Passages of Hope

By Terri J Haynes

Discover the Story Behind a Secret Passageway
 
Walk through Doors to the Past via a new series of historical stories of romance and adventure.

Gracie Kingston begins renovations on the Philadelphia house inherited from her grandmother and finds a secret room. It is connected to a house nearby, the home of William Still, the man known as the father of the Underground Railroad. As she researches, she discovers a mystery in her house’s ownership. In 1855, Olivia Kingston helps a mother and her young child by hiding them in a secret room in her home. As she helps, she learns that there may be an impostor conductor in their community. As Gracie’s and Olivia’s stories intertwine, they learn the meaning of sacrifice and love.

Don’t miss other great books in the Doors to the Past series:
The Lady in Residence by Allison Pittman
Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham
Bridge of Gold by Kimberley Woodhouse
Undercurrent of Secrets by Rachel Scott McDaniel
Behind Love's Wall by Carrie Fancett Pagels
High-Wire Heartbreak by Anna Schmidt
Love's Fortress by Jennifer Uhlarik
A Promise Engraved by Liz Tolsma
Laura's Shadow by Allison Pittman
Passages of Hope by Terri Haynes
In Spotlight and Shadow by Rachel Scott McDaniel
The Keys to Gramercy Park by Candice Sue Patterson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbour Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781636094076

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

GRACIE

Philadelphia, present day

Gracie McNeil stood in front of her gran’s three-story row house.

She tipped her head back to see all the way to the roof, the red brick warm in the September sun.

No, not Gran’s house anymore. My house.

Her gaze dropped to the front door, and the world seemed to tip toward her, giving her a moment of vertigo. How many times had she stood here? Walked through the front door? She closed her eyes, reorienting herself. This would not be like any other visit she’d had before.

She reached into her bag and sighed when her fingers closed around a key ring holding four keys. Not until this second had she dared touch it for fear it would slip from her grasp and be lost. Now she flipped to the front door key. It glowed like amber in her hand. Standard rounded-head door key. One that shouldn’t be in her possession. But somehow this key and this house had made their way to her.

Two shuffling steps and she was at the foot of the stairs. The house looked much the same as it did the last time she’d seen it. Almost four months ago, two weeks after Gran died. The family had gathered here after the funeral at Gran’s church, Mother Bethel AME, for a repast that ended with a fight. If Gran knew how she had acted then … She could still see that frown. One she never wanted to see on Gran’s face but one she knew she deserved a thousand times over.

No one was inside now. No one and nothing but memories, good and bad.

She climbed the three gray concrete steps and slid the key into the lock. It clicked, muffled, like the whole world was wrapped in wool. She gripped the doorknob. All she had to do was turn. Turn and open a door into the unknown future.

Palm sweating, she glanced at the window next to the door. The opaque image of herself stared back, her black hair in two strand twists, a little fuzzy from the humidity of a city near a body of water. Her eyes ladened and puffy with dark bags against her brown skin. Her reflection was tense, shoulders raised. Like it was taking all her strength to open the door. All of it, what little she had left.

Do it for Gran. She stood a little taller. Gran was the strongest woman she knew. Even to the end. Gracie took a big breath, as much air as her lungs allowed, and mimicked Gran’s fortitude. She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Gran’s empty house greeted her, both familiar and foreign. It was the same house, but it wasn’t the same as before.

The house had been shut up for months. The movers came to haul in her meager belongings a few days ago, but other than that, this door had remained locked. But instead of stuffiness, the house smelled of nothing. No cake baking. No sharp twang of vinegar in collard greens. No rosewater candles, smoky and sweet.

No signs of Gran.

Tears blurred the rooms before her as she stepped inside and closed the door. The sound echoed through the empty space.

Most of Gran’s furniture had been divided among Gracie’s uncle and cousins. A cheap consolation prize for Gran’s most valuable possession going to Gracie. Her uncle’s anger had boiled hot. Gracie’s disbelief had chilled her to numbness. Gran had given no clue that she was going to leave the house to Gracie. Maybe if Gran had told her, she would have had time to prepare for all that came with the house. All the memories and heartbreak.

Gracie had received one additional item from Gran: an ornate wooden keepsake box. Apparently Gran kept a box of mementos for each of her children and grandchildren. There was a similar one at her father’s house that belonged to Gracie’s mother. Gracie had never seen what was inside hers or her mother’s. Now it would be too painful to look.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. The house had an open floor plan, except for the staircase. Most houses were built with the staircases against a wall, but not this one. The foot of the stairs sat in the middle of the house, shielding the back of the house from people coming in the front door. How many times had she come in the door and heard Gran call out to her from the kitchen behind the staircase? Hundreds. Oh, to hear it one more time.

