Cottage by the Creek

by Elizabeth Bromke

  Kate hadn’t spotted Clara and Jake yet—but they were supposed to be there with bells on, as Clara had promised.

  Chapter 34—Clara

  Clara had volunteered to see the girls off to the Homecoming dance, and she took great pleasure in it. With Kate and Megan setting up for the lighthouse event, Clara got to be the one to add finishing touches to hair and makeup before Sarah’s, Vivi’s, and Mercy’s dates arrived to collect them and sweep them off to the high school gym.

  Balance had taken the place of chaos, and Clara could see that Sarah was thriving in her role as leader for the younger two. With Jake’s blessing, Mercy was back in the fold, and things were good. Even with Vivi in the mix.

  Jake arrived with Mercy and Vivi and their dresses in tow, and Sarah drove herself up to the cottage. Before he left, Clara asked Jake to help her lug the hope chest upstairs. Without her hovering sisters, she had free rein to rummage through it. And who knew what might be inside? Hopefully, Clara declared to the girls as they busied themselves with fake eyelashes and hot irons, the balance of Nora’s costume jewelry lurked within.

  Leaving the chest in Nora’s room per Clara’s instructions, Jake pecked her on the cheek, bid farewell to Mercy and the other two, and slipped out the front door after promising to return for Clara in a little while, once the “coast was clear.” Clara chuckled, shooed him down the porch steps, and returned to the girls.

  “Pearls,” Vivi said to Sarah as they squeezed together in front of the standing mirror in Nora’s room. “They’re so retro, and your dress is vintage, right?”

  Sarah gave Clara a look. “Did Grandma leave behind pearls?”

  “I don’t know about pearls, but we can find something dated, I’m sure.” Clara laughed to herself and cracked open the heavy lid, dropping to the floor and pawing through Nora’s hope chest.

  But as soon as she started searching, she froze.

  Hidden underneath a ziplocked bag of doilies, there sat a time-worn composition book.

  Scrawled across the cover in Nora’s classic script: Wendell Acton, 1992.

  “Did you find anything?” Sarah asked, peering over her shoulder into the musty chamber. The one that had held the yearbook. The one that couldn’t possibly have even more secrets buried away.

  Clara let the heavy wooden lid fall shut and swiveled. “No,” she snapped. Then she pressed her hand to her head. “Sorry, no. But you know what?”

  Sarah frowned.

  “I think I have something even better in my vanity.” Clara shooed her niece into her bedroom and rummaged through her own stash, finding diamond studs instead.

  She could hardly focus for the next half hour. Nodding and smiling wordlessly as the girls giggled and gossiped, fretted over limp locks and uneven eyebrows.

  Once pictures were over and the girls left, whispering among themselves and enthralled to have their own night out—complete with its eventual little dramas and romantic interludes—Clara collapsed on the sofa.

  The image of the notebook clung to her brain traumatically.

  She could give up her own night, dive into it. She could reinstate chaos in her family’s lives and tip the balance yet again.

  Or she could get ready for her date.

  It felt like the same position she had been in with the yearbook, and it made Clara wonder if she was the wrong person to own the cottage by the creek.

  Or maybe, examined another way, she was the right person.

  Because Clara Hannigan refused to let the past get in the way of the present.

  Not ten minutes later, a knock came at the door.

  Her present.

  Chapter 35—Megan

  With the event well underway and enough guests to mingle independently of her, Brian and Megan helped themselves to pie and cider, settling at a table near the lighthouse.

  Within minutes, they were joined by Amelia and Michael, Kate and Matt, and then Clara and Jake—the new couple, fresh and giddy and uncomfortable in a good way.

  Megan felt proud to see all of them happily paired off, but something was in the air. Something besides sparks from the fire. A hint of trepidation. A shade of fear, even. She couldn’t pin it down.

  “So, Amelia,” Megan asked after a long sip. “how’s the museum? Lots of action?”

  Michael and Amelia exchanged a look before he answered for them. “Well, we already caught a set of your clients making out on the observation deck.”

