Coming July 19, 2022
1917 - Sofiya and her
friend Alina are forced to flee Russia as Tsar Nicholas II abdicates, and the
Bolsheviks take control of St. Petersburg. Their parents send them to America,
where Alina's distant cousin lives, but soon the girls learn they have traded
one danger for another. They are forced to earn a living in the most awful way,
and once again, both girls flee for their lives in separate directions.
Years later, trapped in a bitter marriage, Sofiya once again finds herself
running away to protect her son and the secret she's been hiding since leaving
Russia. She wonders if she will ever feel safe again.
2022 - Addison Cameron loves antiques and old homes and has made a career, alongside her boyfriend Zach, of flipping old houses and making them new again. Having lived a life of terror as a young teen, bringing new life to old homes has been her therapy. When Zach finds a cigar box of old letters in an antique shop and buys them for Addie, she is intrigued. Who was the young girl Sofiya, and what was her life like? Soon Addie becomes immersed in Sofiya's past and is drawn to the very house in Portland that Sofiya had fled all those years ago. As she brings the house back to life, Addie relives her own nightmare past and that of Sofiya's. Can she heal her old wounds by restoring the house where Sofiya had once lived?
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Please enjoy the first two chapters
The Secrets We Carry
Deanna Lynn Sletten
Copyright 2022
Prologue
Petrograd, Russia
April 1917
“Maman, I do not understand,” Sofiya said softly as she watched her mother’s hands shake while carefully packing a suitcase. Maria had been adamant that Sofiya take an older leather suitcase that wouldn’t appear extravagant if anyone was watching. “Why must I leave? Why can’t I stay here with you and Père?”
Marie’s dark tendrils swayed as she shook her head. “Non,
non,” her mother said in barely a whisper. They were speaking French, as was
common among the aristocrats in Russia, despite being born and raised there. “You
must leave tomorrow, ma chère.
It is not safe for you here now that our beloved Tsar has abdicated.”
“But Maman, Père said we will be safe,” Sofiya exclaimed. Her
father had insisted that he and his family would not be bothered by the
incoming government because of the highly regarded position he held at the
university.
“Your Père
is a good and smart man, ma chère,
but he is not being realistic. Once those in power learn we are cousins of the Tsar,
we will not be safe. That is why I must send you away. I must keep my last
living child alive.” Tears filled Maria’s eyes as she spoke, and Sofiya’s heart
clenched. Her brother had died fighting in the war, and his death had nearly
broken her mother. At the tender age of sixteen, Sofiya understood how
heartbreaking her brother’s loss was to the entire family. She missed Mikhail
greatly.
Maria smoothed the white shirtwaist with her graceful hand after
placing it into the suitcase. “I am packing only the essentials for you, chère. Shirtwaists and dark
skirts, undergarments, and practical shoes. One of your white cotton dresses,
too. And a warm wool coat. Nothing too extravagant that might make people
believe you are from a well-to-do family.”
Sofiya’s young face crinkled. She was trying desperately to
understand what her mother was implying. Nothing too fancy? Well-to-do
family? Although she had always known her family was related to royalty and
had been quite close to her cousins, the Tsar’s daughters, Sofiya had not been
raised to put on airs. Her father had educated her in several languages,
history, science, and mathematics just as her brother had been, and her mother
had taught her all the necessities of being a polite young lady. But Sofiya and
her brother hadn’t been raised as spoiled children. They’d had chores assigned
to them around the townhouse, had accompanied their parents to do good works at
charities, and had never been given excessive gifts or clothing. Now, her
mother was acting strange, as if dressing nicely in this new place Sofiya was traveling
to would cause a threat to her life.
“Do not frown, my sweet,” Maria scolded. “You do not wish to
scar your beauty with such a face.”
Sofiya immediately softened her expression. The young girl
knew she was no beauty in any sense of the word with her large features, dark
brown eyes, and dark hair. Her dearest friend, Alina Henderson, however, was breathtaking.
