At Legend's End (The Teacup Novellas - Book Four)
Page 18
He turned to his right where Molly stood beside him. “And for some, the tragedy hit much too close to home.”
She responded with a nod and a quivering smile.
“Mere coincidence? Perhaps. But the common thread they shared evolved into a legacy of both heartache and speculation about a ‘curse’.”
Trevor turned back to Olivia. “But today, with these dear friends as witnesses, we shall bid farewell to the legend once and for all.”
In one swift motion, he raised their hands up and over the edge of the boat, sending the cup and saucer splashing into the water.
A collective astonished gasp skittered around them.
“Trevor, what have you done?” she cried.
A strangely hushed reverence descended on them, no one saying a word. Olivia and the others leaned over to watch as the cup and saucer slowly disappeared in the water.
Her voice overcome with sorrow, she faced him again. “Why did you do that?”
He tenderly gathered her into his arms. “Because I’m freeing you from fear. I’m freeing all of us from fear. And I’m promising you, Olivia, before everyone here, that no myth or curse or legend will ever befall you. And I will never leave you.”
“Yes, but why—”
“Why?” Pressing his fingers against her lips, he silenced her protests. “Because in times such as these, I’ve learned the value of releasing that which is of great worth. . . to gain that which is priceless.”
Epilogue
The End
I sat there holding my breath, my hands still suspended over my keyboard. Could I really end the story there? Was it the end of the legend? They were all there, freeze-framed in my mind, still celebrating in the “floating theater in the round,” as Trevor called it.
When he and Olivia tossed the cup overboard, my mind flashed back to the scene at the end of Titanic where the old lady version of Kate tiptoed toward the back of the ship, climbed on the rail, and released the “heart of the ocean” necklace into the waters above the wreckage of the RMS Titanic. As the brilliant sapphire and diamond jewels of that famous necklace disappeared into the watery grave, so too the Union First Wreath cup and saucer floated downward to join the lost pieces of the Spode wedding china Captain MacVicar had bought for his bride.
I pressed my knuckles against my eyes, stemming the pesky tears. I’m such a sap when it comes to these love stories. My brother Chad likes to remind me I’m closer to my story characters than my non-fictional, living and breathing friends. And that’s fine. I’m comfortable with these imaginary friends who drift in and out of my life.
But it’s always hard to say goodbye. So I pushed back my chair and left the room, already in grief over sending them off to be groomed and tailored for publishing.
As you know by now, this is the part where I normally dance down the hall to the kitchen and break out the ice cream. But if you must know, I’m trying to knock off a few pounds. It’s tough for those of us with sedentary careers. Gertie exercises me as often as she can tear me away, but when I’m “in the zone” with my stories, I’m basically superglued to my laptop for days on end. Thus, my ever-expanding gluteus maximus. Which is why I grabbed a carton of peach-flavored Greek yogurt to reward myself for another completed manuscript.
As I leaned against the counter, I purposefully nudged my mind away from Caden Cove. The flora and fauna of the next novella in this series has been traipsing through my mind since the beginning. When I first received the collection of teacups from Aunt Lucille’s estate, my writer’s block was literally blown out of the water. So many teacups, so little time. Each cup prompting a story, whispering its romantic tale through the muse in my head.
But this one would be different. I’d reserved this particular story as a personal tribute to my favorite aunt and her larger-than-life inspiration in my life. Hers was a love story set against the backdrop of World War II, her handsome fiancé half a world away. I had to get this right. I wanted to give my readers a glimpse into the heart and soul of Lucille Alexander Reynolds. Why? Because she opened my eyes to a whole new world I’d never experienced. Through her gift of storytelling, I learned about colorful characters and personalities, exotic places both near and far, and about the power of love. They became my passion, stretching my imagination to tell my own stories.
The doorbell rang, yanking me back to the real world. I checked the clock on my kitchen wall. Nine-thirty on the nose. Prompt as usual.
“Ma’am, I have a delivery here for a Miss Lucy Alexander. Would that perhaps be you?”
“Why yes, it would,” I replied in a sappy Southern belle drawl. I leaned against the doorjamb in my best come-hither pose. “How about you come inside, you big brown hunk of gorgeous, and we can unwrap those little ol’ boxes together.”
He practically doubled over with his guffaw. Have I mentioned how much I like Mark’s guffaws? His gasping-for-breath belly laughs? (Though I’m fairly confident that belly of his is ripped. Not that I would know, of course.)
“Oh, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy . . . life was so dull before I met you.”
“How’s it going, big guy?”
“Pretty good. Finish the geezer love story yet?”
I pinned him with a steely glare. “Forty-somethings are hardly ‘geezers,’ I’ll have you know. They’re in the prime of their lives, so cut ‘em a little slack, will you?”
He tucked a curl behind my ear. “My apologies. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Yeah?” I loved that he loved my books.
“Sure. I stocked up on plenty of Bengay and prunes to set the mood when I read it.”
I’m quite sure my sucker-punch to his aforementioned ripped belly conveyed my deep appreciation for his sarcasm.
He raised his big mitts in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry. Just kidding. Listen, I’ve gotta run. Are we still on for the symphony tonight?”
“Yes, and I can’t wait! I’m wearing my sparkly new dress, and I bought you a sparkly new vest to wear, so we can be all matchy-matchy.”
Deer in the headlights. I loved freaking him out almost as much as I loved his guffaws. Even if it only lasted a millisecond.
“Sweet! Sounds nifty. I’ll wear my brown leather pants. An ensemble. Trust me, I’ll be hot.”
I shivered, trying to shake that image from my head. “Okay, fine. You win. Score one for the delivery guy.”
His dimples took a plunge. “Pick you up at seven?” He gave his usual cursory glance around the neighborhood then gave me a kiss. Can’t have the UPS guy kissing on his customers, now can we?
