The Philadelphia Inquirer calls Mariah Stewart “someone to watch and savor for a long time,” and Affaire de Coeur says she is “one of the most talented writers of mainstream contemporary fiction.”
PRAISE FOR
THAT CHESAPEAKE SUMMER
“[That Chesapeake Summer] deftly uses the tools of the genre to explore issues of identity, truth, and small-town kinship. . . . Stewart offers a strong statement on the power of love and trust, a fitting theme for this bighearted small-town romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A touching story of self-discovery and homecoming that is sure to warm readers’ hearts . . . fans are sure to feel right at home in Stewart’s idyllic seaside setting and follow this emotional journey with avid interest.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Romance fans will enjoy their time on the Chesapeake Bay when they read this entertaining and heartfelt novel.”
—Harlequin Junkie
“A well-told story with excellent pacing and smooth development on the romantic front . . . one of my favorites in the series.”
—The Good, The Bad and the Unread
THE CHESAPEAKE DIARIES
“The town and townspeople of St. Dennis, Maryland, come vividly to life under Stewart’s skillful hands. The pace is gentle, but the emotions are complex.”
—RT Book Reviews
“If a book is by Mariah Stewart, it has a subliminal message of ‘wonderful’ stamped on every page.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“The characters seem like they could be a neighbor or friend or even co-worker, and it is because of that and Mariah Stewart’s writing that I keep returning again and again to this series.”
—Heroes and Heartbreakers
“Every book in this series is a gem.”
—The Best Reviews
“Captivating and heartwarming.”
—Fresh Fiction
A DIFFERENT LIGHT
“Warm, compassionate, and fulfilling. Great reading.”
—RT Book Reviews
“This is an absolutely delicious book to curl up with . . . scrumptious . . . delightful.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
MOON DANCE
“Enchanting . . . a story filled with surprises!”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“An enjoyable tale . . . packed with emotion.”
—Literary Times
“Stewart hits a home run out of the ball park . . . a delightful contemporary romance.”
—The Romance Reader
WONDERFUL YOU
“Wonderful You is delightful—romance, laughter, suspense! Totally charming and enchanting.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“Vastly entertaining . . . you can’t help but be caught up in all the sorrows, joys, and passion of this unforgettable family.”
—RT Book Reviews
DEVLIN’S LIGHT
“A magnificent story of mystery, love, and an enchanting town. Splendid!”
—Bell, Book and Candle
“With her special brand of rich emotional content and compelling drama, Mariah Stewart is certain to delight readers everywhere.”
—RT Book Reviews
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For Kathryn C. Robb, MS, PsyD
Acknowledgments
Ask any writer and they’ll tell you that writing is a solitary pursuit. Most of the time, it’s you and your characters, your keyboard, or your pad of paper and a pen (or in my case, more often than not, a mechanical pencil). But the writing of it is only step one in getting a book into the hands of a reader. Along the way there’s an editor (and often a very capable assistant), marketing people, publicity people, salespeople, an art department, and probably some other people that I still don’t know about, even after my twenty years of sitting at the keyboard (or elsewhere with pen or the aforementioned mechanical pencil in hand and a lovely fresh Claire Fontaine writing tablet). So when a writer thanks their publishing family, it’s with good reason.
This is where I thank my fabulous editor, Lauren McKenna (who truly is fabulous, by the way), for beating up on me to get the best of my best out of my head and onto the page. I must thank Elana Cohen as well—she’s always there to answer questions and to help out, with humor and grace. Many thanks to Melissa Gramstad, publicity manager, for all she does to get my books out there and noticed. The art department has given my books quite possibly the best covers I’ve ever had on any of my books—you all have my gratitude. There are so many other people behind the scenes, in sales and copy and marketing . . . I sincerely appreciate everyone who has a hand in getting my stories out of my head and onto the shelves.
I owe a huge thanks to Louise Burke (and rock star editor Lauren) for bringing me back home to Pocket Books.
I also want to thank my late agent, Loretta Barrett, for twenty years of mentorship, love, and friendship. Loretta loved books—loved the making of books more than anyone I’ve ever known. She was totally devoted to the publishing business, and when she said that someone was a “real” editor, I knew exactly what she meant. It was her highest praise. She is sadly missed every day.
Thanks have to go to my friends who have been cheering me on since the beginning (Helen, and my homegirls Jo Ellen, Cathy, and Eileen), and the writer ladies who lunch (Kate Welsh, Martha Schroder O’Conner, Gail Link, Terri Brisbin, Gwen Schuler, and Cara Marsi).
And of course, to my family—Bill, Becca, Katie, Mike, Cole, and Jack. You are my world.
Diary ~
It occurred to me this morning how much I love early summer, that sweet time between the cool mornings of spring and the humid days of deep summer. Most of the flowers I love best are in bloom or about to be—like the peonies that have bloomed here at the inn for more years than I can calculate. My Daniel’s mother planted them, oh, I’m guessing around 1940 or so. Same with the roses. She had a green thumb for sure, that mother-in-law of mine did. In season, we have bowls of peonies and tall vases of roses all throughout the inn. No little plastic vials of air freshener required!
