A vineyard spring, p.1
A Vineyard Spring, page 1
A Vineyard Spring
The Vineyard Sunset Series
Katie Winters
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2023 by Katie Winters
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Katie Winters holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Coming Next
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Chapter One
The year had not gone how Isabella Montgomery had planned. Had her mother, Laura, been there, she’d have said, “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. But we keep making plans, don’t we? We don’t give up just because everything else has fallen apart.”
Isabella was twenty-three years old. This was a fact. Another fact was she’d planned to move from Martha’s Vineyard to New York City last September to begin the next phase of her life. Graciously, and although Isabella’s decision to leave had broken her mother’s heart, Laura had agreed to help her move. Hours after their arrival to the Big Apple, the place where all of Isabella’s dreams were meant to come true, her mother suffered an aneurysm and passed away. Isabella had been right beside her. The last few words she’d said to her were, “Do you want to share some guacamole?”
It was February on Martha’s Vineyard, and Isabella was still reeling from Laura’s death. Grief was a difficult thing to carry, as it felt different every day. Some days it felt so enormously heavy that getting out of bed was out of the question. On other days, Isabella carried her mother’s death around with her, as though it was a sword that had gone all the way through her belly but left her capable of movement.
Because of Laura’s death, Isabella had decided to stay at her childhood home with her father, Steven Montgomery. He had lost a lot of weight since Laura’s death, and he walked silently around the house like a ghost. It was difficult for Isabella to find topics to discuss with him. She’d always been closer to her mother. Both of them knew that. But she also wanted to find the strength to make their relationship stronger, especially during this time when they needed company so badly. Last year, they’d both gone through grief therapy, and it had helped a little bit, but with each other, they remained lost.
That week, Isabella’s father had decided to re-open the auto shop he’d owned and operated since he’d married Isabella’s mother. Although Isabella had been afraid that the work would be too much for him, she’d noted a lightness in his eyes after each hard day, proof that it was probably good to put your brain somewhere during very dark times.
On the fourth day after the re-open, Steve suggested that Isabella come work at the auto shop. “I could use some help in the office,” he explained sheepishly. “I would pay you, of course. Whatever the going rate is.”
Isabella wasn’t sure what the going rate was as a secretary at an auto shop. They decided together on eighteen an hour, twenty hours a week. Although normally, in the summertime, Isabella made much more than that as a waitress, this amount was nothing to scoff at.
Isabella suspected her father wanted her at work because he was lonely there. Isabella was lonely, too. Most of her friends had left the island, and in the frigid light of winter, there was really not much to do on the island.
Isabella set herself up at the front desk of the auto shop. The air stank of grease, fuel, and car upholstery, but for the daughter of a full-time mechanic, it smelled like home. Steve helped her get to know the computer system, where they kept phone numbers, addresses, and payment information for numerous local clients. Vineyard residents knew Steve to be a fair and good repairman. They trusted him with their family vans, their SUVs, their trucks, and their camper vans. Steve decreased prices for family, and if there was anything Steve and Isabella had, it was family. The Montgomery and Sheridan clans extended across Oak Bluffs. With each new birth, their Christmases at the Sunrise Cove Inn grew bigger and brighter.
Of course, the most recent Christmas at the Sunrise Cove had been bleak for Isabella, Steve, and her brother, Jonathon. They’d left early and returned to Steve and Isabella’s place, where they’d sat quietly and watched television. Their sorrow had been very heavy that day.
The Sunday after Isabella’s first full week at the auto shop, Grandma Kerry and Grandpa Trevor invited the Montgomerys to their home for dinner. The night before, dark clouds had blanketed the island in snow, and the drive from their place to the grandparents’ was slow and steady to ensure they didn’t skid on any black ice that hid beneath the snow. Steve parked the truck in the driveway, and Isabella carried the pie she’d baked for dinner with gloved hands. Before they reached the front door, Grandma Kerry opened it and squealed with excitement. It had only been a few days since they’d seen each other, but Grandma Kerry was sentimental. She always made you feel like you belonged.
Everyone in the Montgomery clan had already arrived. They sat across the living room, stood in the kitchen, or drank wine and beer at the dining room table. Isabella dropped off the pie in the kitchen and said hello to Aunt Kelli, Aunt Charlotte, and Aunt Claire, who attempted to help their mother with dinner, despite Grandma Kerry’s refusal. Aunt Charlotte approached and hugged Isabella a little harder than the others. A few years back, she’d lost her husband, Jason, and had been a sort of “guide to grief” for Isabella and Steve. There was no telling how bad it could have been without her.
“You’re looking as beautiful as ever.” Aunt Claire beamed from the counter.
“Your dad told us you’re working at the auto shop?” Aunt Kelli asked.
Isabella blushed, overwhelmed with the attention. Normally, she and her father were very quiet, and the sudden onslaught of conversation was difficult to adjust to.
