“I have a great deal of work to do at the estate,” I said, looking toward the high, arched ceiling of the chapel.

“There are accounts to close, properties to evaluate, and a house to clean.”

“But first, I think I would like to sit here for a moment.”

“Of course,” Julian said, lifting his briefcase.

“I will prepare the court filings for the receivership first thing in the morning.”

“I will call you at ten.”

“Thank you, Julian,” I said.

He gave me a brief, respectful nod, then turned and walked down the center aisle, his footsteps fading as he reached the vestibule and slipped out through the side door.

Pastor Whitcomb stood by the altar for a moment longer, looking at the papers in his hand.

“Would you like me to leave the candles lit, Evelyn?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Just for a little while.”

He nodded, then walked quietly toward the vestry, his soft-soled shoes making no sound at all on the stone.

The door closed behind him, leaving me alone in the sanctuary.

The rain continued to beat against the stained glass, but the chapel felt warmer now.

I sat down on the front pew, wrapping my coat tightly around my shoulders.

I looked at my hand, at the blue sapphire gleaming in the dim candlelight.

For the first time in many years, the weight of the name Caldwell did not feel like a burden.

It felt like a promise kept.