A Final Gift Read online

  A Final Gift

  A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor

  Lorraine Bartlett

  Contents

  About Blythe Cove Manor

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Don’t Miss…

  From Blythe’s Kitchen

  About the Author

  Also by Lorraine Bartlett

  About Blythe Cove Manor

  Blythe Cove Manor is a beautiful bed and breakfast located on Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. It was the brainchild of three authors; Kelly McClymer, Shirley Hailstock, and myself, and based on the HGTV 2015 Dream Home. We felt it was the perfect place to tell the stories set in our (not so) imaginary B&B.

  Your hostess is owner/manager Blythe Calvert, and she’s assisted by her tabby cat, Martha. There’s always a little bit of magic at Blythe Cove.

  Enjoy!

  * * *

  The series so far:

  A Dream Weekend

  A Final Gift

  An Unexpected Visitor

  Copyright © 2016 by Lorraine Bartlett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-940801-34-6

  Publisher’s Note: The recipes contained in this ebook should be followed as written. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this ebook.

  This story was also published by Storytellers Unlimited in the Weekend Magic Anthology .

  * * *

  For more information on Lorraine’s books, check out her website: http://www.LorraineBartlett.com

  Other Books By Lorraine Bartlett

  The Victoria Square Mysteries

  A Crafty Killing

  The Walled Flower

  One Hot Murder

  Dead, Bath and Beyond (with Laurie Cass)

  Recipes To Die For: A Victoria Square Cookbook

  * * *

  Life On Victoria Square (A companion series to the Victoria Square Mysteries)

  Carving Out A Path

  A Basket Full of Bargains

  The Broken Teacup

  * * *

  The Lotus Bay Mysteries

  Panty Raid (A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant mini mystery)

  With Baited Breath

  Christmas At Swans Nest (A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant mini mystery)

  * * *

  Tales of Blythe Cove Manor

  A Dream Weekend

  A Final Gift

  An Unexpected Visitor

  * * *

  Tales of Telenia (adventure-fantasy)

  THRESHOLD

  JOURNEY

  TREACHERY

  * * *

  Short Stories

  Love & Murder: A Bargain-Priced Collection of Short Stories

  Happy Holidays? (A Collection of Christmas Stories)

  An Unconditional Love

  Love Heals

  Blue Christmas

  Prisoner of Love

  We’re So Sorry, Uncle Albert

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Jenny Taylor accepted the keys to her rental car, grabbed hold of the handle of her rolling suitcase, and headed for the parking lot, unable to let go of the melancholy that gripped her soul. The dull gray sky did nothing to buoy her spirits. For some reason, she’d expected sunny skies and balmy breezes to greet her when she and her mother planned the trip some six months before.

  “Can you imagine a prettier place to be?” she’d asked.

  Truthfully, Jenny really hadn’t known what to expect. Oh, she’d heard about Martha’s Vineyard and had probably seen pictures of celebrities—like actors and politicians—who’d chosen the island four miles from the Massachusetts mainland as a place to get away from it all, but it was really her mother, Caroline, who’d longed to visit the isle. She had planned—and paid—for the trip, or at least the accommodations.

  Jenny’s first inclination had been to cancel the journey, but it was her best friend, Missy, who’d convinced her to carry on with her plans. “It’s what your Mom would have wanted,” she’d insisted.

  Yes, she would have, Jenny thought. “The room has double beds—come along with me.”

  “I’d love to,” Missy said, “but I’ve got a wedding to go to that weekend. Bess was my best friend back in grade school. I’ve already sent in the RSVP.”

  Nobody else Jenny knew was free that early weekend in May, either. She’d have to make the trip alone, which promised to be a bust. Still, with Missy otherwise occupied, and no men currently in her life, Jenny carried on with the plans.

  Unlocking the car, she stowed the suitcase in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. She put the key in the ignition, but didn’t start it. Instead, she removed from her purse the buff colored envelope with the embossed scallop shell on the back flap and took out the typewritten letter from the proprietress of the bed and breakfast where she was to stay, Blythe Cove Manor.

  The name sounded opulent, but she’d checked the inn’s website and found it to be a charming, rather rambling, two-story property over two hundred years old. She and her mother had been booked into the Calvert Cottage that overlooked the back garden, but Jenny hoped she could change rooms upon checking in. The thought of seeing the unused bed was sure to further dampen her spirits.

  The B&B’s owner, a Ms. Calvert, had mailed a map with instructions on how to find the manor, and Jenny reviewed them once again before setting them down on the passenger side seat. She clasped the charm that hung from a silver chain around her neck. “Ready for adventure, Mom?”

  Nobody answered, and Jenny fought the urge to cry. That wasn’t what her mother would have wanted. She let go, cleared her throat, and started the car. The radio immediately blasted Kelly Clarkson belting out lyrics that seemed to resonate with Jenny. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Right then, Jenny felt anything but strong. Still, she moved the gearshift to drive, took her foot off the brake, and drove out of the lot.