“It’s fun to work at the shop,” Isabella explained. “Yesterday, Dad tried to show me how to change someone’s oil.”
“Goodness!” Aunt Charlotte looked impressed. “I don’t know how to do anything with my hands.”
“Me neither, except make bouquets,” Aunt Claire said. She owned a popular flower shop on the island.
“I have to admit, Xander has me doing a bit more with my hands these days,” Aunt Kelli said with a laugh. “The Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel has my blood, sweat, and tears in it, that’s for sure.”
“Are you still planning to open by summer?” Isabella asked.
“We’re hoping for a mid-May opening.” Aunt Kelli winced. “But gosh, I don’t want to jinx myself. If we open by Amanda’s wedding, I’ll be thrilled.”
The Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel had been under construction for almost two years. Kelli, who had worked in real estate, had sold the property to Xander; as they’d fallen in love with the old place, they’d also fallen in love with each other and, eventually, gotten engaged.
At the time of Xander’s purchase, they hadn’t known the dramatic family history within the old hotel. Back in the forties, Grandma Kerry’s mother and father had met there— but there was a catch. Grandma Kerry’s mother, Marilyn, had been married to a man named James, who had wanted to purchase the hotel from its owner, a man named Robert Sheridan. After their affair had begun, Robert sold the hotel to James. Moments after the sale had gone through, a hurricane ripped through the old hotel and left it in shambles. It had been completely unusable, until now.
“Girls? Why isn’t the table set yet?” Grandma Kerry bustled in and out of the kitchen, and Aunt Kelli and Aunt Claire moved like lightening to the old china cabinet, where they withdrew beautiful Sunday plates upon which someone had painted a delicate floral pattern. Isabella remembered her childhood fascination with the plates. Once, she’d plotted to steal one to take home and use with her dolls, but she’d decided against it, as she knew the china had belonged to Grandma Kerry’s mother, whom she missed dearly.
At the time, she hadn’t been able to comprehend what it meant to lose your mother.
Aunt Charlotte remained in the kitchen with Isabella for a moment. They were alone. Out in the living room and dining room, the rest of the family chatted easily and chuckled at one another’s stories from the week.
“How is everything?” Aunt Charlotte said softly.
Isabella’s face crumpled for only a moment. “We’re okay. I think it’s been good for my dad to go back to work.”
“Is he still going to therapy?”
“No. We both stopped,” Charlotte said.
Aunt Charlotte furrowed her brow. “There’s no shame in going for as long as you need.”
“I know.” Isabella wasn’t sure why she’d stopped. Maybe it was because she just got so tired of telling someone how sad she was. She felt bore d with herself.
Aunt Charlotte hesitated. “Have you thought about going through a few of your mother’s things?”
Isabella shook her head. “Dad sleeps in a different bedroom now. All of her books and clothes are still in the same place.”
“It took me a long time to go through Jason’s things,” Aunt Charlotte said. “But when I did, I realized it gave me mental space to think about myself and my life and what I wanted to come next.” She hesitated, then added, “Everyone has their own process.”
“Yeah. Like I said, I don’t think Dad is ready.” Isabella wasn’t sure if she was ready, either. “How is Everett doing on Orcas Island?”
“Oh. He’s good. He calls me every other day to talk about all his new writing projects and how excited he is.” Charlotte’s eyes were suddenly heavy with sorrow. Her fiancé had moved to Orcas Island to pursue his career in journalism, and Charlotte chose not to join him until her daughter, Rachel, had left for college. It had splintered her heart in two.
Isabella squeezed Aunt Charlotte’s hand and searched her mind for something appropriate to say. Before she could, Grandma Kerry hollered that everyone had to come to the table. It was time to eat.
Later that night, Isabella’s father sat in front of the television with a glass of soda and left Isabella to her own devices. Slowly, she ascended the staircase, then stood in front of the bedroom her parents had shared throughout their marriage. She was reminded of being a very small child, running to her parents’ room in the dark after a nightmare. All she’d wanted in the world was to crawl into bed with them. Only within their arms could she find peace.
As far as Isabella knew, nobody had been in their bedroom in months. Steve had moved all of his belongings to the guest bedroom, and half of the closet was now empty. The bed was made, and little knick-knacks lined the dresser and the side tables, like gifts from Isabella and Jonathon and photographs of Jonathon’s children, the grandchildren. Again, it made Isabella’s heart hurt to think of Jonathon’s children and how they would never really know their grandmother.
Laura deserved to be a grandmother. It was so unfair that it made Isabella want to scream and kick the wall at the pain she felt.
