by Vicki Hinze
“Dang. With her being a shrink, we figured she’d have some lively opinions.” Though disappointment flickered through Lucy’s eyes, she nodded her agreement. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Hattie, but folks would get into a snit if I didn’t grab the chance to get that recipe. Appreciate it.” She grinned and turned to Bess. “Miss Hattie’s pie is a hit around here and everyone’s sick of arranging church socials just to get a sample of her muffins.”
“They don’t.” Flushing a pretty pink, Miss Hattie protested, her kind eyes twinkling.
“It’s happened, and you know it,” Lucy insisted, then whispered to Bess. “But don’t mention it to Pastor Brown. He gets a mite long-winded if provoked, and then the mayor snores and drowns out the sermon. Mortifies his poor wife, Lydia.” Lucy sniffed and dropped her voice. “Even snooty folks don’t deserve being mortified in the Lord’s House.”
“Mum’s the word,” Bess promised, crossing her heart with a swipe of her fingertip and grinning from the heart out. There were some aspects of small town life she adored. This bonding among the villagers was one of them. She cupped her glass.
Lucy’s smile faded to a puzzled frown. “You’re wearing a wedding band.” She slid her gaze to Miss Hattie, who remained serene-looking, then back to Bess. “You’re already married?”
“Yes, I am.” Now why did Lucy look so disappointed? And why did Miss Hattie have that sparkle in her eye?
Looking resigned, Lucy stepped away, splashed tea into someone’s glass at the next table, then called out to the man behind the bar. “Fred, darlin’.”
When he looked at her, Lucy pointed to a cork bulletin board hanging on the wall just below a Budweiser beer clock, then used the same cut-off-at-the-neck hand signal Sal had used to nonverbally instruct Bess to disconnect Tony’s call.
Bess sent Miss Hattie a questioning glance.
“Jimmy Goodson shops in neighboring towns for the villagers twice a week. Lucy keeps the list for him on the bulletin board.”
“What’s that got to do with me being married?”
“Nothing.” She gave Bess an angelic smile.
“Miss Hattie, I do believe you’re avoiding answering me.”
The old woman’s cheeks again went pink. “The villagers amuse themselves with friendly little wagers, dear. It’s nothing important.”
“I see.” Bess said, not really seeing at all, and certain Miss Hattie preferred she didn’t see.
“Not yet.” Miss Hattie lifted her steaming white mug. “But soon.”
Bess shivered and glanced at the rain-speckled window. Looked as if the storm was easing up. Had it been the storm—Lord, how she hated them—or Miss Hattie’s innocent statement that had her on edge and uneasy? Had to be the storm. Why would such an innocent statement scare the socks off her?
“Have I told you about the village and how it came to be?”
Subject evasion. Clear and simple. “No, you haven’t.”
Straightening the condiments on the table, Miss Hattie smiled. “It all started with a wedding. Lester and Dora Sanford’s wedding, to be exact. They were relatives of my friend, Millie.”
Getting a divorce, the last thing Bess wanted to hear about was a wedding. But Miss Hattie looked eager to impart the village history and Lucy Baker’s pleading look cinched it. Bess had to ask. “Miss Millie who owns the antique shop down the street?”
“Yes, dear. That’s her.” Miss Hattie sipped from her cup of tea. “All this land was Lester’s father’s wedding gift to them. Financially blessed, the Sanfords. Anyway, Lester was a shipbuilder and he and Dora wanted to open a small yard to build fishing boats. He had contracts to build three lobster boats, so he and Dora opened the yard, right where Fisherman’s Co-op is today.”
“Ah, industry.” Thinking the story over, Bess tabled her napkin then started to rise.
With a hand to her shoulder, Lucy Baker pushed Bess back into her seat. “This is just the beginning.”
Lucy surely had heard this recounting a hundred times and still she looked twinkly eyed at hearing it again. Grinning, Bess looked back to Miss Hattie. “What happened?”
“Lester’s family was very angry. They thought the shipyard was a foolish venture and Lester and Dora would end up bankrupt.”
“A family rift over money.” How many times did Bess encounter that in counseling? Far too many.
