"Mrs. Milton, this is all very nice, but I didn't come here for a room," Samantha finally interrupted.
"Well now, young lady, why have you come here then? If you're looking for a donation, I will be happy to write you a check, although you could have simply telephoned me instead of risking your neck in that snow."
"I'm not here for a donation either."
"Then, my dear, why are you here? I don't suppose you've come here to rob me, have you? All of our money is safely put away in the bank-"
"I'm not going to rob you either. I just want some information. Miss Pestona at the antiques store said you might be able to help me."
"Why didn't you say so in the first place? You should not play games with a woman of my advanced years. Why don't you sit down and I will see what I can do. Would you like any tea?"
Samantha wanted to reject the offer, but a chill in her hands and feet changed her mind. "I would love some tea."
"Good. Go on and sit down. Here now, let me have your coat to hang up." Samantha took off her coat, her cheeks flushing at the ill-fitting T-shirt she wore underneath. "That's a good girl. I won't be long."
Mrs. Milton hustled away through a door, leaving Samantha to sit in a white wicker chair. She folded her hands in her lap, afraid to touch anything in a place this fancy. She closed her eyes, seeing this room filled with men in business suits and women in summer dresses. She sat at a table like this one and across from her sat Miss Brigham in her drab Eternity garments, her face tinged with green. Miss Brigham opened her mouth to say something, but instead Samantha heard Mrs. Milton say, "Is something wrong, young lady? This is no place to fall asleep. Here, perhaps a spot of tea will wake you up."
Mrs. Milton set a porcelain cup decorated with rose blooms in front of Samantha along with a plate of butter cookies. The old woman sat down across from Samantha, in the place where Miss Brigham had sat in her memory. "Now then, young lady, what is it you would like to know?"
Samantha took a sip of her tea, savoring the warm, sweet taste. She swallowed and then said, "Miss Pestona said about nine years ago a woman named Samantha Young stayed here. She looked like me only older. In her forties, maybe."
"Is this woman your mother?"
"Yes, that's right," Samantha said. The real story of course was too impossible for anyone to believe. "Do you remember her staying here?"