I’m thinking about Dan’s mother and her black-eyed Susans and the hollyhocks that she planted so long ago—they’ve reseeded themselves over and over through the years—because I found out this morning that the seeds for those very flowers—the Susans and the hollyhocks—were given to Mother Sinclair by my dear friend Ruby Carter. Let me explain.
Ruby was here for our weekly get-together, and I had a vaseful of those pretties cut just this morning for the table where Ruby and I would have our lunch. She smiled when she saw them and touched the petals, then said in that wonderful dialect peculiar to our Cannonball Island, “These be mine, once upon a time. Gave an envelopeful to Marion”—that was my mother-in-law—“one August when I had so many I was giving them away by the fistful.”
Well, imagine my surprise. Yes, of course I’d noticed the proliferation of flowers around Ruby’s place—that would be the general store over on Cannonball Island—and I had noticed that they were the same old-fashioned variety as those we had here at the inn. But I assumed that since both the inn and Ruby’s store are historic buildings in the truest sense, the flowers had been planted around the same time.
It made my
heart happy to know that something of Ruby’s grows here, because she is the dearest of friends—may I even say my mentor in some things—and since she’s one hundred years old, well . . . nothing lasts forever, if you get my drift. She and I had lots to talk about this morning—she sees changes coming into her life from all directions, and she’s wisely sorting them out. Now, it’s always been said that Ruby Carter has the eye, but I’m here to tell you, it’s much more than that. I have the eye, if you will, and friends on the other side—we prefer spirits to that silly term “ghosts”—who from time to time help me shed some light on things (though I confess that just as often they go silent when I need them the most). But like Ruby says, “Temperamental on this side, temperamental once you cross over.” I’ve found that to be true.
Anyway, Ruby sees what she sees, and when she says change is on the way, you better believe it. And I do. It be time, she says, and so it must be. What form those changes will take, if she knows, she isn’t sharing quite yet. But she will. She did share that her great-granddaughter, Lisbeth, is on her way home for a while. “She’ll stay longer than she thinks she will,” Ruby tells me, and I know that’s more than wishful thinking on Ruby’s part. “And once she’s here, she’ll find what she doesn’t even know she’s missing. It’s been a long time coming, Gracie.”
Yes, I know. And yes, it’s about time.
She also mentioned that Owen, Lis’s brother, will be back by and by, too. We both know that he’s in for the ride of his life. But that’s down the road a bit.
So. Exciting times ahead for my friend. If I hadn’t taken her to Baltimore last year myself to have her heart checked, I’d worry that all the excitement might do her harm. But our Ruby is one tough lady—tougher than most—and I would not be surprised if she outlived the rest of us.
Grace
Chapter One
Mist rose off the Chesapeake and floated silently over the beach. The woman standing on the shore tilted her head slightly to one side to follow the distant whine of an outboard as an unseen craft headed south through the darkness. She took a deep breath and let the damp June air fill her lungs before turning back and crossing the dune. The soft glow of the full moon barely lit the way, but she knew by heart every step from the beach to the old general store. From the top of the dune, she could see the blue haze from the TV in the building’s back room, and a faint light from a second-floor bedroom.
The back porch had been sagging on her last visit, so she dug into her pocket for the key to the front door while she walked around the building and climbed the steps. The old bait cooler still stood to the right of the door, its once-white exterior now faded and chipped, and pots of some undeterminable flowers yet to bloom were lined up along the railing. Surprised to find the door unlocked, she stepped inside. Standing in the middle of the room, she called uncertainly into the darkness beyond.
“Gigi?”
She heard low voices from the TV, the scrape of a chair leg on the random oak floor, slow, soft, shuffling footfalls. A floorboard creaked, and she smiled.
“That you, Lisbeth?” a voice called out from behind the closed door.
“It’s me.” Lisbeth Parker dropped her bag by the door. She’d barely crossed the floor when a figure emerged from the back room, backlit by that blue light.
“Gigi, I’m sorry I’m so late. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”
Ruby Carter—Lisbeth’s great-grandmother—greeted her with a shush. “I don’t be needing the likes of you to be telling me when to go to bed. But I do be needing a hug from my favorite girl.”
Lisbeth’s embrace totally enveloped the old woman’s slight form, and she held her for a very long time.
“You can let go now,” Ruby—Gigi to her great-grandchildren—chuckled. “I’m still all in one piece.”
“Just making sure.” One last gentle squeeze and Lisbeth released the old woman and reached for the wall switch to turn on an overhead light. She was tempted to chastise her elderly relative about walking around in the dark, but knew better. Ruby Carter had tread these boards for most of her one hundred years, and she knew every nail and every loose board between the store’s long wooden counter and the front door.
