The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge

by Stewart, Mariah

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know that now. Somehow things always work out the way they’re supposed to. I like to think that we were always meant to be together, and that fate made it happen.”

  “Whatever made it happen, I am eternally grateful. But you’re sure you won’t regret this? You worked really hard all those years to build up your business.”

  “No regrets,” she assured him. “Besides, the wedding business here in St. Dennis is pretty good and about to get better. I have at least two more weddings to work on.”

  “Whose weddings?”

  “Brooke and Jesse’s,” she said, “and ours. Assuming that you accept my proposal.”

  “You’re proposing to me?”

  “I am.” She nodded. “Will you marry me?”

  “That’s supposed to be my line. And I’m supposed to talk to Dan and your mother about it first, then I’m supposed to ask you.”

  “You can talk to them, but when you do, you make sure you tell them that I asked you first.”

  He kissed her full on the lips, then said, “Now it’s your turn to come with me. I have something to show you, too.”

  “What?”

  “I was allowed no questions, therefore you’re not allowed any either.”

  She laughed and locked up her new office space and went back to her car.

  “How did you arrange all that, by the way?” he asked as she pulled away from the curb.

  “Brooke had mentioned that the two floors above her shop were for rent, so I asked Madeline to go look at the space for me but not to tell anyone, not even Dan or Mom. I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, you know?” she explained. “She measured the rooms and took pictures and sent them to me, and it looked pretty good. So I contacted the owner and had him draw up a one-year lease and that was pretty much that.”

  “I can’t believe you never said a word.” He shook his head.

  “It would have ruined the surprise,” she said as she turned into the drive at the farm.

  “Park back near the barn,” he told her.

  When she parked and they’d gotten out of the car, she said, “So what’s the surprise?”

  “Close your eyes.” He walked behind her, steering her straight ahead, then turned her toward the left.

  “Clay, where are you—”

  “Open your eyes.”

  “Oh, my God, Clay!” She laughed. “The chicken house! You built a new chicken house!”

  The small house was a replica of the original, with a Dutch door and windows on all four sides, and was surrounded by a tall fence.

  Clay opened the gate and held it for her. “Go look inside the house.”

  She peered over the top of the half door. “Baby chicks! Oh, look at them!”

  “There are several different kinds, see? I always liked the variety when my folks had them. There are a couple of Rhode Island Reds, a few Araucanas—they’re the ones that lay those pretty light blue-green eggs—and a couple of Barred Rocks.”

  “They are so cute.” She watched them peck and scratch at the feed in a pan on the floor, then looked back at Clay. “You did this for me. You built a henhouse so that there’d be chickens here again because you thought it would make me happy.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head and shrugged. “I did it because my carpentry skills were getting rusty.”

  Lucy laughed. “I am happy. Thank you.”

  “We’ll see how happy you are the first cold snowy winter morning when you have to get up and gather your eggs for breakfast.”

  “Those would be oatmeal days.” She nestled against his shoulder and stayed there, imagining herself living there on the farm where she’d always felt at home.

  “It’s funny how things work out,” she told him. “I came back here to run a couple of events at the inn, but I never dreamed of staying. But something happened while I was working on the Magellan wedding. I started to feel more and more a part of the community, like I had a place here. I hated that I missed Vanessa’s wedding. I wanted to be there for her and Grady. But the last straw was looking at those pictures you emailed me during the party Brooke had for Jesse. Looking at those made me feel apart from it all again, and I hated that because I knew I should have been there with all of you, celebrating. And I decided right then and there that I belonged here, with you and with my family, and I wasn’t going to ever feel like I don’t belong here again.”

  “You do belong here. You do belong with me.” Clay bent down and picked a white clover from a clump that grew outside the chicken pen. He took her hand and wrapped the thin stem around her finger, then tied it off. “It’s not much as rings go, but it will have to do until we can get something more permanent.”

  “It’s beautiful, and it’s exactly right for this moment.” She held up her hand. “Let’s go back to the inn and show Mom and Dan. I can’t wait to tell them I’ll be home for the summer, after all …”

  Diary ~

  Oh, my, what a happy heart I have these days! To say that my fondest wish has come true would be an understatement! My Lucy has come home for good! Yes, that’s what I said: LUCY IS HOME FOR GOOD!

  She and her partner have decided that three offices were better than one, and Lucy’s one would be right here in St. Dennis. Strictly speaking, from a business standpoint, it was a stroke of genius, because thanks in no small part to her, the Inn at Sinclair’s Point has become THE destination wedding spot on the Eastern Shore. And why not? I could modestly submit that we have everything one could want, but that’s a diary entry for another day. BUT—the big news is that she and Clay are engaged! Yes! There are those of us who have always known that the two of them belonged together—Clay certainly had no doubt. It just seemed to take forever for Lucy to figure it out. But figure it out she has. She’s rented office space and she’s moved her things from her L.A. apartment directly to the farmhouse, where she says she intends to stay. I’d always dreamed she’d be a springtime bride, but it’s looking like October might be the month. She says she has some fabulous ideas for the reception. All in autumn colors, she tells me—gold sunflowers and russet dahlias, orange and red zinnias, and other such things she saw growing in a field somewhere.

