Hugo: Painter Place Saga, #2

By Pamela Poole

September 21, 1989: Some monsters in the dark are real. Can Painter Place survive?

 

On September 21, 1989, historic Hurricane Hugo came in the dead of night, slamming Category 4 power into Charleston, South Carolina at the worst possible time - high tide - creating a storm surge of 20 feet. Those who are stranded in the Big House at Painter Place are mauled by the elements and the barrier island is scoured by the writhing Atlantic Ocean storm surge, forcing Caroline Painter Gregory to say goodbye to a life she loves and face a future that may hold the worst that can possibly happen. Survivors of the monster storm must cope with unimaginable losses, challenging their relationships, endurance and faith. While Painter Place is being made habitable again, broken-hearted Caroline and her newborn twins travel to France, where she finds healing in art and unexpectedly becomes entangled in danger greater than her new bodyguard can stop. On the devastated South Carolina coastline of 1989 and then in Arles, France during the centennial of Van Gogh's life there, Hugo continues the saga of Painter Place.

Reader note: This is a story written with faith elements and will appeal to Christian readers.

"If you are looking for a CLEAN, conservative romance and adventure rolled into one this is the series for you. Featuring the Painter and Gregory families we see the love and interaction between couples of all ages." - Liz, Top 100 Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pamela Poole
• Release date: Oct 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781956089035

Pamela Poole

Pamela Poole writes inspirational mystery and suspense that explore the intersection of faith, history, and the unseen spiritual realm. Her stories are grounded in a clear Christian worldview and shaped by a deep respect for both historical preservation and biblical truth. With a love for unusual old houses and the stories embedded within them, Pamela creates compelling mysteries where the past presses into the present—and faith becomes essential to discernment and courage. Her characters are ordinary people facing extraordinary challenges, learning to trust Jesus when darkness threatens and answers are not easily found. Pamela is the author of the Strange Sands Suspense series and the Painter Place Saga, blending richly detailed settings with themes of calling, obedience, redemption, and spiritual warfare. Her fiction offers clean, thought-provoking suspense designed both to engage the imagination and to encourage the heart. When she isn't writing, Pamela enjoys research, painting in her art studio, travel, and time spent near the coast—places where history lingers and inspiration quietly waits to be uncovered.

Book preview

Prologue

Tuesday, September 19, 1989

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Three disheveled men pulled someone from the rubble where a wall had just collapsed on a dozen American aid workers. Hurricane Hugo had decimated the island of Montserrat, and the Americans arrived that very morning to search for survivors. The three men guessed the rescuers had something worth taking on their bodies.

Gunshots at their feet sprayed sand, stinging their faces. They yelped and dropped the arms of the American, jerking around to see two dark-haired men in expensive suits and aviator sunglasses aiming at them. The three locals ran to find shelter in the ruins of what remained of the town.

The shooters kept their guns level in front of themselves, jogging toward the body. One got on a radio he carried while the other checked over the victim. It was weak, but he had a pulse and a nasty head injury. He was tall, lean, and strong, with calloused hands that had never worn a wedding band.

Feeling around in the young man’s pockets, he found only scant identification and a humble stainless-steel cross. He scanned the name and details on the card and turned the smooth cross over in his palm. It was unremarkable except as a testimony to years of handling.

Finally, a man worth saving. He thought he saw a ghost earlier when he and his partner had done surveillance on the plane that landed with the aid organization. They tailed the young man ever since, satisfying their previous mission and discovering a new one. This man’s demeanor and character was better than the man they would force him to replace. Few men get to vet their future employer, he mused.

The young man moaned.

What’s your name? asked the dark-haired man. He stashed the ID card and metal cross into his own pocket and scowled in concern as he lightly touched the head wound, pushing aside sun-streaked, light brown hair that was a couple inches long on top. It was darker where it had been cut to taper short along the sides. It was perfect, and he anticipated the man opening his eyes. He hoped they were green.

The injured man tried to make his mouth form words. Name? he managed to repeat. He squeezed his eyes in concentration. Not... sure...

Do you know where you are?

The injured man barely shook his head before gasping in pain. He lost consciousness again, and his rescuer pulled the polo shirt with the aid organization logo up over his head to wrap around the bleeding wound. He swept away evidence of the man’s blood in the sand.