  For better or for worse, she was committed to staying the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard and was determined to make the best of it. She wouldn’t let sadness overtake her. Caroline meant for the weekend to be a happy one—a mother-daughter celebration.

  How sad that Jenny would have to spend it alone.

  She shook herself, feeling tired from the flight from Ohio and then the hassle of getting to the ferry dock and the chilly ride across Vineyard Sound. Perhaps she should find somewhere to eat first. According to the inn’s website, only breakfast was served. Yes, maybe she’d splurge for lobster fresh from the sea. It was the thought of eating alone in some homey restaurant that made her feel alone—all alone—in this great big world.

  2

  The shadows had already begun to lengthen and Blythe Calvert strained to look across the lobby and out the front door’s beveled glass to see if her final guest for the weekend had arrived. Technically, check-in was between three and six o’clock, but it was already past seven and there was no sign of the mother-daughter duo meant for the Calvert Cottage.

  “Brrrpt! Martha, the B and B’s resident tabby trilled from under the heat of a Tiffany lamp that sat on one of the end tables.

  “You know you’re not supposed to sit there,” Blythe chided. The cat merely closed her eyes as if to say, “So what?”

  Blythe shook her head and checked over the recipe for the cake she intended to bake the next morning. Did she have a can of crushed pineapple? S
he’d have to check the pantry. Preparations for the afternoon tea were well underway. Her collection of bone china teacups had been washed; she’d chosen the serving dishes, and had finalized the menu just the day before. Even if the heavens opened up—which, unfortunately was the forecast—Blythe Cove Manor would be snug and warm. She’d light a fire and the manor’s cozy atmosphere would enchant its roster of guests.

  Now she just had to hope her final guests would actually arrive.

  She needn’t have worried. Despite the lobby door being closed to keep out the chill, she heard the muffled crunch of tires on the gravel drive. A car pulled up outside the door and a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties exited the vehicle, removed a suitcase from the back, and turned for the door. She entered the lobby.

  “Welcome to Blythe Cove Manor,” Blythe called as the woman approached. She looked expectantly beyond her solitary guest. “Are you Jenny Taylor?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, Blythe looked through the door, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the car.

  “And will Caroline be joining you?”

  Jenny shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s just me.”

  Blythe wasn’t sure how to reply.

  “This was supposed to be for a weekend vacation for my mother and me. Unfortunately, she passed away not long ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Had she been ill?” Blythe asked.

  “No, and that’s the shocking thing. An aneurysm. There was no warning.” Jenny sighed, looking like she might burst into tears. Then she straightened. “But my friends urged me not to cancel the reservation and to make the trip to Martha’s Vineyard anyway.” She forced a cheerless smile. “So far, so good.”

  “But lonely?” Blythe guessed.

  “Sad,” Jenny corrected.

  Blythe noticed a charming little silver hummingbird hanging from a chain around the woman’s neck. “That’s a very pretty necklace.”

  Jenny reached up to clasp the silver bird, seemed like she wanted to say something, but then sported what seemed like a forced smile, instead. “Thank you.”

  Blythe offered a similar smile. There didn’t seem to be more to say on the subject. “Would you like to sign the guest register?” She pushed the ledger forward.

  “Sure.” Jenny picked up the pen and signed her name and the time. “I know my mother booked a room with two double beds, but I was wondering if I could have something a little more—”

  “Intimate?”

  “I guess. It’s just that, seeing two beds would—”

  “I completely understand. And I’ll be glad to credit you for the difference at the end of your stay.” Blythe turned and plucked a key from the old-fashioned rack of pigeonholes behind the desk. “I think you’ll be quite happy in Seaside. The view is very nice.”

  “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  Jenny turned, taking in the lobby. “You have such a pretty place.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jenny stepped over to the end table at the left end of the couch. “Hello, kitty-cat. What’s your name?” She scratched the top of the cat’s head, and she began to purr loudly.

  “That’s Martha. She usually greets guests when they arrive, but she seems to be off duty right now.”

  Jenny laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it.

  “By the way, we’re having a ‘girls only’ weekend, which is probably why your mother chose to come during this off season weekend.”

  Jenny turned to face her. “Oh?”

  “Yes. And to celebrate, we’re having afternoon tea for all the guests. Most of them are at dinner right now, but they’ll be returning soon. I’ll be setting out a decanter of sherry and glasses shortly. If you’re up to it, you might want to wander in during the evening to meet the others.”

  “Maybe,” Jenny said noncommittedly.

  “And tomorrow, we’re having an afternoon tea at two o’clock in the dining room. I hope you’ll be able to make it.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have any real plans so ... maybe.”

