House on the Harbor

by Elizabeth Bromke

  They all nodded eagerly, desperate for what was to come.

  “Before she threw out the envelope, Sharon dug inside and found three more notes, or pages, what you will.” With that, he finally slid his hand out and with it, just as he’d claimed, three more pages—identical to the one Kate had read for herself. Her pulse slowed, and her jaw fell slack. Something like disappointment curled around her heart, but she pushed that down in order to tend to her excitement at what else could be lurking in their mother’s private notes. Michael cleared his throat again. “Sharon had forgotten to give the other ones to me, because I was out of the office the day she found them. Well, today she happened to sort through her files and found them again.” Michael passed the thin stack to Kate.

  Not a single one was addressed to any of them, and no added notes appeared anywhere.

  Kate swallowed and looked down the line of her sisters. “Here,” she said, handing one page to each sister to read. Kate figured she’d had her own. Now it was their turn.

  Forcing patience upon herself, she simply studied each sister, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for an expression of shock or heartbreak or realization, maybe.

  Megan lifted her eyes first. “It’s another diary entry all right,” Megan declared. “Here, listen.”

  ***

  May 24, 1973

  I didn’t think I’d be back here, writing in you. I figured my diary days ended when I was a teenager.

  You’ll be interested to know I’ve met someone. Well, I didn’t just “meet” him. I was set up on a date, if you can believe that! You turn 24 and people start to wonder about you, I suppose. Yes, my mother arranged for me to have a picnic with Wendell Acton. His family is from Birch Harbor, too. But they keep to themselves. Wendell went to the Catholic school, not Birch Harbor High. I’ve seen him at church but nowhere else, really. His father runs the lighthouse up north of town. They’re a little odd, but that’s okay with me.

  So, the picnic. Let me tell you about the picnic. It was pretty well perfect. We set out on the lake in Wendell’s wooden boat, and he brought sandwiches and a thermos of cider to share. I have to confess, I figured I’d never meet a man I could tolerate.

  Boy, can I tolerate Wendell. More than tolerate, in fact.

  The real question is, how did my own mother figure Wendell for me? He isn’t the sort she would have “pinned” for a daughter of hers. I’m not sure my father knows. Either way, supposedly she bumped into him when he was oiling the pews in the parish hall, and one thing led to another, and there I was, in a wooden rowboat on Lake Huron with this poor boy from the outskirts of town. It was like a scene from a storybook.

  When we got back to land, we went for a walk into the woods. He held my hand. I’ll never forget this, but we saw fireflies! Yes! The first of the season, right there in this little clearing.

  And then, he asked me then and there to be his girlfriend. He said the fireflies were a “sign.” I believe in signs, so I had to say yes.

  Now here I am, a twenty-something with a beau. We’ll see where this goes. Stay tuned!

  ***

  Megan dropped the sheet to her lap, tears wedging themselves into the corners of her eyes. “Did she ever tell us how they met?”

  Kate shook her head. “Not that I remember. That’s so sweet. She wanted us to have that.” Each of them, now, was dabbing at their eyes over the innocent words of their mother. Words that had nothing to do with the will, but that she had to share with them, somehow, even in the throes of her disease.

  “Did she tell Sharon why she dropped these off?” Kate asked Michael, gesturing to the other women and their pages.

  He shook his head and lifted his palms. “I’m sorry, I don’t think so. She was a little... a little confused, if memory serves.”

  A sadness washed over Kate, but she pushed it down, lifting her chin to Clara, instead.

  “What does yours say, Clara?”

  The youngest, who’d long ago begrudgingly called into work and requested sub coverage, cleared her throat. “This one seems more recent but there’s no date, just a month. It seems like she was trying to... plan ahead or change the will. It’s confusing. You’re right, Michael. She seems... confused.” Clara licked her lips and read through a trembling voice.

  ***

  April

  I’m planning to visit the law offices today to make some changes and plans for the future. I don’t know the law, and there’s a good chance Clara will be left out entirely if I don’t give them this here note that I’m writing.