Helicopter blades sliced the sky overhead. God has let you live today, he said conversationally to the unconscious young man. Congratulations on your new identity as the Jaguar, the beloved son and heir of a powerful man. It’s not heaven, but his enemies will send you there soon enough. I pray that’s where his real son went when they killed him two days ago. Thanks to you, the legend of the Jaguar that can never be killed will topple strongholds without effort, and those enemies will assume they’ve lost this battle in the long war.

Men with a stretcher spilled onto the sandy beach from the helicopter. The last ones in wiped away their trail and in no time at all, they made the cleanest get-away they ever pulled off.

PART ONE

Storm Warning

Chapter One

Wednesday, September 20, 1989

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Chad Gregory stood in front of a wall of glass seven stories high. It would withstand winds of 250 miles per hour in a hurricane, and it made up one whole side of his office. His brooding stare was aimed at the island across the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic beyond it. His home.

He started at the brisk knock on the doorframe of his open door, jarred from his ever-increasing unease, but remained standing with one arm across the chest of his cobalt blue polo shirt and the other propped with his fist under his chin. Come on in, Dad.

His expansive, comfortable office was the twin to his father’s, side by side on the top floor of Gregory Global. Phillip Gregory came in and stood beside him, unconsciously assuming the same expression as his son.

It’s hard to take a storm threat seriously on a beautiful day like this. Chad kept his eyes on Painter Place as he spoke. The Big House—it’s on a ten-foot gradual elevation on the island. The foundation puts the building up another twelve. Maybe we won’t get the full force of a tidal surge because of the barrier island just south.

It’s up to hurricane codes, and the foundation pilings are on bedrock. But if that stained-glass dome roof in the rotunda shatters, the whole house will be open to torrents of rain. The mansion will have to be gutted, and the stained glass—well, that’s priceless. The Painters shipped it out of England in the late 1600s from their original 1300s estate. We’ll never be able to replace it with anything but a modern reproduction, like Andy did for his house. And if this hurricane hits this island as a Category 3 at high tide, the storm surge will take the gallery and studios. Forget the pier and the pavilion. Just pray they aren’t slung like missiles into the mansion.

Insurance. I assume you’re planning for the worst that could happen?

Phillip paused, biting his lower lip for a moment. The insurance was all we could get on the property, but it won’t replace the old cottages. Some things can’t be covered. I handle the insurance file, since there are some policies that don’t pertain to the structures. The time will come when I’ll go over all that with you.

Chad frowned.

It’ll take months to recover if a big hurricane hits here, his dad continued. "Years, for some of the losses. Wyeth’s frantic—his sixth sense is going berserk. He’s spending big money to send every original painting and family antique on the island to the vaults inland, and he paid dearly to have the Artistic License hauled across the state to a dry dock to keep it out of the marina. He made the excuse that it needed professional cleaning that Andy doesn’t have time to do. I trust his instincts, and I told him to do the same with our collection. We can’t sit around and wait to see if the storm turns. This takes planning and time."

He and his dad continued to scowl out the window for a few moments before Chad spoke again. Will Andy lose the marina?

Yep. And since he’s next door, his boats will end up in this building. His dad blew out a breath and shifted his weight to put his hands on his hips. I remember making it through Gracie and Hazel. Painter Place has surely been protected by divine intervention for over three hundred years. We’ve never lost the mansion. You’ve seen the photos of what was left when we made it through Hazel as a 3 when it hit farther north in ’54, taking out every pier from Myrtle Beach to Wilmington. Your mom was hit worse that we were by Gracie in Charleston back in ’59. It slammed into Beaufort as a 4, but it hit at low tide, so the surge was less than twelve feet. The tide makes a huge difference.

Chad unconsciously copied his dad’s stance. Of all the times for something like this to threaten me, this is the worst. The twins are due any day, so I can’t put Caroline on a plane to London or Hawaii while I deal with the aftermath.

Phillip slapped his son’s back lightly and attempted a smile. That’s in God’s hands now. I’m sendin’ everyone home and diverting business calls to Justin in London.  I need to go convince your grandparents to leave Charleston.

Patrick Painter tucked his head in the door. Hey, guys. Chad, lunch is at the Sand Dollar, since I just closed the Castaway. Everyone’s hoardin’ ‘n’ boardin’.

Chad turned his face to his shoulder to acknowledge his brother-in-law, who was walking over to look out at Painter Place with them. They silently contemplated how different the view would be after a hurricane.

Go on to lunch and head over to the island, Phillip said, his tone lighter than the mood in his eyes. I’ve got a feelin’ there’s a long afternoon ahead of us.