Alina had a delicate face with a small nose and rosebud lips. Her hair was so
blond, it was almost white, and her eyes were the palest blue, like the sky on
a summer day. But Sofiya did not contradict her maman because she knew how
worried she was at this moment.
After filling the suitcase, Maria laid out a plain dark
skirt, a white shirt, and a waistcoat for Sofiya. She turned to her daughter,
her expression serious. “You will wear this one outfit as you travel. I’ve sewn
my emerald necklace and diamond earrings into the waistband. You must keep them
with you at all times.”
Sofiya gasped. “Maman! Why?”
Maria clasped her daughter’s hands in her own. “Sweet one,
you must listen carefully to me. I do not know what lies ahead for you. I’m
preparing you as best I can. Your dear friend, Alina, will travel with you to a
place in America where you will be safe and start a new life. Alina’s mother
has made all the arrangements with a distant cousin of hers who lives in
Portland, Oregon. Proper travel papers have been secured for you both. You will
travel as Alina’s younger sister, and you will use her last name of Henderson
and say you’re traveling to America from Finland. It is imperative that you never
utter the word Russia at any time.”
“But why do I need your precious jewels?” Sofiya asked. If
all was arranged, why would her Maman give up two of her finest treasures?
Maria’s brows drew together in worry. “Because even the best-laid
plans can go awry. If you find yourself in a terrible bind, you can sell the
jewels. And if you never need to do so, then they will be a beautiful reminder
of me.”
Tears filled the young girl’s eyes. She did not wish to lose
her family. “Maman, I don’t want to leave you and Père. Why can we not leave together as a family?”
“Non, we cannot,” Maria said sadly. “We can only risk
sending you and Alina. If we all try to leave, something terrible might happen.
Madam Henderson has worked hard for months to plan your escape. To save you and
her daughter. So, you must do as I say.”
Sofiya pulled a white handkerchief from her skirt pocket and
dabbed at her eyes. She nodded in agreement, although she wished she didn’t
have to leave. America was so far away, and she was frightened. “Can I write to
you and Père, so I
know you are safe?” she asked.
A pained expression crossed her mother’s face. “Non, ma chère. It is too dangerous
for you to write to us. No one must ever know where you are. Ever. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, Maman,” Sofiya said, but her heart was broken. To cut
all ties with her family forever was too much to bear.
“Now, my darling. You must listen to my instructions,” Maria
said earnestly. “You will go to Alina’s home tonight and depart tomorrow for
Helsinki, where your journey will begin. It will be a long, arduous trip, but I
know you and Alina will do fine. You are both educated young women. And the
fact that you speak many languages will help you on your journey. Once you
arrive in America, however, you must speak only English. It is imperative you
blend in quickly, so no one is the wiser.”
“Yes, Maman,” Sofiya said, dropping her eyes to the floor.
There was no arguing with her Maman now that she’d made up her mind.
Marie’s face softened. “Do not worry, darling one. I trust
Alina’s mother completely. She is not only our dressmaker; she has been my
closest friend nearly all my life, just as Alina has been yours.” Marie placed
her finger under her daughter’s chin and gently raised Sofiya’s eyes to hers.
“I love you more than life itself, ma chère.
Please know that. That is why I’m willing to let you go so far away, far from
the danger here. I pray you will have a chance for a better life there,
possibly meet a nice man and have a family of your own. There is nothing left
for you here.”
Sofiya grasped her mother in a hug as tears spilled down her
face. She prayed that the turmoil in her beloved country would end so she could
one day return and see her parents again. Until then, she would do as her
mother wished.
Pulling away, Sofiya once again nodded her assent.
“Good girl,” Maria said, smiling through her tears. “Now,
let us go to Alina’s house before it grows dark, and tomorrow, you begin your
new life.”
“Yes, Maman,” Sofiya said.
Portland, Oregon
April 2022
Addison Cameron moved slowly through the cramped antique
store, carefully studying every piece it held. Addie loved antiques. Antiques,
old houses, and everything else that had been cast away and needed to be loved
again.
“Look what I found, Addie.” Zachery Walker, her boyfriend,
sauntered over to her, his brown eyes twinkling. She loved how boyish he looked
when he was excited.