“Worse.”
“And better, Miss Hattie.” Lucy gave the next table over a good rubdown with the red cloth.
“I’m confused,” Bess admitted. “How could what happened be both?”
Miss Hattie explained. “Lester told his family that, despite their opposition, he and Dora had decided to take a leap of faith and open the yard anyway. They sank all their money into the venture, not realizing they’d have a hard time getting people to come here to work.”
“Why?” Bess couldn’t bear the thought of Lester and Dora trying so hard only to fail.
“Roads weren’t as good in 1892 as they are now, Bess.” Lucy plunked down a bottle of ketchup. “Commuting back then was work—in mud season, impossible. There wasn’t anywhere close for the workers to live.”
“Major obstacle,” Bess mumbled. “How did they get past it?” Had they? She hadn’t seen a shipyard here and Miss Hattie had said that it was where Fisherman’s Co-op is now . . .
Miss Hattie tisked. “The poor dears were struggling something fierce to just keep their heads above water. And then Dora got an idea—enterprising woman, Dora—to sell off some of the land so that the workers could live here.”
“No commuting.” Bess smiled. “Works for me.”
“It did for them, too.”
Lucy let out a heavy sigh that worried Bess into looking at the woman. “Well, it worked for Lester and Dora until they made that train ride up to Lester’s family’s.”
Frowning, Bess looked to Miss Hattie to clarify. “To heal the rift, dear.”
“Oh.” She glanced back at Lucy. “Well, what happened on the train?”
“It crashed and they died. Bad tracks.”
“They died?” Bess stopped. “No, they .couldn’t have died.”
Miss Hattie patted Bess’s hand atop the table. “I’m afraid they did, dear.”
“But all those people moved here. What happened to the shipyard?”
“Lester’s family shut it down.”
Bess stifled another groan, but just barely. “Miss Hattie, no. He couldn’t put all those people out of work.”
“He sure did, sweetie.” Lucy cracked her gum. “That’s when folks turned to the sea.”
“Ah, so that’s how Sea Haven became a fishing village.” Bess lifted her napkin to the table, again figuring the story had ended, and feeling better because the sea had provided for the villagers. They were still here, right? So it must have.
“But that’s not the best part.” Lucy pulled out the chair beside Bess, then sat down.
Bess lifted a brow. “Oh?”
Lucy looked at Miss Hattie, whose kind green eyes twinkled. “Go ahead, Lucy. I know how you love talking about the legend.”
Maggie had told Bess about it, but Lucy looked as if she’d bust if she didn’t get to relay the telling. Bess couldn’t deny her the pleasure. “What legend?”
“The Seascape legend.” Lucy tut-tutted. “It’s wonderfully romantic.”
“I enjoy legends.” Clearly, Lucy enjoyed being romantic. Bess wasn’t at all sure she believed in romance anymore. Once she had, with John. But that was over now.
“You’ll love this one.” Lucy bent her elbows and leaned against the table. “It actually started before Seascape existed. Back when Lester’s brother Charles inherited the land. See, Lester and Dora didn’t have kids so when they died, the land went back to his dad. Charles eventually inherited it. He’s how Miss Millie came to own it. Anyway, Collin and Cecelia Freeport were newlyweds, and Cecelia loved the hill where Seascape Inn is now. She’d sit there for hours and hours. Collin tried to buy it, but Cha
rles was a land hog and—”
“Be gentle, dear.” Miss Hattie pulled her white lace hankie from her pocket then dabbed at her temple.
“I wasn’t being harsh, Miss Hattie. He was a land hog, truly.” Lucy looked back at Bess. “But then Charles saw Cecelia and Collin on the hill. And he saw how much she loved it.”
“So,” Bess said. “He sold it to them.”
“No, it was something Collin told Cecelia and Charles overheard that convinced him to sell the land to them.”
Bess couldn’t imagine. “What was it? Do you know?”
Lucy smiled. “That even though they couldn’t afford it, if Charles would agree, Collin would take a leap of faith and buy the land.”
“Just like Lester and Dora.” A joyful warmth bubbled in Bess’s stomach.
“Yep.” Lucy whacked the table.
