Seaside Harmony Part 23

Great day for Boston!

Wish you'd been at South End Grounds with me.

Must prepare Sunday's sermon.

Your servant and fond admirer,

William."

"There aren't any numbers on that one," Caroline said. "No verse, or Scripture. Just the note."

"What's the postmark on that one?" Gracie asked. "The others are postmarked in 1880, but this one could have been written earlier-or later. There might be a reason why there weren't any numbers written across the top."

Sam turned the card over to look at the postmark. "Hmm, you're right. It was earlier. Two years earlier, 1878-that's around the time Jedediah died."

"And now that you mention it," Sam said, "he died before most of the other postcards were sent."

"So why hide them?" Caroline asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Personally, I think you ladies are trying too hard to find something where there's nothing," s.h.i.+rley said, pus.h.i.+ng up from the chair. "Those numbers are probably nothing more than doodles, scribbled by a man who had nothing better to do with his time."

"You're probably right," Gracie said. "They're nothing more than postcards. No secret code. No secret alliance. Just a big joke between two old friends."

"I hope you're wrong," Caroline said. "Though I am beginning to suspect that the joke's on us."

"Please tell me you've done this before," Gracie said, sitting cross-legged on the floor watching Sam tear apart one of the sofas. "Covering one cus.h.i.+on on a simple French Provincial chair is one thing. Upholstering an entire sofa is another."

"I watched Martha Stewart do this once. It was a piece of cake."

"I certainly hope this piece of cake doesn't end up wasting yards and yards of expensive upholstery fabric-"

"I got this upholstery fabric for a song, I'll have you know." Sam held up a length of cheerful blue, green, and yellow fabric against the side of the couch and nodded.

"Stop being such a fuddy-duddy," Caroline called, laughing at Gracie all the way from the dining room. Caroline was working on the Web site, while poor Jamie was studying the postcards, a task she'd been at off and on for days. She wasn't going to discover anything, Gracie wanted to tell her.

"How's it going?" George sauntered into the parlor, looking for Caroline, no doubt. There were smudges of grease on his nose and forehead.

"If you're asking me and Sam," Gracie said, "I suppose it's going as good as can be expected, considering that two novice upholsterers are trying to perform miracles."

"Jamie and I are in the dining room," Caroline called out. "But stay there. I need a break before I go blind staring at this computer screen."

"In case Caroline hasn't told you," Sam said to George, looking up from her work, "she's putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the Web site, and it's looking awfully good."

"I just hope we can get the bedrooms completely decorated before we go live," Gracie added. She would be leaving in a little over a week, and she hoped they could finish before then.

"They'll be done, not to worry." Caroline walked into the parlor and, with a tissue she pulled from her pocket, wiped the grease from George's nose. He'd been working on the Packard nearly nonstop since he'd arrived on the island the day before, and Gracie was beginning to feel as if he was as much a part of the inn as she and her two sisters.

"The Packard should be done before we know it too," George said, sitting on the piano bench. Caroline took a seat beside him.

"Any luck with the gauges?" Caroline asked.

"I was afraid I'd ordered the wrong ones." George combed his fingers through his hair. "I had a terrible time getting the old gauges out of the dash, and I thought the new ones wouldn't go in, but just when I was about to give up-well, I won't bore you with the details. But the first time you drive that old car, you'll know exactly how fast you're going, how much gas you've got, and you'll even be able to play your favorite CDs. Of course, all that depends on whether or not I can find all the engine parts to get the motor running."

"Is it that difficult?" Sam asked. She placed the old fabric she'd taken off the sofa over the new upholstery as a sort of pattern.

"Not really. There are a lot of parts dealers around who specialize in Packards, plus there are any number of clubs across the US. Fortunately, most everything on your car is in good condition. It's just a matter of taking all the pieces apart, cleaning them up, getting rid of any rust or corrosion, and then putting it all back together again."

"That simple, huh?" Gracie helped Sam stretch the old piece of fabric over the new and then started to pin it down.

"I take pictures along the way. First time I restored a boat, I thought I could remember each step I took when taking it apart. Big mistake. Somehow I ended up with parts left over and had to hire an expert to help me out. Live and learn."

"I'm thinking we might have to hire an expert to help us figure out William's postcards to Hannah," Jamie said, coming into the parlor with Max hot on her heels, both of them munching on oatmeal cookies. "They're frustrating, to say the least. However, I've been trying to look at them a.n.a.lytically."

"Often a dangerous undertaking," Caroline said, adding, "for me, anyway."