  “That’s… good for me,” Megan acknowledged before she and Kate fell into a fit of laughter. Even Clara grinned from ear to ear.

  “But not for me,” Amelia complained. “I don’t want this place to become Lookout Point.”

  “What’s Lookout Point?” Clara asked.

  “Where we used to go make out on the south shore near St. Patrick’s Catholic,” Kate answered, laughing and snuggling up against Matt. Megan grinned at the memory. She had heard about it as a girl and visited as a teen—a few times, even. Nostalgia washed over her.

  Lookout Point was the sort of place where a couple from the 1950s might drive for a romantic thrill only to leave with a hook attached to the car door handle. The setting combined three disparate atmospheres all at once. It was a teenage escape. A sacred Sunday retreat. And the craggy beach that ran south from it was the most isolated length of shoreline along the western side of Lake Huron.

  Sure, countless Birch Harbor lovebirds had made their vows at St. Patrick’s. But it was also where you went on the other bookend of life. Funerals were more frequent than weddings, Megan was pretty sure.

  The entire slice of Birch Harbor seemed to teeter on the edge of the earth, about to fall into the lake and sink down to the bottom.

  The south shore encompassed beginnings and ends and yet nothing much in between. Unless you were a devout parishioner like Nora had been. Megan wondered if she ought to get them registered there. Maybe there was something more to Lookout Point and St. Patrick’s than love and death. Maybe there was something to be said for the faith-filled pews of Megan’s youth. Those Masses she shared with her sisters before Clara came along. Kate shushing them. Amelia refusing to give her dollar to the collection basket until Nora jerked it from her hand, faked a broad smile, and passed the basket on down the row, past Wendell and to the next Catholic.

  As Megan thought about those days, it occurred to her that Amelia’s inability to manage or handle her finances and figure out when to spend and when to save and when to give… it started long ago.

  “How are The Bungalows?” Megan asked Amelia suddenly. She knew how they were, of course. She lived there. But one of the other tenants had moved out, and it was all hands on deck looking for a replacement. It was Amelia’s main source of income, especially now that they saw her museum project would be just that—a museum. Not a business. Not like Megan’s. “Has anyone got a lead on a new renter?”

  Amelia shrugged. “I’ve been preoccupied. With this and the Wendell stuff.”

  Clara cleared her throat. “No news there, right?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Nope.”

  Michael added, “We’re not done, though. I’m going to head out to St. Mary’s next week and do a little digging on the Judith Carmichael coincidence.”

  “I’ll be interested to hear what you find. I mean, just because they went to St. Mary’s together, what does that prove?” Megan asked.

  Amelia lowered her fork to her plate and a glimmer filled her eyes. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad you asked.” She flexed her hands and laced her fingers on top of the table.

  “Is this what you alluded to a couple of weeks ago? Before the intervention?” Kate asked. “That you figured something out?”

  Amelia nodded, but it was Clara who jumped in, “Amelia, you said nothing came from the yearbook discovery. Nothing important.”

  Megan tuned out the crackling fire. The background conversations of over two dozen couples making small talk. The sound of Lake Huron at night, lapping quietly against the sand. Her eyes sli
d to her younger sister. Clara rubbed her fingers together near her uneaten plate of veggies. Her other thumb was drawn to her mouth, and she nibbled away at it. She was a bag of nerves, but something told Megan it had less to do with her handsome date and more to do with something in the family dynamic.

  “You know what?” Megan asked, pushing her plate away and cradling her cider in her hands.

  The others’ eyes flew to her, Clara’s face hard. Anxious.

  “It’s a perfect night,” Megan went on, waving her hand around the dimly lit beach. “We’ve got the museum and new guests. Old ones. Did you notice how many are here who came to the summer event? All these people are here to have fun. Relax. Enjoy themselves.”

  Clara dropped her hand to her lap. Her shoulders rolled back a little. Megan looked at Kate, who now leaned into Matt, his arm draped over her shoulders.

  Amelia and Michael seemed to skootch closer to one another, too.

  “Why don’t we do the same?”