Addie looked at the small box he carried. It was an old
wooden cigar box, possibly from the early 1900s. Unlike the many she’d seen
before, this one wasn’t rustic but was polished and shone almost like new. Engraved
on the top were the words “CROOKS, Rum Soaked, Portland, Ore.”
She grinned up at Zach. “You know me too well. It’s
beautiful.”
He beamed. “Wait until you see what’s inside—that’s the best
part.” Zach lifted the tarnished gold latch and opened the lid. Addie swiped
her wispy blond bangs from her eyes and peered inside.
“It’s empty,” she said, disappointed.
“It seems empty, but look again.” Zach reached inside and
pushed down on one side of the bottom. Up popped the other side. “It has a
false bottom.”
Intrigued, Addie took the box from him and set it on an
antique table. “There are letters inside,” she said excitedly.
“That’s what makes it so special,” Zach said, obviously
proud of his discovery.
She chuckled. “You do know me well.” Lifting the pile of
letters, Addie was immediately aware of how old they were. The yellowed
envelopes were tied tightly with a faded blue ribbon. “Do you suppose they’re
love letters?” she asked.
Zach shrugged. “We won’t know until we go through them.”
Addie carefully replaced the letters and false bottom, then
walked over to the counter. “How much for the cigar box?” she asked Robert, the
owner. She’d known Robert for years, having bought many items in his store to
decorate the houses she flipped.
“For you, sweetie?” the older man said, winking at her.
“Thirty-five bucks.”
Addie knew the box alone was worth that price. “What about
the letters hidden inside?” she asked. Addie didn’t want to cheat her favorite
antique dealer. He’d given her such good deals in the past, and she wanted to
continue that relationship.
“They were in the box when I bought it, so they go with it,”
he said, smiling.
“Here, let me buy it,” Zach said, taking it from Addie. “It
can be an early birthday present.”
“Birthday present?” Robert said. “Well, in that case, it’s
thirty dollars. I have to give the birthday girl a little discount.” He winked
again.
“Thanks, Robert,” she said, touched by his generosity.
“You’re always so sweet.”
“That’s me. The local sweetheart.” Robert wrapped the box in
old newspaper and placed it in a bag. “But in all honesty, those letters won’t
do you much good. Some are in a different language. Looks like Italian or something.
I gave up after looking at a couple of them.”
Addie was disappointed to hear that, but she still wanted
the box and letters.
Zach paid for the box and carried the bag out of the store
as they called goodbye to Robert. Once outside, Addie turned and hugged Zach.
“Thank you for the birthday gift. I can’t wait to look through those letters.”
He kissed her lightly on the temple, his scruffy beard
tickling her cheek. “I knew you’d like it. You love mysteries. Maybe we can get
someone to translate the letters if they’re all in another language. I know a
couple of people from the university who studied languages.”
A chilly breeze blew up the street, and Addie shivered
despite her heavy winter coat. She pulled her knit slouch cap from her pocket
and placed it on her head. “I thought winter was over,” she said as they walked
up the street.
“It’s Portland, sweetie,” Zach said without further
explanation. The words spoke for themselves.
Addie chuckled. “Right. Let’s grab a coffee.”
Zach wrapped his arm around her as they turned into a small
coffee shop on the corner. They ordered their coffees and then sat down at a
table. Eagerly, Addie pulled the old cigar box from the bag and retrieved the
letters. As she sipped her hot drink, she untied the pile of letters and
carefully sifted through them. Most had only one word on the front of the
envelope—Maman.
“Isn’t that mother in French?” Addie asked, looking up at
Zach.
“I think so.” He leaned closer for a better look. “It’s
definitely not Italian.”
Growing warm, Addie took off her cap and shook her head to
fluff up her short hair. When she was younger, Addie had long blond hair that
hung in waves down her back. Now, at thirty-four, she found shorter hair
easier, especially with the work she did.
