The Lakeside Inn, Leeanna Morgan [rosie project TXT] 📗

“You pre-ordered more fudge for next month?”

“I didn’t, but that’s a great idea. I’ll text Brooke and ask her to put some aside for me. Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

Her fingers flew across her phone. When a reply came straight back from Brooke, she smiled. “I now have enough fudge ordered for my entire family. And, if you change your mind, there will be plenty for you, too.” She slid her phone into her bag and looked at Wyatt. “Did you know that Sapphire Bay has its own historical society?”

“No, I didn’t. Are you thinking of joining?”

Penny shook her head. “Brooke gave me the phone number of the person who organizes the meetings. I’m looking for a piece of furniture my grandma owned.”

Wyatt pulled into his driveway. “And you think they might have it?”

“It would be extremely unlikely, but they might know where it went. Brooke said they have records of all sorts of things that happened in Sapphire Bay.” She undid her seatbelt, more excited than she’d been in a long time. “My great-grandmother gave my grandma an enamel box with a key inside. She said that as long as she had it, she’d never need anything else. Grandma never found the piece of furniture the key opens.”

“And you want to find it for her?”

“I think it might have something to do with my great-grandfather.”

Wyatt seemed as confused as her sisters had been when she’d told them her theory. “What happened to him?”

“He was supposed to have drowned in Flathead Lake. But, a few years later, a couple of people told my great-grandmother they saw him in Polson. She died not knowing if he was alive or dead.”

“That must have been hard on your grandma.”

“It was. I promised I’d try to find out what happened to him. I’ve got a feeling that if I find the piece of furniture the key opens, I’ll discover what happened to my great-grandfather.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the enamel box. “This is what my great-grandmother gave Grandma. And this”—she opened an envelope and handed Wyatt a copy of a photograph—“is the only photo I have of my great-grandmother.”

Wyatt studied the enamel box before looking at the photo. A few seconds later, his gaze shot to Penny’s. “Are you sure this is your great-grandmother?”

“Positive. On the original photo, her name and the date they took the photo is on the back. Why?”

Wyatt handed her the photo and the box. “Come with me.”

Penny grabbed her bag and hurried out of the truck. “Where are we going?”

“To my studio. Before I came here, I visited the museum in Polson. The lady who was on duty showed me some photos of people who lived and worked around the lake in the early 1900s.”

“And you found another photo of my great-grandmother?”

“I think so.” He opened the front door and walked toward his studio. “My friend Ethan challenged me to paint a portrait. I was in the museum looking for inspiration. When I saw the photo, I knew I had to paint them.”

Penny’s heart pounded. “Them? Is there a man in the photo, too?”

“No.” Wyatt walked across to his desk. “Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

Her breath caught as she studied the people in the photo. The woman standing beside the little girl was definitely her great-grandmother. With her fair hair piled on top of her head and a dimple in her left cheek, there was no mistaking the resemblance to the woman in her own photo.

“The little girl could be my grandma.”

Wyatt pulled out a stool. “Have a seat. You look as though you’re about to faint.”

Gratefully, she sat down. “We don’t have many photos of Grandma, especially when she was this young.”

“I only know the first names of the people in the photo. The woman is Margaret and the little girl is Elizabeth.”

Penny’s eyes widened. “Everyone called Grandma, Betty, but her full name was Elizabeth. Her mom’s name was Margaret, but she was called Maggie.” She looked down at the photo. Sadness overtook her at the thought of what both women had been through.

Taking a deep breath, she took the photo her mom had given her out of her bag. Maggie looked a lot younger and happier in her photo. It must have been taken before her daughter was born, possibly before she was married. “Mom will want to see the photo. Can you scan it and email me the file?”

“I can do better than that,” Wyatt said softly. “Take it with you. I bought some extra copies in case I needed them.”

“Thank you.” Penny wiped the tears off her face. “You must think I’m being too emotional.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying.”

“I don’t usually…” She thought about her words, about how difficult it was for her to talk about how she was feeling. “I hold too much stuff inside. Grandma said I need to tell people how I’m feeling. Otherwise, I’ll feel a lot worse.”

“What if there’s no one you can talk to?”

“I find another way of dealing with my emotions.”

Wyatt studied her face. “What do you do?”

“I used to mountain bike, except I fell off and broke my elbow.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.” Penny let out a shaky laugh. “It was my fault. I was racing someone who’d been biking for years. It would have been a lot easier to talk to a friend about how I was feeling.”

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

Penny nodded. “What about you? Do you find it difficult to talk about how you’re feeling?”

Wyatt looked at an easel that was facing the wall. “You could say that.” He took Penny’s hand and led her across the room. “This is what I do instead of riding a mountain bike.”

When she saw the portrait, she forgot about how good it felt to hold Wyatt’s hand, how long it had been since she’d let anyone close. Instead, she stood still and absorbed the beauty of the painting in front of her.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s stunning.” Her great-grandmother stood tall