The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge

by Stewart, Mariah

  Then came the bride’s attendants: Laura Fielding, whose comeback as a star had been orchestrated by Dallas when she selected Laura to star in the debut film of Dallas’s film company, served her old friend as maid of honor. The bridesmaids followed, all dressed in shiny silver satin and carrying lavender and white roses: Steffie, Vanessa, and Paige Wyler, daughter of the groom, headed up the aisle in front of Brooke. Her eye caught Jesse’s in the crowd, and his wink brought a smile to her face.

  Then the music changed, and the bride stood in the doorway wearing a long fitted dress of silver sequins with a high neck and low back that shimmered with her every move. In her arms she carried a bouquet of white flowers and trailing ivy. She walked up the aisle on the arm of her brother, who would soon celebrate his own wedding in this very room—after a suitable change of decor at the instruction of the wedding planner, of course.

  The ceremony was performed by Archer Callahan, who was a justice of the peace as well as a retired judge, and was short and very sweet, both the bride and the groom promising to love, honor, and cherish—though not to obey—every day of their lives, in this world and in the next.

  Next came a cocktail hour in the inn’s solarium, which was decked out in more roses and orchids and clouds of white tulle. Brooke shared a glass of champagne with Jesse and nibbled on a few excellent hors d’oeuvres before having to disappear upstairs to change the accessories that would outfit her for Steffie’s wedding.

  She marveled at the transformation Lucy had orchestrated, turning the small ballroom from white sophistication to a celebration in red in a very short amount of time. The white runner remained, but was strewn with red rose petals. Gone were the yards of white tulle and the white-and-lavender bouquets at the ends of the rows. In their place were cone-shaped vessels covered in red, green, and white tartan fabric that held the red-and-white bouquets of roses, ivy, and branches of holly. The arch that previously had sparkled in silver and white was now festooned with red and white flowers and streams of tartan ribbon. Everything was bright and cheery and smacked of the holiday season, just as Steffie had wanted.

  Grant escorted his mother, Shirley—the mother of the bride—to her seat, then joined the groom and his groomsmen at the right side of the arch. Next to Wade stood Grant, the best man, Beck, Clay, Cameron, and Cody. A trumpet sounded to alert the guests to rise and the bridesmaids—Brooke, Dallas, Paige, and the bride’s married cousin Kristin, with Vanessa as maid of honor—began their march. They wore the same silver satin gowns with a difference: the wide sashes at their waists, their high heels, and the ribbons wrapping their bouquets were all done in the red, green, and white of the MacGregor tartan. Even Dallas had added the tartan accessories to her wedding attire. They looked, Brooke had quipped, like an advertisement for Scottish shortbread.

  The bride, dressed in a white silk dress with a wide skirt that was gathered on one side, entered on the arm of her father, George Wyler. The same wide sash of tartan plaid circled her waist and her shoes matched those of her attendants. She carried white roses interspersed with red holly berries and trails of ivy. On her head she wore a short veil held back with a crown of white rosebuds. She was breathtaking, and as Brooke had told her moments before the doors opened, Steffie needn’t be worried about walking in the shadow of her famous sister-in-law.

  Judge Callahan performed the second ceremony as well, this one slightly longer than the first. When the judge pronounced Wade and Steffie husband and wife, the bride raised her bouquet over her head and hooted to the applause of their guests.

  A second cocktail hour not being needed, the guests followed the wedding party into the large ballroom, where the decor wowed everyone. Tall leafless trees in silvery planters lined the room, their branches draped with tulle and tiny white twinkling lights—Steffie’s “fairy lights.” The tables were covered alternately in red or white with the opposing color overlay, and centered with tall vases of curly willow spray painted with a glittery silver paint. From the branches hung tiny lanterns that flickered like fireflies, and around the bottoms of the vases were smaller vases filled with white orchids and red roses.

  “I can’t believe Lucy was able to pull this off,” Brooke said to no one in particular as the wedding parties stood in the receiving line.

  “Neither can I.” Vanessa slid into line next to her. “It’s mind-blowing. No mortal could have arranged this. Let’s start a rumor that Lucy’s an alien.”

  “She’d have to be to have done all that,” agreed Kristin. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She pointed around the ballroom. “It’s spectacular.”

  “Have you talked to Stef yet about … you know,” Brooke whispered to Vanessa.

  “Uh-uh. Grady and I agreed to wait until she and Wade get back from their honeymoon. He totally agreed with you, just so you know,” Vanessa told her in the same low, confidential tone. “He thinks we need to do the wedding thing.” She looked around the room. “It sure won’t be anything like this one, though.”

  “Doesn’t have to be,” Brooke assured her. “Whatever you decide to do, just make sure that all the people you most love are there with you, then you’ll never have regrets when you look back on the day.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Vanessa nodded.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Steffie leaned behind Wade to ask.

  “I just asked Brooke if she thought this dress made my butt look big,” Vanessa told her solemnly.

  Steffie rolled her eyes and turned to greet the first of the guests to come through the line.

  It seemed to Brooke that the line was endless, as if everyone in St. Dennis were there.