She walked through the living room, past the fireplace that covered one wall, and set her bag next to the staircase. She did a quick check of the kitchen and laundry room. Then the half bath. Everything was clean and sterile. Like no one had ever been there. No evidence of the joy and pain that had once been. Her circuit complete, she picked up her bag and started upstairs.

At the landing, she studied the rooms below. Her mind overlaid an image that had often been in her thoughts in the past months: couches and armchairs full of knitters and crocheters, laughing, drinking tea, and perusing the yarn selection Gracie had curated. The brick-and-mortar home for her yarn shop, Stitch Wishes. With the cream walls and all the natural light through the long windows in front of the house, the room would be a cozy, luminous place. Warm and welcoming, like it was when she would come to see Gran.

A bittersweet plan. One that was likely to fail.

At the top of the stairs, she went through another door, one fitted with a lock like the one on the front door. At some point in the house’s history, the second and third floors had been for rent. There was another door on this level that led outside, down a set of wooden steps. She walked down the hall. This floor also held a full bath attached to two of the bedrooms, and the third had been converted to a small kitchen. At the end of Gran’s life, having a kitchen on the second floor had been invaluable. Gracie had never wanted to be away from her grandmother’s bedside for long.

As she requested of the movers, her bed sat in the larger of the two bedrooms, surrounded by bins and boxes. The rest of her furniture was in the other bedroom. It wasn’t much. A nearly threadbare couch she’d gotten at a thrift store. A TV, a scuffed plywood TV stand with a right-hand door that no longer closed all the way, and a coffee table that wasn’t strong enough to hold more than a plate of food or a ball of yarn. After kicking off her shoes, she unwrapped the couch from the heavy blankets it had been swathed in to make the move. Her old couch in her new space. Pulling the blankets away grounded her and helped her believe this was real.

When she was done, she sat, closed her eyes, and took a few deep inhalations. Lord, help me to see this as my home.

When she opened her eyes, the room around her was still Gran’s spare bedroom. For a second, the weight on her heart felt almost unbearable and threatened to sink her so deep into grief that she couldn’t climb out.

Be strong, she said to herself. Her voice warbled.

Stuffing her sadness into the back of her mind as she had done for months, she took out her phone. She needed to live despite how she felt. She ordered groceries to be delivered later that night, checked to see what the hours at the library were, and then tracked the shipping on a rug she had ordered. That done, she set the phone next to her.

Her attention was drawn to the windows and the view they gave her. The house faced a sports field, its grass still a little green. Gran used to take her over there to play when she was young. At the end, when Gran was still strong enough to go down the stairs, they sat on the benches, Gracie knitting and Gran crocheting.

Her phone rang and jarred her away from the memory. She glanced down at it. The display read UNKNOWN CALLER, but she well knew who it was. The lender for her student loans had called nearly every day since she left Richmond. She tossed the phone to the other end of the couch, anger coiling through her stomach. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? She told them the first twenty times they called that she had no job, no money. She told them that she was grieving a lost loved one. None of that mattered. They still called.

She let out a huff and grabbed the phone. Maybe this time they would listen. As she moved her finger to press the answer button, she was reminded of another phone call, a call that had lit her anger like a bonfire. She dropped the phone again. What was anger then had morphed into shame now. If she’d had any idea the journey that call from Gran would set her on, she would have checked her anger. But she hadn’t known.

She put her hands over her eyes. The memory remained clear, undimmed by time. Oh, Gran.

Gracie spent the next hour unpacking boxes and bins of her things. The TV was one of the last items she put in place. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she lifted it to the stand. It was almost too heavy to lift alone, but she was alone, so she had to do it alone like everything else in her life.

The doorbell rang as loud as church bells, echoing through the empty house. Gracie jumped up, walked to the windows, and looked down. Because of the angle of the house, she couldn’t see who stood on the stairs. It was too early for her grocery delivery. She rushed down to the door. The window next to the door framed her visitor. Ms. Lila Brown stood, looking straight ahead, hands resting on her cane. Weathered, rich brown, veined hands. She stood upright and proud, her silver hair in an afro halo around her head.

Gracie swung the door open, smiling. Ms. Lila. She bounded out the door and embraced her grandmother’s closest friend.

Ms. Lila returned the hug, and although she was shorter and thinner than Gracie, it felt like being enveloped in a cashmere shawl lined with steel fibers. Gracie. You’re here. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I thought you’d be here soon when you asked me to let the movers in.

Just arrived. She stepped aside to allow Ms. Lila to enter. I’m sorry I don’t have chairs down here yet… . Ms. Lila was quiet behind her as Gracie closed the door. A weighted quiet.