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Patrick pulled his marine blue Corvette into a space at the Sand Dollar Drive-In, shading the open T-top under the long aqua awning. Chad slid his aging silver Porsche 944 into the next space, then pulled off his Wayfarer sunglasses and took his keys from the ignition. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Corvette.

There were only three other cars parked in what was usually a busy venue at lunch time. Patrick pushed the button on the speaker to order, and the owner’s voice crackled out, joking about Patrick not keeping his fancy restaurant open today and settling for a redneck meal.

Yeah, well, if the big boss is takin’ the speaker orders and harassing patrons, I predict you’ll be closin’ up after lunch, Patrick said into the slotted metal box. I’ll just add an extra ten minutes to my workout to get rid of the redneck meal and keep my Hollywood physique.  

Rusty laughter blared from the other side. You caught me! I’ve got one waitress left today, and she’s only been here a couple of weeks. Trust me, she’ll check out your physique. How about some of my famous chopped beef barbecue, on the house? I can’t stand to see the fresh batch wasted when I close and board up.

Patrick looked at Chad, who nodded. Sure, thanks. Add an order of fries and remember my extra pickle and Chad’s extra coleslaw. Throw in a hamburger done Joey’s way. He’s meetin’ us.

The speaker blurted a mocking protest. I’m gonna have to raise my prices to cover yer extras. I ain’t Maggie Jane, ya know. She spoiled you two rotten.

Joey’s Harley-Davidson roared into the space beside them. He slung a leg over and set down his custom painted helmet, shaking out a sun-streaked chestnut shag haircut that hung in layers below his ears and on his neck. He wore frayed jeans and a Point of Know Return tee shirt, on which a ship sailed endlessly over the edge of the world.

Hope you guys have an entertainment plan if we get trapped here, like Key Largo, Joey drawled. Maybe some unexpected well-armed guests will show up.

Patrick pushed his Ray Ban aviators onto the top of his blonde hair. The entertainment would be gettin’ you into a Bogey and Bacall situation, so weapons might be necessary.

Joey’s brows shot up and he shook his head. No worries, boys. I’m enjoyin’ all your misadventures over there on Ozzie and Harriet Island. I can’t wait to see Chad joggin’ behind a double stroller. Romeo’s kept Caroline all to himself every minute for four years, makin’ up for college and gettin’ revenge on parents who beg for grandchildren. All that romance is about to come to a screechin’—and I mean that literally—halt.

Chad’s broad grin flashed white against his tan, and his hair lifted gently in the gusting coastal breeze. Just makin’ up for lost time and lovin’ life as the center of her attention. When kids come along, I’ll have to share her.

A young, dark-haired waitress confidently carried a tray of food to the Corvette. Patrick remembered her boss’ warning that the waitress would check out his physique. He made a point of flashing his gold wedding band when he handed her the bills folded between his first two fingers. She blinked dark brown eyes with heavy eyeliner and hesitated before taking the money and turning her interest to Chad.

Her gaze roamed appreciatively down from his face and over his chest to his thigh, where his left hand rested on his tailored khakis. The smile faded as she noticed the platinum wedding band on his ring finger. She ran her eyes up the muscles of his tanned left arm before meeting the frosty look he had waiting for her. Startled by the blunt rejection in his expression, she shrugged, tucking the money into an apron pocket.

You look a lot like Sonny Crockett, she offered as an excuse.

We like to say Crockett looks a lot like Chad, Joey answered evenly for his friend. He leaned back on Patrick’s car behind the driver’s seat with his arms folded. He’s also married to the artist at Painter Place and about to be the father of twins.

You’re kiddin’ me! You’re married to Caroline Painter?

The young waitress shook her head as her expression transformed, shifting a spike of bangs in her pixie haircut. Caroline’s like—like Miss America, or that Uptown Girl, with a smile like Elle McPherson—like she’s gettin’ ready to make somethin’ fun happen! She came to my tech school class to talk about art. I thought she was married to that gorgeous hunky guy she was with when I was leaving Millie’s on Main a few weeks ago. He came in and swept her into his arms and asked how all his babies were, and they looked so—good together.

Chad rubbed his right hand over his face. Patrick grimaced and turned to him. Derrick.

Mr. Painter, please don’t tell Caroline I was—you know, the waitress stammered. I moved here in August to go to tech school, and I didn’t know who you were.

Chad irritably ran his hand through his hair. You still don’t know who I am. I’m not Mr. Painter—that’s her maiden name. I’m Mr. Gregory.