Addie opened a few envelopes, but the letters were written
in what she thought was French. Disappointed that she’d have to wait to learn
their contents, Addie was about to tie the letters together again when she saw
an envelope with no name written on it. Carefully, she opened the brittle
envelope and out fell two photos.
“Look at these!” she said, growing excited again. The photos
were in black and white on heavy cardboard. One was of a young woman holding a
baby and sitting on the front porch of a house. The other was of four people
standing in a garden across the street from a neighborhood of houses. “They
look like they’re from the early 1900s,” Addie added.
Zach set down his phone and looked at the photos.
“Interesting. Yeah, they do look that old. See if there’s anything written on
the back.”
Addie turned both over, and to her delight, one had writing.
It was a photo postcard with a space for a note, a postmark, and a one-cent
stamp in the corner.
Zach chuckled. “Look at that. One cent to send a postcard.
Crazy.”
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Addie said. “The postmark
says Ketchikan, Alaska, Nov 10, 1919.”
“Wow,” Zach whistled low. “I figured these were old, but
that’s over a hundred years old.”
Addie nodded as she studied both photos again. “I think the
woman with the baby is the same woman standing in the other photo. Look.”
Zach studied the photos and agreed. “They must have been
friends, and then the other woman moved to Alaska. Is the writing in English?”
Addie turned it over again, and to her delight, it was in
English. The writing was in pencil and had faded over the years, but she could
still make out what it said in its tiny script.
Dear Sofiya,
I’m sorry I haven’t written before this, but you are
always in my thoughts. I don’t think you would like Alaska. It rains just awful
here, even worse than Portland. Ha Ha. Can you believe I am a mother now? Our
sweet baby was born October 9th, and my life has been a whirlwind of
feedings and diapers. But I am so happy with little Floriana Sofiya (Florie)
and my husband, Clint. He’s working hard, running the factory, and we rent a
nice house. It’s more than I thought possible after the rough start you and I
had. I miss you and wish only good things for you. I’ll write more soon.
Love, Alina
“Interesting,” Zach said. “It makes you wonder what she
meant by their ‘rough start.’”
Addie nodded. She studied the other photo again. The two
women looked more like young girls. They wore white ankle-length dresses and stood
in boy-girl fashion with two men in dark suits. The girls were holding hands in
front of one male, despite the distance between them. They weren’t smiling;
they looked sad.
“What are you thinking?” Zach asked gently. “That frown
tells me something about the photo bothers you.”
“The girls don’t look happy. They look scared.”
“Yeah, but those guys aren’t that good-looking. Maybe they
were set up on the double-date from hell,” Zach joked.
“Maybe,” Addie said.
They finished their coffee, and Addie carefully placed the
photos into the cigar box. After bundling up, they headed outside and made the
long walk home.
“Have you found our next project?” Zach asked as they walked
toward the house on Seventeenth that they’d just remodeled and sold. It was a
1910 small Victorian that they’d brought back to life after years of neglect. “We
have to be out of the house by the end of the month.”
“Nothing has caught my eye yet,” Addie said. “It’s getting
harder to find good deals on old houses to flip. Everyone wants so much money
for run-down homes. Or many of the large older homes have been turned into
apartments. It’s sad.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something,” he said encouragingly.
“Soon, I hope. Otherwise, we’ll be living on the street.”
Addie’s heart jumped. She knew Zach was kidding, but the
thought of living on the street again, even after all these years, scared her.
“It was just a joke,” he said, pulling her close to him as
they walked.
“I know,” she whispered. It always surprised her how
intuitive Zach was to her feelings. “We can always stay in one of Valerie’s
rentals if we don’t find a place to flip. I think the house on Stark is still
available.” Valerie Harding was the woman who’d turned Addie on to flipping
houses. Addie had been floundering, working in a coffee shop and trying hard to
keep a roof over her head when she’d met Valerie. Noticing the young girl’s
interest in her designs as she worked at a table in the café, Valerie asked
Addie if she’d like to come and work on the house with her on her day off to
see what she was doing. Addie had jumped at the chance because it seemed like
something fun to do. The two women had a great time discussing house design and
decorating. Valerie was thirty when she met nineteen-year-old Addie and told
the teen how impressed she was with her design ideas. That evening, Valerie
drove Addie home to her dingy apartment over a small corner grocery store in a
questionable part of town.