  Legally, no, I guess Clara is supposed to get nothing. Oh, the ways of the world. A girl cares for you and loves you and calls you mother and that means nothing to the powers that be.

  Well, here I am to tell you, Mr. Lawyer, that you can rewrite the law. Give Clara whatever she wants. She can decide, okay? She’s spent her whole life without that chance. I’m even the one to suggest she get her teaching credentials, after all.

  Okay, now that we have that squared away, I’d like to add some other provisions. Please change it so the girls can’t sell off the properties. I’d like to see them keep the four-plex as rental income. And they can build on the land and have a new home here. Maybe one of the girls needs a fresh start and I’m too busy to see which. Well whoever that is, grant it.

  The harbor house must remain as it IS. But for the love of all things holy, don’t turn it into a museum. I’d be humiliated to have people rummaging around in my childhood home like no one ever really lived there. That’s what happens to these “homes” that turn into museums, you see. The visitors forget what they were truly meant to be. The House on the Harbor was meant to be slept in. With beds and a fridge full of food and a sink full of dishes. I’d have stayed there to keep it alive if it weren’t for Wendell leaving us. After a while, a woman can’t bear to live with her husband’s ghost. So that’s why I left for the cottage. I need privacy. I needed to be away from that burden and from the prying eyes of other people who carried their suppositions and held them over my head.

  So I left that house.

  But you better not, Hannigan girls.

  Keep it occupied, dear girls. Please and THANK YOU!

  That’s not to say I like the idea of a museum, just not MY house.

  One other item of business then I’ll end. Matt Fiorillo came by the cottage yesterday. Truth be told that’s why I decided to make this change at all. He asked me what would become of Clara, if you can believe that. Well, I suppose I can. Matt may be the boy who threw my life into chaos, but he’s a good boy. He loves Clara, and he doesn’t even know her. I suppose that means something.

  So, anyway, here I am, at the behest of that meddling Matt Fiorillo, rewriting my will. I already did, though! I met that other lawyer, the one who left town, and I told him please be sure ALL OF MY DAUGHTERS are IN MY WILL!!! It was a big job, because I didn’t have time to go over names and socials. He had to look it up himself. Who can trust these lawyers? Not me. So that’s why I’ve penned this ADDENDUM. To see to it that my girls get their comeuppance, no thanks to you, MATT FIORILLO for your snarky suggestion.

  ***

  Kate belted out a laugh at the final sentence. “I’m sorry,” she said through tears. “I can’t help it, but she never did like Matt. And only because of the pregnancy. She thought he did it on purpose or something.” After a sniffle, Kate added, “It sounds like Mom was more confused than we realized.”

  Clara, Megan, and Amelia were weeping, but a few laughs made their way through. “It sounds like Matt wanted me to get something,” Clara said at last, staring at Kate for an answer.

  Kate nodded, shutting her eyes briefly and wiping the rest of the wetness from her cheeks. “Of course he did. He’s always loved you, Clara. Even when he couldn’t show you.”

  Warmth seemed to return to Clara’s cheeks, and Kate knew in that moment that it was all Clara needed. That slip of paper wrought by their mother’s well-meaning hand. It was all the little one needed to feel safe in he
r family.

  And, the note provided some more guidance. A plea from beyond the grave that would help them nail down everything they were struggling with.

  “It sounds like our plan is on track with what Mom wanted,” Kate pointed out, as the others composed themselves. Michael kept quiet, a soft smile filling his face.

  “What is your plan?” he asked quietly.

  “For starters, it seems like we need to fill that big heirloom on the harbor with people, don’t you think, girls?” Kate asked her sisters, wondering if they agreed.

  Each one nodded enthusiastically, but it was Clara who answered. “That’s it!” she cried out. “The Heirloom on the Harbor!”

  “What do you mean?” Megan asked.

  Clara nodded excitedly, but Kate caught on fast. “What about... The Heirloom Inn?”