She flushed. Are you related to the Gregory Global family?

Chad nodded slowly and met her pleading eyes as she gushed. Look, I made a mistake, jumpin’ to a wrong conclusion about that guy. It was nothing but my imagination. Don’t be mad at Caroline about it. Classy ladies like her don’t—you know. I’m sure the twins are yours.

Joey burst into a lusty laugh, doubling over against the Corvette, and Patrick’s shoulders shook as he pressed his lips together.

Chad’s green eyes narrowed. That guy’s a family friend who was visiting. Caroline’s twins are mine. I’m not mad at her and won’t say anything about your—interest.     

The waitress mumbled a relieved thanks and turned to Joey, who had regained control of himself. She tore off a page from her order book, quickly wrote down her phone number, and tucked it into the helmet on his motorcycle.

Love hearing you on the radio, Joey. This is just in case the one I put in your pocket last week got lost in the washing machine. She curled her bright magenta nails around the tray and walked back inside.

Patrick snorted as Joey leaned over his shoulder to grab the burger. It’s been a while since the buddy system had to kick in. You’re still quick on your feet, Joey. So, you and the waitress have history? I’m not askin’ how, or where, she touched you long enough to put her number in your pocket. What was it like to have her eyes makin’ out with Chad when you were last week’s flavor?

Now it was Joey who snorted, peeling back the wrapper on his sandwich. That’s how it’s always been with you two. The flashy blondes get the attention, and it’s been impossible to get noticed around Chad since Miami Vice. But in the end, it’s the quiet ones like me you have to look out for.

He reached into Patrick’s fries. A better question is, how long will it take Chad to erase that mental image of Derrick that flashed through his mind? Guess that’s part of the package when you marry someone who looks like a model and has a smile that makes people think somethin’ fun’s about to happen. Caroline keeps him stirred up all the time. There’s a lot of wisdom in keepin’ your stress down in life by marryin’ an ordinary woman.

Chad pursed his lips. Joey, had any check-ups lately? Or have you been too busy with the laundry?

Patrick hooted before taking a bite of his barbecue. Lunch was turning out to be quite entertaining.

Joey grinned. "You know I’m not that kinda guy. Casey’s thoroughly checkin’ me out, though. I tossed the waitress’ number in the trash before I washed my windbreaker. It was on my Harley when she tucked it into the pocket." He bit into his burger again and leaned back on the Corvette to chew leisurely.

Patrick swallowed his barbecue. Glad you made such a good impression on the nurse that night at Chad’s, at the women’s Bible Study.

Joey took a sip from the straw sticking out of the lid covering his drink cup. No thanks to you two clowns! I thought for sure they’d hear us after you both fell on the ground laughin’ under the window, holding your mouths shut. When are we crashin’ them again?  I wanna know when Caroline leads it. Who else could begin a lesson on how Noah named his son ‘Hot’? She was definitely makin’ somethin’ fun happen that night.

No more teachin’ for her until the kids are born and we settle into something that resembles a routine. And obviously ‘hot’ was on her mind because she was thinkin’ of her husband. Chad smugly bit into his chopped barbecue.

Joey sputtered and Patrick swallowed so he could chime in. Only, being thought of as ‘hot’ in this case was a bad thing, guys. It prompted a curse and things kept going downhill from there.

Sure, but Caroline’s comparison of what hot meant back then to a guy being hot now was based on a standard, Chad protested. "Casey understood the girl code—that Caroline thought I was the good kind of ‘hot.’ That’s why she said it was amazing that all the Gregory and Painter men were hot, even the Big Three, they just weren’t as hot as Joey Grayson. There’s no accountin’ for taste."

Patrick shrugged. And it’s a small town. Joey doesn’t have any real competition now, since summer is over and the white collars went back to their real jobs. He looked back at Joey. Is that why you’re bein’ so cool and stringin’ her along?

Joey took a deep breath, his expression suddenly serious as he gazed into the distance and chewed the last bite of his burger. No, that’s not why. Casey’s got some maturing to do as a Christian. Caroline needs to keep teaching. It was brilliant of her to use that passage in Genesis to teach the Bible’s view against nudity, applyin’ it to art and photography, and against drinking alcohol, even in private when you assume it doesn’t hurt anyone. In the Bible, the negative consequences of that on Noah’s family impacted the whole world. Casey had never heard that kind of stuff before.

Chad and Patrick looked at one another with raised eyebrows. Chad turned and said, Joey, seriously, are you romantically interested in her?