“This is where you live?” Valerie had asked, looking
concerned.
“Yes,” Addie answered without enthusiasm.
Valerie had looked at her kindly with her pale blue eyes.
“Do you feel safe here?” she’d asked gently.
Suddenly, tears burst from Addie’s eyes. “No,” she’d said,
shaking her head. “But it’s all I can afford.”
Valerie made the offer in that moment that she’d never once
regretted. “I have a nice house with an extra room you are welcome to stay in
while we work on the other house,” she’d told Addie. “Go pack your things.”
Addie had been shocked, but even with her deep-seated
distrust of almost everyone, she immediately sensed she could trust Valerie.
So, she did as Valerie said and never looked back. They had worked together
flipping houses for years after that.
Just thinking of Valerie made Addie smile.
“Or maybe we could finally find our own forever home,” Zach
said, giving Addie a little side-smile.
Addie remained silent. She loved Zach and trusted him
completely, but even after knowing him for seven years and living together for
five, she was scared to death of settling down. Fortunately, Zach knew that and
never pressured her. But little hints like the one he’d just given her made her
heart race.
“I’ll find a house to flip. One will just come to me like
they always do,” Addie said.
Zach nodded, looking disappointed.
***
Later that evening, Addie curled up in bed with the cigar
box and began sifting through the letters. As far as she could tell, they were
all in French, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make out enough
words to understand what was written. The only thing she could read was the signature—Sofiya.
Puzzled, Addie wondered why Sofiya had written letters that
she’d never sent to her mother. The dates at the top of the letters started in
May 1917 and continued until 1930, when they finally stopped. Either Sofiya had
given up on ever being able to send them to her mother, or perhaps her mother
or Sofiya had died.
Opening the envelope with the photos, Addie studied them.
The picture of the two women and two men appeared as if they were standing in a
park across the street from a row of houses. The houses were large and built close
together. Addie knew most of the older neighborhoods around Portland, but she
didn’t recognize these homes. As she studied the details, it occurred to her
that the postcard must have an address written on it.
Excited, Addie turned the postcard over. On the right-hand
side—clear as day—was written Miss Sofiya Henderson, Marshall Street,
Portland, Oregon. Addie knew where Marshall Street was—it ran from The
Pearl District up to Nob Hill. She studied the address again. No house number.
Addie sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Zach strode to the bed, his long legs covering
the space quickly. He dropped onto the bed beside her.
“I have an address for the house that Sofiya lived in, but
not the house number. It only says Marshall Street,” Addie told him.
He frowned. “Sofiya?”
“The woman who wrote the letters.”
“Oh, that Sofiya.” Zach chuckled.
“Funny,” she mumbled. “There are houses across the street
from the people in the photo. I don’t recognize them. I wonder if one of them
was where she lived.”
“Let me see.” Zach took the photo and studied it. “Hm. There
are a lot of houses in that area that look like these. Is there a park on
Marshall?”
“Good thinking.” Addie grabbed her phone and looked at a map
of Portland. “There is a Tanner Springs Park between Tenth and Eleventh Avenues
on Marshall.”
Zach winked. “Sounds like a good place to start.”
***
The next day, Addie and Zach drove to Marshall Street and
parked near Tanner Springs Park. As they glanced around, they realized they
wouldn’t find houses here matching the ones in the picture.
“I should have known that there were only apartments and
businesses around here,” Addie said, disappointed. “It’s close to the river,
and the property is valuable. I’ll bet there were houses here at one time, but
they’re gone.”
“You’re not giving up that easily, are you?” Zach asked.
“There may have been other parks on Marshall back in 1919 that are now long
gone. Maybe the house is a couple of blocks up the hill.”
“Or maybe they walked down to this park, and the house
Sofiya lived in isn’t one of these in the picture,” Addie countered. “Without a
house number, we have no way of knowing which house it could have been.”
