Epilogue
“Can I steal you away for a few minutes, Mrs. Garrison?”
Mrs. Garrison.
A delicious trill rippled through Marci as she turned toward her brand-new husband, movie-star handsome in his elegant black-tie wedding finery.
She held out her hand. “You may—but they’ll need us for the first dance soon.”
“I’ll have you back in time for that.”
He twined his fingers with hers, and she followed as he led her out of the large white tent that had been erected on Pelican Point and down the gravel path toward the lighthouse, edging around a couple of seagulls huddled together.
One of them cackled as they passed.
Marci stared at the bird.
Was it possible these could be the same two gulls that had hung around months ago when she and Ben had had a less-than-cordial exchange in this very spot?
Ben slowed, and she glanced over at him. He, too, was eying the birds.
“That sounded like . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I know. Kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But what are the odds?”
“Slim to none—and I’m not going to waste another thought on laughing seagulls.” Marci lifted her face to the late-afternoon sun. “I’d rather give thanks for such a gorgeous day. November can be iffy, but this feels like summer.”
“The sun wouldn’t dare play hooky on such a beautiful bride.” Ben smiled at her as he resumed walking, the love in his eyes as bright as the illumination from the Fresnel lens in the Pelican Point lighthouse that had once offered a ray of hope to storm-tossed ships.
They continued past the neatly tended flower beds, kept weed-free by several area garden clubs, until he stopped at the base of the refurbished lighthouse.
“I never get tired of this view.” She slipped her arm around his waist and scanned the vast blue sea.
“And now it will be available for future generations to enjoy, thanks to a certain redhead I know.”
“Thanks to a lot of people—including you.”
“I was going to sell it.”
She lifted one shoulder. “A lighthouse didn’t fit into your plans seven months ago.”
“True. I thought it was a white elephant.”
“Understandable. But you did have a change of heart. Not only did you sell it for a bargain price, you’re serving on the board. And look what’s been accomplished.” She swept a hand behind the lighthouse as she gave the scene a slow sweep.
The white tent hosting their reception occupied the spot where construction would soon begin on a permanent banquet and hospitality facility featuring huge, vaulted windows that framed the lighthouse.
In the background, half hidden behind shrubbery, a parking lot was situated on adjacent lots purchased with excess crowdfunding money . . . far more than they’d expected, thanks in part to the lower price Ben had accepted for the lighthouse.
And closer at hand, a small structure designed in the style of traditional keeper’s quarters housed Greg’s office.
“It’s hard to believe how much we’ve done in a handful of months.” Ben completed his own perusal and refocused on her.
“I know. Greg told me a few days ago that he’s booking two years out.”
“He was an inspired choice for the job.”
“I agree. However . . . much as I’ve loved this project, I’m not in the mood to discuss business today.” She sidled closer. “I’m hoping you brought me out here to steal a kiss by the lighthouse that started it all.”
“That’s on my agenda. But there’s another item I want to take care of first. Give me one minute.” He bent down, swept his lips across her forehead, and pulled a key out of his pocket. “I need to retrieve a package that has your name on it.”
With a wink, he circled around to the front of the structure and disappeared from view—just as the band behind her launched into the classic strains of “Unforgettable.”
The corners of her mouth tipped up.
How appropriate.
Because the man who’d stolen her heart fit that description.
And no matter what surprise he was about to present to her, she already had the best gift of all.
Ben himself—for always.
Maybe every groom felt the same on his wedding day, but he really was the luckiest guy in the world.
Throat tightening, Ben picked up the box Greg had stashed in the lighthouse for him earlier today, slipped back outside, and circled around in the opposite direction.
His stunning bride was standing where he’d left her, gazing out to sea, her filmy veil floating on the breeze as it trailed from her upswept hair, the elegant, form-fitting lace gown that dipped into a deep V in the back showcasing her slender figure.
She looked perfect.
In fact, perfect was the ideal word to describe the woman he’d promised to love and cherish all the days of his life.
Not perfect as in flawless, of course. Like him, she had her faults and peccadillos.
But she was perfect for him.
And that was all that mattered.
As if sensing his scrutiny, she shifted toward him, the dipping sun casting a golden glow on her already radiant face. “Sneaking up on me, I see.”
“No. Admiring the view.”
“The view’s that way.” She motioned toward the sea.
“One view is—but I’m enjoying the best view.”
Laughter danced in her green irises. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I’ll remember that.” He strolled toward her and held out the shoebox-sized package wrapped in shiny white paper and tied with a white satin bow.
“You already gave me a wedding present.” She touched the string of luminous pearls clasped around her neck.
“This is a bonus gift. One that has more sentimental than monetary value.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
“Then I won’t keep you in suspense. I’ll hold it while you open.”
She dispensed with the wrappings in quick order.
“Oh . . .” She breathed the word as she gently touched the elaborate mother-of-pearl inlay on the lid of the mahogany box. “This is gorgeous.”
“There’s a story that goes with it.”
“I love stories.”
“I know. That’s why I thought you’d appreciate this.” He stroked a thumb over the edge of the box. “This started life in the mid-1800s as a case for a sextant. It was owned by a Captain Jeremiah Masterson and went with him on numerous voyages all over the world. He passed it on to his sole heir, a daughter who used it to store jewelry and keepsakes.”
“How did it end up in your hands?”
“Patience, dear wife. I’m getting to that.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m still working on that virtue.”
“No kidding.”
“Ha-ha.” She elbowed him and grinned. “Go on.”
“Masterson’s daughter married a fellow by the name of George Newton.”
Her eyes widened. “The Pelican Point lighthouse keeper in the early 1900s?”
