Girard stepped closer and placed his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him with a long sigh.
“I was thinking how I look out there and see my Summer Girls talking like sisters should and know how lucky I am. We’re all back together again at Sea Breeze. They seem happy. And in a short while Carson and Harper will be married to good and decent men. Dora, too, in her time. When a woman lives long enough to see her grandchildren married and settled, she feels blessed. I feel quite content. My life has come full circle. I am complete. I want nothing more in life.”
“I hope I’m part of that circle.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “A very important cog in the wheel, my dear. And a wheel that is still turning. We’ll have weddings soon, then births, baptisms. We’ll begin the circle again.”
“Together.”
“Yes, together.” She smiled once more when she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder.
Carson closed the door to her bedroom and, leaning against it, sighed deeply in the peaceful darkness. Dinner was over. Blake had left for his apartment. It had been a wonderful evening with the family. A long one, too. Carson yawned and began unzipping the sleek silk dress. She let the dress slide from her body to the floor as she walked toward the window. Her bra and panties followed, also left on the floor. Carson opened the window to the spring-night air, chilled and moist with the remnants of winter. She breathed deep the scented air and spread out her arms. She was home. At Sea Breeze.
Her Sea Breeze. The attachment to the place was visceral. Impossible to let go. Yes, this was Harper’s house now. Intellectually Carson knew that. Accepted it. Harper couldn’t have been a more welcoming sister and hostess . . . thus far. Yet by virtue of being Harper’s house, Sea Breeze was no longer Carson’s. She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. In her heart, Sea Breeze would always be hers. Her touchstone. The only place that had ever made her feel secure. The only house she had ever called home.
She’d thought going away again would lessen the ties, but the moment she’d seen Harper open the door as mistress of the house, when Carson was served dinner at the table, ever so graciously, by Harper and Taylor, she had felt more a guest. The thought occurred to her—how long could she stay? Could she help herself to something from the fridge? Did being a sister allow her to drop in or were reservations required? She supposed they were. This was the new reality at Sea Breeze.
With a groan she fell back onto the bed, spread-eagled. The soft mattress of her youth wrapped itself around her like a cocoon. Lying on her back, Carson glanced idly around her room—the four-poster rice bed, the long mahogany bureau, the two brass-and-crystal lamps, and directly across from her bed, the elaborately framed portrait of her great ancestor Claire Muir. Her lustrous dark tresses curled to her shoulders in an elaborate coiffure complete with a charming hat spilling over with lace and feathers. And speaking of spilling over . . . the great lady’s endowments were barely concealed by the lace and velvet of her eighteenth-century blue velvet gown and the rows of lustrous pearls that revealed her wealth.
Still, it was her eyes that drew Carson in. A blue so unique and brilliant, a color so dominant, that it defied being recessive through generations and was inherited by each of the three Muir granddaughters. Legend claimed that Claire’s blue eyes had first captured the attention of the rogue Gentleman Pirate when he reached port in Charleston. But her wit and fiery spirit were what had won his heart and caused him to give up a life on the seas and settle in Charleston. Their love was fabled. How much was true and how much conjecture was uncertain. But Mamaw loved the stories and told them to the girls with relish, especially how their illustrious ancestor had left treasure buried somewhere on Sullivan’s Island. Carson and Harper had spent much of their youth searching for it.
Carson would never forget the evening that Mamaw had entered Carson’s room to say her usual good-night and found Carson crying bitterly. She was in the turbulent, angst-ridden preteen years. She’d been an ugly duckling with her long, skinny body, her big feet, and untamed, thick dark hair that other children had teased was a “rat’s nest.” Carson had wept that she would never be the southern belle that Dora—or Mamaw—was.
Without a word, the following morning Mamaw had driven to her house on East Bay Street in Charleston and returned with the painting of Claire in tow. With Lucille’s help, Mamaw had hung it so that Carson could look at the famed beauty every day when she awoke and every evening before she fell asleep, so that Carson would appreciate the beauty of her own dark hair and blue eyes. Mamaw understood that the motherless girl needed a role model to emulate, someone with spirit and courage.
