First Come Twins

by Helen Brenna

  “Sophie?” Jan Setterberg, the inn’s general manager, breezed into the sun-filled room and dropped off the day’s mail. “The three o’clock ferry passed by a few minutes ago.”

  Sophie glanced at her watch. “Is it that time already?” So engrossed in work, she’d forgotten her baby brother, Marty, and his fiancée, Brittany, were coming today to help prepare for the arrival next week of their wedding guests.

  “You’ve got a couple minutes before the carriage makes its way here.” Jan picked up Marty and Brittany’s wedding invitation from the corner of Sophie’s desk and studied the hand-painted watercolor design of wood violets and white lilacs. “Brittany’s parents must have paid a small fortune for these.”

  “Nope.” Sophie quickly shut down her computer. “Marty’s not letting them pay for anything.” After struggling financially for years, her brother’s Internet brainchild had recently been bought out for a tidy sum. If he and Brittany had wanted, they could have treated the entire wedding party along with all their guests to a trip to Hawaii or Europe. “I hope Brittany’s happy with Mirabelle.”

  “Rousseau weddings have been held on this island,” Jan stated the historic detail with the cadence of a commercial sound bite, “since Jean Paul Rousseau took Marie Le Blanc to be his bride—”

  “Back in 1715.” As if Sophie needed the reminder. “I know. I know.”

  All her life, Sophie had breathed and dreamed Rousseau family tradition. From the time she was little, she’d sit on her father’s lap and beg him to recount how Jean Paul and Marie had built the first inn on Mirabelle, how the voyageurs had sometimes passed through trading furs and stories, or how her ancestors had been friends with the Chippewa.

  Even now, long after her parents had passed away, she’d held fast to their ideals, from the cassoulets, goose foie gras and Bordeaux on the restaurant menus to day-to-day operations. The Mirabelle Island Inn was as modern as could be when it came to computers, Web sites, phone and reservation systems, but not a hand soap, bedspread or plate was purchased without consideration of her fur-trading forebears who had settled the island back in the late 1600s.

  The only tradition-breaking allowed at the inn was for weddings. On those occasions, the wishes of the bride and groom ruled. Normally, Sophie would be managing any wedding activities at the inn, but since this was Marty’s event and she’d have family in town her staff would be taking charge.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Jan said. “Everyone’s pulling out the stops for Marty and Brittany. That new wedding planner, Sarah, is a gem. Josie planned a spectacular menu for the entire week. I’ll keep the guests busy with all kinds of fun activities. And they’ll all be gone before the summer tourist season gets in full swing. You won’t have to do much of anything except relax and enjoy yourself for a change.”

  “Okay, Mom.” She might pay the salaries around this place, but her employees, the entire island for that matter, were more extended family than anything. “A few days off before the summer rush sounds good to me.”

  “Oh, before I forget.” Jan held out samples of wallpaper designs. “I need your decision on new paper for the front desk area.”

  Sophie didn’t need to mull over that one. “Replace it with the same print.”

  “I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again.” Jan waved the samples in front of Sophie. “We could use some contrasting color out there.”

  Most people assumed she didn’t like change. Sophie preferred to think of herself as a stickler for historic details. “There’s plenty of color. It’s called green. Nice try though.”

  “Mom?” Two young voices sounded in unison from the direction of the lobby.

  “In here, guys!”

  Flip-flops and tennis shoes echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet hall as her daughter and son made their way toward her office. Lauren breezed into the room first, her long, dark blond hair flying behind her, dropped her backpack on the floor and plopped into one of two ornately carved, gilded chairs. Kurt walked in next and fell into the other chair, his curly light brown hair ruffled from the wind.

  “Last day of school!” Lauren exclaimed and met Kurt’s closed fist in the air with one of her own. “Yes!”

  “I thought there was an end-of-the-year party,” Sophie said. “Aren’t you guys going?”