“I saw on the TV there was that accident on the big bridge.” Ruby walked behind Lis and locked the front door. “I figured you’d be coming along a little late. I heard your car. Wondered what you been up to for the past time.”
“I walked down to the bay. It’s been awhile since I was home, and I just wanted to . . .” Lis paused. She hadn’t questioned her walk through the dark to the water’s edge. She’d simply gotten out of her car and followed the path over the dune to soak in the smell, the feel of the Chesapeake. The feel of home.
“Always did the same myself whenever I’d left the island for a time and come back.”
“When was the last time you left Cannonball Island, Gigi?” Lis put her arm around Ruby’s slight shoulders. “I don’t remember you crossing that little drawbridge too often.”
“Hmmph.” Ruby sniffed indignantly. “Went over to St. Dennis just last week. How much you know.”
“You did? What for?” Lis’s brows rose almost to her hairline.
“Not that it’s any of your nevermind, but I went to see a friend.”
“In St. Dennis?”
“Yes, in St. Dennis. Any other place be right on the other side of the bridge?”
“I didn’t know you had friends over there.”
“There be a lot of things you don’t know, missy.” Ruby straightened her back and drew herself up to her full height of five feet, one inch—four inches shorter than her great-granddaughter. “Who my friends might be is just one of them.”
“Well, then. I guess you told me.” Lis turned her head so that Ruby wouldn’t see her smile.
“Well, then. I guess I did.” Ruby nodded once in satisfaction. “Come on in back and have some tea. Warm you up proper.”
Lis followed her great-grandmother through the store toward the door that stood open along the back wall, noting that the old-fashioned wooden shelves were only partially stocked and that unpacked delivery boxes had been stacked near the counter. She’d tend to those herself in the morning while Ruby chatted with the early crew who would arrive for coffee and their newspapers. It was a marvel to Lis that the local papers were still delivered to the island. The last time she was there, it seemed there’d been fewer residents than there’d been the time before, and several homes appeared to be vacant.
Lis stepped through the doorway and stopped short. Gazing around at the jumble of moving boxes and furniture shoved into the four corners of the room, she exclaimed, “What the hell happened in here?”
“Mind your tongue, girl,” Ruby chided. “Don’t be taking hell lightly. You have other words. Use them.”
“Sorry, Gigi. What’s going on in here? Why is there such a mess?”
“I been having some work done.”
“What kind of work?”
“Having a bedroom and sitting room down here.” Ruby looked pleased. “New bathroom, too.” She paused, then pointed to a closed door in the middle of the wall and added, “The kitchen be new, too. Well, almost. Just needs some paint, I think. Go on, now. Take a look.”
Lis opened the designated door. Ruby came up behind her and switched on the overhead light.
“See here? New all.” Now Ruby was beaming, her pale blue eyes sparkling. “Stove, refrigerator. Even a dishwasher. I told him I don’t need such a thing, but he said it didn’t make sense to do all this and not put in a dishwasher.”
Lis gazed in silent shock at the renovations, which were near completion. She ran her hand over the smooth wooden counter.
“Counters be made of the wood from the old floor,” Ruby told her. “Some of it was not so good now, so he suggested that we put down new and put the old to good use right here.” Ruby slappe
d her hand on the counter. “I like it.”
“I love it.” The old red oak from the floor had been sanded and polished to a sheen. If Ruby hadn’t told her, Lis would have thought the counter had come from a high-end home renovation shop. “It’s beautiful. But who is he? And when did all this take place? And why didn’t I know about it?”
Ruby got that look again. “You think you need to know all, missy?”
“It’s just such a surprise. This used to be the storeroom and just, well, mostly shed space.” She was still taking in the transformation.
“Time for some changes,” Ruby replied. “Time for me to be living smaller right here, ’stead of upstairs.”
Lis was beginning to understand. Ruby might be reluctant to admit that climbing the steps to her living quarters was too much for her, but perhaps she was finally beginning to feel the weight of her one hundred years. Lis had met people years younger than her great-grandmother who had far less energy, physical strength, and mental acuity and who could never have withstood the rigors of running a business and keeping up with the world. The woman was a miracle, for sure, but there was no question that she was better off not taking a full flight of steps several times every day.
Treading carefully, mindful that Ruby had her pride, Lis said, “This is a beautiful room, Gigi. Let me see what else you’re having done.”
“Bedroom be next over.” Ruby pointed to a closed door. “Bathroom beyond there. Go on.”
Lis opened the door onto a finished room. She recognized the walnut bed and dresser as those that had been in the front corner room on the second floor for as long as she could remember. A small lamp on the table next to the bed shed light on walls the color of spring violets.
“Wow, Gigi.” Lis could hardly believe her eyes. The bedroom upstairs had been beige for, well, forever. “Who picked the color?”
“Who do you think?” Ruby sniffed indignantly. “As if someone else should be picking for me.”
Driftwood Point Page 1