  Close enough, she thought as she glanced down the line. Every face was familiar, from Grace Sinclair to Violet Finneran to Steffie’s two part-time workers and the veterinary assistants from Grant’s animal hospital. Jesse stood next to his grandfather, and Nita Perry, who owned the antique shop on Charles Street, chatted with Luke Haldeman, who’d just bought the boat sales showroom and marina from the estate of the previous owner. Brooke’s mother was deep in conversation with the new librarian and Mr. Clausen, who’d taught American history to both Grant and Steffie in high school and was somehow related to Berry.

  We’re all somehow related to one another here, Brooke mused, if not by blood, then by marriage, and if not by marriage, then by friendship. She was glad she’d followed her heart and come home when she did.

  And while I’m on the subject of my heart …

  Jesse leaned forward to kiss her.

  “You look … spectacular,” he told her.

  “You’re supposed to say that to the bride,” Brooke whispered.

  “I did that, but you look spectacular, too.” He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

  “Ditto. Now move along so we can keep the line moving. I’m starving.”

  “How can you be starving?” Vanessa frowned. “You ate all that shrimp an hour ago.” Vanessa covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have said the S-word. The very thought of seafood makes me want to—”

  “I get it. Hang strong for about fifteen more minutes. Want Jesse to get you some club soda?”

  Vanessa shook her head and smiled at Hal Garrity, the closest thing she had to a father, as he came through the line with her mother, Maggie, on his arm.

  Brooke’s mother was next, and so on down the line, until Brooke was convinced that she’d been right earlier: all of St. Dennis had been invited.

  The reception went by mostly in a blur. Brooke danced with Jesse and Curtis, with Clay and with Grady and Grant and Wade and who knew who else, until she was dizzy. Between the band’s sets, she grabbed Jesse by the arm.

  “Air,” she told him. “I need air.”

  “It’s pretty cool out,” he told her. “You should bring whatever wrap you brought with you.”

  “It’s upstairs,” she told him. “I’d pass out before I got it. Let’s just go out on the terrace
for a minute.”

  She took him by the hand and led him through the lobby to the inn’s bar and beyond to the terrace.

  “Wow, look at all those stars,” was the first thing she said when they’d walked outside. The second was, “You were right. It really is pretty chilly.”

  He took off his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Now you’ll be cold,” she protested.

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

  “It was a beautiful day, wasn’t it?”

  “Amazing that they were able to pull that off,” he said. “Switching everything around that fast, having the reception incorporate the colors and the flowers from both weddings.”

  “That was Lucy’s doing. That’s why Dallas and Steffie wanted her to do their weddings.”

  “Ah, Lucy. The redhead who made your brother drool.”

  “I wish I’d seen that.” Brooke laughed. “I’ve never seen Clay look foolish over anyone.”

  “The right girl can do that to a guy.” He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. “The right girl can make a guy not care how foolish he looks. Take me, for instance.”

  “There’s nothing foolish about you, Jess.”

  “If things had gone differently, there could have been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If my grandfather had found me lacking and fired me from the firm, I’d have looked very foolish.” He rocked her slowly, side to side. “But I’d have stayed here and faced it, if it meant having a chance with you.”

  She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.

  “You are the woman of my dreams,” he told her. “The woman I’ve been looking for all my life. I’d stay and face down anything to be with you.”

  “Jess …” She was so touched she hardly knew what to say.

  “All my life, I was afraid I’d wake up one day and find out I’d turned into my father,” he said. “I’ve always felt him looking over my shoulder, as if he were waiting for me to be like him.”

  “From what you’ve told me about him, and from knowing you, I don’t see that happening.” She shivered inside his coat but didn’t want to go inside. There were things they needed to say to each other, and she knew this was the right time and the right place. “You’re not him. Your grandfather knows it and your brother and sisters know it and I know it. You’re a man that a woman can trust with her heart. A man a woman can trust with her future.”

  “You trust me with yours?”

  “I do. I never thought I’d say that again, but I do. I never wanted to take a chance again, but I will.”

  “You’ll never be sorry,” Jesse promised. “I swear, you’ll never be sorry …”

  In her heart, Brooke already knew that. She smiled and drew him closer, and made promises of her own.

  Diary ∼

  Well, it’s done—The Wedding Day has come and gone. I can’t even begin to tell how proud I am of our Lucy! What a day she planned! Two distinct weddings blended into one perfect reception. Sigh. Everyone in town was there and no one left without making a point of telling me what a bang-up job she’d done. Lucy says that the sign of a good wedding planner is when none of the guests even think about who put it together, but I told her that was impossible around here because everyone has known her since she was just a wee one, and everyone was so happy that she was such a huge success. I know that both brides were delighted with everything—the food was exquisite from soup to nuts, literally, the dessert course being the most popular, but the new chef Daniel hired is the best we’ve ever had. Truly first class.

  But I digress … I’d invited Trula for the wedding weekend because I know that someone near and dear to her has a very special wedding coming up and she wants it to be here. So she came armed with her camera and took a million pictures at the reception. I told her to just stroll around and snap away, and if anyone asked, she was one of the photographer’s assistants, although, well, as she rightly pointed out, most wedding photographers have assistants who are in their twenties, not their seventies, but she pulled it off all right. Other than having someone accuse her of selling her photos to one of those sleazy publications you see in the supermarkets. Ha! I said. Trula Comfort—Paparazzi!