  “Are you serious?” Lauren’s face scrunched up with distaste. “All they’re gonna do is play kissing games. Eww.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Kurt smiled and nodded. “I’m going.”

  “You’ll kiss anyone.” Lauren rolled her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t kiss you.”

  Despite being twins, Lauren and Kurt’s personalities were as different as cold from hot, making for great entertainment. Sophie could sit back and watch them interact all day long.

  “Oh, come on, Lauren,” Jan said. “There must be someone at school you like.”

  “There are eight kids in my ninth-grade class, and I’ve known them my entire life.” Lauren gave Jan a look she’d perfected in her fourteen short years, a cross between supreme condescension and youthful arrogance. “I still remember Ben peeing in his pants in kindergarten. Nate threw up last year during social studies. And Zach?” She folded her arms across her developing chest. “Still picks his nose.”

  Sophie kept from smiling by biting the inside of her cheek. Having grown up on the ten-square-mile island, she remembered feeling the exact same way about every boy. Except Noah.

  “Those are my options,” Lauren continued, turning from Jan to glare at Sophie. “If you don’t get me off this island, Mom, I’m gonna die never having been kissed!”

  “Lauren—”

  “I’m serious!”

  “Drama queen,” Kurt charged.

  “Indiscriminate kisser,” Lauren shot back.

  “Hey, hey, hey! We don’t have time to argue. Marty and Brittany just got in on the last ferry.”

  Lauren jumped up from the chair. “Brittany’s here? Now?”

  “I thought the wedding stuff doesn’t start for another week,” Kurt said.

  “They wanted some time to settle in and help get ready for their guests.”

  “Awesome!” Kurt said.

  Sophie stood. “Should we meet them out front?”

  “Definitely.” The twins headed for the door.

  Sophie followed, then stopped, looking back at Jan. “In case I forget, thanks for everything you’re doing for Marty.”

  Jan smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  Sophie caught up with Lauren and Kurt in the empty lobby. With dark green carpeting and pale green-and-rose printed wallpaper, one had the impression of walking into a garden. An awfully green garden. Maybe Jan was right. For a moment she considered some red accents to perk up the place.

  But it’s always been green.

  She swung one arm around each of the kids’ shoulders and headed outside. “Pretty exciting, huh? There hasn’t been a Rousseau wedding on the island for years.”

  “There’s no way I’m living here,” Lauren said, “but I am getting married here.”

  “You have to kiss someone first.” Kurt ran ahead.

  “Oh, shut up.” Lauren shot after him.

  The moment Sophie stepped away from the entryway awning the late May sunshine hit her full in the face. She put a hand out to shield her eyes and perused the grounds, making sure all was in order for the fast approaching tourist season.

  Irises bloomed along the front porch, ivy made its springtime creep up the east wall, and the lawns and hedges were trimmed to perfection. Pink and red geraniums and dahlias of every imaginable hue lined the walkways, and a row of purple lilacs in full bloom set a colorful backdrop to a flowing fountain. Even the rose garden, with its shrubs, topiaries and delightful climbing varieties, was budding out.

  The gardener was doing an excellent job keeping the landscape alive and well and looking exactly as Sophie’s great-grandmother had planned some one hundred years ago. Add to the mix a few details from her parents�
� wills, and the grounds would remain virtually unchanged for at least another century.

  After they’d died, the inn property and over four hundred adjacent acres of undeveloped land had been put in trust for the Rousseau children: Sophie, Marty and their two sisters, Elizabeth and Jacqueline, who were both married and too busy raising families in suburban Minneapolis to care much one way or another about what was happening on Mirabelle.

  Sophie earned a more than fair salary for running the inn, but she couldn’t materially alter the premises, nor could the adjoining land be developed without unanimous approval from all four siblings. That was fine by Sophie.

  She glanced beyond the manicured perfection and rested her eyes on the bordering wildness of craggy oaks and pines, some older than the inn itself. No wonder their little island had become a wedding destination for the Upper Midwest. No place mixed quaint with quiet better than Mirabelle.