  Chapter 40—Amelia

  After they’d settled on the name and even began twittering about with a plan—Kate moving back and acting as innkeeper, Clara pitching in after school, Megan joining on the weekends and maybe even bringing Sarah along to help with little repairs and painting projects—Amelia had an idea.

  “We could hire Jimmy, you know,” she suggested, her face clear and hopeful, but her heart held hostage by something. Their reaction?

  No.

  Her own dreams?

  Maybe.

  “Over my dead body,” Clara declared, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Amelia flushed. “We could tell him exactly what to do,” she added weakly.

  Kate gave her a stern look. “If there’s one thing we have all learned this week, it’s that Jimmy is a problem, not a solution.”

  Sighing deeply, Amelia couldn’t help but flick a glance to Michael. Talking about Jimmy in his presence felt... perverse, somehow. Like there was a matter of loyalty, and to even mention Jimmy’s name was a sin.

  A buzz tickled her leg. Thankful for any distraction, Amelia reached down into her purse to check who the text or call was from.

  It was a text. From her agent. Rather, Mia, who was her pseudo agent. And friend.

  “Oh my God,” Amelia whispered.

  “What?” Kate asked. “What is it?”

  Amelia looked up, embarrassed. Humiliated. Horrified.

  “Is everything okay?” Michael asked.

  Willing herself not to totally lose it in front of him, she simply shook her head. “I didn’t get Lady Macbeth.”

  Silence came in reply. Kate, who sat next to her, rubbed Amelia’s back and pulled her in for a hug.

  Megan uttered a quiet apology. Clara did the same.

  Michael, the handsome, aloof lawyer, broke the silence. “Were you auditioning for a part in New York?”

  Amelia could have sworn she heard something in voice. Was he... impressed?

  She nodded to him, lamely.

  “I’m sorry to hear. I actually sponsor our community theatre here in Birch Harbor. The Birch Players.”

  Whipping her head to him, she replied, “What? There was no community theatre when I lived here.”

  Amelia caught Clara’s eyes light up, as she added, “Yes, there is. Some of our kids from the high school are involved in their productions. I think our drama teacher is the one who founded it.”

  Weakening at the news, Amelia overcame the urge to cry. “That’s... cool.”

  “If you ever move back here, I can connect you,” Michael offered. It was a curious thing to offer, in light of Amelia’s own sister claiming a solid connection to the company of thespians.

  She met his gaze, and a smile formed on her lips. He seemed to grow red, and Amelia smiled broader. “Thank you. Maybe we can... maybe we can exchange phone numbers?”

  He nodded dutifully then cleared his throat.

  Kate broke up their moment. “Amelia, the paper. Mom’s diary entry. What does yours say?”

  It was the briefest of the notes, and, initially, Amelia wondered why Nora Hannigan had left it at all.

  But as her eyes danced over the words and her lips formed full sentences aloud, she came to life with the information.

  An adventure.

  A project.

  ***

  April

  I had a thought today, but I’m not sure if I’ll have time to find the answer. It’s a big project, and it demands someone who is willing to go on a bit of an adventure—someone who isn’t afraid of a project.

  I never did find the deed to the lighthouse. In case I don’t get to it, please have one of the girls go search for it.

  As far as I know, it’s part of their inheritance. The lighthouse on the lake, that is.

  ***

  Amelia’s eyes flashed up at her sisters and at Michael.

  No one knew what to make of it.

  “The lighthouse?” Kate asked, perplexed.

  Amelia shrugged. “It was the Acton’s, right? It belonged to Dad’s parents.”

  “And it’s where Dad stayed when we went to Arizona,” Megan added.

  Silence spread between the three of them. Amelia frowned. They’d arrived at so many answers in such a short span of time. Megan and her peculiar obsession with her phone. The mystery of whether Amelia would be the next Lady Macbeth. Hah.

