Somehow she ended up seated between Gemma and Henry, Ian’s father, who struck her as more formal than the rest of his family. He was the one she had spoken with least in the family.
He was friendly enough, though, and immediately asked her about her boutique.
“Margaret tells me you’ve done an excellent job making Gemma’s wedding gown. They’ve both been talking about nothing else all evening.”
“It’s been my pleasure. Really. Gemma’s been a delight to work with.”
“I know nothing about fashion,” Henry said. “If you want the truth, without my wife I would be lucky to don socks that match in the mornings. But Margaret and Gemma say the dress is stunning and I trust them.”
Stunning. What a marvelous endorsement, especially coming from someone as stylish as Margaret. She was deeply grateful her hard work had been so well-received. “I’m so glad they like it. It’s one thing to have a bride love a dress. It’s another thing entirely when her mother does.”
Henry chuckled. “I imagine that’s true. Mothers can be notoriously hard to please.”
He looked across the table and down, where Ian was talking to Margaret.
“And you are neighbors with our Ian and the children, who have been helping you with your puppies.”
Our Ian. She had to smile at the phrase. “Yes. Amelia and Thomas have been wonderful with them. You have dogs, I understand.”
That was exactly the right topic to bring up. Henry’s somewhat stern features warmed as he told her about his Jack Russell terriers.
By the time the delicious dinner of grilled chicken and salad was over, she and Henry were fast friends and he had given her several suggestions to help her begin initial training of the puppies to help transition to their new owners.
She pushed her plate away with a warm glow, having enjoyed herself immensely. Still, despite her pleasure in the evening, she felt a faint strain of sadness twisting through her like a stray thread that needed pulling.
As much as she had enjoyed the conversation with Henry, it somehow made her miss her own father, something she didn’t do very often.
Losing her father to suicide at such a young age had left a deep wound inside her heart. She wanted to think that time had covered that wound in scar tissue, but sometimes out of nowhere she would remember something he had said or ache to share something with him and would realize the scar was paper-thin, the wound easily reopened.
What would it have been like if her father had been able to deal with his depression another way, if she’d had a father figure through her teens and young adulthood? Would she have been so prone to making stupid mistakes with men?
The sadness was edged with no small amount of anger that she’d had so little time with him.
“Nana, watch,” Thomas called to his grandmother as he threw a stone into the water, skipping it two or three times.
“Nice work, Thomas,” she called back with a fond smile.
“He’s got a good arm, that boy,” Henry said. “He ought to play cricket like his father.”
“I played for two years, Father, and was never very good,” Ian said.
“Watching you was still a joy,” his father replied stoutly.
As she tried to picture a younger version of Ian playing cricket—which she knew absolutely nothing about—Samantha was envious suddenly of his life. His parents seemed so genuinely kind and he had two sweet-natured children.
His life hadn’t been perfect, she reminded herself. His children had lost their mother, whom Ian had been in the midst of divorcing after she had left him for another man.
She also knew they had lost another brother, David. Gemma had mentioned him once when Samantha had asked about the accident that left her with a slightly uneven gait. Perhaps his death had brought the family closer together.
That’s what families should do, she thought. Pull together to share each other’s pain, not let their pain turn them bitter and hurtful.
“Tart?” Gemma asked, dragging Sam from her introspection.
“Thank you,” she said, taking one of the berry-topped pastries from her friend and completely ignoring the strong possibility that she would perhaps have a hard time fitting into the dress she was to wear to the wedding.
“So, Ian, Samantha tells us she’s going as your date to the wedding,” Gemma said with a mischievous smile.
“Did you hear that, Henry?” Margaret said. “Ian is taking Samantha as his date to the wedding.”
“I’m right here. Of course I heard,” his father said gruffly, though he looked pleased at the news, as well.
Ian looked embarrassed, as if he didn’t quite know how to respond, so Samantha did it for him.
“It should be a wonderful day,” she answered with a smile for both Gemma and Josh. “You two are a great couple. I know the Helping Hands have been working hard on the decorations. I can’t wait to see how everything turns out.”
“Nor can I,” Gemma said. “Everyone here has been so kind, from the moment I arrived in town.”
“Because we love you,” Samantha said. It was true. Gemma had endeared herself to all of them for her generous heart and her kind soul. Meeting her family gave Sam a very good idea where she had developed those traits.
“Guess what?” Thomas said, rejoining their table. “Aunt Gemma is teaching me how to dance. We’ve already learned the fox-trot and are working on the waltz.”
“And you’re a wonderful dancer,” Gemma said.
“Excellent news,” Henry said. “Dancing is a skill every young gentleman ought to have.”
“May I have a dance with you at the wedding, Miss Fremont?” Thomas asked her formally.
She had to smile at the seriousness coming from a boy of six. “I would be honored to dance with you, kind sir. I’ll definitely save you a dance.”
As the sun finally dropped and the