  She drew in a deep, satisfied breath and caught up with the kids farther down the drive. Past the row of blue spruce lining the road, the clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone road sounded Marty and Brittany’s arrival. The only motorized vehicles on the island were the ambulance and fire trucks, requiring guests and their luggage to be transported by horse-drawn carriages.

  Lauren waved the minute Marty and Brittany appeared. Kurt, on the other hand, was far too cool to show his excitement. The carriage turned into the drive, and the moment the horses stopped, Brittany jumped up and—there was no other word for it—squealed. “I’m so excited! This island is perfect for a wedding. Thank you so much for agreeing to have this here. It’s the best wedding present ever.”

  Sophie grinned. Brittany had taken a little getting used to, and Sophie had worried that a twenty-two-year-old was too young for Marty, but after seeing how Brittany’s zest complemented Marty’s sober personality, liking her had been easy.

  “Take a breath, sweetheart.” Marty hopped out of the carriage and reached for Brittany’s hand, helping her down.

  Brittany’s feet no sooner touched the ground than she turned and hugged Sophie. “You’re going to be the best sister-in-law any new bride could ask for.” Then it was Kurt’s turn. “Kurt!” She drew the reluctant teenager into a brief hug. “I can’t wait to see you in a tux. You’ll look so handsome.” She turned to Lauren and squealed again. “Lauren!” The two clasped their arms around each other. “I’m so excited. Aren’t you excited?”

  “I can’t wait to see your dress!”

  “I’ll show it to you as soon as I unpack.”

  “Oh, your nails look gorgeous,” Lauren murmured.

  “Do you want me to do yours? I can do yours.”

  “Would you?”

  Kurt looked at Marty and rolled his eyes.

  Marty laughed as he grabbed their luggage from the back of the carriage. “Thanks, Arlo.”

  “See you later, Arlo,” Sophie yelled.

  “Ayep.” He took off the carriage brake and tapped his reins.

  Marty turned to Kurt. “Hey, slugger, how you doing?” They went through the motions of some funky handshake they’d made up the last time Marty had visited. When he turned to Sophie for a hug his gaze turned serious. “Hey, Sophie.” There had to be something more than the normal prewedding jitters on his mind.

  “What’s the matter?” she whispered.

  “Later,” he whispered back.

  After all the hellos, Brittany started up again, like a windup toy. “Everything is so beautiful. These gardens and grounds! They’re looking better than ever. The photographer’s going to love this. I love this! Oh, Marty!” She looked up at him and her eyes sparkled. “We’re going to have such a perfect week.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you and Lauren go find Jan? She’ll know our room numbers.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Brittany grabbed Lauren’s arm.

  “Then we can unpack your dress!” Lauren exclaimed, her head tilting toward Brittany’s as they walked to the inn.

  Kurt shook his head at Marty. “Does she ever stop chattering?”

  “Are you kidding? That sweet music lulls me to sleep and nudges me awake every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Marty laughed at the sudden grimace on Kurt’s face. “Just wait. That bug’ll bite you someday.”

  “Not for a while yet,” Sophie cautioned.

  “Can I go to the party now?” Kurt asked.

  “Grab a bag first, eh?” They carried Marty and Brittany’s luggage to the main lobby entrance.

  After Kurt took off on his bike Sophie turned to Marty. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

  Clearly uncomfortable, he ran his hands through his hair and shifted from foot to foot. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “I’ve had so many wedding upsets through the years, nothing fazes me anymore.”

  “It’s not that.” He shook his head, hesitating. “There was someone on the ferry just now. Someone I didn’t expect to see.” He looked straight into her eyes and then away as if he couldn’t stand to see her reaction.

  “Who?”

  “Noah Bennett.”

  Noah? Sophie’s mouth turned dust dry. Though she hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud for years the sound of it still hurt. “This ferry? Today?”

  Marty nodded.

  “You sure it was him?”