  “What?” Amelia asked. “You mean us? Take part in Love at the Lake?”

  Megan nodded. “Exactly. No more talk about Judith. Or Dad. Or even Mom and the yearbook.”

  “Well, that’s what I was going to tell you,” Amelia protested.

  Megan shook her head, blinking. “What?”

  “Judith didn’t enroll in St. Mary’s. She was sent there. Just like Mom was.”

  “Who cares?” Kate cut in.

  Everyone shifted their attention to Kate. Her eyes flashed.

  “Yeah,” Megan added. “Who does care?”

  But Amelia pushed ahead. “Don’t you think that means something?”

  “Especially in light of the fact that St. Mary’s offered a girls-only high school. For a long time, too. From Nora’s enrollment clear up until the eighties, I believe,” Michael said.

  Megan looked from Amelia to Michael and back. Then, they themselves exchanged a look.

  She saw something in them—the makings of a power couple. A rhythm. Something more than just partners in crime or boyfriend and girlfriend. She saw a passion.

  “And now they are trying to reopen, though. Right, Michael?” Kate asked, her tone bored. “So what?”

  “Your mother was sent to St. Mary’s because she was pregnant,” Michael whispered. Amelia’s eyes lingered on him then she looked at the others, landing finally on Megan. A kink in her eyebrow.

  “You think St. Mary’s was a school for young mothers, don’t you?” Megan whispered breathlessly. “You think Judith was pregnant, too?”

  “Is that the problem with reopening? Was there some sort of stigma?” Clara asked.

  Michael shook his head. “The lawsuit has nothing to do with it. But the thing is, they never condemned or even repurposed the old building. The old high school classroom.”

  “Classroom… singular?” Clara asked.

  Amelia nodded.

  Megan’s interest sharpened. Maybe there was more to the story. Maybe, at least for some of her family, enjoying the night was more than throwing back cocktails and kicking their bare feet in the shallow water.

  And maybe that was okay, too. Maybe it was okay if they kept looking for Wendell Acton. Hunting him down and finding out why he left. Where he went. And what… what in the world Judith Carmichael had to do with it.

  If anything.

  Maybe Megan needed an answer just as much as her sisters did.

  Chapter 36—Amelia

  They continued to engage in unproductive speculation about Judith and Nora and what Michael and Amelia might learn on their trip to Heirloom. The conversation fizzled, though. Especially once they asked Matt, a veritable insider, to divulge. All he knew, however, was that he and his wife had chosen St. Mary’s for no other reason than location.

  “She’d have come to Birch Harbor Elementary if we lived inland,” he added.

  Yawns took the place of their suppositions, and Clara and Jake eventually wandered off. Megan announced that she needed to walk around and make sure there weren’t any singletons lingering on the outskirts of the party. Brian joined her.

  Kate and Matt stretched like an old retired couple—too old for parties. Disinterested in furthering the drama that had colored their lives for so long.

  “Leaving?” Amelia asked when Kate headed toward the house, where her purse waited.

  She nodded. “I reserved the attic for the girls. We don’t have beds up there yet, but they’re going to have a sleepover with blankets and pillows. Keeps them from any untoward afterparties.” Kate winked.

  Amelia smiled. “Thanks for helping tonight, Kate. I know I sort of… fell off the wagon with things. I might have a tenant in mind for The Bungalows, though, and with Judith’s endowment, I think things will even out, you know?”

  “I’ll keep my eye out for anyone who needs a place,” Kate assured as they walked together to the house.

  “Thanks.”

  “You guys good to handle cleanup? I’ll come in the morning, but I mean for tonight.”

  Amelia shrugged. “I’ll wrangle Michael into helping.”

  Kate lifted an eyebrow. “Does he need to be wrangled?”

  “Oh, well…” Amelia stopped for a moment. Did Kate know? Was the conversation she and Michael had plastered across Amelia’s face? She shook her head. “He always helps. It’s his greatest quality, I’d say.”

  “I’m joking.” Kate squeezed Amelia’s shoulder. “You guys are great together. Even Megan thinks so.”

