First Impressions

have heard of them.”
    He had, and though his eyes registered surprise, he said nothing. Bristols Department Stores were scattered strategically all over the country. It was a very old, very prestigious firm that catered to the wealthy and the prominent. Even now, Vance’s firm was contracted to build another branch in Chicago.
    “In any case,” Shane continued, “she was a young, beautiful, pampered girl who could have had anything. She’d been educated in Europe, and there were plans for her to be finished in Paris before a London debut. If she had followed her parents’ plans, she would have married well, had her own mansion and her own staff of servants. The closest she would have come to planting would have been watching her gardener prune a rosebush.”
    Shane gave a little laugh as though the thought both amused and baffled her. “She didn’t follow the plan, though. She fell in love with William Abbott, an apprentice mason who had been hired to do some stonework on the estate. Of course, her family would have none of it. They were already planning the groundwork for a marriage between Gran and the heir to some steel company. The moment they got wind of what was happening, they fired him. To keep it brief, Gran made her choice and married him. They disowned her. Very dramatic and Victorian. The I-have-no-daughter sort of thing you read in a standard Gothic.”
    Vance said nothing as she stared at him, almost daring him to comment. “They moved here, back with his family,” Shane continued. “They had to share this house with his parents because there wasn’t enough money for one of their own. When his father died, they cared for his mother. Gran never regretted giving up all the
niceties.
She had such tiny hands,” she murmured, looking down at her own. “You wouldn’t have thought they could be so strong.” She shook off the mood and turned away. “They were poor by the standards she had grown up with. What horses they had were for pulling a plow. Some of your land was hers at one time, but with the taxes and no one to work it . . .” She trailed off, lifting down a mason jar, then setting it back. “The only gesture her parents ever made was when her mother left Gran the dining room set and a few pieces of china. Even that was done through lawyers after her mother had died.” Shane plucked up her polishing cloth and began to run it through her hands.
    “Gran had five children, lost two in childhood, another in the war. One daughter moved to Oklahoma and died childless about forty years ago. Her youngest son settled here, married and had one daughter. Both he and his wife were killed when the daughter was five.” She paused a moment, brooding up at the small window set near the ceiling. Light poured through it to lie in a patch on the concrete floor. “I wonder if you can appreciate how a mother feels when she outlives every one of her children.”
    Vance said nothing, only continued to watch as Shane moved agitatedly around the room. “She raised her granddaughter, Anne. Gran loved her. Maybe part of the love was grief, I don’t know. My mother was a beautiful child—there are pictures of her upstairs—but she was never content. The stories I’ve heard came mostly from people in town, though once or twice Gran talked to me. Anne hated living here, hated not having enough. She wanted to be an actress. When she was seventeen, she got pregnant.”
    Shane’s voice altered subtly, but he heard the change. It was flat now, devoid of emotion. He’d never heard that tone from her before. “She didn’t know—or wouldn’t admit—who the father was,” she said simply. “As soon as I was born, she took off and left me with Gran. From time to time, she came back, spent a few days and talked Gran out of more money. At last count she’s been married three times. I’ve seen her in furs. They don’t seem to make her happy. She’s still beautiful, still selfish, still discontented.”
    Shane turned and looked at Vance for the first time since she had begun. “My grandmother only grabbed for one thing in her life, and that was love. She spoke French beautifully, read Shakespeare and tilled a garden. And she was happy. The only thing my mother ever taught me was that
things
meant nothing. Once you have a
thing
, you’re too busy looking for the next one to be happy with it. You’re too worried that someone might have a better one to be able to enjoy it. All the games my mother