  Clara’s absence from the will was the most tragic. The most upsetting. Clearly, poor Nora was in worse shape than any of them knew, and the associate Michael had hired back whenever Nora had gone in to make and adjustment wasn’t able to offer much help. That besides, Sharon the receptionist was all but useless. Sweet, but useless. Fortunately, the solution was at hand.

  “How will this affect our plan?” Megan asked, reading Amelia’s mind.

  Kate answered, “It doesn’t. We’re going to tackle the house on the harbor together. After that, we can start chipping away at the other properties. I’ll take over on managing The Bungalows. If everyone agrees, still, Clara can help me start clearing the cottage, too. And then she can move in eventually.” Kate dipped her chin and looked at Michael. “Maybe you can help us make sure that’s on the up and up?”

  He nodded, his face serious.

  Clara glanced around, nibbling on her lower lip nervously.

  Megan and Amelia patted her hands on either side of her, and Amelia whispered, “The cottage is yours. We can start dealing with the other properties. Together.”

  A smile spread around the four women. Peace, at last. After a lifetime of tepid sisterhood made more complicated by a cutthroat, domineering mother, they shared a realization in that moment. Nora wasn’t trying to be some evil queen. She was tending to a secret, and that secret nearly broke her, so much so that she tried to pick it open. She tried to set things right.

  She was just a little too late.

  Amelia felt a sob climb up her throat despite the new, tranquil energy. Or maybe, because of it.

  Michael cleared his throat. “I don’t want to overstep my boundaries, here, but... I can start looking into the lighthouse, if you four would like?”

  Kate let out a sigh. “It’s a big project,” she answered, her smile fading as she stared across her sisters. "As far as we know, our father still has a claim to it. Wherever he is."

  “I could help,” Amelia offered, the lump in her throat sliding back down. She winked at Megan, lifted her dark hair off her neck, rolled her shoulders back and stared directly at Michael. “No boyfriend. No Lady Macbeth. I think I could use a project.”

  ***

  Find out what happens in Birch Harbor next. Order The Lighthouse today.

  Other Titles by Elizabeth Bromke

  Birch Harbor:

  Lighthouse on the Lake

  Hickory Grove:

  The Schoolhouse

  The Christmas House

  The Farmhouse

  The Innkeeper’s House

  Maplewood:

  Christmas on Maplewood Mountain

  Return to Maplewood

  Missing in Maplewood

  The Billionaire’s Mountain Bride

  The Ranger’s Mountain Bride


  The Cowboy’s Mountain Bride

  Acknowledgements

  House on the Harbor was a joy to write and largely because of the wonderful people who lent their expertise. Lori Clarey, thank you so much for painting a picture of Pinconning and Tawas and Michigan in general. I love that we are coworkers in more ways than one, now!

  From my early childhood into my early adulthood, I spent many summers in the suburbs of Detroit on up through to Frankenmuth and Mackinac. They are some of my fondest memories because of my close relationship with the Ruthenbergs and my enchantment with a place that had rain and grass and where the houses had basements and the countryside offered cherry picking. To my parents, thank you for driving Michael and me some two thousand miles to give us a view of our nation and a summer with our cousins. I’m sorry I was an irritated teenager for most of the road trip.

  Thank you so much, Nina Johns, for your critical feedback. Your honesty and competence improved my writing not just for this book but for every other I will ever write. So glad I found you.

  And thank you, Judy, for your wisdom. You’re a true mentor to me.

  My editor Lisa Lee, who read and reread this book—thank you! I feel like God drew us together. Your notes and our conversations made this story shine. And Krissy, you are a gem. Thank you for your help in proofreading and your sweet pep-emails. Dublin soon?

  Finally and ever, my husband. My supportive and loving best friend, business partner, and sweetheart: I love you so much. Thank you for everything.

  Mr. Magoo, always for you.

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Bromke is the author of the Maplewood series, the Hickory Grove series, and the Birch Harbor series. Each set of stories incorporates family, friends, and love.

  Elizabeth lives in the mountains of Arizona, where she enjoys reading, writing, and spending time with her family.