Chapter 7
So many thoughts occupied his mind as he prepared for dinner with Emma. Their conversation flowed easily around everyday topics, but it wasn’t until they were clearing dishes that his daughter decided to return to the subject of their cemetery discussion.
“So, did you see Isabella today?” she asked a little too casually.
He nodded and loaded plates into the dishwasher. “She was at the inn meeting with an interior designer she hired. Why?”
Emma shrugged. “I was just curious. I had lunch with Maggie Beaumont.”
“And how was that?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Very enlightening," Emma replied with a knowing smile. "That woman has more intel than the CIA."
“And I warned you about that,” Thomas said. “Maggie knows everybody’s business and remembers every single detail.”
“Which is exactly why she’s so fascinating to talk with,” Emma said as she wiped down the counter. “Did you know that she and Isabella have become quite close friends? Apparently, Maggie’s taken Isabella under her wing to help her navigate island politics.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Thomas said. “Maggie’s a valuable ally. The Lowcountry Ladies Club respects her, even if some, like Vivian Pierce, don’t particularly like her straightforward approach.”
Emma nodded. “Maggie said something interesting about Isabella. She said she’s never seen somebody work so hard to build something that isn’t just for herself - that the end project is about creating a legacy, a place that belongs to the island as much as to her personally.”
Thomas found truth in that. “Yes, that aligns with what I’ve seen.
Isabella could certainly have chosen an easier path - you know, buy an existing hotel, build something new.
Instead, she’s pouring everything into preserving this piece of island history.
Most developers would have demolished the place. ”
“It’s admirable,” Emma said. “Very much in line with your own values about preservation.”
He gave his daughter a knowing look. “Is there a point you’re working toward, Emma?”
She grinned. “Just observing that you and Isabella seem to have kept this core compatibility in your values, even though you’ve spent thirty years living separate lives.”
“Well, professional compatibility doesn’t erase a complicated history.”
“No,” Emma agreed, “but maybe it provides a foundation. Which brings me back to what I said this morning.”
He sighed and turned to face his daughter. “You think I should tell her everything about why I left?”
“I do. Not because I’m trying to play matchmaker—”
“Aren’t you?” Thomas interrupted.
Emma smiled. “Not primarily, anyway. I think you should tell her because carrying secrets is exhausting, Dad. And because she deserves to know that you didn’t just arbitrarily decide you didn’t want her anymore.”
He thought about his daughter’s words carefully. “And what if knowing hurts her all over again? Or what if she resents the choice I made without giving her any say in the matter?”
“Well, those are legitimate risks. But isn’t continuing to withhold the truth just making that choice for her all over again? You decided she was better off not knowing thirty years ago. Maybe you should let her decide what to do with the information.”
He had no immediate answer to the perspective. Emma’s insight often surprised him. She could see situations from angles he hadn’t considered.
Emma's words hit harder because they echoed thoughts he'd been trying to suppress. Every day he worked alongside Isabella, watching her pour her heart into restoring the inn, he felt the weight of that old deception growing heavier.
Later that night, after she had gone to bed, he found himself on his back porch again, listening to the sounds of the marsh at night and thinking about her advice. The cabin sketch Isabella had drawn so long ago sat on a table beside him, lit by the porch light.
Whatever he decided about revealing the past to Isabella, one thing was becoming very clear.
The careful boundaries he'd built up over the years were weakening a little more each day. Every shared glance, every moment of professional cooperation, and every glimpse of the passionate, determined woman she’d become was eroding his resolve to keep the past buried.
* * *
Isabella stood in the center of what was going to become the inn’s grand dining room and watched as Thomas’s crew carefully removed the non-original wall that had divided the space since the 1940s.
“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” she said to Daphne, who stood beside her with a notebook full of swatches and sketches.
“Look at how the light moves through the space now. It’s so much brighter, and the proportions are absolutely perfect,” Daphne said, making a quick note.