Carson had stared into her ancestor Claire’s eyes when she’d needed to find her own courage, or to confess her heartbreaks, the changes in her body, her thoughts, her dreams. The times a girl needed her mother. This painting had been the one thing she’d most wanted from Sea Breeze, and the previous summer Mamaw had given it to her. Someday, Carson knew, the portrait would hang in her own home. But that was a ways off. For now, the portrait of Claire would remain at Sea Breeze, in Harper’s good care.
Yes, Carson thought begrudgingly, Harper was taking good care of Sea Breeze. Thanks to her, the house and property had stayed in the family. And from the looks of the extensive gardens and the scents of wax, soap, and polish, Sea Breeze was being lovingly tended. Carson would like to say it was easy for someone with as much money as Harper to keep up a property, but that would not be true. Harper’s personal touch was everywhere. She loved Sea Breeze, as much or, perhaps in her own way, even more than Carson.
Resentment aside, Carson was grateful. Looking around her room, she saw that Harper had kept everything just as Carson had left it. Even her messy drawers and closets. Carson chuckled to herself, thinking how knowing that mess lay there behind a closed door must have driven her fastidious sister crazy these past months. It was a symbol of her respect for Carson’s place in the house. And it meant a great deal.
With her head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, Carson brought to mind all the surprises she’d learned throughout the evening. Dora had passed her real estate exam! Carson had never seen her so chuffed. And Nate was blooming. Carson thought he’d shot up at least two inches. Mamaw seemed quite content staying in the cottage. She was, Carson thought, even glowing. Dora had confidentially whispered that the reason had nothing to do with the cottage but with the continued presence of a certain gentleman caller whom the girls had all been introduced to last summer. Carson liked Girard and found that tidbit most interesting.
The one who’d changed the most, however, was Harper. She had softened, not only metaphorically, but literally. Her face, her contours, were rounder, softer. If she were painted in a portrait, she’d have to be a Rubens. No, Carson amended. Perhaps not a Rubens—those curves were more Dora. Perhaps a Monet or a Renoir. Harper was an impressionistic vision of a country maid, her red hair tumbling down her shoulders, her large blue eyes wide.
Was the change wrought by love? Carson wondered. Or merely the prospect of being a bride? Harper was positively giddy with wedding plans. Carson had never seen her so animated. Surpassing even Dora with exuberance. In fact, Dora seemed surprisingly subdued tonight on the whole topic of the weddings. Harper, however, was a force of nature. She’d already scheduled them for cake tasting. When Carson had complained of jet lag, feisty Harper told her to “get over it” and reminded Carson that she was already ridiculously late in getting her wedding gown. Or choosing the bridesmaid dresses, selecting items for the goodie bags, and countless other decisions that had Carson’s brain swelling. And apparently, Harper believed all these decisions had to be made “together.”
Harper was determined not to make another wedding decision unless Carson was involved. She’d even gotten a bit teary eyed about it all. Carson’s objections were silenced by that. Who knew the cool, collected Harper could be so emotional? Or that the seemingly remote Taylor would be so protective? To see him place his arm
around her shoulder and plant a gentle kiss on her head was touching. Sweet, Carson thought. She’d glanced at Blake and could tell that he’d noticed, too. He was as emotional about the upcoming vows as Harper. Blake’s eyes had smoldered and he winked at Carson from across the table. Perhaps, she thought with a yawn, some of Harper’s romantic wedding spirit would rub off on her. Thinking again of the message pulsing in Blake’s smile, she felt a slight shiver of pleasure and thought it might already be.
Carson moved to slip under the thick down blanket, bringing the softness over her chilled shoulders. The sheets were crisp and scented with lavender. She smiled again, realizing Harper must have freshly laundered them before Carson’s arrival.
