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“A stonemason,” Owen considered. “Beneath her station, right? Daddy wouldn’t approve.”
“Catherine writes she’s afraid of what will happen if Eliza’s caught, but she won’t listen. She claims she’s in love.”
“Is there a name? Did she write his name?” Beckett demanded.
“No, at least I haven’t found it yet. But this has to be Billy. It has to be. She was in love, risking her father’s considerable wrath. They both were. The letter was written in May of 1862, just months before Lizzy came here. Months before Antietam. If we could just find some records of who worked on the estate, or find the names of stonemasons from this area …”
“If she came here, he was here,” Avery agreed. “Either lived here, or joined the fight and was sent here. It’s a good lead, Hope.”
“It’s the best we’ve had in weeks. Months, really. You can see it unfold, at least parts of it. Her father was strict and fierce, and women—daughters—were to do what they were told, marry who they were told to marry. She fell in love with someone he’d never approve of. She ran away, ran to him. Came here to wait for Billy. And died waiting.”
“It was a long way to come back then—New York to Maryland,” Beckett said, “and in wartime. She risked a lot.”
“She loved,” Hope said simply. “Enough to give up her family, her lifestyle, risk her safety. She’s been so quiet lately. I wonder if I tell her what I found, if she’d be able or willing to tell us more.”
“Worth a shot,” Owen agreed.
“Let’s go over now. Right now,” Avery insisted.
“I have guests, and one couple in E&D. I think this wouldn’t be the best time. Tomorrow. After checkout. I’ll try then.”
“I’ll come over. Eleven thirty?”
“Yes, good. I really think we’ve turned a corner. We’re closer to finding him. I have to get back.”
“I’ll walk you over.”
“All right.”
“Stay here,” Ryder told the dog.
“You didn’t have much to say,” Hope pointed out as they left.
“Thinking. Okay, you’re probably right, and he’s the stonemason she was messing around with. But without a name, it’s still a crapshoot.”
“We’ll get a name.” She wouldn’t give up until they did. “I have more letters, more papers to go through, and so does Owen. We’ll find it.” She turned to him at the door of Reception. “Try being positive.”
“It goes against the grain.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“Not yet. I had a little time, so I started looking at the letters.”
“I can bring you something. Guests figure you eat.”
“All right, thanks. A dinner salad would be great. The Palace.”
“That’s it?”
“They’re huge.” She kissed him lightly. “Thanks. And the bar does look beautiful.”
“It’ll look better when they pull the tap and draw me a beer. I’ll bring your pitiful definition of dinner by in about an hour.”
“I’ll be here. Oh, and if you’re interested, I’m getting sticky buns from the bakery for breakfast.”
“I’ll be here, too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HOPE BID GOOD-BYE TO THE LAST OF HER GUESTS. A midnight storm had brought welcome rain the night before and left behind a sodden blanket of heat and humidity. She stood in it just a minute, looking across the lot, through the herd of trucks. She needed to find twenty minutes to get over there, update pictures of the fitness center’s progress for the website.
But this morning held other priorities.
She walked back in, to the kitchen where Carolee polished the granite island.
“We need supplies,” Carolee told her. “I know it’s on your to-do list, but I thought I might go ahead and get them now. She might be more comfortable with less people around.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You just try to find out. I’ll take the list and load us up. Justine’ll be around later, so you can fill us both in. Hope, what do you think’ll happen when you find Billy for her?”
“I don’t know. If she … passes over, well, I’m going to miss her.”
“I know what you mean. I like being able to talk out loud and not feel like I’m talking to myself. And feeling her around. You know what I mean.”
“I really do.”
“I won’t be too long.” Carolee got her purse, put the supply list inside. “Oh, where’s my head? When you started telling me about that letter this morning, I forgot to tell you the news. Justine’s hired the manager and the assistant manager for Fit.”
“She found someone? That’s great news. Did she find someone local?”
“Local as they come, and with plenty of experience, and according to Justine, with energy to spare.”
“That sounds like just what you’d want in a fitness center manager.”
“She’s got a way, Justine does”—Carolee gave Hope a one-armed hug—“of finding the perfect person for the right job. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Alone, she took a breath. As she’d decided after considering all morning, she started for the stairs. Best to try this at Ground Zero.
Two steps past her office, the phone rang. She nearly let the machine pick up, then backtracked to answer.
“Good morning. Inn BoonsBoro.”
Twenty minutes later, she tried again. And Avery rushed in the door.
“I got hung up. Have you tried talking to her yet?”
“No, I got hung up myself. Do you know Myra Grimm?”
“Maybe. I know Brent Grimm. He works at Thompson’s, and he’s a regular at Vesta. I think Myra’s his older sister. Why?”
“She wants to book the inn for a small second-time-around wedding. I can tell you she divorced Mickey Shoebaker sixteen years ago, took her maiden name back, lives a couple miles outside of town and works at Bast Funeral Home.”
“Fortunately I haven’t needed to do business with her.”
“She met her future husband there three years ago when he buried his wife.”
“Huh. You wouldn’t think of funeral homes as hook-up parlors.”
“Love finds a way,” Hope said with a laugh. “Anyway, he popped the question, as she put it, and they want to get married here next month.”
“Moving fast.”
“They aren’t getting any younger, she tells me. Just a small wedding, maybe twenty or twenty-five people. In the afternoon. Details to follow.”
“A small second-time-around afternoon wedding,” Avery considered. “I could do some simple food, and Icing could do a cake.”
“I suggested both. She’s going to talk to her fiancé, but again, as she tells me, he’s fine with whatever she wants to do.”
“Handy for her.”
“She sounded giddy. It was sweet. Well.” She looked toward the stairs, then turned as Clare rapped on The Lobby door.
“I wanted to be here, if it’s all right. She helped me, and I thought maybe having us all together would help.”
“Good idea. Let’s go on up. E&D’s her favorite place, so we’ll try there.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Avery brought up the rear behind Clare. “But not spooky strange. It’s kind of like going to talk to a friend. One you don’t know all that well, really, but care about.”
“I’m learning more every day. She led such a restricted life. Not just because of the times, the culture, but her father was so stern, so hard-line. Do you know I haven’t found a single letter from Eliza in her sister’s things? There should have been. People wrote letters routinely back then.”
“The email of the nineteenth century,” Avery commented.
“Sisters would have written each other,” Clare agreed. “But if the father was so rigid, he may have destroyed any letters Lizzy wrote.”
“I think that may be it. There’s plenty of subtext in the letters I have r
ead,” Hope continued. “Catherine feared him. It’s horrible, really, to imagine being afraid of your own father. And I think Catherine founded the school, once she was married and out from her father’s thumb, because of the way she and her sister were restricted. Catherine loved to read, and discovered a love of medicine during the war. She wanted to study, but that was out of the question.”
“So she founded a school so other girls could study.” Clare’s eyes went damp. “So other girls could pursue their dreams.”
