Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel

  Mark stayed only a few minutes. He seemed to find what he wanted and left. He didn’t give any indication that he had seen me, though I suspected that at some point he must have. Apparently, he realized I needed time to myself as well.

  After a few minutes I retreated to my own room. Rover followed me inside my private quarters and settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace, which was one of his favorite spots. Early on, I’d decided to knit afghans for each one of the guest rooms, but it was much too hot to knit. I had other projects on needles, but knitting didn’t appeal to me at the moment. I felt at loose ends, ill at ease in my own home. The restlessness was back, and I found myself pacing the confines of my bedroom, rubbing my palms together, anxious and rattled.

  Being agitated by Mark and then deeply concerned about my guests didn’t help matters. Desperate to find a way to distract myself, I reached for the novel I’d started earlier in the week and put my feet up, forcing my body to relax. It didn’t work. I did my best to get involved in the story, but after a few pages I gave up. My mind wandered like a nomad, traveling from one area of interest to another. I should unload the dishwasher, and then I remembered that I’d done that earlier. Wasn’t there wash that needed to be loaded into the machine? That, too, had been accomplished. I supposed I could bake something. I found comfort in baking, but why would I take on that task in the hottest part of the afternoon? My mind might as well have been playing hopscotch.

  I must have slammed the book shut because Rover leaped to his feet, looking dazed and startled.

  “Sorry, boy,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It would be all too easy to blame Mark, and I considered it. Deep down, I recognized it was more than Mark or even my guests’ troubles. What Mark claimed was eating at me like ants on honey.

  Rover walked over to my side of the bed and remained there. He focused his gaze on me as if he was trying to tell me something important.

  “What is it, Rover?” I asked, slightly impatient. He’d been outside earlier, so I knew that wasn’t it.

  Obviously I didn’t expect him to answer, but the two of us had developed strong communication skills. As crazy as it seemed, I could usually figure out what he wanted to tell me.

  After a couple minutes Rover turned his focus to my nightstand. That was odd; it wasn’t like I kept doggie treats in my bedroom. I couldn’t imagine what Rover would want from there.

  I walked over to his side and sat on the edge of the bed; the mattress sank with my weight. Running my hand down his sleek back, I exhaled a deep breath and opened the drawer … and froze.

  Inside was Paul’s last letter to me. The one he’d written in case of his death. A love letter that had come to me from the grave. I’d refused to read it when it first arrived because I hadn’t gotten final verification that my husband was dead. For more than a year I held on to the hope, the belief that when his helicopter went down in Afghanistan that somehow Paul had found a way to survive. It took a year for the remains to be located, and then, as fate would have it, not all the bodies were recovered. For a while I clung to the possibility, an irrational hope, that allowed me to believe my husband was alive.

  That died a swift death when Paul’s remains were found and positively identified. Then and only then did I force myself to read the letter. Blind with grief, I can barely remember what he wrote. It was what I had expected him to say, I remembered that. Be happy for what we had, get on with your life, et cetera.

  I read the letter only the one time and then immediately placed it in the drawer on my nightstand. For months I’d chosen to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t there simply because reading his last words to me would bring me more pain than comfort.

  I glanced at Rover and saw that he’d lain back down again. Paul’s letter was in my hand, and I looked down on the plain white envelope. My stomach muscles convulsed as I removed the handwritten sheets. I noticed that my hand shook, too. Emotion gripped my throat, and for a moment it was all I could do to continue breathing.

  My dearest Jo Marie, I read.

  Paul had never called me his dearest before, and I paused to take in the significance of this, if there was any.

  If you’re reading this letter, it means the worst has happened and I’ve been killed in action. Before we met and married, I wasn’t overly concerned with the future. I knew the risks when I agreed to become a soldier and there was only my father and a few good friends to grieve or care if I lived or died. There was a certain freedom in that for me, a lack of fear; planning for the future was of little importance. I concentrated on my duty and decided to accept whatever happened without giving it a great deal of forethought.

  Then I met and fell in love with you. I never expected to meet a woman I could love the way I do you. A whole new world opened up to me with you. A world filled with possibilities and promises. For the first time in a long while I thought about having a home, a real home, and, God willing, raising two or three children. Loving you gave me permission to dream, to look beyond the day, to hope that life held more for me than war and being a soldier.

  You were a gift to me, Jo Marie. An unexpected, joyful gift I treasure more than my feeble heart or mere words could ever express. You brought me laughter and joy, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

  Soon after we married, Paul and I had talked about starting a family. We’d hoped I’d get pregnant right away, but it wasn’t meant to be. With his death, that dream had died along with so many others.

  I swallowed tightly and forced myself to continue reading.

  Like I said, if you’re reading this, those dreams have turned to ash for us both. When we exchanged our vows I promised to love you, and by all that I hold sacred, I do love you, Jo Marie, with all my strength and all my will. I promised to look after you and support you and care for you to the very best of my ability.