  Amelia’s cheeks flushed.

  Once Kate and Matt left, hand in hand, as easy and breezy as the autumn air, Amelia wrapped her arms around herself and searched for Michael.

  Last she saw, he was held up by a particularly curious “Firefly”—as Megan had taken to calling her clients.

  She squinted in the night, her eyes dancing from couple to couple, each huddled near a heat lamp as the temps continued to slide down, fall creeping in at full force—and somewhat early.

  Amelia found Megan, who was ushering a wayward Firefly from the drinks table and over to the s’mores station, where another lonely soul awkwardly rocked from side to side as her marshmallow glowed red above the flames.

  “Hey,” Amelia whispered to her sister after an introduction was made and a potential match took shape.

  “What’s up?” Megan gestured behind Amelia to Brian, who brought two fresh cups of cider for the newly acquainted couple.

  “Have you seen Michael? He disappeared on me.”

  Brian came up behind her. “I saw him duck inside the lighthouse. Looked like he was being hounded by a local about the Actons.”

  Amelia frowned. “Someone who knew my dad?”

  Brian’s face fell. “Oh, no. I don’t think so, Amelia. Just someone whose dad worked at the lighthouse back in the day.”

  She walked toward the lighthouse, low-hanging Edison bulbs lighting her path until she came to the entrance. The door stood ajar, but Amelia saw no one inside. Not a curious local. Not a smitten pair of Fireflies, finding a shadow to disappear into.

  About to leave, Amelia caught a flickering light coming from the staircase.

  They’d decided to keep the observation deck off-limits once it turned dark. It wasn’t safe, particularly for partygoers who might have opted for the spiked cider rather than the spiced cider.

  Frowning, she thought back to what Brian had said. Her own observation. Michael had been cornered by one of the singles. Maybe she thought he was there as a client, too?

  Brian had referred to another person. Different? The same? But then her brain reminded her of their conversation just weeks earlier.

  “Michael?” she called.

  No response.

  Amelia glanced out the door once again then took to the stairs, climbing carefully up. Slowly. “Michael? Are you up here?”

  The flickering grew more pronounced—it wasn’t an overhead light or running lights. It wasn’t the light. The bright beam that they hadn’t yet tested. The one that needed maintenance fir
st. The one that might not ever work again if Amelia couldn’t find a way to steady herself. Stabilize. Settle down.

  “There you are,” a low voice came as she pulled herself up through the platform.

  Two hands braced her elbows and before her eyes had adjusted to a floor full of glowing candles, Amelia was in Michael’s arms.

  In their courtship so far, the most romantic thing they’d shared was a nice dinner out. And that had been enough. So had everything he was doing to help her. All of Michael was enough. He didn’t need to roll out grand gestures.

  “What’s all this?” Amelia glanced around then turned back to him, her confusion melting into something else.

  “Amelia,” Michael said, his voice unfamiliar. Quiet and soft and hesitant… so unlike the assertive edge of his lawyer persona. So unlike the academic in him. The inquisitive intellectual. The thoughtful historian.

  He dropped onto the wooden planks, her hand still in his. Amelia shook her head, bewildered despite the talk. Despite the mature discussion of what the future could hold for them. Because Michael didn’t believe in surprises or grand gestures. And because neither Michael nor Amelia ever considered that they might find themselves in this very position. On this very night.

  And then, during Megan’s Love at the Lake and the lighthouse’s so-called grand opening that turned into less of a grand opening and more of another old Hannigan family reunion… Amelia learned that there was more to Michael than an interest in history. That there was more to her than an interest in drama.

  She learned that it didn’t take a great script and a dressed stage and a director to make her dreams come true.

  But when she looked down, she saw more than a grand gesture. More than the candles and the observation deck where her father once stood.

  She saw a thin, silver band with a delicate arrangement of tiny diamonds. It must have been a hundred years old.

  Michael swallowed, the ring pinched carefully between his fingers as he looked up at her. “Amelia,” he began, his voice nearly breaking, “Will you—”