She closed her eyes, suddenly awash with nostalgia and feeling a little emotional herself. How many nights had she fallen asleep in this bed to the sound of palm fronds rustling in the breeze? Or heard the roar of a restless ocean pounding the beach? These were the lullabies of her childhood that could woo her to sleep. Soon, she fell into a deep slumber listening to the gentle music of Sea Breeze.
Dora folded the kitchen towel and laid it on the counter. At last, the dishes were done. She glanced around the kitchen before turning off the lights. Everything was neat and tidy, like Harper herself. Lemons and avocados filled the wire basket, spices were organized in the rack, a to-do list was on the chalkboard. The leftover red velvet cake, another of Lucille’s recipes, sat under a glass globe. Dora resisted the urge for one last piece.
She flicked off the lights and walked through the living room to collect Nate from the library where he slept. It was late and past time to go home. Sea Breeze was blanketed with a hush. Taylor had taken Thor for a walk. Mamaw and Carson had already retired. Dora was the last to leave. She was dragging her feet, not ready to go back to the empty cottage.
Tonight she’d felt happy. After dinner she and her sisters had gone out to the dock, bundled in blankets, and talked and laughed as they did last summer. She’d missed that . . . missed them. Missed this house and the feeling of security and support that surrounded her in these walls. So real she could almost smell it.
Dora laughed to herself. Tonight, security smelled like gumbo. Darn, but that Harper made a mean gumbo. Along with warm corn bread and red velvet cake for dessert. All accompanied by stories every bit as rich, filled with the myriad details of what had transpired in their lives over the six months since they’d last been together. All in all a note-perfect family gathering.
Dora had to ask herself, was there anything that Harper wasn’t good at? She was an Ivy League scholar, a former New York editor, fluent in three languages, and if she didn’t know something, she always had her trusty computer nearby to look it up. Tonight, Dora felt a little as she had last summer when Harper had arrived from New York. She appeared sleek and polished in her Armani suit and Louboutin shoes, dragging her Louis Vuitton luggage. Dora had felt like a sea cow beside her. Over the past months, Harper’s style had relaxed, and so had Dora’s diet. She’d put on weight again and it only made her want to eat more. Tonight her eating was out of control—she’d had seconds of gumbo and rice, several glasses of wine, and she’d sneaked a second piece of cake in the kitchen while doing dishes.
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the love handles she despised. When she reached the library, she opened the door. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and her gaze swept the room. The library was where Nate had slept when Mamaw owned Sea Breeze. It was Harper’s office now, filled with furniture Harper had brought over the pond from Greenfields Park. Papa Edward’s heavy desk had been replaced by an antique desk with feminine curves. Valuable side tables held a printer, scanner, and other office equipment. The bookshelves were filled with Harper’s books.
Dora’s gaze rested on her son, sleeping on the twin bed. It spoke of Harper’s infinite thoughtfulness that she’d kept the twin bed in the room so that Nate would have a place to sleep at Sea Breeze. Harper knew that any change in routine was difficult for Nate. Dora drew near her boy and reached out to sweep a lock of hair from his forehead. She could do this now, while he was asleep, without his shooing her away.
A voice came from the door: “Everything okay?”
Dora startled and stifled a yelp with her hand.
Harper laughed softly as she entered the library. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dora. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw the door open.”
Dora laughed, too, embarrassed. “I’ll bet you’re waiting for us to leave so you can go to bed.”
“Not at all,” Harper replied, but she couldn’t stop a yawn. “Forgive me, I might be a little more tired than I thought. But I won’t sleep for a while. I’ll be up remembering bits of conversations.”
“You’re a wonderful hostess. You make us feel so at home.”
“That’s because this is your home. I’m just sorry Devlin had to miss it.”
Dora stammered, “Ah, yes. Me, too. His work is keeping him busy nights now.”
“Should I pack up some gumbo for you to take to him?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll see him for a few days. Crazy busy . . .” Dora was glad for the darkness. It cloaked her lies. She’d told everyone that Devlin couldn’t come to dinner tonight as planned because he was working. In truth, he didn’t want to come. He’d said he needed some time to think, and that had terrified her.