When she turned, Ms. Lila was standing still in the middle of the living room. Gracie stood as tall as she could, pushing back against the sadness welling in her chest. But when she moved to Ms. Lila’s side and saw tears in the older woman’s eyes, Gracie’s shoulders slumped. Hadn’t she stood here and cried earlier today? The emptiness, the sting of loss, had stopped Ms. Lila in the same spot.

It doesn’t seem real that she’s gone. Keep half expecting her to come out of the kitchen with two cups of tea. Ms. Lila let out a soft laugh that ended with a sniffle. Or with a whole meal she just ‘threw together.’ She made air quotes with her fingers.

Gracie laughed, swiping her own eyes. Like she always had a roasted chicken with all the fixin’s just lying around waiting for company to arrive.

That’s right. Ms. Lila turned to her. How are you doing?

I’m okay. She tried to smile and prove her words. Never thought any of this would happen. That I would be living here after … She swallowed back tears.

Ms. Lila looked at her, brows furrowed. Maybe you didn’t know how fast the cancer would progress, but how could you not know that she wanted you to live here after she was gone? This house meant a lot to her. She thought of it as her legacy.

Gracie nodded. That was all Gran would talk about. How the house was family history. But why leave it to me and not her children? Wouldn’t it have been better to leave it to someone whose life didn’t look like a patchwork quilt of mismatched jobs, an incomplete degree program, and hopscotching housing situations? How could she be trusted with something so important?

Ms. Lila reached out and touched Gracie on the shoulder. You meant as much to her as a daughter. As much as your mother did. This was important to her. You were important to her.

Gracie squirmed at the mention of her mother. A mother who had died in childbirth and one Gracie didn’t know. There was no way she could fill her mother’s place. Would you like to go upstairs?

Ms. Lila gave her soft pat on the shoulder. No, baby. My grandson is waitin’ outside for me. I just stopped in to see if you needed anything.

Gracie took Ms. Lila’s hand and held it, her heart lifting. I’m fine. Thank you for asking, but you didn’t have to.

Ms. Lila took her hand from Gracie’s and placed it on the side of Gracie’s face. You were important to her and you are important to me. You’re going to carry on Marian’s memory and this family’s legacy.

Gracie smiled at her, trying for all the world to hold back tears but failing. Standing here in Gran’s house with someone who loved Gran as much as she did both comforted and pained her. The two women couldn’t be separated.

Ms. Lila wiped her own eyes, and they returned to the door in silence. You still got my number? Ms. Lila asked.

Yes, ma’am.

Call me if you need something. Or need to talk. She beamed at Gracie. Consider me your first friend in the city.

Gracie giggled. I think we were already something like friends.

We are officially friends now. Besides, I have a knitting project I need help with.

Gran and Ms. Lila had become friends in their church’s prayer shawl ministry. Of course I will help you.

Ms. Lila nodded. I’ll be talking to you, she said and made her way down the front steps and the half block to her car. Gracie watched as a tall young man opened the passenger door and assisted her in. The grandson. He looked Gracie’s age from the distance. But the way he helped Ms. Lila into the car brought the sting of tears. The same way I helped Gran.

Ms. Lila’s words still echoed in her mind as she returned upstairs. You’re going to carry on Marian’s memory and this family’s legacy. Could she even do that? Gran and Ms. Lila’s expectations for her had always been high. Too high and misplaced. Too easy to fail to reach them. But she had given Gran her word.

She returned to her place on the couch, and her eyes fell on one of the few boxes she hadn’t unpacked yet. She slid the box closer, rummaged through it, and pulled out a folder.

Before she died, Gran had told her to live her dream. Had told her that her dreams would make the world a better place. Gracie had thought she meant her dream to go back to school to finish her business degree. She didn’t think Gran meant her dream to open a yarn shop. But as it became more evident that Gran’s time was winding down, the older woman took to asking Gracie every day about her yarn shop plans.

Gracie opened the folder to the wrinkled papers inside. On top lay a rough sketch of the layout of her yarn store, one she had had commissioned years ago. When she thought she could possibly afford a space in a strip mall. The dimensions had to be adjusted a little to fit Gran’s house, but they still worked. This was her real dream. One she had had for so long that she didn’t know how she came to want it. A space with walls of yarn. A refuge like knitting had become for her. A solace and a balm.

She wanted that for herself and for other knitters and crocheters. And Gran wanted that for her.

She moved the drawing aside and lifted the page beneath. It was a financial breakdown of how much it would cost her to open the shop. The first item listed was Rent/Lease. She had written a figure down that she thought she could afford. Another rush of tears flooded her eyes, surprising her. Still crying like she did when Gran died, then when she learned she had inherited her house and an annuity.