Jamie rolled her eyes. She looked so much like a taller, thinner, strawberry-blonde version of her mother. "I've entered the postmark date on each card on my chart. I was hoping there'd be some rhyme or reason to the dates, like William sent them every third Tuesday, or something, but the dates are random. There are six weeks between the date the first and second postcard were sent, but it was nearly two years before he sent the next one-or at least the next one that we've found-and that was after ol' Jedediah kicked the bucket. After that, there were four weeks between the next two cards, three between the two after that, and just two between the final two."

"As if it were becoming more urgent," Caroline said.

"Exactly," Jamie said, dropping down on a still-dusty club chair. "But why?"

"I think maybe your schoolwork is getting to you," Gracie said, smiling at her niece. "As Festus said to Paul in the Bible, 'much learning doth make thee mad.'"

"Hey now," Jamie said, playfully tossing a pillow toward her aunt. "There are plenty of myths and legends here on Nantucket. My adviser was thrilled when I suggested coming here to do research. And this is a legend if I ever saw one."

"And what happens if you don't unravel this particular legend before cla.s.s starts again next week?" Sam asked her daughter.

"Then I'll just write about one of the old whaling stories." Jamie waved a dismissive hand. "I can do that in an afternoon."

"Do you think the pictures on the front mean anything special?" George asked. "Were they places that had some special meaning to Hannah or to William? Places he'd like to visit again?"

"Could be either one," Gracie said, "not that we'll ever know for sure."

"What about the numbers on the backs of some of the postcards?" Caroline asked. "Have you figured out what they mean?"

Jamie shook her head and took another bite of the cookie. "I tried comparing them with the date on the postcard, to see if there was some correlation, but I'm still baffled."

"I think they weren't supposed to be understood by anyone but William and Hannah," Sam said. "Some secret code between the two of them."

"It would be nice if we knew more about William," Jamie said. "We're guessing he was a minister, but he might not have been."

"Yet that seems pretty reasonable," Sam added, "since he said he had to write a sermon."

"True." Jamie broke off a piece of her cookie and fed it to Max. She brushed the crumbs from her hands. Gracie bit her tongue as they fell on the floor. "We can also say with pretty much certainty that he lived in Boston, since that's where all the postcards were mailed from."

"Too bad he didn't have an unusual name like Hezekiah or Thurston," Caroline said, "That would have made it easier for us to try and find mention of him in Boston historical records. We'd never in a million years be able to nail down a William."

"I hate to be a nag," Gracie reminded them, "but none of us has time to do a lot of historical research on anything right now." She was tired of this never-ending talk of Hannah and William. "Our number-one priority is getting the inn up and running by the middle of May. I know a lot has been accomplished, but there's still so much more."

"We have the logo from the designer, and it looks great," Caroline pointed out. "And the wallpapering downstairs is finished."

"But we have a whole lot of furniture to reupholster and most everything to do in the guest rooms," Gracie said, hoping she could get her point across. "And let's not forget, we have to have almost everything ready by Christmas. I want Brandon and Stacy and the kids to see it finished. I don't want them to think we made the wrong decision to buy the inn."

Sam put down her scissors. She took the pins out that she'd held clamped between her teeth and stuck them in her pin cus.h.i.+on. "You know what I think?"

"What?" Gracie asked, knowing Sam was trying to change the subject.

"I think we need a break."

"I couldn't agree more," Jamie said. "In fact, I know exactly what we should do."

"Which is?" Gracie asked. She wanted to continue on with the upholstery projects, but was sure she'd be outvoted.

"I want to take a look at the places William sketched on the postcards."

"We've been by each one dozens of times," Gracie said. "I don't see how paying each one a visit will help figure out if there's a secret code hidden in the messages."

"Maybe not," Jamie said, "but it might put all of us in a different mind-set. Make us think a little more creatively. Besides, it will help me with my paper. What do you say?"

"It's educational," Sam said. "How can you say no?"

"You know me," Caroline said, "I'm always open to a bit of sightseeing."

Always open to a bit of goofing off is more like it, Gracie thought. But maybe she needed to goof off a bit too. Life really was too short to always be the stuffed s.h.i.+rt in the family.

Any luck?" Sam asked Caroline and Gracie when they climbed back into Sam's van. They'd split up, with Gracie and Caroline visiting the Unitarian church, which had been sketched on the earliest postmarked postcard they'd found, while Jamie and Sam had visited the Methodist church a few blocks away. They had been hoping to accomplish as much as they could in a short amount of time.

