The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove)

by Donna Alward

  “Tom, wait…”

  She caught up with him about ten feet from the truck and grabbed his arm. “Tom. You have to stop blaming yourself. You can’t live that way.”

  “If I hadn’t turned her away, she wouldn’t have gone overseas again. She would have been safe…”

  “And you would have been miserable.” She considered for a moment. “The night at Sarah’s, Josh said some pretty nasty things. You could have come back at him with this.” Especially in the heat of the moment. As ammunition went, it was pretty good.

  “He lost his wife, Abby.” Tom stared at her like he couldn’t believe she was suggesting something so stupid. “I couldn’t hurt him that way. Not deliberately.”

  Her heart ached for him. “You,” she said softly, “are surprisingly loyal and compassionate.”

  “I’m not!” He shouted it out and the words echoed through the woods behind them. “Don’t you get it? I was tempted, Abby. So tempted. I kissed her that night and we almost…” He ran his hand over his hair. “I was guilty of everything in my mind and in my heart.”

  “This is crazy. You feel guilty for not being with her, you feel guilty for betraying your cousin when you did no such thing, you just feel guilty for everything! Did it ever occur to you that you don’t need to take responsibility for every little thing? Surely Josh deserves some of the blame. After all, you had her first.” Not to mention Erin’s part in all of it. She’d been the one to pit cousin against cousin.

  Tom’s eyes blazed. “He’d been through his own challenges. He’d lost his dad and was dealing with trying to hold the family together.”

  “So it’s okay that he moved in on your girl?”

  He closed his lips.

  Abby furrowed her brow, feeling a spurt of anger toward this apparent saint of a woman who’d driven such a deep wedge between Tom and Josh. “Do you know what I don’t understand? I don’t understand how one woman can love one man and marry another and still inspire such devotion in both of you!”

  She began to stomp away, feeling less sorry for Erin by the moment and annoyed that Tom and Josh had both been completely wrapped around her finger.

  “Why, because no one has ever loved you like that?”

  The words cut into her deeply. She caught her breath, frozen to the spot. They were words spoken in anger, lashing out because of his own pain, but they were weapons just the same. Apparently he had no problem deliberately hurting her.

  She turned around, determined not to cower away from tough conversations any longer. “Yes, because no one has ever loved me like that. I’ve never been in love before. I sure as hell haven’t been loved the way you and Josh love her. But I do know that if someone loved me as much as you loved Erin, nothing in the world could have forced me to let them go.”

  Whether she was perfect or flawed, Tom was going to love Erin until his dying day, wasn’t he? It was a splash of cold, sobering water. “I feel sorry for you. You have a lot to give someone, but until you let go of her it’s just a waste.”

  * * *

  For long seconds Tom just stared at her. The mourning dove’s cry echoed through the cemetery and over the meadow. Abby’s words hit him with the force of a truck. He’d opened up to her, trusted her, and she still didn’t understand. He knew he was being cruel, but he lashed out anyway.

  “Wise words from someone who admits to never having been in love.” Again his words hit their mark, and seeing her wince, Tom felt like an even bigger ass.

  “Everyone has their own pain, Tom. It’s not limited to you and your situation. Don’t think you know me, because you don’t.”

  “Does anyone?” He stepped forward. “Does anyone really know Abigail Foster?”

  Standing in the cemetery talking about love and Erin and Josh and Abby, Tom felt a surge of anger that had nothing to do with the past. He wanted to reach over and demand Abby let him in. Demand that she really trust him.

  She met his gaze evenly. “No. No, they don’t. And that’s just how I plan to keep it.”

  Tom gave a bitter laugh. “Well, honey, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black. You talk about me ‘letting go’ of the past when you’re too afraid to even let anyone in at all.”

  * * *

  Silence filled the cemetery; even the dove halted its song. Now Abby knew she’d made the right choice by stopping whatever had been going to happen between them. She could never compete with Erin’s ghost. And at this point, making love was a big enough deal that she didn’t want to squander it on someone who would be thinking of someone else.

