at James with a sweet smile. “Mr. West, we’re glad you’re back where you belong.”

  He gazed back at her with a serious expression on his handsome face. “Do you really think I belong here?”

  “You belong wherever you want to be,” Fiona said. “And if it’s here with us, then I’m delighted.”

  Before anything else could be said, Delphia came running out the front door to greet us. She may have looked like a pink-cheeked porcelain doll, but she was tough and fast, like Cym. Like our older sister, she ran on high speed all of the time, until she crashed into bed at night and slept so hard I had to shake her awake in the morning.

  “Goodness gracious, is it my best girl?” James called out as he exited the car.

  Delphia threw herself into his arms. “Oh, James, we thought you’d never get here. We’re all terribly excited, and the time was going slow, slow, slow. Like we were stuck in molasses.”

  He held her by the shoulders for a moment. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re all grown up. It’s broken my heart, if you must know.”

  She grinned, her pink cheeks rounding like crab tree apples. “I’m a young lady now, James. I have heaps of beaux. Or, they want to be, at any rate. I’m unable to like any of them.”

  “But why?” He put his hand on his heart. “They must be heartbroken.”

  “I don’t like any of them much. I’m waiting for my Viktor—a man just like him is what I want.”

  “That’s going to be hard, isn’t it?” James asked, eyes dancing.

  “I refuse to compromise,” Delphia said. “I’m holding out for true love.”

  “A worthy goal.” James laughed as he gazed down at Delphia with obvious fondness. “But you’re only sixteen. You’ve plenty of time.”

  By now, Mama and Papa had come out to greet their guest. Mama, in a white linen dress, looked as fresh as a daisy. Her brown eyes shone as she reached out to James. “James, it’s wonderful to see you. We’ve missed you so.”

  He kissed her hand. “I’ve missed you all as well. There’s much to discuss.” He turned to Papa. “Thank you for having me, Lord Barnes.”

  “Dear boy, you must stop calling me that,” Papa said. “It’s Alexander or Papa to family.” He and James had the same accent, having come from the same part of England. Very posh and noble, I always thought.

  “Come in for tea, darlings,” Mama said. “We can catch up properly before dinner.”

  I hung back, enjoying the sight of James walking into the house with my family. If only he would stay forever.

  2

  JAMES

  The sight of Fiona and Addie on the platform had given me a lump in my throat. They were both lovely in their summer dresses, so pure and fresh after the long train trip from New York. Fiona was my dearest friend and had been since we met in Paris. Her husband, Li, was a close second. They’d quite literally given me a new sense of purpose when they’d invited me to return with them to America. During that first visit in the summer of 1928, I fell in love with the entire Barnes clan. They were my truest and closest friends, a second family when I desperately needed one. It may be that I needed them more this summer than I had the very first one. How would I tell them all that this might be the last? Even if I were to come in future summers, it would be with Lena by my side. I couldn’t imagine her here. Not as my wife, anyway. This would be the last of my idyllic summers with the Barnes family.

  I’d answered Fiona honestly about my work, but I’d not told her about my personal life. The company I worked for had been bought by Maxwell Masters, one of the richest men in America. Many of my colleagues had been let go. I had kept my job. At first, I had not known why. Now I knew the terms. I knew what he wanted from me.

  Last week, I’d been summoned to Maxwell Masters’s offices and escorted into a room with a large desk. Behind it sat Mr. Masters. Plump and red-faced and dressed impeccably, he’d offered me a drink at eleven in the morning. I’d declined, thinking of my father and what drink had done to him.

  The office smelled of cigars, good whiskey, and new money. I could practically taste the newly printed bills. The depression had hit even the richest of New York City. There had been suicides and disgraces splattered all over the streets of the city in the early days after the crash. Masters had taken advantage of this, buying up property and businesses for pennies. All good businessmen seemed to have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. If only my father had, I would not be in my current predicament. Currently, Masters was set to rule the world.

  “I suppose you wonder why I’ve sent for you?” He pressed his fingers into his white mustache and looked across the desk at me. Green eyes, I noted. Like Lena’s. Instead of placed in her pretty face, on Masters they seemed to peer at me from doughy pink folds between his forehead and cheeks.

  “Yes, sir.” I swallowed. Had I been brought here because I’d taken his daughter, Lena, out several times? Once for dinner and a play, another time for a stroll in Central Park. We’d met at a party in the early spring and had immediately liked each other. Like the soiree, she’d been light and funny, a welcome distraction from the seriousness of the times. “Is it because of Lena? Because I can assure you I’ve been nothing but a gentleman.” Was I going to get sacked for dating the new boss’s daughter?

  “I’m aware of your courtship. Lena tells me everything, you see. She’s quite taken with you.”

  “And I with her, sir.” I’d not thought much about her, if truth were told. She was out of my reach. I was a penniless editor living in a one-room apartment eating beans and stale bread for dinner.

  “James, did you know I know your father? We met years ago, right after the war.”

  I sat there, shocked, waiting for what was coming next. Was this why I’d kept my job? “How do you know him?”

  “It’s a long story that I won’t go into today,” Mr. Masters said. “Suffice it to say, we had business dealings that were more advantageous to me than him.”

  Most were, I thought. Especially those done over the poker table.

  “He’s informed me of his troubles,” Masters said. “Of the situation with your family.”

  Situation. The situation was that my father had gambled and drunk away the family fortune, or what was left of it anyway, and now they were unable to keep up the estate or staff. The gardens had gone to ruin, the damp and dark house infested with vermin. Father had written to me earlier this year that all of the money was gone. There was no place for them to go. He’d asked for too many favors from my mother’s only relative, a rich aunt. He didn’t know what he was going to do, and could I send a little something to help them? Think of your sister, he’d written. What money, I’d thought? I’d written back to him. I have none to give you. Not the vast amounts you need. Not any amount, for that matter. I barely made enough to afford my apartment and meager meals.