“You know the history of real estate around here as well as
I do,” Zach said. “Even if we had the house number from 1919, all the house
addresses were changed in Portland in the 1930s. So don’t give up. Let’s walk a
few blocks and see what’s here.” He reached for her hand.
“You always look on the positive side, don’t you,” Addie
said, a small smile forming on her lips. She took his hand and let him lead her
up the sidewalk. Addie loved that Zach was the optimist to her naturally
pessimistic personality. She didn’t know how she’d keep pushing through life
without him.
The weather was warmer than the day before, and it felt nice
walking out in the sunshine. Each block they walked, though, had only
businesses and apartment buildings. Old warehouses had been turned into
apartment complexes, and new construction was all around. Corner bars and stores
dotted the area. From what Addie could see, it didn’t seem promising that
they’d find any homes until up past Twenty-Fifth Avenue.
They crossed under the 405 Freeway. “We’re going to be in
Nob Hill by the time we find any houses,” Addie complained. “And those are
crazy expensive. I just don’t see Sofiya living there.”
“Let’s just go another block or two. Have faith,” Zach said.
Addie grumbled but kept walking.
As they neared the corner of Eighteenth Avenue and Marshall
Street, Zach smiled and pointed. “I think I spot a house.”
Addie rolled her eyes but continued on. “But is it the house?”
Zach chuckled.
There were three older homes on one side of the street and
three more on the other. Tall ancient oak and willow trees shaded the street.
One of the houses looked worn and tired, but the others had been kept up nicely
with fresh paint and new landscaping.
Addie studied the colorless photo in her hand, but none of
the houses looked like the ones the women were standing in front of.
“Let’s keep walking,” Zach suggested. “Even if we don’t find
the house, it’s a great day for a walk.”
Addie continued walking. Past the homes were more apartment
buildings and businesses, and a hospital. No parks were in sight. They passed
street after street until they were on block twenty-three. “Finally,” she said,
letting out a breath. “Here’s where they’re hiding the houses.”
“With all these old trees, they truly are hiding them,” Zach
quipped.
The neighborhood was filled with older homes from the early
1900s. The street was narrow, and the trees were tall and full. It looked like
a peaceful, welcoming neighborhood. Addie studied each house as she also looked
at the photo.
“Anything match?” Zach asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Not yet. Let’s keep walking.”
They slowly walked past several homes, all from the
Victorian era but built in different styles. The homes were very close together,
with about five feet between them. Many had a garage added to the front where
the porch and lawn had once been. The pointed rooftops, bay windows, and old
brick chimneys were proof that these homes were from a bygone era.
Addie took her time checking each house for details. While
some of the homes were similar to the three in the photo, none matched
perfectly. They walked two more blocks before she stopped and stared in wonder.
Addie could hardly believe her eyes.
“Look! I think that’s it.”
Zach stared in the direction Addie was pointing. “The one
with the two-pointed rooftop or the one next door?”
“The house to the right of the two-pointed one. It looks
exactly like the main house in the photo. And the house with the two-pointed
rooftop is exactly like the one in the photo too.” Addie’s voice rose in pitch
with excitement.
Zach turned to her. “How are you so sure the middle house is
Sofiya’s?”
“I don’t know. I just am.” Addie studied the house. It had a
pitched roof with an arched attic window in the center and below that, a bay
window with an outdoor terrace above the first-floor covered porch. A large,
three-window bay was on the first floor, and three white columns held up the
upper terrace. Both bay windows had stained-glass transoms above the larger
windows. A set of steps on the right side of the house led to a door that
looked original to the house. An oval leaded-glass window decorated the door.
Painted white with dark green trim, the place looked in need of fresh paint. In
fact, as she stared at the house, Addie had the feeling it was no longer
occupied. Was it abandoned?
“Let’s get a closer look,” Addie said, already heading across
the street.
Zach had to run to catch up with her. “What are you going to
do? Just knock on the door and start asking questions?”
