Seaside Harmony Part 16

Caroline opened the cover almost reverently and read the elegant cursive writing.

For my daughter Hannah on the occasion of her tenth birthday.

May you never disappoint our G.o.d.

Your Father, Isaac Elliott (May 22, 1864).

Caroline looked at Shirley. "This was Hannah Montague's, wasn't it?"

"I believe it was. Before she was Hannah Montague, obviously. She must have brought it here with her when she married."

"This is beautiful, Shirley." Caroline flipped the book over in her hands and felt the smooth leather of the binding. "Thank you."

"Well, since you were asking about her, I thought you might like it. It's a part of this house's history."

"How'd you come by the hymnal?" Caroline asked, handing it over to Sam to examine.

"The artists who owned the inn before selling it to that hotel chain-Ezra and Mabel Fortescue-sold off quite a bit. This was tossed in a pile of odds and ends and I paid a dime for it. I thought I might learn to play the piano someday, but I never did, so it's just been sitting around this whole time."

"Thank you so much, Shirley," Caroline said. "It'll have a place of honor on the piano."

Caroline thought about the inscription as Shirley started back down the path toward her house. "May you never disappoint our G.o.d." It was quite a thing for a father to write to his ten-year-old daughter. She wondered about their relationship, about what it was like to grow up with a father like that. She wondered if Hannah resented him, or if she hated him for making her marry a man she didn't love. She wondered if he was still alive when Hannah disappeared. Was it possible he knew something about her mysterious disappearance?

"Let me back my truck up to the porch," Bill Dekker said, using his shirtsleeve to wipe perspiration off his brow, "and I'll put those old mattresses in the bed and haul them off to the dump."

"Are you sure it's okay for us to pay you once a month?" Gracie asked, standing next to the stack of old and utterly awful mattresses they'd hauled out of the bedrooms that morning.

"Sam suggested once a week, but once a month works better for me. I've got bill-paying down to a science. Money comes in on the first, and all the bills get paid on the fifth. I'm a creature of habit and kind of hate getting my system fouled up."

"Then we're two of a kind." Gracie found herself laughing. "By the way, there's lemonade and iced tea in the refrigerator. I've got to get back to work, but if you get thirsty, help yourself."

"Will do," Bill said, easily lifting a twin mattress under one arm and walking out through the open kitchen door. They'd been awfully lucky to meet him again after so many years. In just a couple of days he'd repaired some faulty wiring, put a new toilet and sink in the owners' quarters bathroom, and fixed the leaky showerhead. He'd also programmed his phone number into all their phones and told them to call at any time, day or night, if they had an emergency. Not that they expected any emergencies to pop up that they couldn't deal with on their own, but it was nice to know that Bill Dekker would be available.

Gracie headed for the dining room to start stripping the wallpaper, but she couldn't miss the sound of "Chopsticks" coming from the parlor. Her sisters were goofing off in the middle of the day. But then, maybe it was okay to take a break. Lighten up! Caroline would say, and she'd be right. They'd worked almost nonstop for a couple of days. They really did deserve a rest.

"Mind if I join in?" Gracie walked into the parlor.

There really wasn't room for a third sister on the piano bench, but Sam and Caroline scooted close to each other, leaving just enough s.p.a.ce for two-thirds of Gracie's derriere.

The music sounded great, except for a few flat notes and one stuck key that didn't play any tone at all. When Gracie put her index fingers on the F and G keys and the three sisters plunked out the tune together, it resonated throughout the parlor and sounded rather glorious.

"I really think we should entertain our first guests with 'Chopsticks,' " Caroline said. "Somewhere in all of Mom's photo alb.u.ms, I think there's a picture of the three of us when we were little sitting at the piano together. Wouldn't it be great if we could find that, frame it, and put it on top of this grand old lady?"

"Perfect," Gracie said. "I always dreamed of having a grand piano with pictures of all my family sitting on top. This old thing isn't exactly a Steinway, and it isn't all shiny and black, which was what I dreamed of, but you know what? I think it's better."

"You and me both," Sam said. "And to think we got it for such a steal."

Gracie laughed. "I wouldn't call the price for this place a steal, but-"

Her next words were cut off by a loud and resounding knock on the front door.

"Were you expecting someone?" Gracie asked her sisters, only to have both of them shake their heads.

"It could be Shirley Addison again," Caroline said, "What if Max-"

The loud barks coming from the top of the stairs and the skittering sound of claws on the hardwood steps told them that Max was inside the inn, where he was supposed to be.