She wiped her face and set the financial breakdown to the side with the sketch. The new budget set a few pages down, and it included something the first didn’t: how much money she would have to make to pay herself. With the need for rent gone, she could possibly do that and still be able to bring in all the yarn brands she loved.

All because Gran made her promise to open the shop in her house. Because Gran believed in her dream more than Gracie did. The house around her was quiet. In this bubble, with Ms. Lila’s words and Gran’s gift to her, she could almost believe this could work. But even if it didn’t, she would give it her best effort. She’d promised Gran that she would.

CHAPTER TWO

Gracie sat in her car in front of her Uncle Rand’s house. The pep talk she had given herself on the drive over had run out. Her fingers refused to let go of the steering wheel. Tonight she would moderate the first family meeting. The meetings served to update the heirs of the progress she’d made on closing Gran’s estate. Or lack of progress. That would be obvious the minute she started talking.

She inhaled, stretching the breath as far as she could before she released it and the steering wheel. She grabbed the door handle and used her shoulder to push the door open. After climbing out of the car, she gave herself a once-over. The night was cool enough for her lined blue pants and cashmere sweater. She let her fingers glide over the sweater’s softness, and pride swelled in her heart. No one would guess it used to be an ugly one that she’d found at a thrift store, unraveled, and repurposed the yarn. It made her feel happy and accomplished. She would need both feelings to get through this meeting.

She walked around to the other side of the car and retrieved a folder of documents. Tucking it under her arm, she made a straight line to the front door with only a slight wobble of nervousness. She knocked and waited. A square of light from the front window fell on the porch just next to her foot. Just one step away. She moved her foot toward it, but the front door opened, flooding the porch with light. She squinted to see Uncle Rand standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face.

Are you coming in? he asked, his words clipped.

Hello, Uncle Rand. She gritted her teeth into a smile.

His eyes narrowed. Come inside. Not a request this time.

She pulled her shoulders back, stepped inside, took off her coat, and hung it in the hall closet as she’d done hundreds of times before. Uncle Rand closed the door and moved past her and down the hall so that she was following him. She held in the sigh that almost escaped.

The hall led into an open-floor-plan living room and dining room. The décor was tasteful and expensive, but not in a welcoming way. These were rooms to look at, not live in. The furniture was a little more modern than you would expect. Once her cousins Ada and Bernard had moved out, Aunt Elle had upgraded. Next to Gran’s house, where they normally gathered as a family, it was the next option for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Now this was the only house available to host the holidays.

Aunt Elle, Bernard, and Ada sat on the couch. In the armchair sat Natalia, Gracie’s much older second cousin. All of them looked up when she stepped into the room. Gracie gripped her folder tighter to keep from adjusting her clothes again. Hello, everyone.

They all returned her greeting, which was more than she expected. She took the nearest seat and placed the folder in her lap. Uncle Rand took the other seat.

You’re here, Natalia said. When did you arrive? Natalia had always lived on the fringe of the family. Gran had told Gracie that Natalia and Gracie’s mother were close like Gracie and Ada had been.

Gracie balanced the folder on her lap and tried to give off a casual air. Last week.

Bernard’s eyebrows rose. That long. I didn’t know.

Gracie rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb. I didn’t really tell anyone. Her eyes caught Ada’s gaze and the unreadable expression on her cousin’s face.

Shall we get started? I’m sure everyone wants to go home after a long day, Uncle Rand said. He narrowed his brown eyes, making the wrinkles around them even more pronounced.

Gracie cleared her throat. Well—um, this should be a short meeting. Unfortunately, not much has changed with Gran’s estate since … She looked down at the folder and took two steadying breaths. If she cried now, she would look like she was falling apart, and most of the people in front of her probably already believed that. I filed my Letters Testamentary, publicly announced the estate, opened an estate bank account, and paid all the most recent bills out of that account.

As she continued, everyone nodded while she talked, most of them wearing open or neutral expressions. A flicker of hope formed in her heart. If the meeting continued to go like this—

And what about the house? Uncle Rand asked.

Gracie trembled as the sharpness of his words extinguished that hope. I’m sorry, but because Gran had a living trust, the house isn’t included in the estate.

I think you mentioned that before, Ada said quietly. She moved her hand to grip her upper arm.

Stop repeating yourself. I don’t have anything else to report.

Uncle Rand leaned forward in his chair. Pennsylvania law gives children rights as next of kin.

Gracie gave Ada a quick glance before repeating herself. As I said, a living trust along with a will allows assets to pass directly to beneficiaries. The estate is no longer responsible for the house. I am.

His gaze narrowed. So you’re still going through with your plan?

Yes. She