Dora pushed on, plastering her face with a practiced smile. “I have to tell you, the gumbo you made was delicious.” She put her hand to her face in the manner of telling a secret. “I’ll deny I said this, but it was better than Lucille’s.”
Harper was pleased. “That’s high praise, indeed. I just added a little more of this or that. The recipes were, shall we say, loosely written.”
“Will you share the recipe?”
“Of course.”
Dora pursed her lips and shook her head. “Listen to us. I’m asking you for a recipe. Girl, you’ve really come a long way from the city girl who’d arrived last summer. Back then you needed my help with the garden, and you even asked me to teach you how to cook. Remember?” Dora shook her head. “Now look at you. Your garden is simply amazing and now I’m asking you for recipes. You never fail at anything, do you?”
Harper shifted her weight and looked at Dora with concern. The compliment had somehow morphed into something akin to an insult. “Dora, where’s this coming from?”
Dora looked away, embarrassed for her outburst. “Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I admire you. I do. I guess I’m just feeling a bit insecure.”
“Why?” Harper’s voice filled with empathy. “Everything is dovetailing for you. You passed your real estate exam. You’re a bona fide real estate agent!”
“Probationary,” Dora amended. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, sidestepping a discussion of Devlin. “I’m just a little nervous. New job and all.” She looked down at her sleeping son. Her heart bloomed with love for him. “Nate is my biggest success,” she said softly.
“Dora, is it so wonderful to be a mother?”
“Oh, yes. There are no words.”
Harper’s eyes grew wider and shining in the soft light. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
Dora, always loving a good secret, perked right up. “I promise.”
“I’m pregnant!” Harper blurted out.
“What!” Dora squealed. She slapped her hand across her mouth and cast a wary glance at Nate. He stirred but remained asleep. She reached out to hug Harper. They rocked back and forth with sisterly joy in the shared moment.
The mood shot skyward as they walked to the two upholstered chairs and settled in, feet tucked under their thighs, leaning toward each other.
“Does anyone know?”
“Only Taylor. And now you. I’m so glad I told you. I have so many questions and you’re the only one I could ask.”
Dora felt smugly happy that she was the one Harper confided in. She felt the bond between them
strengthen, and this helped her feel better about herself. She cupped her chin in her hand, eager to hear every word, her mind whirling with advice she could share.
Neither of them would go to bed for quite a while.
Chapter Seven
Weddings bring out the best and the worst in people. You can’t believe what people say and do—to their own family members—under normal circumstances. It’s not wise to expose a long-held family secret into the mix.
Atticus was on his way to the lowcountry. He had struggled with this decision ever since he’d read his mother’s cryptic letter from the grave. The terra firma of his life had been shaken, and a huge hole had been punched in his identity. He’d prayed on the subject, talked to his pastor, then, with his blessing, packed his truck and whizzed east to find answers to the questions. Pros and cons whirled in his head as he passed by the green fields and long stretches of white fences of the Augusta horse country, then crossed the Savannah River. Traffic was light and he was making good time. By the time he reached Columbia, South Carolina, and the signs heralded Charleston, his rationalizations had blown away with the light breeze. He began looking forward to his first visit to Charleston in years.
Though this was far from a pleasure trip. He had a lot of facts to dig up, people to meet, and soul-searching to do. He needed to learn more about this Parker Muir—a stranger to him. When his mother died, he’d thought he was alone in this world. Now he’d learned he had a living grandmother, Marietta Muir, and if the Internet was to be believed, three half sisters.
Atticus was an only child. His parents had told him that they couldn’t have more children. But now he knew that it was his father who could never have a child. Atticus supposed that was one of the hurdles his parents had faced when they’d separated. He scratched his head and wondered what kind of a man would take his wife back, pregnant with another man’s child, then raise that child as his own.
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