"I'd get the door," Caroline said, "but I'm rather trapped between the two of you."

"I'll do it." Sam played a little trill on the piano keys as she stood. Caroline and Gracie did the same and then followed along behind Sam. After three tugs, Sam finally pulled open the front door. On the porch was a pair of man's legs and a giant bouquet of summer flowers: roses, lilies, and daisies in a mult.i.tude of colors, with sprigs of baby's breath and spikes of fern.

"Mind if I come in?"

"George?" Caroline said, before he peeked around the bouquet.

"Hope you don't mind my dropping in on you unannounced, but I somehow found myself with a few unscheduled days on my hands, and I figured you could use a strong back around here."

"Come in. Come in!" Sam took the bouquet from George, Caroline threw her arms around him, kissed his cheek, and started chattering a mile a minute, telling him everything they'd accomplished so far.

"What?" George grinned, when they settled down in a set of old white wicker chairs they'd found in the bas.e.m.e.nt and put out on the porch that overlooked the ocean. "You haven't hired anyone to clean out the carriage house yet?"

"I hate to admit this," Gracie said. She felt awfully comfortable around George, as if he were the big brother they'd never had. "But I haven't given a moment's thought to the carriage house. There's already at least a year's worth of work inside the inn."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here, because I want to get my hands on that Packard."

Caroline frowned. "I suppose I could be dragged away from the jobs Gracie and Sam have a.s.signed me and help move boxes out of the carriage house."

"And where are we going to put them if we move them out?" Gracie asked. "The attic's full to the brim, the bas.e.m.e.nt-well, I hate to even think about the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Why don't you let me worry about the carriage house," George said. "A couple days of sorting and clearing, and-who knows?-I just might find one of those secret rooms."

Secret room, my eye." Caroline backed out from under the Packard, her hands and knees coated with dust and dirt. When George helped her to her feet, he was grinning.

"Don't tell me there's nothing down there," Sam said, standing next to Gracie. Both of them were watching eagerly.

"Oh, there's something down there all right," Caroline said, waving around the flashlight she'd taken with her under the car. "It looks like the last resting place of everything having to do with the Misty Harbor Inn's horse and buggy days. Old horseshoes, an anvil, a pair of bellows that's seen better days." She shook her head at George, clearly frustrated with his antics. "You told me you made a real find under those loose boards, and I believed you."

"What you didn't do was let me finish my sentence. This is a real find. People like old stuff like that. They'll pay a pretty penny for it."

"Well, if you've got the stamina to exhume all that junk, and if you want to put it up for sale on eBay, or wherever, be my guest. As for me, I have to get back to the kitchen."

"You mean you don't want to see the box with the leg sticking out of it? It could be Hannah Montague."

Caroline flashed an evil, don't-you-dare-tease-me-again frown at George. "Come on, you two," she said, turning to Gracie and Sam, "we've got work to do."

"Next time we go into town, we need to invest in numerous boxes of industrial strength rubber gloves," Caroline said to Gracie. Her back was tired, her neck ached, and she felt a little claustrophobic. Who wouldn't? She hadn't set foot out of the house in twenty-four hours, not since she'd climbed under the Packard hoping to find buried treasure. "I'm sure if I wash one more dish or strip one more bit of wallpaper the skin on my hands is going to dry up and fall off."

"Here, try this." Gracie handed her a tube of lotion that she'd tucked inside the pocket of an old ap.r.o.n she'd picked up at a thrift store in town. "It's the best thing I've ever found for dry skin."

Caroline squeezed a generous portion of cream onto her hands and worked it into her parched skin. Gracie puffed at the lock of hair that hung in her eyes. The dining room table was loaded with stacks of plates, bowls, cups, and saucers in all shapes and sizes and colors. Some were stoneware, but it was mostly china, and nearly all of it was now sparkling in the sun that poured in through the freshly washed windows.

"Looks like we have enough table service to feed a hundred," Caroline said, as Gracie started to sort and take pictures. Gracie had already begun to create a computer database so they could keep track of what they had and what they would need. It seemed like overkill; Gracie surely wouldn't run her home that way. But this was business, and she wanted to do everything right.

"I'm sure we don't need nearly all of this," Gracie said. "We might have to weed some of it out, especially if George finds more dishes in the carriage house. And who knows what all we'll find in the bas.e.m.e.nt and attic."

"Maybe some of this china belonged to Hannah Montague," Caroline said, applying the steamer to yet another piece of wallpaper, hoping it would pull down easily. "I wonder if she and Jedediah sat around this very same table on a hot summer's evening, talking about the events of their day."