  “So what now? You run away again?” Tom accused.

  “There’s nothing to keep me here, is there?” Abby paused as the words sank in before saying quietly, “I’d like to go home now.”

  “I promised you dinner.”

  “I don’t think either one of us is in the mood for that right now. I have a frozen pizza. It’ll be fine.”

  Tom made a move as if to protest further.

  “Please, Tom. Just take me home.”

  He brushed by her and went back to the truck, opened the door and stood next to it. Moments later they pulled into her driveway. Tom shut off the ignition and turned to face her. He was still annoyed, she could tell. And something more. Something deeper below the surface than simple anger.

  “I believed you when you were sure no one would. I have been there for you, and maybe I should remind you that you were the one who put a stop to whatever it was that was happening between us in your bedroom. If you think I could do any of those things if I didn’t care about you in some way, you really haven’t bothered to know me at all.”

  Abby was pissed off that Tom could manage to make her feel so small. To feel like she’d somehow wronged him, but more than that she was tired. Today had been too emotional, too stressful. She might have her own fears and misgivings but at least her heart wasn’t tangled up in someone else’s.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re so far from over her. And that’s too big a risk for a girl like me. I’ve known it all along, okay? So let’s just call this what it is. A bit of a mess when all is said and done. And probably best to leave it all here since I’ll be putting the house up for sale before too long.”

  Silence descended on the cab of the truck.

  “Fair enough,” Tom finally said, his face stony with attempted indifference. “Truce, then? There’s not much point in arguing.”

  Or anything else, Abby thought, disappointed. A truce between them seemed so … bland. Being with Tom might be messy, but she’d kind of gotten used to it. He challenged her but that wasn’t necessarily all bad. She’d started looking forward to it.

  But it wasn’t all good, either. “Truce,” she replied, putting her hand on the door handle.

  * * *

  The kitchen was done, the cupboards and countertop and the new tile floor installed. With the last of the draperies on order and the painting complete, there was nothing holding Abby back. She’d gone to the Realtor in town and within twenty-four hours the house had been listed at a price tag that she personally thought was astronomical. She also knew it was worth every penny, especially considering all the renovations Tom had done. What had once been a landmark was now a showpiece unmatched on the mid-coast.

  All that was left now was for Tom to put up the refurbished chandelier and there would be no reason to see him again. She didn’t need to stay in town to sell the house. That’s what Realtors and lawyers were for, after all.

  She was in town the morning the FOR SALE sign went up and ran into Jess at Breezes. Jess was carrying an extra-large paper cup with a tea bag string hanging from beneath the lid. When she saw Abby a smile lit her face. “Hey, stranger,” she said, meeting Abby on the sidewalk. “Missed you at the last candle class.”

  “Sorry. It got really busy at the house, getting it ready for the Realtor.”

  “You’re still bent on selling?” Jess sounded disappointed, and her lips turned down in a small frown.

>   Abby tried to make her voice light; after all, there was nothing sad in the news. It was what she’d intended to do all along. She was going to go back to Canada. She had a job waiting next fall. An apartment.

  Maybe that would put enough distance between her and the feelings that seemed to crop up ever since she’d set foot in Jewell Cove. Feelings like warmth and belonging. They made returning to her life in Halifax sound supernaturally boring. “Sign’s going up this morning. I expect to be flooded with offers by two o’clock.”

  Jess’s eyes clouded with worry. “So soon … I thought maybe with things between you and Tom…”

  Abby swallowed. “There is no me and Tom, Jess. There never really was.” Why were the words so hard to say?

  “Maybe if you hung around longer.”

  “He’s still in love with Erin.” Abby kept her voice low; after all, she’d learned quite quickly that there were big ears everywhere in a place this size. “You must know that. I couldn’t compete with her even if I wanted to.”

  Jess sighed. “I wish they would both move on. Neither one of them is happy.”