  I’ve watched men die. I comforted a friend in his last moments of life, and while I’ve had experience with death on the battlefield, I know nothing of what is beyond. But I will tell you this … if at all possible, I will be with you.

  In every way I can I will support and love you as you live out the rest of your life. And if God allows I will reach out to you. I may be gone from you, but my love never will be. Look for me, Jo Marie. I will come to you, protect you. If at all possible, I will find a way to you from beyond the grave.

  Knowing you, loving you, I want to ask you to do something important for me. Please listen. Please understand. Don’t spend the rest of your life grieving for what might have been for us.

  I ask only one thing of you—keep your heart open. Live for us both. Make a difference. Fall in love with life … fall in love. You have so much to offer, so much to give others. It would be a waste to dwell in the past when the future is holding its arms open with endless possibilities.

  It’s difficult to know how to end this letter, to say what is in my heart. I’m not good with words. Nor do I know how to say this other than by reminding you once more of how grateful I am to have been loved by you and to have loved you, even if for only this little while.

  Remember what I said.

  Paul

  I wiped the tears from my eyes and held my breath until I could control my emotions. Rover came to me and rested his chin on my thigh as though to soothe me. From the first, I believed Paul had sent me Rover. My rescue dog, but who had rescued whom? Rover was my constant companion, and as Grace had so recently suggested, he was my comfort dog.

  “I’m glad I read Paul’s letter again,” I whispered, and reached for a tissue to wipe my nose. In essence, Paul was telling me to get on with my life and that he would always be with me. He was adamant that he didn’t want me to spend the rest of my days grieving for him, but I would. His loss had completely impacted my life. I couldn’t help but mourn for what might have been. He asked me to make a difference, and I hoped I was doing it through the inn.

  The inn …

  I’d always hoped this inn would be a pla
ce of healing. I’d seen it with a few of my guests. I saw it in those who had checked in with heavy hearts, burdened by the problems of life. Yet by the time they left, their spirits had lifted and they’d found solace in much the same way I had. I believed the inn was making a difference and had become the healing place I’d always hoped it would be … until this weekend. As far as I could tell, everything had fallen apart for Maggie and Roy.

  Unexpectedly, Rover jerked around and stood in front of my door. I got up and opened it for him. He immediately shot out, pausing to stop and look over his shoulder as if to say I should follow him. As ridiculous as it is to admit, I’d become accustomed to following his orders.

  It didn’t take me long to discover what the problem was. Ellie had returned and sat in the living room with her mother. Their heads were close together, and Virginia had her hand on Ellie’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. I didn’t want to intrude or listen in on a private conversation and was about to turn away when Virginia glanced up. She seemed grateful to see me.

  “Would it be possible to get a pot of tea?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Rover left my side and settled down by Ellie’s feet as if to console and reassure her. His chin rested atop her feet as if to hold her in place. If she noticed, Ellie gave no indication. Her voice was low and troubled, and while I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, I couldn’t help but overhear.

  “Scott made excuses for him, but I refused to listen or believe anything he has to say any longer. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “What did Tom tell you?”

  “What could he say?” Ellie asked, sounding terribly sad. “He never intended to hurt me. He thought he was doing something good for his stepfather, but not once did he take into consideration what he was doing to me.”

  Virginia leaned her head closer to her daughter and hugged her briefly. “Oh Ellie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you, Mom?” Ellie asked. “Are you really? Isn’t this what you’ve been telling me all along? My problem is I was convinced you were wrong and that I’d show you what it was to find a good man who would love me.” She hiccupped a sob as if to say she was the one who’d been the fool.

  “I am sorry … sorry for tainting your view of men, and giving you a reason to want to prove me wrong.”

  Ellie’s hiccupping sob turned into a sad sort of laugh. “I want to go home … this whole trip was a disaster from beginning to end.”

  “Oh Ellie.”

  “There’s no reason to stay …”

  “What about your dinner with your father?” Virginia asked.

  They were interrupted by the front door being flung open. Normally, Rover would have been on his feet and barking, but he refused to leave Ellie’s side.

  Roy came into the house as if he intended to tear off the door by its hinges. He looked around and saw Ellie and her mother in the living room and me in the kitchen, paused momentarily, and then raced up the stairs.

  Virginia looked at me, her eyes wide. “What’s his problem?”

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say.

  Not two minutes after Roy stormed up the stairs, he returned and confronted me in the kitchen. “Where’s Maggie?” he demanded gruffly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Her suitcase is gone.”

  “Yes, I know. She left shortly after you dropped her off.”

  Roy frowned. “She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

  I’d tried to find out but had gotten nothing out of her. “I don’t think she knew herself.”

  “Of all the stupid … the woman is irrational and …”

  “Pregnant,” I finished for him.