  It’s all happened so fast—funny thing, that. Why, Trula and I were just discussing the situation after Robert and Susanna’s wedding. She’d asked if I still had Alice’s journals—which, of course, I do—and asked me to show her. Well, of course, I didn’t mind sharing them with her. I know how discreet Trula is, how she’d never tinker with any of Alice’s spells because she knows how tempermental such things can be. Anyway, she was saying how I could probably help Lucy’s “situation” along if I had a mind to, but I assured her that I’d never interfere with any of my children’s lives like that—tempted though I have been on many, many occasions. I would dearly love to see Dan happily married again after these years as a widower, and few things would please me more than to have Ford settled—preferably here in St. Dennis, but what are the chances of that happening?

  But no—I held fast and refused to give in to the temptation. Besides, as I told Trula, I was just too tired after all the activity to even begin to think of such things. A misread word, the wrong amount of herbs, and poof! Disaster! I excused myself to go to bed, and left her in my little sitting room, in a big cozy chair, with Alice’s journal on her lap. I’m sure she appreciated the opportunity to relax and have some peace and quiet. I’ll have to remember to ask her sometime if she found anything of interest in Alice’s journal …

  Anyway, I am a happy woman—and a very blessed one. Who knows what good fortune will follow next?

  ~ Grace ~

  To Cole—you are our sunshine

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Because writing the book is only the beginning, I must send many thanks to the amazing team at Ballantine Books—Kate Collins, Gina Wachtel, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, Linda Marrow, Junessa Viloria, Ania Markiewicz, Alison Masciovecchio, Kristin Fassler, Scott Biel—
I sure hope I didn’t forget someone! These are the folks who do the heavy lifting, and they do a phenomenal job of making what I send them into a book, and then getting it out there and making sure people know that it’s out there. I owe them all big time.

  Thanks also to my agent, Loretta Barrett, and her crew—Jennifer Didik and Nick Mullendore—for all the years of working so hard on my behalf.

  The book you’re holding in your hands is number thirty-five for me! I know! I can hardly believe it myself! But without the support of my friends and family, I’d never have finished that first one. So huge thanks to Helen Egner and the late Carole Spayd for cheering me on back in those early days—and to Bill, Becca, Katie, Mike, and the newest member of the family, our darling Cole, for giving meaning to the journey.

  Many thanks to Marianne McBay, Wed Accompli—Weddings and Events, Savannah, Georgia, not only for years of friendship and laughter (we don’t need to say how many years), but for sharing her knowledge of the world of wedding planning that made this book possible.

  Karyn Park won the right to have a character named after her in the annual ADWOFF raffle benefitting the Nora Roberts Foundation (thanks and love, as always, to Phyllis Lannik). Hopefully, Karyn is enjoying her new career as a celebrity photographer.

  Lastly, since we have three cousins named Bonnie, it was only a matter of time until I named a character after them. So here you go, Bonnie Slavin-Walls, Bonnie Bricker Almquist, and Bonnie Shafer Sayette (whose maiden name was so good I poached it all!).

  The Long Way Home is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Marti Robb

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-54027-0

  Cover art: Chris Cocoazza

  Cover design: Scott Biel

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1_r2

  Contents

  Master - Table of Contents

  The Long Way Home

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Dedication

  Diary

  When I was young and impatient and would say things like “I wish Christmas would hurry and get here!” or “I wish I were twelve already”—or fifteen, or eighteen, whatever the perceived magic age was at the time—Mother would always say, “Don’t wish your life away. Time passes quickly enough.” Another of her favorite expressions was “The older you get, the faster time flies.” The truth of the latter has been made clearer to me with each passing year.

  It seems that only last week or so, my daughter was planning that first big wedding at the inn last winter, and now here we are, a year later, Halloween behind us and Thanksgiving only weeks away. I blinked, and we went from talking about Lucy coming home for the summer to staring down the barrel of winter all over again.

  Another of Mother’s favorite expressions was “Be careful what you wish for.” On my last birthday, I made two wishes: I wished that my two wandering children would come home—come home and stay home. Well, half of that wish has come true with Lucy coming back … and joy! Making plans to marry Clay, just like I always knew she would do. Now if I could only wish Ford home as easily, I’d be the happiest woman on earth. Oh, I know I should count my blessings—and I do, every day. But with Ford involved in … well, who knows where he is or what he’s doing? Certainly not I. People ask me what UN Peacekeepers actually do, and sometimes I’m not even sure myself. I know he’s somewhere in Africa. He said if he told me exactly where, I’d worry too much and he’d rather not lie if he didn’t have to, and that he’s safe where he is, so I shouldn’t be anxious. But really. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t worry after hearing that?

