Harper brushed clumps of dirt from her shirt. “After all that work, why’d you let it go to seed?”

Dora had asked herself that question many times over the years. There wasn’t an easy answer. “With Nate, it just came down to choices. I could go out to the garden or spend time with Nate. Nate won out every time. And later I homeschooled, which took a lot of time. Then there were his enrichment therapies, speech therapy . . . so many different therapies over the years.” She added pointedly, “I don’t regret how I spent my time.”

“Of course not,” Harper readily agreed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids, but if I do, I hope I’m half as dedicated a mother as you are.”

The compliment caught Dora by surprise. Harper couldn’t know what it meant to her.

“That was so nice to say. Thank you.”

Mamaw called from the porch, “Come take a break, girls. I’ve brought iced sweet tea!”

“You go get me one, would you?” Harper said. “There’s something stuck in here and I’ve almost got it out.” She gritted her teeth with determination. “Hand me that shovel.”

Dora relinquished the shovel with relief. She plucked off her garden gloves as she strolled across the scrubby patch of grass, slapping them against her thighs to shake out the dirt. Looking over her shoulder, she laughed at the sight of Harper digging in the hole like a terrier with a bone. That tenaciousness was a side of her sister that she was coming to recognize and appreciate.

“Bless you, Mamaw,” Dora said, accepting the glass. The tea was icy sweet, and as she gulped it down, her throat felt like parched ground welcoming a rushing river.

“You’re making progress,” Mamaw said, lifting her sunglasses as she looked out at the garden. “It does my heart good to see the garden return to its former beauty.”

“It won’t be as fancy as your last one.”

“It’ll be glorious, because you girls created it. Now drink up. You know what I always say.”

“You have to stay hydrated,” Dora replied, then dutifully took a sip.

“And wear sunscreen. I’ve given you good genes, but you have to do your part.” She lowered her voice and took a step closer. “And get Lucille’s recipe for face cream. I swanny, she’ll go to the grave with it.”

Dora chuckled at Mamaw’s lifelong quest to get Lucille’s face cream recipe. “Where is Lucille?” she asked. “I haven’t seen her around this morning.”

“No, she’s feeling poorly, bless her heart.”

“That doesn’t sound like her. I can’t remember the last time she got sick.”

“I know. She’s usually fit as a fiddle, but we have to accept that she is getting older. Even if she won’t admit it.”

The porch door opened and Lucille stepped out, blinking in the light. She was dressed in her usual summer uniform of a pale blue cotton shirtwaist dress. Mamaw had told her many times over the years that she no longer was required to wear a uniform, but Lucille preferred to and stubbornly continued to do so. When Lucille had her mind made up, she couldn’t be swayed.

“I won’t admit what?” Lucille asked, walking toward them.

Dora didn’t like the stiffness to Lucille’s gait or the grayish cast to her skin. She looked frail, too, like she’d suddenly aged.

“Are you sure you should be out of bed? You don’t look so good.”

“That’s because I don’t feel so good. But I just go stir-crazy lying in my bed all day. I can sit just as well out here on the porch.” She turned to Mamaw. “I won’t admit what?”

“That you’re getting older,” Mamaw replied archly, walking over to the large black wicker chairs in the shade.

“I’m still younger than you!” Lucille snapped back, then mumbled something unintelligible.

Dora trotted over to help Mamaw drag a chair deeper into the shade, then carried the ottoman over as well.

“Come sit down, Lucille,” Mamaw said. “You should rest.”

Lucille obliged, sinking with a soft grunt into the thick black-and-white-striped cushions. She put her feet up on the ottoman and rested her head back, already fatigued from the mild exertion. Dora caught Mamaw’s eye and saw her own worry reflected there.

“You don’t have a fever, do you?” Mamaw asked, hovering over Lucille. “Is it the flu?”

“No, I ain’t got no flu. I’m just tired. Like you said, I’m old.”

“Not that old,” Mamaw said.

Lucille looked at Mamaw and shared a laugh.

“How about a nice glass of sweet tea?” Dora asked.

“That’d be real nice.” Lucille glanced at Mamaw. “Want to play a little gin rummy?”

Mamaw’s eyes lit up. “I’ll get the cards.”

A call from Harper in the garden interrupted her departure.

“Hey! I found something!”

Mamaw’s hand flew to her heart. “Heavens, she found buried treasure!” she exclaimed dramatically. “We’ve been looking for the Gentleman Pirate’s treasure for generations. Legend has it that pirates buried their treasures for safekeeping in the deserted dunes and woods of these islands,” she told Dora. “And, with our history, well, it should be here somewhere. Although,” she said with a sigh, “no one has found anything so far.”

“I’d better get out there before she claims finders keepers,” Dora exclaimed. “Just what a James needs, more treasure,” she added with sarcasm. “It’d be just my luck, too.” She took a final swig of iced tea. “I’m coming!” she yelled, and trotted to the garden carrying a frosty glass for Harper.

Harper was on her knees before a deep hole at the fringe of the garden, bent over a mud-encrusted object in her lap.

“It looks like some kind of chain,” she said as she busily knocked off clumps of dirt. Then she paused to gratefully accept the drink from Dora.

“Maybe it’s a gold chain,” Dora said, excitement building.

“Or just a chain. It’s metal. And it’s heavy.” Harper gulped down half the glass of tea, set the glass down, and returned to knocking dirt from the object. Gradually the object became a recognizable shape. Harper took off her sunglasses and lifted the item higher in her hands. She cocked her head, studying it.