“One and the same. After Skip bought the lighthouse and began renovating, he found this in a concealed storage area under a loose floorboard. I came across it in the closet in his spare bedroom, along with notes he’d made after researching its history.”
“Was there anything inside when he found it?”
“A few crumbling letters and some rusted, corroded costume jewelry. Nothing he could salvage—until he discovered the box had a false bottom.”
“Ooh. A secret compartment. I love this!” Her face lit up and she clapped her hands. “Was there anything inside?”
“A love letter Captain Masterson was in the process of penning to his wife, dated 1892—during his last voyage.”
“Why didn’t he finish it?”
“I haven’t a clue. Maybe a storm sidetracked him. Or he arrived home faster than expected. But the half-finished letter remained in the box. The daughter may not even have known about the secret compartment.” He opened the lid to reveal a folded piece of parchment paper. “Go ahead and read it.”
Marci carefully lifted out the antique sheet of vellum and opened it.
Over her shoulder, he skimmed the document again.
My dearest Priscilla,
I don’t know when I shall have a chance to send this letter on its way to you. Soon, I hope. I want to know that your fingers have held these same pages, and that we are connected if only through mutual touch. For as my years have lengthened, my days at sea have begun to grow long and wearisome. I wish now only to be with you, my love.
You wondered when last we were together if I would miss the sea. I told you no, but I am not certain you believed me. My darling, it is true. I have loved the sea . . . but I have always loved you more, and my heart longs for you each day we are apart. Here on the ship, the sextant guides my course. But you have always guided my life with your sweetness and grace and kindness—and I miss you more than words can say. I long to feel your soft cheek against mine, and to walk with you on the sand and watch the sun set. You are my everything, and one day soon we . . .
The letter ended there.
Marci looked up at him, eyes glistening. “This is beautiful.”
“He did have a touch of the poet in him.”
“Why would his daughter leave this in the lighthouse?”
“According to Skip’s notes, in their later years she and her husband took a trip east to visit family, and while they were there, he died. She never returned here. Their belongings were boxed up and sent to her . . . but since this was hidden, it must have been overlooked.”
“Well, now that it’s come to light again, it will have a place of honor in our home.”
“You should put this inside too.” Balancing the box in one hand, Ben extracted a folded piece of paper from his tux jacket and handed it to her. “I can’t hope to compete with Jeremiah’s poetic language, but I thought it fitting to add a note of my own to the box.”
She opened the sheet, but he didn’t have to read along on this one.
The words he’d penned were etched in his mind.
My dearest Marci,
The sentiments Jeremiah wrote to Priscilla almost 125 years ago are timeless—and it would be hard to improve on them. Which goes to show that love isn’t bound by eras or social norms or chronological age. It’s universal and unchanging.
I feel about you exactly as Jeremiah felt about Priscilla.
Although this box once housed navigational tools, I don’t need a compass to find my destination—for I arrived at it a few hours ago when we exchanged vows and I became your husband. And every single morning from this day forward I will thank God for the gift of your kind, caring heart and contagious enthusiasm. You have brought me a joy I never knew existed, and my life is brighter because you fill it with laughter and love.
When I came to Hope Harbor and discovered Skip had bequeathed me a lighthouse, I considered it a yoke around my neck. But today, as we stand man and wife in the shadow of this structure that for more than a century guided lost souls home, I recognize it for what it really was.
A beacon of hope that led me home to you.
I love you, Marci—and I always will.
Sniffing, she refolded the letter and nestled it in the box beside its antique counterpart. “You’re ruining my mascara, you know. And I paid big bucks for this professional makeup job.”
He closed the lid, set the box on one of the new benches that lined the walkway, and took her hand. “I’ll love you even if you have raccoon eyes.” He handed her his handkerchief.
“That’ll look great in the photos.” She dabbed around her lashes as Rachel stepped out of the tent and waved to them.
“That must be the cue for our first dance.” Ben acknowledged the other woman with a lift of his hand. “It will be fun to see which comes first with her—the baby or her degree. I predict a photo finish.”
“That’s what Greg says—with a big grin every time he mentions the subject. I’m happy for both of them.”
“So am I. But today is about us.” Ben took both her hands. “And I have one other item on my agenda before we rejoin the festivities.”
He started to bend down, but she leaned back.
“Wait. I need to say . . . Your letter is . . . The box was so . . .” She blew out a breath. “You know, despite the fact that I work with words every day . . . and as fast as my emotions can bubble to the surface . . . and as easy as it is to trigger my temper . . . I’m not very good at sappy stuff.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know what’s in your heart.”
He leaned down again to claim his kiss.
Once more, she held him off, her expression as earnest—and determined—as he’d ever seen it. “No. I want to say this.” She gripped his hands tightly. “You, Ben Garrison, are my light in the storm. You brighten my days, and even when it’s cloudy, my life glows because of you. You’re as stalwart and dependable and solid as this lighthouse, and if I live to be a hundred I’ll never stop thanking God for sending you my way. Priscilla may have married a fine man—but I married the best man.”
As the horizon behind Marci blurred, Ben somehow managed to choke out a response. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Her reply was soft, her face luminous.
“Do you think we could have that kiss now?”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up on tiptoe. “You’re on, Dr. Garrison.”
He dipped his head, and the two seagulls behind his bride fluttered into the air and glided away, leaving them alone in each other’s arms.
And as their lips melded . . . as he held her close beneath Pelican Point light . . . as the setting sun unfurled a gilded ribbon across the sea and turned the sky into an impressionistic canvas of gold and pink and purple . . . Ben telegraphed a silent message of thanks to the grandfather he’d loved.
For always knowing what he needed most.
For standing with him through life’s storms.
And for an unexpected legacy that had brought him home to Hope Harbor . . . and led him to a woman whose sweet love would enrich all his tomorrows.