Joey shrugged and looked at the toe of his boot as he kicked at the pavement. Maybe. Just need to be careful. I don’t know yet where she’s been and who with.

Chad was startled by the déjà vu. Hey, man, Caroline said that exact same thing about me when I’d only been back from college a few days. She assumed I was like her grandfather, runnin’ around with women and endin’ up in the society pages of the newspapers. But I wasn’t. Other than the fact that she has a deep Texas drawl, we don’t know much about Casey Austin yet. But at least the first thing she did was visit our church when she moved here for the nursing job.

Then he slapped his hand on the console. I have a way you can get to know her better. Caroline’s due any time, and there’s a strong chance now we’ll be affected by this storm. I’d like to have a nurse around if the worst happens. Could you see if Casey wants a job on the side, while the doctor’s office is closed for the storm? You’ll be with us too, while your family’s gone.

Joey shrugged again, but his eyes kindled with interest. Yeah, I’ll be around. I had to use a few personal days at the radio station before the quarter was up, so I’m off until Saturday. I’ll call her.

Chad looked toward the direction of his home. Caroline hasn’t gained enough weight, so the twins will be small. I haven’t been too concerned until now. I can’t believe she’s due with a hurricane threat over our heads.

Patrick scowled. What’s goin’ to be left if Hugo comes through? If the Castaway’s damaged, there goes my job. He swiped his hand over his face. And if our homes are torn apart, I’ve got a pregnant wife and a two-year-old to find shelter for.

We built the Castaway to hurricane codes, it’s insured, and your salary is guaranteed. If a big one comes in strong, the Castaway won’t escape, and it won’t make money for a while. That’s part of the risk we took by building it on the water, remember? Its appeal is also its weakness.

Patrick’s mobile phone rang. He picked it up while Chad and Joey put their wrappers in a bag to throw away. Are you serious? Hold on. He looked at Chad, and alarm filled the blue eyes that were so much like his sister’s.

Hugo’s in the Gulf Stream and it’s exploding from a CAT 2 into a monster, heading straight to the Carolinas. It’s expected to hit tomorrow. We’ve got to go make a bunker at the Big House.

Chad had heard Andy Painter’s voice and raised his to be heard through the phone. We need to find someone to board up the Castaway or do it ourselves.

Patrick told his dad they were on their way. He quickly hung up while Joey strode to the other side of his Harley and reached for his helmet. When the order slip with the waitress’s number fell out, he scooped it up and turned to the trash bin.

Hey Joey, give me that, said Chad, holding out his hand and opening Patrick’s glove compartment with the other.

Joey hesitated before he walked back. He and Patrick raised quizzical eyebrows at one another while Chad searched for a pen. He took the paper from Joey and wrote something on it.

Chad looked up, saw their expressions, and rolled his eyes. This girl’s new in town and looks up to Caroline. Maybe she can invite her to church. The girl might be loose, but she knows Caroline isn’t. That’s a start.

Seriously? Patrick sputtered. Chad, that’s—awkward—and you’re playin’ with fire. Are you really goin’ to send my sister down this trail and not tell her this girl was tryin’ to—

It’s just a hunch, Chad interrupted. I haven’t thought it all through yet. This storm’s gettin’ me rattled.

Patrick huffed and looked the other way, drumming his fingers lightly on the car door in agitation. He decided to turn back and reinforce his point. If eyes were hands, Chad, that girl was all over you. Like Gloria used to do when she lived here.

The muscles in Chad’s neck and jaw clenched with a memory he despised. Joey studied him before he blew out his breath and turned. I believe in hunches, Chad. But I hope Casey won’t get the wrong idea if this little chick comes in and nestles up beside me on a Sunday mornin’ in worship service.

He briskly went to his bike and talked over his shoulder. I’ll call Casey, then board up the storm shutters at home and pack a bag. My neighbor will help me, then I’ll meet you at the Castaway. If I can round up any more help, I’ll send them over. Chad, I’m stayin’ at your place tonight.

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Mama, can you ride around the island with me a little while? I want to take photos with Chad’s camera.

Caroline held the phone receiver to her ear and shifted her position on the oversized buff leather sofa. But it was impossible to get comfortable with the twins staking their claim on so much of her body.

Sure, honey. I’m like a cat on a hot tin roof anyway.

You always say worry is a sin, so cut it out.

Her mother’s laughter spilled into the phone, soothing the ragged edges around Caroline’s peace of mind. Just wait ‘til you have kids and remind them to do as you say, not as you do. See you in a few minutes.