  “Positive.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Why’d he come back?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “Grandma Bennett’s.”

  Just up the hill from the inn. Too close for her comfort, but it made sense given the old woman had willed the property to Noah when she’d died, hoping to lure him home, at least every once in a while. She shouldn’t have bothered. He hadn’t even come back for her funeral.

  “Why is he here?” she asked. “Why now?”

  Marty shrugged. “He looks like he’s in pretty rough shape, like he could use some company. I…I hope it’s all right. I…asked him to come down some time this coming week. To join in with the wedding activities…”

  Although Marty kept talking his voice barely penetrated her thoughts. Fifteen years she’d waited to give Noah Bennett a piece of her mind, and now the moment was at hand.

  “Sophie?” Marty touched her arm. “You okay?”

  “Not even close.” She spun away from her brother and marched toward Bennett Hill.

  “Well, don’t do anything stupid,” Marty yelled. “Sophie!”

  “When I get back, Marty,” she shouted over her shoulder, “you can define stupid for me!”

  PINK RHODODENDRONS AND buttercup lilies flowered along the front of the house, and purple irises sprouted along the south side. Gingerbread trim, wide porch, old-fashioned swing, big shade trees. The sight of Grandma Bennett’s house poured a thick layer of calm over Noah’s ragged nerves.

  As he walked up the front steps, he noticed bushes in dire need of pruning and chipped and peeling siding and trim. The place had surely seen more pampered days. He retrieved the key from under a large planter where his grandmother had always left it and, propping open the storm door with his good leg, unlocked the solid oak front door.

  Apparently, his dad hadn’t gotten rid of anything since Grandma died. Everything looked pretty much the same, from the antique cherry furniture in the dining room and floral sofa in the living room to the white ruffled curtains and the red-and-white, circa-1950 table and vinyl chairs in the kitchen. Any minute now Noah half expected to see his grandma coming toward him, wiping her hands on her flower-printed apron.

  Although he’d felt horrible for missing her funeral, there’d been no easy way out of the guerilla camps in the jungles of South America. She would have understood, better than anyone.

  Noah left the heavy oak door open so air could flow through the screen on the top half of the storm door. He walked into the living room, sat on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. Af
ter tugging up his pant leg, he rolled down the silicone sleeve holding the prosthetic to his leg and let the damned heavy thing drop to the floor.

  He’d no sooner set his handgun within reach on the coffee table and sat back when his cell phone rang. Sliding it out of his back pocket, he answered, “Bennett here.”

  “It’s Liz.” As in Elizabeth Ingram, his editor and the closest thing he had to a friend these days. “Where are you?”

  “Mirabelle.”

  “Good.” She was quiet for a moment. Most people weren’t aware the woman could just as easily tear a man apart as spoon-feed him chicken noodle soup at his hospital bedside. She sure had shocked the hell out of Noah. Having married her husband late in life, she’d never had children. Noah supposed he was the closest thing she’d ever have to a son. “Have you eaten anything today?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Lies were easiest. “So what’s up?”

  “We can extend your deadline another two months.”

  “I told you I need at least four.”

  “That would mean moving the release date. I won’t do that. Too many wheels are already in motion.”

  “I can’t do it, Liz.” He might have three-quarters of the book already written, but since the explosion he hadn’t touched the manuscript. It wasn’t likely the rest of it was going to write itself.

  “Do me a favor,” she said. “Take several days on this island, maybe a few weeks, to clear your head. Then give it a shot, okay?”

  He supposed he owed her at least that. “I’ll try.”

  After ending the call, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch. His thoughts drifted. He had no idea how long he’d been out when a noise penetrated his senses. He shot forward and reached for the gun before his grandmother’s possessions reoriented him and he relaxed. Don’t need it, dude. It was only someone coming up the sidewalk.

  Not wanting anyone to see him without his prosthetic, he quickly hopped on his one good leg across the room. When he saw her through the screen, he stopped. “Sophie.” He should’ve known she’d come.