My secret dream, of course, is that he’ll want to stay and take over the Gazette for me. I know! I know! A snowball’s chance and all that. We actually chatted about the paper and he gave me no indication that he had any interest in it at all.
But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.
Oh, sure, I suppose I could resort to a spell but I hate to interfere in that manner. I mean, what if his fate really lies elsewhere?
So I guess there is something I wouldn’t do after all. But don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me!
In other news, I met with Ellie and her friend Carly Summit—the New York art dealer and gallery owner—on Saturday at Curtis’s place to discuss the proposed art gallery. I must say, Carly has some wonderful ideas for the old carriage house. I’ve already decided to do a series of interviews with her as part of a feature about the gallery. I figure if the town council starts dragging their feet, perhaps public pressure will move them along. I think the whole idea of turning the Enright mansion into a cultural center is a wonderful idea, one that will only further St. Dennis’s reputation as a bright spot on the Eastern Shore. I cannot imagine anyone not seeing this as a good thing, but you never know when you’re dealing with the public. Here’s where I confess that my motives aren’t exactly pure. I’d invited Carly to the party hoping Ford would meet her and take a fancy to her, but he claims not to have met her. There is something about that girl … I sense she will be important in our lives in some way.
Yes, of course I’ve asked, but the spirits haven’t been speaking to me this past week. As a matter of fact, the silence has been deafening. I do hate to whine, but what good are spirit guides if they aren’t there when you need them?
Even Alice—who used to be so reliable at times such as this—seems to have taken the summer off.
~ Grace ~
Chapter 7 
“FORD,” Dan called from the hallway after having rapped on the door once. “You in there?”
“Yeah.” Ford put down the newspaper he’d been reading and went to the door and opened it. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, really. I was just taking a short break and thought I’d check in with you, see what you were up to.”
“Come on in.” Ford stepped aside and his brother entered the room.
“Everything okay here?” Dan stood halfway between the sofa and the fireplace, and gestured with a nod of the head in the direction of the captain’s portrait. “He giving you any trouble?”
“Haven’t heard a peep out of him. He’s been on his best behavior.”
“Maybe he only likes to toy with the ladies.”
“Sit down.” Ford folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the table.
“Ah, I see Mom’s got you reading her Gazette.” Dan grinned and picked up the paper at the same time that he sat on the arm of the sofa.
“We were talking about it at breakfast the other day and she seemed so proud of it, I thought I’d take a look.”
“It’s actually pretty good, for a small-town newspaper. This week’s cover article about Curtis Enright’s gift to St. Dennis is great.”
“I just read about that. It’s the house down at the end of Old St. Mary’s Church Road, right?”
Dan nodded. “That big place with all the trees on the one side and the carriage house in the back.”
“Imagine owning a place like that and just giving it away.” Ford sat on the chair next to the fireplace. “Did his family have a problem with that?”
“Apparently not. Enrights have been in St. Dennis forever. Curtis has two sons—Craig, who he hasn’t spoken to in years, and Mike, who I know isn’t interested in the house. His wife is really ill and they just moved to Florida. There are a bunch of grandkids, I’m not sure how many, and from what I hear, they’ve all been taken care of in Curtis’s will, but he didn’t want to show favoritism by leaving the property to one and not the others. At the same time, he wanted to ensure that the house would always be kept up and maintained. Mom said he’s put money into a trust for that purpose, so the town couldn’t refuse to accept the property on the grounds it couldn’t afford the upkeep.” Dan stretched his legs and leaned back. “Someone else suggested that he did it so that no one who wasn’t an Enright could ever own it or live there, but I don’t know about that.”
“The article said he wanted them to turn the main house into some sort of community center.”
“That’s old news. They want an art center, and an art gallery, and a place to hold community events. Artsy stuff. Mom met with someone on Saturday who doesn’t think the house is suitable for a gallery, though. She said the old carriage house would be better.” Dan shrugged. “What do I know? Either way, if it’s good for St. Dennis and brings people into town, I’m for it.”
“From what I’m hearing, you don’t need to worry about bringing people to the inn.”
“We’re lucky, full every weekend.”
“I think it’s more than luck. Mom says you’ve made the place what it is.”
Dan shrugged. “It’s always going to be a work in progress. We try to update or bring in something new every year.”
“You’ve obviously done a great job. I can’t imagine anyone doing better.” Ford hesitated before adding, “I wish I’d been around more to give you a hand.”
“You have your own thing to do. Everyone isn’t cut out for innkeeping, but me, well, it suits me to a tee. There’s nothing else I ever wanted to do. Even when I was a kid, I knew that someday I’d run this place.”
“Win-win,” Ford said.
“Pretty much. So what about you? What’s your thing?” Dan turned to look at his brother full in the face. “I mean, now that you’ve saved the world.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t save much of anything,” Ford said.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Thanks, but not really.” Ford sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Does it have anything to do with the fact that you were not working with the UN as a Peacekeeper?” Dan asked.
Ford tilted his head to one side and studied his brother’s face. “You knew?”
“A few years ago, D.J. had a report to do for school, and he chose the Peacekeepers as his topic since you were purportedly one of them. He did some research and brought it to me to ask how come you’d been away for so long if Peacekeepers were only supposed to serve for one year.”
“Under most circumstances, that’s true.” Ford chewed on his lower lip. “He didn’t say anything to Mom …”
“No. We told him to keep that information under his hat, that Gram would be upset if she knew that you weren’t where you said you were. He got it.” Dan laughed. “But now my son is convinced that you’re working for the CIA.”
Ford smiled weakly. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Lucy. She said she figured it out a long time ago after she saw something on TV about the UN.”
“You think Mom figured it out, too?”
Dan shook his head. “No. I think she’d have said something if she had. She was worried enough when she thought you were on Peacekeeping Missions. She’d have been nuts if she’d known you were …” He paused. “What were you doing, anyway?”
Ford got up and walked to the window. There was no way he could tell even his brother everything—every place he’d been and everything he’d done.
Finally, “I was with a special forces group that served various functions.” He chose his words very carefully. “Most recently, we were to provide backup—security—for a group of Peacekeepers who were in Central Africa. I didn’t tell Mom ’cause I knew it would worry her.”