  She didn’t need to say the name for Abby to know she meant Josh. Abby looked at Jess and asked something she’d been wondering for a long time now. “What was it about her, Jess? For Tom and Josh to fall so hard, to ruin their friendship? I don’t get it.”

  Jess fiddled with the tab of her tea bag. “I don’t really know. She was beautiful, and physically strong, but there was a vulnerability about her, too. A ‘little girl lost’ vibe. I think they both responded to that. I think she was the sort of woman that makes a man want to take care of her, you know?”

  Abby did know. “I hope I’m not that way,” she mused. “I can take care of myself.”

  Jess smiled. “Yes, you can. I think we all realized that the moment Tom put his foot through your veranda and you called Bryce. But you miss the point. Just because a woman is self-sufficient doesn’t mean she won’t make a man want to take care of her. Two very different points of view.”

  “You think Tom wants to take care of me?”

  Jess sent her a knowing look. “I think Tom wants to take care of everyone. And I think the fact that you don’t necessarily let him is good for him. I wish you’d reconsider. Even if you sell the house, I wish you’d stay. You belong here.”

  Abby swallowed thickly. “I can’t.” The truth was, she didn’t know how to really belong anywhere. She’d learned at a very young age to rely on herself and no one else. At least that way she wouldn’t put her hopes—her faith—in any one person and they couldn’t let her down.

  She blinked as that simple truth slammed into her. If she kept running she never had to get too close to anyone, never have a home to call her own. Neither would anyone have the power to disappoint her. To leave. What would happen if she put down roots here? If she let her heart get involved? Tom would have the power to break it, wouldn’t he? And he probably would. She’d be a fool to let that happen.

  “Are you okay?” Jess’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Yeah, fine, just thought of something I need to do, that’s all.” She forced a smile. “Besides, you probably need to get to the shop.”

  “Tom cares for you, Abby. I can see it all over his face when he looks at you. Maybe he doesn’t realize how much, but I wish you’d give him a chance.”

  Her words stung just a little bit. “I have my own reasons, too, Jess. I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. Will you promise me one thing, though?”

  Oh, boy.

  Jess put her hand on Abby’s arm. “Will you promise not to leave without saying good-bye to me? To Sarah? She’s finally told everyone the news and I’m throwing her a baby shower.” Jess’s dark eyes—the ones that reminded Abby so much of Tom—pleaded with her.

  Abby’s throat swelled up with emotion. Intentional or not, she’d made connections here. “That sounds like fun,” she replied. “Now scoot. I need to grab some breakfast.”

  Jess was gone with a wave.

  Inside Breezes, Abby sat alone, listening to the conversations going on around her. One family of tourists was talking about going on a whale boat excursion. A group of ladies were meeting for coffee and animatedly discussing the latest book they’d read in their book club. Abby listened to that one closely, smiling as they debated which hero had more heroic qualities—Darcy or Captain Wentworth. A couple of old-timers were deliberating the cost of purchasing a new tractor and one very pretty young lady was at the counter ordering the makings of a very nice picnic basket. Abby lifted her hand and waved as a few familiar faces came in. The waitress, Linda, brought her a chocolate-filled croissant even though Abby hadn’t ordered it, because she knew it was her favorite.

  A pang resonated through Abby’s heart.

  Of all the places she’d lived in her adult years, this was the first place that truly felt like a home.

  She drained the last bit of coffee from her cup and left a twenty on the table. She was going to miss Jewell Cove deeply. More than she ever imagined possible.

  CHAPTER 18

  With the house officially on the market, Abby figured her time to finish going through the final possessions in the attic was limited. She’d already organized the storage room into things for the historical society, things to get rid of, and other items she wanted put into storage. There was just the back corner left—a half-dozen cardboard boxes and one small chest.

  The summer heat was cloying in the windowless space, and Abby made short work of the boxes, which contained mostly clothes. Most she would donate, but a half-dozen dresses were particularly pretty and she put them aside, wondering if she dared have them dry-cleaned. Vintage stuff was getting more popular.