  “Well, think about it,” Blythe suggested.

  “I will.”

  Blythe offered her most sincere smile. “Your room is just down that hall—” She went to leave the reception desk, but Jenny waved her to stay put.

  “I can find it, if you’ll just point the way.”

  Blythe indicated the hall leading off the lobby. “The last room on the left. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will, thank you. “

  Blythe watched her guest retreat down the hall, and shook her head. She well remembered the heartache from losing a loved one. Eventually one got used to the loss, but never really got over it. But then she smiled. Though Jenny’s heart had been broken, perhaps the manor could work its magic on her.

  Blythe crossed her fingers, and hoped so.

  3

  Jenny walked down the carpeted hallway and paused before the door with a small painting of a beach at sunrise—or was it sunset?—attached to it. She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Despite the fact she’d changed rooms at the last moment, the lamps on either side of the bed were ablaze, as though to welcome her. She’d seen photos of several of the inn’s rooms and suites on the website and had been duly impressed, but this room wasn’t among them. Its charm instantly won her over and she was immediately seized with a profound sense of peace.

  Jenny stepped inside, trailing her suitcase behind her, closed the door, and paused to drink in her surroundings. The walls had been painted pale blue. The furniture was all white, with a four-poster double bed covered in a sumptuous white bedspread with a lacy dust ruffle looking like a slip poking out from beneath a wedding gown. Four linen-clad white pillows, also adorned in lace, sat at the top of the bed, while a faded counterpane of fat pink roses on a background of pale blue lay across the bottom of the bed. Pretty prints—or were they oil paintings?—of roses adorned the walls. Though it was a precious room, she found it entirely to her liking. For a brief moment, she almost felt happy.

  And then she remembered the frantic phone call she’d received two months before. How she’d punched 911 into her cell phone. Arriving at her mother’s home, she found that although the paramedics had arrived in record time, her mother—her closest confidant—was already gone.

  She’d never even had an opportunity to say good-bye.

  Jenny brushed away a tear, cleared her throat, and decided to further investigate the room that would be her home away from home for the next two nights. At the foot of the bed was a trunk that, upon opening, proved to store additional pillows and blankets. The top was padded in a floral pattern that complimented the rest of the tranquil room.

  She wandered into the bathroom that not only sported a claw-foot soaker tub, but an old marble-topped vanity that had once been a dresser. A white porcelain cherub hoisted a large scallop shell acting as a soap dish on its shoulder. Jenny picked up the small bar from it and took a sniff. Ah … apricot! Her first inclination was to kick off her shoes and unwind. A jar of bath salts sat on a small shelf above the tub. Maybe she’d indulge herself and take a long relaxing soak before going to bed.

  One thing she hadn’t noticed upon entering the room was a television. She left the bathroom to make sure and, as she thought, there was no TV. However, there was a clock radio with glowing red numerals sitting on the right nightstand. Later on, maybe she’d see if she could tune in an oldies station. That was what her mother would have done.

  Charming though the room was, there were no books or magazines—nothing much to do—and she hadn’t thought to bring anything of that nature to entertain herself. She’d seen pictures of the library online, which housed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Perhaps she’d find something there to bring back to the room and read.

  After hanging her coat in the closet and unpacking her night shirt and toiletries, Jenny locked her room, but instead of crossing the hall for the library, the sound of voices from the vicinity of
the lobby caused her to pause. She crept forward, but saw no sign of the inn’s hostess at the reception desk. However, two elderly ladies—their backs to her—sat before the lobby’s massive fireplace where a number of big logs blazed brightly. She hesitated to interrupt their conversation, and stood still until their conversation lagged, then tip-toed forward. Reluctant to startle them, Jenny cleared her throat. The two gray-haired ladies turned.

  “Hello,” one of them said brightly.

  “Hi.”

  “Come and join us,” said the other, and with a sherry glass in hand, indicated the empty chair to their right. Jenny took it.

  These ladies were pretty darned old—at least to Jenny’s untrained eye. Both her grandmothers had died before she was born, so she’d never known the unconditional love that such family members were supposed to have given.

  “I’m Jenny Taylor.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” said the first old lady. “I’m Lavinia Albright, and this,” she indicated the other woman “is my dear friend, Maude Dodge.”

  “Hi,” Jenny said shyly.

  “Jenny is such a pretty name. Not like the awful monikers my father saddled me with,” said Maude. “I was named after Daddy’s elderly aunt.”

  “Och! Horrible names,” Lavinia agreed. “I was named after my grandmother. I used to wish my name was Debbie. Isn’t that a fun-sounding name?”

  “And I always wanted to be Betty,” her friend said wistfully. She looked at Jenny. “Did you ever wish to be named something else?”

  Jenny shrugged. “When I was little, I sometimes pretended my name was Tiffany. She was the smartest, most popular girl in my class.”