"You dream too much."

"And you don't dream enough." Caroline grinned at her sister, who kept her head buried in the pages of her inventory.

"I think we could be working on this wallpaper for the next week," Gracie said, nodding at the stubborn strip Caroline was working on.

"Well, we're not working tomorrow. Don't even try to make us work on the Fourth of July."

"I haven't forgotten," Gracie said. "Although I really hate the idea of giving up a day's work around here."

Gracie really needed to take a page from Caroline's book of how to live life-she needed to relax, at least a little bit.

Gracie was quiet a moment, studying the myriad dishes and then looked up, holding a saucer. "This one's chipped. Think we should throw it away?"

"Goodness, no!" Caroline s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Gracie's hand. "It'll be perfect for the garden."

Gracie frowned. "A chipped saucer?"

"Of course. I saw a do-it-yourself article once that showed how you make bird feeders and miniplanters out of old cups and saucers. I'd planned to do it in Chipping Campden. I even haunted thrift shops looking for the perfect cups and saucers, but somehow I never got around to finishing the project."

"What makes you think that if I set this chipped saucer aside you'll get to the project now?"

"Oh, Gracie, you have no faith at all in me."

"Have you started working on the Web site yet?"

"It's on the very top of my to-do list but I really think we should come up with a logo first. We'll need one for the inn, so I've sketched out a few ideas."

"What about the ideas you have for our marketing brochures?"

"They're at the top of the list too, but really, Gracie, we can't do a lot of those things until we get the wallpaper and hardwood floors stripped."

Gracie grinned. "I rest my case. So let's buckle down and get our work done."

"You know, Gracie, sometimes you're just no fun at all."

"How's it going out here?" Caroline called out to George shortly before dinnertime. He'd been messing around inside the carriage house for two solid days now. He'd barely said a word to anyone, except when he came inside to eat and when he said good night before heading off to his friend's sloop in the marina. She'd tried to talk him into staying in the inn, but he reminded her that he liked the rock of a boat on water. It had a magical way of lulling him to sleep.

"Did you hear me?" Caroline said again as she squeezed through the boxes still cluttering the inside of the carriage house. She could hear George tinkering with something, but she couldn't see him.

"It's going great. I found a light hidden behind a couple of boxes that works really well under here."

"Please don't tell me you're under the car digging up all those old horseshoes?"

"I got those out last night. Today it's the Packard that's calling me, and I figured I'd better see what's going on underneath."

"Have you found anything interesting?"

"A lot of grease. A lot of grime." She could just barely hear him, but she recognized the excitement in his voice, even when he uttered the words grease and grime. She supposed it was a man thing. "I've already started taking pictures of some of the parts I think will have to be replaced. I can look them up on the Internet and see what you're looking at cost-wise."

"Think it's going to set us back more than a pretty penny?"

"It's the labor that costs the most, and I come pretty cheap." He slid out from under the Packard, grease on his nose, his chin, and his clothes. "Actually, you get me for free, so it's only the parts that'll come at a cost, and I should have connections that can help us get them pretty cheap."

"Has anyone ever told you you're an awfully nice guy?" Caroline said. She pulled a dust cloth out of the pocket of her jeans and wiped the grease off his nose.

"I think you might have said that a time or two."

Out of the corner of her eye Caroline saw George wink, but at the moment she was far more interested in a box she saw on the far side of the car, one that George had mentioned yesterday. She looked at George and frowned. "You were serious, weren't you? There really is a box over there with a leg hanging out?"

George winked again. "I don't think it's a real live-or dearly departed-woman, and definitely not Hannah Montague, but maybe a rather old doll."

"Do you have any idea how much really old dolls can go for?"

George shook his head slowly. "How long have you known me? Thirty years?"

Caroline nodded.

"Have I ever expressed an interest in dolls?"

"No, but there's a first time for everything." Caroline slipped past George, trying to get around the car. "If they're in good condition, they might look nice in the guest rooms."

"Be careful climbing around back there."

"I've climbed pyramids."

"You're no longer thirty or even forty. The last thing you need to do is fall and break a hip or anything else."

"Are you calling me old?"

"I'm just speaking the truth, Caroline Marris. So please, be careful back there."

She climbed up on one box and, from there, onto another. The boxes were like stair steps, each one carrying her higher and higher. One more. Another. Another. Her foot caved through the top of the next. "Oh no!"