"Not really," Caroline said, putting on her seat belt. "They have records going back as far as 1808, but we didn't find anything of use. No mention of Hannah Elliott or Hannah Montague. No Jedediah, none of his family members, and no minister named William. How about the two of you? Did you find anything?"

Sam shook her head. "Not a thing, other than several very helpful people. No Jedediah Montague. No Hannah. No Hettie. No Elliott listed as a congregant, and the only nineteenth-century pastor whose first name was William died from consumption in 1862."

"Please tell me you don't think we should visit every church on the island and look at their historical records," Gracie said. Caroline could tell the hunt for information about the elusive William and Hannah was wearing Gracie out.

"There were a lot of churches here in the late 1800s," Sam said. "And we don't know how many have old records."

"Personally," Gracie added, "I think we should a.s.sume that William simply drew pictures of places that intrigued him."

Caroline knew Gracie didn't want to be out on this seemingly impossible mission. She wanted to be back at the inn working. Caroline couldn't help but wonder how much of that had to do with her drive to stay focused, and how much had to do with guilt, with wanting to get most everything done before she returned home, so most of the burden would be taken off Sam's and Caroline's shoulders.

They really had needed a break, though, and Caroline, for one, wasn't about to make Gracie feel guilty when she returned home. Something told her that Brandon, bless his heart, was making his mom feel guilty enough about being here and leaving him and Stacy in the lurch when they needed a babysitter.

"So, where do we go next?" Sam asked.

"The Quaker Meeting House."

Visiting each building or location William had sketched on his postcards had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning, but as they went from place to place-the Old Mill, Brant Point Lighthouse-they began to feel like they were spinning their wheels. The only thing they learned by visiting the cemetery where Jedediah Montague was buried was that his grave was next to that of his first wife, Hettie, and his sons, Lachlan and Fitzwalter. There was no sign of Hannah's grave anywhere nearby.

They sat in the Brant Point Light parking lot. The structure was blindingly white against the clear blue autumn sky. A few tourists milled around them. "You know," Jamie said, looking over the chart she'd printed out, "we-or I-could be overthinking all of this. The postcard with the church sketched on the front was postmarked April 20, 1880. I probably should have looked at church records to see if anything significant happened right around that date."

"You mean something like a robbery?" Sam asked. "Remember s.h.i.+rley's telling us that there had been rumors that Hannah was a thief? Maybe she and William were up to no good, and-"

"I can't believe that about Hannah," Caroline said, interrupting her sister. "I just don't see her doing anything illegal."

"We don't know anything at all about her," Gracie pointed out. "There are no pictures, no diaries, nothing but a few old dolls and some postcards."

"And the sampler." Sam closed up another b.u.t.ton on her light coat. "And her hymnal with that horrid message from her father written inside."

"I think they were old friends, and William was trying to keep up their friends.h.i.+p," Caroline said.

"Via very cryptic messages?" Sam asked. "That's just too strange, Caroline. There has to be more to it."

But what?

"I think I might have the Packard running by Christmas," George said, taking a second helping of the mashed potatoes. Sam had made them with garlic, heaps of b.u.t.ter, real cream, bits of bacon, and sunflower seeds, and they were decadent and delightful. "The engine's in a lot better shape than I thought, and I ordered a new alternator while you four were out playing sleuth."

"Failed sleuths," Gracie said. She wished they'd never discovered that first postcard. "It seems that the more we think about all our so-called clues, the more questions we end up with."

"How's the meat loaf?" Sam asked, serving Jamie another slice of the savory gourmet version of the traditional comfort-food favorite. She seemed to be steering the conversation away from Hannah before Gracie's irritation boiled over into something more.

"Such as?" George asked, ignoring Sam's question.

"Well, we're a.s.suming-and it seems to be a pretty good a.s.sumption-that William was a man of the cloth," Gracie said, trying to remember all their questions. "Would he travel from Boston to Nantucket for cloak-and-dagger meetings with a married woman?"

"She was married when he first started writing the postcards. She was widowed later on," Caroline reminded her. "William may or may not have been a minister at one time. Why he wrote, we may never know, but I'm beginning to think he wrote to console her, that there was nothing romantic involved."

"Why do you say that? That's a big stretch of the imagination," Gracie said. "Think of some of the wording he used in his postcards. 'Once more with great pleasure I embrace a few moments to write you a short letter.'"

"That could very easily have been written by a minister to a former congregant," Sam said.