“So he sold them the land and they built Seascape.”
“Eventually,” Miss Hattie said. “They didn’t have the money until 1918.”
Lucy cleared her throat, clearly ready to again be the storyteller. “They lived at Seascape all their married lives, Bess. Isn’t that romantic? Collin was a wood-carver and Cecelia a healer. Have I mentioned that?”
“No,” Bess said. “You haven’t.”
“Well, they were. And they were very happy, Bess. So much in love.”
“Tell me about their children.” Miss Hattie had said they’d had two. Bess hoped they’d been happy. Surely they had been, being raised in a home so full of love.
Miss Hattie’s eyes clouded and Lucy answered. “They had two kids. A son who was killed in the war, and a daughter, Mary Elizabeth. She moved away and Collin and Cecelia stayed home and grew old together.”
Envy slammed through Bess. She was supposed to have grown old with John. Now, she’d grow old alone. “Did they live a long time—happy together, I mean?” For some reason, it seemed important to know. Maybe to reassure Bess long, happy marriages were possible.
“They did,” Lucy said. “And they were loved by all the villagers. Collin carved the cross that hangs above the altar in the church. He helped carve that bar too.” She pointed to the bar where Fred stood. “Very community-minded. Both of them. And when Collin got cancer, everyone said it was Cecelia’s love that kept him alive as long as he was.”
“Defied medical science and that’s the simple truth.” Miss Hattie nodded to lend weight to her claim.
“Love can do that,” Bess agreed. She’d seen it more than once in her practice. “So what exactly is the legend?” This wasn’t the rendition Maggie had given Bess.
Lucy grinned. “It happened the night Cecelia passed on. All the villagers held a candlelight vigil out on the Seascape lawn. Mary Elizabeth was with her mother, of course. And when her mother departed, Mary Elizabeth swore that her father, Collin, came down out of nowhere and carried Cecelia’s spirit away.”
Ah, Maggie’s version. Bess didn’t know what to think about this. Having been at Seascape, feeling its comfort and warmth, she could almost believe it. Almost . . .
“It’s true, Bess,” Lucy said, as if sensing her skepticism. “You know what Mary Elizabeth really saw, don’t you?”
Bess shook her head that she didn’t. Why did her throat feel tight? Why did she feel so relieved that when Cecelia most needed her Collin he had come?
“Personified love.”
Miss Hattie sighed. “Some don’t believe the legend, of course.”
“Many of us do, though,” Lucy quickly added. “You know what I think, Bess?”
Again, she nodded that she didn’t.
“Fred and I disagree. He thinks Cecelia’s healing magic lingers in the house. But I think it’s Seascape itself that has magic because all that was really important to Cecelia took place there.”
“I don’t understand.” Bess frowned.
“She loved her husband, her children, healed the sick—everyone at Seascape. She was the only medical help around. When a place holds that much magic, it doesn’t just disappear.” Lucy smiled softly. “No, Seascape held magic then, and it holds magic now. The kind of magic that lives on forever.”
“Love.” The word came out before Bess realized she’d spoken it.
“Love.” Lucy slid back her chair and stood up. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“Yes. Very.” Wishing she’d known that magical love with John, Bess looked at Miss Hattie. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Dabbing at the corner of her eye with her hankie, Miss Hattie nodded.
“Collin risked everything in the world he had for Cecelia.” Bess couldn’t fathom it.
Miss Hattie’s gentle green eyes grew piercing. “True love is always like that. Don’t you think?”
A sweeping chill settled over Bess’s skin. Something important had just been revealed to her; the sensation crept through her, and she couldn’t shake it. “I suppose so.” Like Tony’s message, she didn’t understand this one, or how it applied to her, but she had no doubt that it did apply.
“That’s as love should be, anyway. When both people are truly committed.”
A little ache rippled through Bess. “I can’t imagine a love like that.” Realizing she’d spoken aloud, heat surged up her neck and she let out a nervous giggle. “Don’t we all wish we could?”
“Someday you will.”
“Maybe.” Not for a second did she believe it. But Miss Hattie clearly did, and Bess didn’t want to be the one to shatter the woman’s illusions.