“You know, with the original wainscoting restored and the period-appropriate lighting, this will be spectacular. I’m thinking we could do a deep blue for the upper walls - not a navy, but something with more depth.
It would complement the original wood tones beautifully. ”
Isabella nodded, already envisioning the completed space. “I trust your judgment. The samples you showed me yesterday were exactly what I had in mind.”
Over the past three weeks, the renovation had been progressing steadily.
There were occasional setbacks, of course.
The damaged support beam was successfully reinforced.
The roof had been repaired, and the electrical system was being fully rewired to meet modern standards.
Isabella had fallen into a comfortable routine in her new space, spending her days at the inn overseeing various aspects of the project.
Her evenings were spent researching historical details or reviewing design plans.
She was about to ask Daphne about table configurations when she heard a familiar voice calling her from the front hall.
“Isabella, are you here?”
“In the dining room, Maggie,” she called back, smiling as her friend appeared in the doorway.
Maggie Beaumont looked elegant, as always, in a simple pink cotton dress and pearls, but her expression was way more serious than usual.
“Good morning, ladies. My, this room is turning into a beautiful space.” She looked around with appreciation before turning to Isabella. “I hate to interrupt your work, but I need to talk to you about something important. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” Isabella replied. “Daphne, could you excuse us?”
“Oh, of course. I’ll go measure the upstairs hallway for the runner we talked about,” she said tactfully, gathering her materials.
Once they were alone, Maggie didn’t hesitate. “I’ve just come from a quite revealing coffee with Vivian Pierce. It seems she’s trying to gather opposition to your renovation plans for the upcoming Architectural Review Board meeting.”
Isabella frowned. “But they already approved our preliminary plans. We’re following everything exactly as submitted.”
“I understand, but this is about the next phase. It’s specifically about your plans to upgrade the kitchen to commercial standards and add modern bathrooms to each guest room.
Vivian’s claiming these changes will ‘destroy the soul of our island’s most treasured landmark.
’ She’s even threatening to petition the state historical commission if the local board approves your plans. ”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Isabella said, frustrated. “We’re maintaining every historical element possible. The kitchen and bathrooms need to meet modern health codes. If this is going to work as an actual inn—”
“You and I both know that, dear. But Vivian is playing to the fears of the island’s old guard.
You know, she’s particularly focused on the fact that you’re bringing in an ‘outside designer’ rather than using local talent.
” Her expression was sympathetic but very concerned.
“I just thought you should know before the whispering campaign gains too much momentum.”
Isabella took a deep breath and tried to process the information. Of course, she had expected resistance to her plans. That was part of renovating a beloved historical property in a close-knit community. But she hadn’t anticipated such a deliberate opposition.
“Well, thanks for the warning. What do you suggest I do?”
“A good old-fashioned charm offensive,” Maggie replied with steel in her smile.
“Sometimes you gotta kill ‘em with kindness before they know what hit ‘em. I’m hosting my annual garden party next weekend—it’s where the real island business gets done, over mint juleps and petits fours. I’d like you to be my honored guest, showcasing what you’re creating here.
Bring your plans, your designer, and that incredible knowledge of historical preservation that you have.
Then let the influential ladies of Wexley see firsthand what you’re creating here. ”
She considered this suggestion. Public relations had been a significant part of her corporate role. She knew the value of getting ahead of a potential opposition.
“That sounds like a great approach, though I doubt Vivian will be swayed.”
“Oh, Vivian is a lost cause,” Maggie said, waving her hand.
"This isn't about convincing Vivian. That ship sailed years ago.
It's about making sure she doesn’t convince Charlotte Stewart, whose husband controls the renovation loans, or Helen Morrison, whose family founded the island. We need those votes, Isabella."
As they discussed the strategy for the garden party, Isabella found herself once again grateful for Maggie’s friendship. The older woman had become an unexpected ally, offering island insights and social connections that would have taken Isabella years to develop on her own.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Luella, who carried a large wicker basket.