“I wonder why she didn’t stay here,” Ivy said.
“When she discovered her encroaching illness could not be reversed, Mrs. Erickson enlisted a friend there who helped her make arrangements.”
Ivy admired that. She could just imagine how difficult such planning must have been for a once-vibrant woman to face. “What about her family?”
“Sadly, she had no one left.” Arthur flipped open the book and pointed out a black-and-white photograph of a handsome man. “This was her husband. He died while they were in residence at their primary house in San Francisco. Before that, she’d lost her entire family in the first war between France and Germany.”
“I heard that’s why she closed the house.”
“After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, I could hardly blame her. The entire west coast was on alert, especially after a Japanese submarine bombarded targets off the coast of Santa Barbara, just a couple hours north of here. But when she realized the need for civilian assistance, she reopened the doors to her home and pitched in to help. She overcame her fears to help others, and I’m sure she wasn’t entirely well then.”
Arthur paused to put on reading glasses. “There’s a photo in here of that time.” He turned a few pages, then stopped. “Here it is. The ballroom was turned in to a gymnasium of sorts.”
Ivy peered at the photo. Sure enough, old exercise equipment and dumbbells rested under the chandeliers. A healthcare worker was helping a man on what looked like rehabilitation equipment. “That’s fascinating.”
“Many young naval recruits and nurses lived there and received physical therapy for injuries they’d sustained. Heard some carved their names in the cedar closets.” He chuckled. “She was none too happy about that, but she left them that way because she said it helped her remember them. They were like the sons and daughters she never had.”
Ivy wished she could have known Amelia Erickson. She turned a page to a photo of the foyer. “I’m thinking of changing light fixtures. Do you know what this chandelier might be worth?”
“Nan mentioned that, but I’d have to examine it.”
“You can come by anytime,” Ivy said. “My sister and I are working hard to open the doors to iBnB guests. We’d like to host community events, too.”
Arthur nodded in thoughtful agreement. “Mrs. Erickson would’ve liked that, and I know our neighbors will. I think you’re going to fit right in at Summer Beach.”
“I already feel at home,” Ivy said, thinking about her conversation with Bennett.
After thanking Arthur, she tucked the large volume under her arm and left. The old-fashioned bell on the door tinkled behind her. As Ivy walked to her car, she wondered if the photocopied clipping and interviews in the book might shed light on Amelia’s actions surrounding the artwork they’d found. Ivy hoped that she might find clues to absolve Amelia, but she had to face the fact that the woman might have been complicit in the theft by receiving stolen art.
Before Ivy got into the Jeep, she paused on Main Street to take in the town around her. Couples strolled the beach and children raced along the shoreline. Boat owners were puttering around their craft in the marina. A few people sat outside at Java Beach, just as she and Shelly had done on their first day here. Others strolled into a quaint, independent bookstore or one of the beach boutiques, while still others nodded to her or said hello as they passed.
Ivy lifted her face to the sun’s warm rays.
A month ago, moving here and putting down roots had been the farthest thing from her mind. But now, besides wanting to be close to her mother in case she was ill, she was feeling more at home here than she’d ever been in Boston, even though she had loved living on the east coast for years.
With Boston’s history, culture, educational offerings—not to mention the New England clam chowder she loved so much, especially from Legal Sea Foods or Turner’s Seafood—few cities could compare. She would always feel as though she had left a piece of her heart there.
Still, Summer Beach felt like home, and the beach community offered the peace and calm that she craved. Her creativity was awakening here, and she planned to set up her easel in the sun porch where the light poured through vast windows.
She’d just have to learn how to make that clam chowder here.
After Ivy swung into the Jeep, she placed the large volume on the seat beside her and ran her hand over the cover. She couldn’t wait to delve into the story of the mysterious Amelia Erickson.
Chapter 18
POPPY WAS STILL sitting on the floor in the library, tapping on her laptop, when Ivy returned.
“You haven’t moved,” Ivy said, clutching the historical volume on Las Brisas that Nan’s husband had given her.
Poppy tore her focus from her screen and looked up. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’ve reached out to a lifestyle blogger in Los Angeles. She has a huge following, and she wants to visit and post about the historic Las Brisas del Mar—now the Seabreeze Inn. She loves the historical angle. And the fire pit on the beach.”
“Of course she does,” Ivy said, laughing. “I’ll buy one right away.”
“Do you know of any local businesses we can chat up? The best place for brunch or coffee, a cute boutique. Oh, and I need to create a website for you, too.”
“Poppy, you’re a dream. You can mention Java Beach and Antique Times.” Ivy marveled at Poppy’s organizational and computer skills and knew she’d have to dust off her skills, too. “I’ll buy a domain right away.”
“And look at this.” Poppy spun the laptop around. “I took exterior photos of the house and used an app to paste flowers into the garden. I hope you don’t mind. Shelly said she’s planting them anyway.