  In any event, Trula is definitely going to push her Robert to have his wedding here next year, but only if Lucy will come back to do it. Now, I ask you: what event planner would turn down Robert Magellan? Yes, of course, the wedding of Dallas MacGregor was a huge coup, and will certainly give Lucy’s business a huge celebrity bump. But Robert Magellan is one of the wealthiest men in the hemisphere, and had been bordering on becoming a recluse for a while. He never gives parties and is almost never seen out and about socially, never frequents those fancy places that other wealthy folks favor. He could have his wedding anywhere in the world—literally—but if he chooses the Inn at Sinclair’s Point … well, do I have to spell out what that would do for our reputation?

  Not to mention that it would bring Lucy back for another few weeks. I keep hoping she’ll find whatever it is she’s looking for right here at home, but I’m beginning to wonder if even she knows what she wants.

  It’s just awful when you know what’s right for your kids but you can’t make them see it. I’ve always believed that Lucy’s destiny was in St. Dennis, but I can’t convince her of that. Why, even dear Alice is in agreement. No, of course, I didn’t pull out the herbs and the spell book, though I’d be sore tempted if I knew for sure it would work. Anyway, Alice tells me—through the Ouija board—that Lucy’s future is here. “Well,” I said, “Alice, this is going to be a test of how much you really know.” Alice, of course, went silent after that, but I know she’ll be back. She does so love to chat …

  Here I am prattling along about the wedding as if there were nothing else going on in St. Dennis! Old Curtis Enright got a big surprise on his eighty-fifth birthday when grandson Jesse threw a big party to celebrate at Lola’s. I heard that almost everyone who was invited attended, which was nice, since Curtis is such a gentleman. The biggest surprise of the evening, though, was the appearance of the children from his son Craig’s first marriage. No one in St. Dennis had seen them—two girls and a boy—in, oh, dear, since before Rose died. I heard it said that Jesse had never met any of his half siblings before, so it was especially nice of him to have invited them. It looked like there was a happy reunion, which I was glad to see. Jesse’s sister Sophie came for the party—lovely, lovely girl. All the young men in the room seemed to think so, too.

  Of course, there’s the Holiday House Tour next weekend—my favorite event of the year. I just love to see this little town of ours dressed up, the old houses decorated from rooftop to front door. Call me nosy if you must, but I just love going inside to see how everyone decorates for the season. I love decorating the inn, though every year it seems to be just a little more difficult for me to do all the downstairs rooms by myself. Lucy said this year I should have asked for help from the local historical society. Perhaps next year … Anyway, it’s fun to think that this time next week we’ll be leading the weekenders and the day-trippers from room to room and talking about the history of the inn. The Holiday House Tour has become such a huge fund-raiser for the town, not to mention a boon to the merchants.

  There was one sad note at the wedding, and it took me back so many years. During the toasts, both Steffie and Grant made mention of their sister, Natalie, who died when she was four. She and Lucy had been the closest of friends from the first day of nursery school when they discovered they shared the same birthday. They’d been inseparable, those two. Why, sometimes when I look out the back windows of the inn, I can almost see them playing on the swings or in the sandbox. Natalie was such a darling girl, and when she fell ill … well, it hit everyone in the community hard. Lucy was despondent when Natalie died, and for a few years, she refused to celebrate her birthday without her friend. It was a poignant moment on a b
eautiful and memorable day. Lucy later said that if for no other reason, she was glad to have been at the weddings to remember Natalie.

  And one interesting note: while Lucy tried her darnedest to fade into the background, it seemed she hadn’t faded quite far enough that her old friend Clay Madison wasn’t able to find her and talk her into a dance or two. I know she’d just about kill me if she knew I said so, but they do make a lovely couple ∼

  ∼ Grace ∼

  For Sweet Baby James Delvescovo—

  keep on fighting, little buddy

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again, my thanks to the fabulous team at Ballantine Books who work so hard to make my books the best they can be: Kate Collins, Linda Marrow, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Gina Wachtel, Junessa Viloria, Scott Biel (those glorious covers!), Kristin Fassler, and Katie O’Callaghan. Thanks to Andrea Sheriden, The Decimater, for doing what she does, and doing it so well.

  Thanks as always to my agent, Loretta Barrett, and the crew at Barrett Books.

  Many thanks to the booksellers who have been hand-selling the books in the Chesapeake Diaries series. Bless every one of you.

  Thanks to my FB buddies who start and end the day with me.

  Recently it occurred to me that Hometown Girl is my thirtieth book. Thirty books! The number stuns and amazes me and gives me chills. So I must say thank you from the bottom of my heart to those readers who have been with me since Moments in Time was published in 1995. This has been one wild and crazy ride!

  To my friends who have made this journey with me—especially Helen Egner and Chery Griffin … thanks and love.

  And of course, much love and thanks to my beautiful family—Bill, Becca, Katie, and Mike.

  Home for the Summer is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.