Late at night, a ghostly light announces, "Find the will." The voice sounds like Aunt Phoebe - but they buried her that morning.
As Ellie Parker searches for the missing document, she knows her time in her adopted home will soon come to an end. She'll have to leave when her step-cousin inherits the property.
The husband of the step-cousin insists he's interested in Ellie, not his wife, and the young doctor who cared for her dying aunt also wants to spend time with her. So, why are the men pursuing her? Was her aunt really poisoned as the doctor says and what will happen if she doesn't find the will?
Ohio, January 1878
It was a perfect day for a funeral. The gray sky heralded an approaching winter storm as cold wind whistled through the elm trees marking the entrance to the family plot. Icy snow flakes began to fall over the dirt and onto the pine box as Aunt Pheobe's body was lowered into the ground beside the man who had made her life miserable for over twenty years.
I stood by the carriage, trying to hold my tears at bay and ignore my step-cousins who ringed the mound of dirt. I saw not a single sign of grief on any of their faces. They were so much like their father.
I didn't miss the gleam of satisfaction on Opal's face, Aunt Phoebe's oldest daughter, as she glanced my way. I looked at Tom Harrow, now Opal's husband. He had once been the man of my dreams but Opal had somehow learned I thought my heart entwined with his. It was not to be. A confirmed spinster, at two and thirty. Opal made a play for him, securing her future with my pain. Or so I thought at the time.
Now, I felt nothing for Tom except sympathy. The poor man looked much like a whipped dog, as he stood behind Opal, their two small daughters hanging on to his trousers.
I turned my attention to Grace, newly married despite her advanced age of five and thirty, but married to a man twice her age. She was so obviously pleased with herself, repeatedly stroking the velvet cloak and matching dress, a smile on her face. She was smiling as they laid her own step-mother to rest! How very callous.
I glanced at the last of Aunt Phoebe's stepchildren. Clarence at least carried a somber expression, but his wife paid no mind to the cleric who held his tattered bible and read from the psalms. She was conversing with everyone, those to her side, those behind.
Oh, Aunt Phoebe, am I the only one who will miss you and your wise ways?
My uncle's influence marked this group of ingrates. But Aunt Phoebe had been like a mother to me after my own mother had died of consumption. They took me in, despite my uncle's objections and over the years, she had saved me countless times from the mean pranks of his children who wanted me gone from their home at any cost. Now the dear lady was gone and I had to face the world on my own.