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good!” He handed me two fairly small boxes, then turned and jogged down the driveway toward his truck. “Oh, and Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget your Depends. It’s a long program tonight.”
I threw Gertie’s old tennis ball at him, but it bounced off that big brown truck instead.
I closed the door behind me, still laughing. I decided our humorous sparring must be one of our love languages. We’d taken it to a whole new art form. I adored his sarcastic quips. In fact, I adored everything about my Mark.
I shuffled back to the kitchen and set the boxes on the counter. One was from an Etsy site where I’d ordered a pair of sock monkey slippers. Cute, huh? The other had no return address, so I tore open the outer wrapping. It was a fancy box from a local jeweler.
Huh. That’s weird. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry. Must be something from Mom. She has a doctoral degree in box recycling.
I opened the box and found another box inside.
A black velvet box.
I’d written too many romance novels. I knew all about little black boxes. Or at least I thought I did. I swallowed hard, blew out a shaky breath, and slowly opened the box.
Inside was the most beautiful heart-shaped necklace made of tiny diamonds on a delicate silver chain. I could hardly breathe. Was it from Mark? Why had he delivered it? Why didn’t he just wait f
or me to open it? Or give it to me tonight?
Inside the lid of the box was a note folded into a tiny square. I set the box and necklace aside and unfolded the card.
When this you see
remember me . . .
I love you, Lucy
with all my heart.
Oh my goodness.
The words blurred almost immediately. Mark was kind and sweet and funny and a true gentleman. We’d been dating almost a year. I loved being with him. But we’d never taken it to the next level. We often said “I love you” the same way you say it to all your friends—Love ya! Have a great day!
But this was new territory. It suddenly dawned on me why he’d delivered this gift the way he did. It’s how we met.
He delivered packages to me.
Now he’d delivered his love.
Whoa.
I carefully clasped the necklace around my neck and peeked in the mirror for a glimpse. I’d never owned anything so lovely. Seeing it there in my reflection, I felt adorned in Mark’s love.
Whoa.
A flicker dashed through my mind. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar, but I had no idea why. Maybe I’d seen one like it in a commercial. Or maybe in a movie.
I fingered my new necklace as I headed back to my office. Something was prickling me just below the surface. Romantic jewelry notwithstanding, I needed to make some notes for my new story before my thoughts disappeared in the wasteland of my mind.
I’d brought the Christmas cup into my office weeks ago. Don’t laugh when I tell you, but it seemed to be calling out to me. Studying it now, I remembered Aunt Lucille’s photo album I’d borrowed from Dad. I reached for it and started to thumb through its sepia-tinted photographs when something jumped off the page.
I heard my own gasp. There in the photograph was my Uncle Gary—clasping a dainty necklace around his fiancée’s neck—a heart shaped with diamonds.
Ohmigosh . . .
My aunt’s necklace! I’d never once seen her without it. Ever. So how did one just like it end up on my neck? Mark never met my aunt. I’d never mentioned her necklace to him.
Yet moments ago, my Mark “delivered” one exactly like it.
Whoa . . .
______________
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you’ll love Diane’s historical romance
Blue Like Elvis
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Look for Teacup Novella Five
coming in time for Christmas!!
Acknowledgments
As always, thanks to my father, Glenn Hale, for his stellar proof-reading—even in the midst of all the festivities surrounding his 90th birthday. Happy birthday, Dad!
A special thanks for the incomparable editing services by my favorite Aussie, Bev Harrison. Bless you, my friend. Thanks once again for the sparkle!
I’m convinced I’d never write a single word without the constant encouragement from my husband, Ken. Thanks for all those brainstorming sessions over fajitas and chimichangas. Have I told you lately how much I love you?
Thanks to Erin Pechtel for allowing us to feature Rufus, your adorable King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, for the interior section breaks. Rufus, you rock!
Eternal thanks to my beloved aunt, Lucille McKeag Hale, whose gift of vintage teacups inspired the stories of this novella series. How I would’ve loved to share these stories with you!
In memory of Linda Brewer, my sister Morlee’s dear and precious friend who found love again later in life—living proof that the best things in life really are worth wait.
And finally, with deepest appreciation for my readers whose emails and reviews have warmed my heart in ways I’d never dreamed. You are the reason I write.
About the Author
Born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma, Diane Hale Moody is a graduate of Oklahoma State University. She lives with her husband Ken in the rolling hills just outside of Nashville. They are the proud parents of two grown and extraordinary children, Hannah and Ben.
Just after moving to Tennessee in 1999, Diane felt the tug of a long-neglected passion to write again. Since then, she’s written a column for her local newspaper, feature articles for various magazines and curriculum, and several novels with a dozen more stories eagerly vying for her attention.
When she’s not reading or writing, Diane enjoys an eclectic taste in music and movies, great coffee, the company of good friends, and the adoration of a peculiar little pooch named Darby.
Visit Diane's website at dianemoody.net and her blog, “just sayin’” at dianemoody.blogspot.com.
Other Titles from OBT Bookz
(click the title for more information)
From Author Diane Moody
The Runaway Pastor’s Wife
Blue Christmas
Blue Like Elvis
Confessions of a Prayer Slacker
Tea with Emma
The Teacup Novellas (Book One)
Strike the Match
The Teacup Novellas (Book Two)
Home to Walnut Creek
The Teacup Novellas (Book Three)
At Legend’s End
The Teacup Novellas (Book Four)
From Author McMillian Moody
Ordained Irreverence
Elmo Jenkins (Book One)
Some Things Never Change
Elmo Jenkins (Book Two)
The Old Man and the Tea
Elmo Jenkins (Book Three)
The Elmo Jenkins Trilogy
Table of Contents
Copyright
Other Books
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author