Chapter 4
When Grace wandered downstairs the next morning she discovered that she was alone. According to the note on the refrigerator, Annabelle had gone to her Thursday Morning Luncheon and Poetry Society. Grace sighed as she glanced at the crammed knick-knacks in the curio cabinets and the shelves of old books and magazines. Tomorrow, Grace thought. I’ll start on the house tomorrow.
She made herself some toast and coffee and noticed an oil painting beside the refrigerator of white-covered wagons in the foreground as the western sun dropped in the distance. She covered her ears with her hands, overcome suddenly by sounds—creaking wheels, braying animals, chattering children, and shouting adults. She glanced around to see if there was anyone else there, or maybe a television or a radio