  His eyes narrowed with accusation. “She told you?”

  “Just that.” I could only assume there was more, and apparently lots more.

  Roy clenched and unclenched his fists as if using restraint not to slam one against the wall. “She can’t have gotten far.”

  “No, I don’t imagine that she has.”

  “I’ll find her.” His face hardened with determination. “And when I do, we’ll be checking out.”

  In his current frame of mind, I wouldn’t consider that a loss, but I felt obliged to tell him my policy regarding early departures.

  “You’re paid through Sunday, and I can’t give you a refund.”

  “I don’t care,” he snapped. “Keep the money.”

  I didn’t notice any love or real concern in him over his wife’s disappearance, only anger and something else I didn’t immediately recognize, but then it came to me. Roy was dealing with grief and loss.

  “Do you know which way she went?” he asked, as he pulled his car keys from his pocket.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t see her once she left the driveway.”

  He nodded and headed out of the inn.

  It seemed Virginia, Ellie, and I all breathed a collective sigh of relief as Roy left the house.

  The teakettle whistled, and I returned my attention to putting together a tray for the mother and daughter. The doorbell chimed, and Rover was instantly alert and rushed to the door.

  I opened it to find an attractive middle-aged man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He looked up at me, and for a moment it seemed he didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m here to see Ellie Reynolds,” he said. “I’m her father.”

  Chapter 27

  The instant Scott Reynolds entered the living room, Ellie’s mother leaped to her feet. She moved behind the sofa as though to put a barrier between her and the man she’d once loved. Ellie turned to look at her mother and then her father.

  She waited for him to speak. With everything that had happened since she’d last seen him, including her talk with Tom and her mother’s arrival, Ellie had nearly forgotten that she’d agreed to meet Scott for dinner.

  To Ellie’s surprise, it was her mother who spoke first. “Scott.”

  He seemed equally dumbfounded. “Ginny.”

  Ginny? Ellie had never heard her mother referred to as anything but Virginia. Her grandmother had insisted on it.

  The two stared at each other like schoolyard children waiting for the other to make the first move in a game of tag.

  Her father’s face softened perceptively. “The years have been kind to you,” he said, after clearing his throat.

  “You look … well,” Ellie’s mother said, almost as if she were in a trance.

  Scott ran his hand along the side of his head. “The hair’s a lot thinner … You look exactly as I remember you.”

  It seemed both had forgotten Ellie was in the room. She had to resist waving her arms above her head in order to remind them that they weren’t alone.

  After an awkward pause, Virginia spoke. “I understand you met with our daughter this afternoon.”

  Her father’s gaze shifted toward Ellie. As a young girl and even later as a preteen, she’d built up this fantasy of what her father would be like. She had him pictured in her mind, not so much what he looked like, but how he would be and how much he would love her. He would sit and listen to her play the piano and praise her efforts. He would take her to father-daughter dances and their steps would match perfectly as they whirled around the polished dance floor. When a date came to pick her up, he would drill the young man and be protective. Unfortunately, none of her fantasies had come to pass. Her father had remained nothing more than an absent figure in her life. Until now.

  “Ellie’s a terrific girl. We met earlier this afternoon, and she’s matured into a lovely, capable woman,” he said.

  She had? Ellie basked in those few words, praise she’d longed to hear from her father, words, however few, that validated her in his eyes.

  “Tom thinks the world of her. She’s all he talks about … It reminds me of when we first met and how crazy we once were about each other.”

  Ellie was about to tell her father exactly what she thought of Tom, but she wasn’t given the chance.

  “Tom is your s
tepson?” her mother asked, although Ellie had explained that fact quite clearly.

  Scott nodded. “His intentions were good, although he went about our meeting all wrong. Still, he’s a fine young man.”

  “He isn’t all that wonderful in my eyes.” Ellie could keep silent no longer.

  Both her mother and father looked at her as if they’d forgotten she was in the room, which apparently they had. “Tom misled me. He lied and he used my attraction to him for his own selfish reasons.”

  “He did it for me,” Scott explained, and to his credit, he sounded apologetic. “Tom knew how deeply I regretted not knowing my daughter or being the father she deserved.”

  “He had no right to lie … to mislead me.” Ellie wanted to make that one point crystal clear. “None whatsoever.”

  Her father nodded and took one step closer. “Like I said, his intentions were good, but his methods left a lot to be desired.”

  “No kidding.” Ellie didn’t understand what was happening. All her parents seemed capable of doing was staring at each other. This made no sense to her. This was the golden opportunity to let her mother tell Scott exactly what she thought of him. Virginia had certainly shared those feelings with Ellie often enough. Wasn’t this the chance Virginia had impatiently waited for all these years? At last her mother could tell this man who had broken her heart exactly how his abandonment had tainted her life. Perhaps she needed a bit of prompting.