The Brighter the Light, page 24
“Dani was out of town today.” He pushed his plate of chicken bones slightly toward her.
“Oh.”
“And you were gone today.”
“Okay.” She could have lied about a shopping trip, but she wasn’t going to do that. “What’s your point?”
“Dani’s an adult. Her life is technically none of my business. But I’m her big brother, so I don’t care about technicalities.”
“You should be having this conversation with your sister.”
“I’ve tried. I know something is off with her, but she keeps brushing me off. She insists she’s fine.”
“Why do you think she’s not?”
“She’s not painted in the last few months. I’ve invited her out to dinner more times than I can count, and she always has a reason why she can’t make it. She’s also keeping the gallery closed through February this year. She’s never done that before.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She set her chicken down, wiped her fingers with a paper towel. “Keep talking to her. She’ll speak up when she’s ready.”
Gray eyes sharpened. “So there is something she has to tell me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did.” He sighed and rolled his head from side to side. “Is she sick? Is it cancer? Mom died in her forties from breast cancer.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Dalton. Talk to your sister.”
“I will.” A curse rumbled under the words. “Again.”
“Good.”
He was silent for a moment and then, “How are the puppies?”
“The biggest one’s eyes are starting to open. Bella is in love with the littlest girl and named her Star.”
“And Dani really said yes to a puppy?”
“She did.”
“That’s saying something.”
“She surprised me too.” She imagined him mulling over this new piece of information. Sooner or later, he would put it together.
“Have you hired a real estate agent yet?” he asked.
“No. I’ll start making calls next week. I should have this place in good enough shape to show soon.”
“I’m still bidding on the house.”
“Seriously? Don’t you have enough going on next door?”
“I’ve always liked this house. It’s a great location, and the old-school vibe suits me.”
“Would you like to see the upstairs? I’ve cleaned it out well enough to move around.”
“Sure.”
She rose and climbed the stairs to the top floor, outfitted with two bedrooms. She moved to the front bedroom, where she was now staying. She grimaced at her unmade bed and her suitcase overflowing with the clothes she’d hurriedly dug through this morning as he moved to the window. “Fantastic.”
“I love waking up to that sight and the sound of the ocean. Don’t miss the honking horns and all the city sounds.”
“I can’t imagine. I keep telling myself this place would be a profitable rental, but I’m also considering buying it for myself.”
“Dani said your dad is living with you.”
“He is. But the house is small, and it’s set back in a wooded neighborhood. We both miss the ocean. There’s enough space for the two of us here.”
He looked in the other bedroom, frowned, and then headed back down the stairs. She followed, not sure if she should offer any color on the house or just let him process.
He opened the door to the spare room with all of Ruth’s paintings. “Have you decided what to do with these?”
“No. But I’m not selling them.”
“Good. She left them here for a reason.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She didn’t show these paintings to anyone. Once one was finished, she wrapped it up and started on the next. If she didn’t want you to have them, she would have disposed of them.”
“She had a heart attack. How could she know?”
“She’d become very nostalgic in her last few weeks. Connected with Dad and her cousin in Elizabeth City.”
“Who was that?”
“Mrs. Newsome, I think.”
“I called her and left a message.”
“She couldn’t make it to the funeral, because she’s confined to a wheelchair now. Her generation doesn’t check the cell phone messages as quickly. When she does, she’ll get back.”
“She’s of sharp mind?” Ivy tried to visualize the young Talley in the photo after seven decades.
“According to Ruth, she’s as sharp as a tack.”
“How old is she?” Ivy asked.
“Mideighties. She was a couple of years older than Ruth. Their mothers were sisters, I think.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about my family.”
He regarded her with a pointed gaze. “Tell me about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IVY
Monday, January 24, 2022, 3:00 p.m.
Mrs. Molly Gardner called shortly after Dalton left, and they agreed she’d pop by in an hour. By the time she pulled up forty-five minutes later, Ivy had cleaned up the kitchen and taken Libby outside for a bathroom break.
Ivy stepped out onto the front deck and watched the midsize woman rise out of a gray SUV. She was late fifties, with gray-streaked brown hair, and wore faded jeans, a tan cable sweater under her peacoat, and rubber boots.
“Mrs. Gardner?” Ivy asked.
“Call me Molly. Ivy Neale?”
“Yes.” Ivy stepped aside as Molly moved into the house. Libby barked as she peered out from behind her wall of boxes. “That’s Libby. She’s a new mom and nervous. I’ve wanted to remove the boxes for days, but she’s calmer with them up.”
“Can I see the puppies?” Molly asked, green eyes brightening.
“Sure. We have three, and the little female has been taken, but the boy and the other girl are looking for homes, in case you’re interested.”
Molly held her hand out to Libby and waited patiently as she sniffed and then licked her hand. “Oh my. They’re so cute.”
“Let me know if you want one. They’re free to a good home.” She let the words trail as if dangling a juicy carrot and not a wiggling puppy that required a fifteen-year commitment.
Molly nibbled her bottom lip. “My old dog just passed last month, and I promised myself I wouldn’t get a dog for another year.”