  But it was the chest that gave her trouble.

  It was locked. And she had no idea where to find the key.

  She retrieved the ring she and Tom had used to open the servant’s stairway, but none of the keys fit, and she suspected the lock was rather rusted. Deciding to risk injuring the chest, she trotted back downstairs and got a knife and also a claw hammer from a small toolbox she kept on hand. If she couldn’t pick the lock, maybe she could pry it open.

  It took ten minutes and substantial cursing, but she emerged victorious with the lock successfully picked. She lifted the lid, an arthritic creak sounding from the old hinges.

  Her first glimpse of the chest’s contents was disappointing. She didn’t expect to see a haphazard collection of personal items strewn without any care or organization.

  Abby frowned, staring down into the mess. Everything she’d found so far had been folded, wrapped, placed just so. Items had been deliberately and carefully packed. But not this. In the mess she made out a hairbrush and comb, the handle of a mirror. She picked it up and saw half the glass was missing—she’d have to be careful of that. A dusting-powder box was tilted on its side; Abby picked it up, leveled it out, and carefully lifted the pale pink lid adorned with painted lily of the valley.

  The soft floral scent rose in the air and she put the lid on her lap so she could pick up the puff. The powder was half gone … Abby swallowed. It was strange. It was like someone had simply dumped the contents of a vanity table into one chest without consideration.

  She found the broken mirror piece and set it aside. There was a beaded clutch purse, empty, and a tiny bag with makeup inside—Pan-Cake foundation, an eye pencil, and a tube of brilliant red lipstick. A novel with a bookmark two thirds of the way through—A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

  It bore all the signs of a life interrupted.

  There were hair ribbons and a jewelry box filled with costume earrings and necklaces. A soft velvet bag, heavy—which, when opened, revealed a waterfall of real jewels. A rope of creamy pearls, a teardrop diamond pendant, and an exquisite emerald choker with matching chandelier earrings.

  Who in their right mind would pack these away and put them in a corner of an attic? If they were indeed real—and she was nearly certain they were—they were worth
a lot of money.

  Marian’s things? Or her mother’s?

  She went through more of the chest until her fingers touched a leather book cover. She prised it out and brushed off the surface. It had once held a lock, she realized, but the lock and key were missing and the metal hooks were bent at an odd angle, as if they’d been pried open.

  She opened the cover.

  Diary of Edith Foster, 1943–

  There was no end date.

  She turned the yellowed pages, drawn in to the voice of her great-grandmother. It was clear how much Edith loved Marian—the opening pages were filled with daily activities and latest accomplishments. It was equally clear that Edith was not as contented with her autocratic husband, who took a strong view on a wife’s vow of obedience. Abby sensed the relief Edith had felt when Elijah joined up after Pearl Harbor, and how the atmosphere of the house lightened in his absence. Beneath the harsh light of the single attic bulb, Abby drank in the pages describing how the love affair between Edith and the chauffeur blossomed, and how he was kind and gentle, a welcome relief after Elijah’s cold, stern ways. He made her laugh, Edith said, and made her feel beautiful and special. Abby was half in love with him herself as she read on about their affair, the clandestine rendezvous, and the way he snuck peppermints to Marian when he thought Edith wasn’t looking.

  And then, in late 1942, Edith had discovered a terrible secret. She’d interrupted a secret meeting in her parents’ barn at the top of Blackberry Hill. She’d been so confused at first, listening to the strange language the man spoke. Then Kristian answered him in the same tongue and she realized she didn’t really know him at all. She made out enough to know that he was speaking German—and that he was talking about the names of different coves and inlets along the coastline.

  Abby paused, her hand over her mouth, and then began reading again, turning the pages with crazy speed as Edith confided to her diary that she believed that Kristian, who had come to America from Germany with his parents in 1935, had been tapped by the Nazis to spy on coastal activities in the area.