Lucy gathered their dishes.
Miss Hattie’s fork slipped off her plate, hit the table, then clanged. She passed it to Lucy. “Bess, may I ask you a question, dear?”
She really didn’t want to answer personal questions, but Miss Hattie smiled so sweetly, and she looked so charming, with her bun a little worse for the wear from the wind on the walk over from the inn to the village. “Sure.”
“I understood you to say you and John have been separated for a long time.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you still wear his ring?”
Lucy paused her gum-snapping and rag-wiping of the next table, avidly listening and trying hard to pretend she wasn’t. Bess shifted on the wooden chair, then moved the silver-knobbed salt shaker next to the pepper at the end of the table, nestled to the wall. A ketchup bottle there was half-full.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, or to make you uncomfortable.” Miss Hattie gave Bess’s hand a pat atop the table. “If you’d rather not answer, dear, then, please, don’t.”
“No.” Bess had wondered the same thing herself. It was time she knew the answer, and she half-considered thanking Miss Hattie for nudging her into searching for it. She looked up from the metal napkin holder stuffed with white paper napkins and shrugged. “I guess at first I kept wearing it because it felt comfortable. I was used to it, you know? And,” this proved harder to admit, “I think I never really believed it was over for John and me. By the time I realized it was, I—I don’t know. I just didn’t want to take it off.”
The tiny gold band winked at her, and she vividly recalled their wedding ceremony and John putting the ring onto her finger. “I suppose it sounds kind of foolish now, but I promised him on our wedding day that I’d never take it off.” She let out a nervous, little laugh. “So I haven’t.”
“Doesn’t sound at all foolish,” Miss Hattie said. “Promises are made to be kept.”
Yes. Yes, promises are made to be kept. Yet, John had made promises too and he’d broken them. He’d vowed to always love her, but he hadn’t. He certainly hadn’t loved her anything like Collin had loved his Cecelia. In fact, John couldn’t have loved Bess at all. A lump of sadness swelled in her chest and she cursed herself as forty kinds of fool because that truth still had the power to hurt her so much. It shouldn’t hurt even a little. Not anymore. “After the divorce is final, then I’ll take it off.”
“A few more weeks, hmmm?”
Bess nodded. A flurry of motion caught her eye. Lucy rushed over
to Fred, then whispered something into his ear that had him smiling and letting out a muffled “Hot damn!”
Lucy popped him on the thigh with her red rag. Fred flushed purple and grunted out a hasty apology for cursing—not that it did him any good. Lucy’s glare warned that he had not yet been forgiven and reminded Bess of the killer looks Maggie leveled on T. J. Fred looked about as worried as T. J. usually did, too: not at all. Bess cocked her head. Maybe she should have laid a glare or two on John. At times, she’d wanted to, but her rigid upbringing had kicked in, and she just hadn’t been able to lose her composure and feel comfortable about it. Now what was Fred scribbling on that bulletin board?
The phone rang.
Lucy answered it, then yelled out: “Bess, it’s for you.”
“Me?” She frowned at Miss Hattie. “Here?”
“I forwarded the calls from the inn, dear. Tuesday is my errand day and Lucy takes calls for me.”
“Ah.” Bess slid back her chair, walked over to the end of the bar, then took the receiver from Lucy’s outstretched hand. The sheriff, Bess noted, was actually backing out of the cafe with tiny Beaulah Favish right on the toes of his boots, still bending his ear and demanding respect.
“Hello,” Bess said into the receiver.
“Bess, come home. I miss you.”
Miguel. Bess internally groaned. This week’s redhead evidently had dumped him. “You miss Silk.” If he’d choose his women on something more than hair color . . .
“Her, too.” He confessed. “Is she liking Maine?”
“Loving it. So am I, in case you’re wondering.” He often used Silk as a go-between, for some reason feeling more at ease asking about her reactions to things than Bess’s. “Coming here was the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”
“Wonderful, even if it does cramp my nefarious plans to seduce you.”
Bess laughed aloud. Miguel seducing her was about as likely as her seducing John Mystic. “And I thought you loved challenges.”
