“Persnickety?” Shelly laughed. “I haven’t heard that word since Grams was alive.”
“I’m older than you, remember? Now, let’s check the cabinets in the butler’s pantry.”
After trying half a dozen keys in the lock, Ivy slipped in another one and turned it. The cabinet creaked open.
Ivy and Shelly peered inside.
Empty.
“Well, we tried,” Shelly said. “Wonder what the rest of these go to?”
Ivy shook her head and glanced in the folder Bennett had left. She thumbed through old receipts and letters from the trustee of Amelia Erickson’s testamentary trust. She was just about to close the folder when an old letter slipped from the back of the file. She picked it up and eased open the crinkly paper.
Sliding onto a stool, Ivy said, “Listen to this. It’s a letter from Lausanne, Switzerland. I think it’s to Mrs. Erickson’s trustee.”
Dear Mr. Atkins,
I hope this letter finds you well. Mrs. Erickson’s condition remains largely unchanged; however, she has become increasingly agitated over the disposition of her art collection and insisted I write this letter to you. This worry interferes with her sleep and general well-being. I wish I could be more specific, but you must understand her difficult condition.
It is my understanding that the Amelia and Gustav Erickson art collection was donated to several museums, but she remains adamant that there are other important paintings at her home in Summer Beach. Would you be so kind as to send a brief letter to reassure her that all paintings have been distributed as per instructions? We feel it would put her mind at ease. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
Dr. Carl Stager
“That poor woman,” Shelly said. “I wonder what was wrong with her.”
“Maybe someone in Summer Beach remembers.” Ivy’s heart went out to Amelia. “For her physician to have been so concerned that he asked her trustee to reassure her, Amelia must have been distraught enough that her emotional condition threatened her health.”
And Ivy could understand why. Paintings were more than mere wall decorations. Art was a reflection of the artist’s soul and the world around them. To paint was to create impressions that brought joy or shed light on humankind’s shared journey.
“She must have really loved the artwork in her collection,” Shelly said.
“And the artists.” Ivy looked at Shelly. “Every work of art carries with it a piece of the artist’s soul. Paintings are windows to our human experience.”
“No wonder Amelia was so upset.”
Ivy wondered which paintings Amelia was worried about and if her concerns had ever been addressed.
Ivy folded up the letter. If Amelia’s questions had been resolved, she’d think this letter would not have been saved.
And yet, here it was. Ivy returned the letter to the folder, which she placed in a drawer for safekeeping.
Two days later, stifling a yawn, Ivy watched as the ballroom filled up with Bay family relatives, hugging and chatting and laughing despite the early morning hour.
Ivy greeted her father as he arrived with an armload of drop cloths for painting. “Thanks for rallying the family, Dad.”
Her father deposited the paint-spattered cloths on the kitchen counter and stopped to hug her. “Actually, it was your mother.”
Her mother was a force of nature. Carlotta could mobilize an army of volunteers when she wanted to. And today, that army consisted of Ivy’s brothers and their children—her nieces and nephews. The extended Bay family gathered in the ballroom, ready to be deployed on a clean-and-repair mission. Ivy had bought plenty of supplies, and her Dad and Forrest had promised a lot more, but she still needed paint.
“I’m surprised Forrest came. Is Flint around?”
“He’ll be back shortly,” her dad said. “Said he’s bringing a local buddy to help.”
Ivy greeted her brother Forrest, who was a couple of years older than her, with his children. Forrest and Flint were twins. Flint’s wife Tabitha was there with their four twenty-something children: Skyler, Blue, Jewel, and Sierra. Forrest and his wife Angela had arrived with their five children: Poppy, Coral, Summer, Rocky, and Reed, who were similar ages.
The brothers had stayed in San Diego, though Ivy and her sisters, Shelly and Honey, had moved away. It was great to see them all again. The last time had been at Jeremy’s funeral, and she’d been far too distressed to spend much time catching up with their lives.
As Ivy moved among the spirited clan, she realized the camaraderie she had missed by living in Boston. Her daughters, Misty and Sunny, had plenty of friends, but they’d never had an extended family like this surrounding them.
Watching the younger generation reminded her of when she and her siblings had been that age. It didn’t seem that long ago, and it surprised her to see the amount of gray in her brothers’ hair. The years had sped by like a bullet train; she’d jumped on, unaware what changes the destinations would bring in her life.
Listening to their laughter, Ivy recalled how much fun it had been growing up here. For the first time in years, she wondered why she’d ever left. Being back here felt right to her at this time in her life, but she didn’t know how Misty and Sunny would take the news that she intended to stay.
Her daughters still thought she was selling the house and returning to Boston. She’d talk to Misty when she returned to Boston and connect Sunny on a call. Or she could text. Hi, it’s Mom. Decided to move to Summer Beach. Visit when you can! She shook her head. Definitely a call—if she could put her daughters together at the same time.
Shelly bounded downstairs. She’d been on her phone when Ivy had passed her bedroom. With rooms on the same floor, it was almost like being kids again.
“This is complete chaos,” Ivy called out over the incessant chatter. Her nieces and nephews were a high-spirited group, and she