Ivy smiled, knowing that the softest sell could be the most effective. Plus, she didn’t want anyone who wasn’t really sure of the commitment taking a puppy. That thought led her to Dani, who might well lose her vision. “You can visit anytime, if you want to see them again.”
Molly rose, holding up her hands as she drew in a breath. “You’re tempting me, Ivy Neale.”
“Yes, I am.” When she’d waited tables at the Seaside Resort and even in her first days at Vincenzo’s, even the staunchest dieters could be convinced to order the apple pie or the tiramisu when she was on the floor.
Molly stepped away from the puppies. “I came earlier today and explored the wreck. It’s definitely the Liberty T. Mitchell.”
“What do you know about the ship?” Ivy asked.
“There’s quite a legend around it. My dad was a fisherman, and he was good friends with Henry Anderson. I grew up hearing Henry’s stories. He told me his grandmother had been on board the vessel.”
“Uncle Henry? He worked in Ruth’s kitchen when I was little. She adored him.”
“Henry was always close to the Wheelers.”
“I’m surprised we never crossed paths.”
“I was living in Raleigh from the late nineties to 2015.”
About the time she’d been living here. “Henry never talked about the wreck.”
“As I understand it, his grandmother was a little baby tucked in a steamer trunk found with the Liberty T. Mitchell’s wreckage.”
“Really?”
“He swears he wore her crucifix with his dog tags when he served off the coast of Italy during World War Two.”
Henry had always worn his dog tags, and she’d bet anything Ruth had buried him with them. “Do you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know. But you might very well have known a man linked to the wreck.”
“It would be news to me.”
Ivy moved to the dining table and collected the black-and-white pictures. “I found a camera that still had film in it. These are the pictures that came from that roll.”
Molly carefully laid out each photograph on the table, her eyes lighting up with each new one. For a historian, it was Christmas Day and maybe a birthday all rolled up in one. “This is a fascinating piece of history.”
Ivy lifted the picture of the Lana Turner look-alike. “Pete Manchester tells me this is Carlotta DiSalvo.”
“He is correct. She was quite famous in the area during the years her showboat traveled up and down the coast. She joined the traveling troupe in 1941 and stayed with them until the midsixties. I’ve got some eight-millimeter film of her performing somewhere at the office. I’ll see if I can find it.”
“That would be terrific.” Ivy was drawn in by Carlotta’s light-colored eyes, which sparkled. “Why did she spend time at the Seaside Resort during her peak earning time? Even if the ship had been dry-docked, she could have performed in a bigger city and made more money.”
“Edna Wheeler was her aunt. While the showboat was in for repairs, Carlotta took the opportunity to visit with family.”
“My great-grandmother was Carlotta DiSalvo’s aunt?”
“Carlotta was born Carol Jenkins in 1920 in a small town near Asheville, North Carolina.”
Ivy studied Carlotta’s arched, penciled eyebrows, her full, painted lips, and her bright smile. “She’s a long way from the mountains.”
“Edna did essentially the same thing in 1920. Picked up and came to the Outer Banks with a suitcase of clothes and five dollars in her pocket. According to Henry, Edna came to the barrier islands because she believed ghosts didn’t cross water.”
“What about the ghosts trapped here?”
“They weren’t her ghosts, so I suppose she didn’t care about them.” Molly reached for her phone, scrolled through dozens of vintage photos, and settled on one of Henry taken in the 1950s. He was a very attractive man and conjured images of William Holden circa that time. “It was rumored Henry and Carlotta were lovers that summer.”
“Wow, that’s Henry? I can see Carlotta’s attraction.”
“He was a war hero. Earned a bronze star for service off the coast of Italy. That’s where he lost his eye. And later he received several civilian awards for saving lives during storms. Estimates are he saved over fifty people.”
“Do you think Henry’s grandmother was really on the Liberty T. Mitchell?”
“In this part of the world, separating fact from a good yarn can be hard.”
“Can you text me Henry’s picture?”
“Sure.” She handed the phone to Ivy, who typed in her number and hit send.
Molly’s gaze dropped to the picture of young Ruth. “And you know this is your grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“She was quite the spitfire. Lived an interesting life. Did you know she joined Carlotta on the Maisy Adams a few years after this picture was taken? She worked as a cook on the ship and later as a stage assistant. She traveled with the ship for several years.”
“Pete mentioned Ruth moved away for a time, but he didn’t know where she went. He said she never talked about her years away, which apparently was where she met my grandfather.”
“Her husband and father died about the same time, so she returned to the Outer Banks to help Edna run the Seaside Resort. Carol, your mother, was barely a baby.”
“Did you ask Ruth about her travels?” Ivy asked.
“I did. She laughed, said ancient history didn’t matter to her.”
Ivy studied Carlotta’s features and Ruth’s. There was a resemblance in the eyes. “They look related.”
“You know Ruth was adopted, right?”
Ivy shook her head. “I didn’t.”
Molly shrugged. “Henry let it slip. He was older, had had a few drinks after one of his Halloween performances that I’d attended. We got to talking about the Seaside Resort’s history, and he mentioned Ruth’s adoption. He realized his mistake and asked me to not tell.”
