Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(68)

Granddad? Solemn? And like Nick in many ways?

Elizabeth might have pursued the inquiry. They’d reached the kitchen, where, on one of the many countertops Granddad knew the Apple Butter Ladies needed and which Nick had built, sat the hatboxes she’d painted twenty-one years ago.

“Granddad’s letters,” she murmured.

“Yes. Please feel free to read them.”

To discover, Elizabeth mused, what true love really is. “I couldn’t.”

“I want you to. In fact, I’m hoping all our children and grandchildren will. They’re a little mushy, I suppose, but there’s nothing too private for you to read.”

“Then I’ll read them, Gram. We all will. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s the reason I brought them down from the attic. I’d like to make copies, a complete set for each of you—and Nick, of course.”

Nick, of course? “That would be wonderful,” Elizabeth said. “We could even have them bound into books.”

“We could?”

“Absolutely.”

Clara touched a glossy box. “That would be nice. There’s a bit of organizing to do. The letters are in chronological order, but I carried some of them with me all the time. I’m not sure I tucked them into their correct bundles when I received word that Charles was on his way home.”

“That sounds easy,” Elizabeth said. So easy she wouldn’t have mentioned it if not for Gram’s frown. “Gram?”

“Would you be willing to put them in order for me?”

“I’d be delighted to. But wouldn’t you like to do that yourself? And read them again while you’re at it?”

“I’m not ready to read them yet. So if you wouldn’t mind…”

“As I said, I’d be delighted. Gram? Is there something else?”

“I’m afraid they may not photocopy very well. The paper was thin to begin with, and he wrote on both sides.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“It won’t?”

“Nope. You’d be amazed at the smudged, machine-washed, written-on-both-sides bits of paper I’ve been able to present to juries in all their legible glory, thanks to the magic of computers. That’s what we should do, Gram. Scan the letters directly into your computer. We can tinker with contrast, resolution and so on at the scanning stage, and make additional improvements once we’ve scanned them in.”

“I’m glad you’re saying ‘we.’ When it comes to computers, my forte is e-mail.”

“You’re still frowning. What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking it’s been a while since I e-mailed Winifred.”

“Like before meeting Matthew last weekend?” Elizabeth guessed.

“A while before that,” Gram admitted.

“You were busy planning the reception for us at the Orchard Inn. It was a wonderful party, Gram, my unfortunate choice of fiancé notwithstanding. If you’d liked Matthew, you would’ve e-mailed Winifred right away. But you didn’t like him, and not wanting to worry her, you held off. And, of course, you were concerned about my feelings, too. The good news is you have a doozy of an e-mail to send now. With my permission.”

“I won’t get too carried away.”

“The truth is the truth, Gram. There are men who’d never lie to their fiancées, or spend clandestine afternoons with other women. Men like Granddad,” Elizabeth said. And Nick? “Then there are the Matthew Blaines of the world. He wasn’t in love with me. You were able to see it, even though I couldn’t.”

“I saw something else, Elizabeth. You weren’t in love with Matthew, either.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Elizabeth smiled. “It would make me feel better—if it was true.”

“It’s true, darling girl. Mark my—Nick,” she predicted as the phone began to ring.

“Nick? Why?”

“He’ll want to make sure there’s nothing we need.” Clara lifted the receiver. “We’re fine! Hello? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, she is here.” Your mother, she mouthed. “Safe and sound, thank goodness, and having dodged an unfortunate matrimonial bullet. No, Abby, she’s not going to marry him.”

Clara winked at her granddaughter. Abigail MacKenzie-Winslow didn’t like being called Abby. Her mother knew it, and reserved it for times such as these, when sternness was required.

“The engagement ring Matthew found in his foyer was a major clue. He’s bewildered? I’d suggest he put on his thinking cap. He’s a smart fellow. He ought to be able to figure this out.” Clara was silent for a moment. “She’s resting. I’ll have her call you tomorrow. She won’t be changing her mind. And, as her mother, you shouldn’t want her to.” Another silence. “I don’t know when she’ll be returning to San Francisco. I’m hoping she’ll stay here for a while. She’d be a tremendous help with a project I’m working on. Give my best to Thomas, will you?”

Clara replaced the receiver and smiled at her granddaughter.

“Thank you, Gram.”

“That’s not the end of it,” Clara said. “We both know your mother better than that.”