Isabella wasn’t sure where to begin. She didn’t want to do too much at once, and she certainly didn’t want to alert her father with any loud noises. Slowly, she approached the closet and touched the fabric of her mother’s dresses, blouses, and skirts. Not all of them brought back memories, but quite a few of them did. Images of her mother at picnics, on her father’s sailboat, and out on the back porch flooded her mind. Exhausted, she collapsed to the carpet and crossed her legs beneath her. Down here, she faced her mother’s iconic collection of shoes, heels, boots, and tennis shoes. Her mother’s feet had been bigger than Isabella’s, so that now, as Isabella slipped on a pair of heels, a full two inches remained behind her heel. She hated it.
Isabella was twenty-three years old, which meant that she wasn’t so far away from her teenage years. She regretted to remember that she and her mother had both adored and hated each other during that era, on constant repeat. They’d fought about Isabella’s too-tight shorts, her choice in boyfriends, and when Isabella had come home after curfew again and again.
Isabella hadn’t been an easy teenager. She’d wanted to live as a free spirit. She hadn’t had any foresight.
When she’d talked about this with her therapist, her therapist had asked her to forgive herself. “You were young. You couldn’t have known you would lose your mother like this.” Isabella wasn’t sure forgiveness was possible. To her, she’d wasted many years of her mother’s life with her volatile moods. Why? Because of puberty? Because of boys? Ugh. She hated it.
Unsure of what else to do, Isabella removed one of her mother’s floral dresses from a hanger and pulled it on. The cotton was so soft and lovely over her skin, and it flowed all the way to her ankles. In the mirror, she saw a woman who was very much the spitting image of Laura Montgomery. Her mother had had children young, and she’d kept herself youthful with a healthy diet and a good skincare regime.
It wasn’t that a skincare regime mattered in death. Still, all of that work had been proof of Laura Montgomery’s love of life. She’d wanted to stick around longer. She’d wanted to be there for her children and grandchildren. She’d wanted to be strong.
In the back of the closet, Isabella found a stack of books. Some of them were leftovers from Laura’s years at accounting school. Others were fashion-related, with images of long-ago trends. She had an old copy of The Great Gatsby, one of Moby Dick, and another of Pride and Prejudice. And then, at the very bottom of the stack sat three small books in which Laura had apparently written her thoughts.
Isabella’s heart pounded. She stared down at the journals on her lap, flabbergasted. Never had she seen her mother write in a journal. Never had she imagined there was an entire secret side to her mother, a life Isabella hadn’t known anything about.
Isabella stared at the door that led to the hallway. Nervous, she tip-toed toward it and listened for any sign of Steve. It seemed that he remained at the television, waiting to feel tired. Insomnia was a symptom of grief.
Isabella removed her mother’s dress, slid it back onto the hanger, then carried the diaries to her room. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to get rid of her mother’s things. But perhaps she was ready to read the stories she’d left behind, as it meant bringing her back to the world for a little while.
Chapter Two
September 15, 1995
Should I properly introduce myself? After all, this is the first journal I’ve written as someone’s wife, and I find it funny and surreal to write my new name over and over again.
Laura Montgomery. Laura Montgomery. I am Laura Montgomery.
That’s right. I managed to steal his heart. Steven Montgomery, my high school sweetheart and the man of my dreams, asked me to marry him, and I said, “What took you so long?” We were married in a small ceremony just this past summer, and we immediately moved into a beautiful four-bedroom home with a wrap-around porch and a view of the water. Every morning, I wake up in Steve’s arms in this big house surrounding us, and I think, did all of that really happen? Is this really my life?
Steve isn’t as sentimental as I am, but he can be a bit of a sap. When I learned I was pregnant, he broke down and hugged me and didn’t let me move a muscle the rest of the night. He cooked an enormous meal, washed the dishes, and rubbed my feet. I told him the ‘feet rubbing’ thing probably would be more necessary nine months down the line, and he said, “It can’t hurt to start now.”
The pregnancy is still very new, and we haven’t told anyone yet, not even Steve’s enormous family. His mother, Kerry, probably won’t leave us alone after that, bless her. This baby will be her first grand baby. He or she will be spoiled rotten.
September 18, 1995
Morning sickness is not a joke. I spent most of the morning in a pile in the bathroom. Steve came home at lunchtime and made me soup and cuddled with me on the couch until he had to go back to the auto shop.
A note on the auto shop. Steve had always worked for his father or for others in the auto repair business. Unfortunately, Trevor Montgomery can be a difficult man, and Steve wanted to step out on his own, anyway. When he opened the auto shop, I prepared my heart and soul for chaos and for sleepless nights of worry about how we were going to make ends meet. I couldn’t have been more incorrect! Steve is a beloved member of the Oak Bluffs community, and people have come from across the island to have their cars serviced. His schedule is packed, and the income is flowing. He promised me a bigger diamond for my Christmas present, but I told him to save that money for baby items instead. Who needs a bigger diamond, anyway? The one I wear is the one he could afford at the time he wanted to propose.