“More ancient history Ruth didn’t think mattered?”
Molly was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“What happened to Carlotta?” Ivy asked.
“After she retired from the showboat in 1966, she returned to western North Carolina and settled in the Asheville area. She passed when she was in her midsixties. There was a short illness mentioned in her obituary, but details were never given.”
Ivy chose to hold on to the image of the young, vibrant woman forever.
Molly skimmed her fingers over the old hotel register. “This is from the Seaside Resort?”
“Yes. It’s the only one I could find. It covers the 1930s.”
“Interesting choice of years.” Molly carefully turned the yellowed pages. “Ruth was a pack rat.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ve spent the last week cleaning, donating, and tossing.”
“The Seaside Resort was Ruth’s life. It’s hard to let go, especially as we get older. Our possessions anchor us to our best memories.”
“Talley, Mrs. Edward Newsome, Ruth’s cousin, is in assisted living. Do you have the address?”
Molly pulled up a contact on her phone and texted it to Ivy. “I do, as a matter of fact. Ruth asked me to call Talley after the hurricane and let her know she was fine. There you go.”
Ivy’s phone dinged with Talley’s contact information. It chimed again with the historical society’s information, including the website. “Thank you. Any information on the Maisy Adams?”
“Let me do a little digging on that one. I doubt there’s any crew left alive, but there has to be some kind of trail out there. I’m very good at squeezing information from old sources.” She turned toward the sleeping porch. “Mind if I have a look at the wreck?”
“Best view is from the back porch.” Ivy crossed the main room and opened the door. A cold breeze whistled through the screens, brushing her skin in chilly strokes. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Henry told stories about the wreck and the souls that were lost,” Molly said. “He became quite an attraction around Halloween, when local places were looking for tall yarns.”
“I remember. His eye patch made him look like a pirate.”
“He was a perennial favorite.” Molly tilted her head as she stared at the old wooden ship’s bones. “Have you seen any spirits?”
“All I’ve seen is an Irish wolfhound,” she said, more to herself. “Last week I saw the hound and followed it over the dunes and under a house. I found Libby on the verge of giving birth. I also saw it this morning.”
“Henry used to say the ship’s captain had an Irish wolfhound.”
Ivy hugged her arms around her chest. “I heard his name was Boris.”
“That’s right.” Molly climbed down the stairs and crossed the sand to the wreck. “This really is fantastic.”
Ivy followed. “Has the Liberty T. Mitchell appeared any other time than 1950?”
“Records indicate sightings in 1920, 1950, and 1980. This will mark its fourth showing. Each time it rose above the sands, the season was tumultuous.”
The wind swept more sand over the vessel’s remains as an unsettled feeling weighted the air. “You mean weather-wise?”
“No, for the locals. The Liberty T. Mitchell doesn’t bring good luck or prosperity.”
“I’d like to think it’s going to be different this year.”
“I hope you’re right, dear.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IVY
Monday, January 24, 2022, 6:00 p.m.
By the end of the day, Ivy had hauled the last of the clutter to the curb and dumpster. As she stepped back inside the house, her gaze wandered up the A-frame ceiling and then down along the stone fireplace. If Dalton bought the property, she’d bet he wouldn’t change it much, but another buyer brought no guarantees that the cabinets, countertops, and floors wouldn’t be replaced by slick manufactured products.
Saying goodbye to this place wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t afford any repairs, and she needed the money from the sale to move forward. A little over a week until her birthday, and she’d make her proper goodbyes this time. The longer she lingered, the harder it would be to move on.
She sat at the dining room table and picked up the manila folder that had arrived on her front porch earlier. Her name was written in Matthew’s bold script on the outside. Carefully she removed the three sheets of paper and read through the restaurant proposal.
It was as he’d said, only this time she had numbers to go with the dream. He had done his research, and he was a far cry from the kid in high school who hadn’t really understood business. His income projections weren’t out of line, and if they came to fruition, he’d have a good moneymaking operation.
Rising, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom and crossed to the walnut dresser, which she’d been avoiding. In the bottom drawer, she found all the pictures and precious memorabilia she had shoved in there before she’d left for New York. It had been one of the ways she’d hedged her bets. If New York didn’t work out, she’d come home, open her drawer, put all her items back out, and resume her life.
But during the few times she’d returned in the last decade, she had never once opened the drawer. This was her past, and like Ruth, she wasn’t fond of ancient times.
She removed a framed picture of Matthew, Dani, and herself taken on graduation day. Matthew had his arms slung around them both, and they were all smiling. Dani’s and Matthew’s expressions telegraphed hope, whereas hers signaled she was not only hungover but frantic to tell them she was moving to New York. They’d all been so young. Desperate to build their lives, they’d all made mistakes.
Ivy set the picture aside and found a framed photo of herself and her mother. She was about four, and her mother must have been thirty-six. They were on the beach, the ocean and blue skies behind them. She was wearing a pink-and-white polka-dotted bikini and her mother a slim navy one-piece. She guessed this must have been taken the year they had moved back in with Ruth.