  Exactly.

  Sometimes I ache so much to have him home—to have all three of my babes safely under this roof with me. Even though they’re adults, they’re still my babes, and I still worry and fret over all of them.

  Lucy thought she’d be having a wedding of her own this fall, but since word has spread that she’s the new event planner at the inn, business has gone through the roof and she hasn’t had time to plan her own wedding. She’s so good at what she does, transforming the inn into something different for every happy couple. I don’t know where she gets her ideas from. I just hope she saves something wonderful for herself!

  Anyway, it’s nice to head into another holiday season. Lately, though, I’ve been sensing that something’s coming, something that’s about to change our world here in St.

  Dennis—not in a significant way, but a change nonetheless, and I can’t quite get a handle on it, but I think I’ll know it when I see it.

  I suppose I could consult the next world and see what my spirit friends have to say—Alice always has something to say—but on the other hand, since the change doesn’t feel like a threat, perhaps it might be more fun to just wait and see what comes our way!

  Grace

  Chapter 1

  So this is St. Dennis.

  Ellis Chapman drove slowly along Charles Street—slowly enough to earn her a few short polite beeps from the cars following her. At the top of the street, where she’d turned off the highway, there’d been an old farmhouse and an orchard on the left side of the road, and woods on the right. Where the farmland ended, a residential area began with a long block of lovely old homes set on nice lawns surrounded by old shade, mostly maples and oaks. The fallen leaves had blanketed many of those nice lawns with yellow and red and brown, all just waiting to be raked into irresistible piles into which the neighborhood children would surely jump.

  The commercial district crept up gradually: it took a moment for Ellis to realize that the clapboard houses she’d passed were actually a restaurant, an antiques dealer, a bookstore, a gift shop, a children’s clothing store, and a candy store. The heart of the district had a handful of storefronts. There was a cupcake bakery, a women’s clothing store, another restaurant with an upscale look about it, a coffee shop, a flower shop, and a small newsstand that apparently sold beverages, judging by its name, Sips.

  Nice, she thought as she drove along. All the basics, but with a slightly trendy touch.

  She continued on through the town, past a sign announcing a marina, yet another restaurant, and an ice-cream parlor.

  Looks like the people around here like to eat.

  “Works for me,” she murmured.

  The drive from Massachusetts had taken longer than she’d anticipated, though she was still almost thirty minutes early for her appointment. She made a left turn and drove around the block. Once back onto Charles Street, she made a second pass through town, trying to decide how best to assuage her hunger. There was no time for a meal, but coffee and maybe a quick snack would be welcome. She parked across the street from the coffee shop—the sign read CUPPACHINO in a stylized script—and headed down against the wind, dodged the midafternoon traffic to cross to the other side.

  She pushed open the coffee shop’s red door and rubbed her hands together to warm them
while she glanced around for an empty table. She was just about to head for one when a little wave from the teenage boy at the counter caught her eye.

  “I can take your order here,” he told her. He went on to explain, “We’re counter service only.”

  “Oh. Well …” She squinted to read the handwritten menu on the chalkboard behind him.

  “Take your time. No hurry.”

  “I’d like a large regular coffee with whole milk.” She paused to survey the edibles. She really shouldn’t indulge, she told herself, right before she heard herself say, “And one of the vanilla cupcakes with the pink frosting.”

  “Excellent choice.” The boy nodded his approval and poured her coffee into an oversize blue mug. “Cream and sweeteners are over on the cart there behind you.”

  “Oh,” she said for the second time, and turned to locate the station.

  She paid for the coffee and the cupcake and took both to a table that sat off by itself next to the wall, then carried the mug to the cart, where she added milk and a packet of raw sugar. She sat, sipped, and took a bite from the cupcake.

  Bliss.

  It was excellent, with tiny bits of strawberries in both the frosting and the cake. The coffee was equally good, and she sighed. If St. Dennis had nothing else to recommend it, at least there was great coffee and baked goods to be had.

  The door opened and three chattering women entered the shop and went directly to the counter, where they were served coffee in mugs from what appeared to be a special shelf along the wall. Ellis watched surreptitiously while the ladies fixed their coffee at the station.

  “… so really, Grace, what else could I have done?” one woman was saying as she added two pink packets of sweetener to her coffee.

  “I don’t know that I would have done anything differently, dear.” The oldest of the three—Grace, apparently—shook her head slightly. “Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”