She ignored him and did just that. Addie marched up to the
door as if she belonged there and knocked. The oval glass in the door was even
more beautiful up close. It just needed a good cleaning.
Zach stood behind her. “What are you going to say when
someone answers?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone
lives here.” She knocked again, and when that went unanswered, Addie walked
over to the bay window and peered inside. The window took up half the width of
the porch. What she saw inside was a generous living room, or parlor as it had
once been called, with a fireplace that had decorative tile around it. Ornate
moldings lined the floorboards and the ceiling, and the floors were original
wood in a beautiful honey color. A wide doorway led to what looked like a
formal dining room. A chill of joy went up Addie’s spine. As she’d thought, the
place was completely void of furniture.
“You won’t find anyone at home,” a voice called out,
startling Addie and Zach. The couple looked to the right and saw a woman
wearing a smart-looking blue suit and tall heels. Her red hair was cut short,
and she had serious green eyes. “No one has lived there for a long time.”
Addie smiled up at Zach before walking toward the woman. “Do
you live around here?” she asked.
“Yes. I live next door. My teenage son has been keeping up
the lawn for the owners.” She gave Addie and Zach the once over. “I handled the
sale of this house for the current owners. I’m a real estate agent.”
Addie walked down the porch steps and up to the woman,
offering her hand to shake. “Hi. I’m Addison Cameron, and this is my business
partner, Zachery Walker.”
The woman shook their hands. “I’m Gail Peterson. It’s nice
to meet you.”
“Do you know if the current owners are interested in selling
this house?” Addie asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the surprise on
Zach’s face. Addie never jumped into a sale. She took her time and thought
things through before making a commitment. Wanting this house—without even
looking it over—surprised even Addie.
“They haven’t listed it, but I doubt they still want it,”
Gail said. “They were going to turn it into a fourplex and sell each apartment,
but that never happened.”
Addie was thankful they hadn’t. Breaking up this house into
four apartments, like so many others on this street, would be criminal as far
as she was concerned. “Would it be possible to ask them if they’d be interested
in selling?”
“Anything is possible,” Gail said, breaking into a smile.
“Let me get your phone number, and I can let you know.”
The two women exchanged numbers, then Gail asked, “Are you
thinking of flipping it? Because to tell you the truth, these homes around here
are expensive. That’s why so many of them have been turned into duplexes and
fourplexes. There isn’t much profit in flipping them.”
Addie bit her lip and took a deep breath. She knew the woman
was right, but from the moment she saw this house, she had to have it. “Let’s
see if they want to sell it first, and then I can decide from there,” she told
Gail. “Thank you for your help.”
Gail nodded, waved, and headed back toward her house. When
Addie turned around, Zach was staring at her with wide eyes.
“Are you serious about buying this house?” he asked.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe. I mean, we might get it
for a good deal.” Addie walked around Zach and headed down the street, back
toward where they’d parked the car.
Zach caught up with her. “These homes are expensive. It
might not even have been Sofiya’s house. And we don’t know anything about
Sofiya other than she lived on Marshall Street in 1919 and took a few
pictures.”
Addie was usually the voice of reason in their relationship,
so it felt strange being the impulsive one this time. She turned and faced
Zach. “I know. It’s crazy. But I just have a feeling about this house.” She
drew closer and ran her hands over his sweater, wanting to feel connected to
him. “It won’t hurt to check into it,” she said softly.
Zach took her hands in his and pressed them against his
chest. “You’re right.” He kissed the top of her blond head. “It can’t hurt.”
She gazed up at him. “Could you check with a friend about
having the letters translated? I’d really love to read what Sofiya wrote.”
Zach smiled. “Anything for you. You know I can’t say no to
you.”
Addie chuckled softly. “Hold that thought—you may regret
it.” Still holding hands, she turned and looked at the house again. It felt like
it was beckoning her, begging her to buy it. It wasn’t odd for Addie to have a
special feeling about a house she decided to buy and flip. Houses spoke to her.
But this one was different. It was calling her name.
“I think I may have found our next house,” she said to Zach.
“You’re the boss,” he said.
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