Valerie Painter drove Caroline’s 1965 Mustang around the island. Her dad had restored it, mostly with his own hands, and had it re-painted in the original factory twilight blue because he said it was the color of her eyes. He and her mother gave her the car for her 16th birthday, and as she rode in the passenger seat now with the white convertible top down, she snapped photos of views around her beloved island.

Palm branches waved congenially at them and silvery Spanish moss swayed as it dripped from live oaks, like a Southern belle imagining distant music at a ball.

Caroline’s mother studied her sad, wistful demeanor. Honey, you’re lookin’ at everything as if it’s for the last time.

Mama, how can I stand it if everything is lost? Tears stung Caroline’s eyes and she blinked fiercely while she let the Nikon rest from its strap against her tie-dyed maternity tank top. It would be like losing Poppy Noble. At least while Painter Place remains as it was then, I can see him everywhere.

Valerie groaned sympathetically in her throat and put her arm around Caroline’s shoulders. Both stood a willowy five feet nine inches tall, and she touched her dark bob of hair to her daughter’s blonde bangs.

Nothing stays the same in life, she said soothingly. And somehow, that’s a really good thing. Remember, the end of anything is the beginning of something new.

She pulled back to see her daughter’s face. You keep so much inside yourself, Caroline. You used to be like Patrick, a happy-go-lucky open book. You’ve opened up a lot since marrying Chad, but sometimes I catch you with an expression that’s haunted and mysterious, like some heroine in an old movie.

Caroline’s mouth quirked with a smile at her mother’s melodramatic analogy. My perspective changed when Poppy was ripped out of my life. I began to dread losing Gran Vanna and Grandma Audrey when I should’ve been enjoying time with them. Then when Chad left four years later, I realized all over again that nothing is certain, and I had no choice but to carry on, no matter how I felt about it. When he came back and I found out why he’d left and stayed gone for four more years, I discovered that even my family isn’t what I thought.

She knew this was a painful topic for her mother, so she hurried on. I don’t dwell on it. But I’ve never figured out how to handle the loneliness of knowing that in an instant, God can take away the blessings He’s given me. No matter how much I love Him and understand that He knows best, that makes me uneasy.

Valerie linked her arm through Caroline’s and walked her through the sand and shells that crunched under their tennis shoes. I’m glad you finally let me in on this. Have you told Chad?

No, I’m embarrassed. Mama, is this going to get worse when the twins are born? Will I be fearful of God letting somethin’ bad happen to them?

They reached the spidery arms of an old oak they had entrusted for shade over the Mustang. Valerie turned to look straight into her daughter’s eyes. Honestly, this is where I become a bad example again. I know the right thing to say to you, but I can’t live it out. Something happened when Patrick was a baby, and I began to fear that God would allow something bad. Your dad was worse than me, almost paranoid. But our fear drew us closer. We started to pray more together about our children.

She shrugged as if shaking off a memory. Every time has its share of trouble, Caroline. Back then, Poppy Noble was alive. But there was still a lot of uncertainty. Your dad had to produce the heir to carry on here, since Wyeth’s illness left him unable to have children and Juliette didn’t plan to stay at Painter Place. We were more at peace as you three grew older. Then little Noble and TJ were born, the twins are due, and Patrick has another baby on the way. I’m back to those twinges of fear. Let’s pray for one another to trust Jesus and have peace about whatever He allows into our lives. It’s better to experience a blessing for a brief time than never to have known that joy.  

They turned to see Chad’s car pull off the road and into the shade behind the Mustang. Caroline inhaled deeply as she watched him get out and grin at her. She loved to see him coming to her as if she were the only important thing in his world at that moment and knew the expression in his eyes behind the Wayfarers.

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Chad strode over to Caroline and her mother and kissed her forehead. I was worried when I saw your mom’s car at the house and yours gone. Everything okay?

His perceptive gaze caught the look passing between them. He pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head, waiting.

Caroline shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. I’m feeling a little nostalgic, so I asked Mama to drive me around the island to take photos. You told me not to drive or go anywhere alone, and I always do whatever you say.

Chad guffawed. He hesitated, looking from one to the other. An air of confidentiality wafted thickly around them like a lingering scent.

Storm jitters? he offered, fishing.

Valerie glanced down at her watch. Oh! Look at the time! Andy will be waiting. I’d better get back to the house to help with storm preparations. She turned to get in the driver’s seat of the Mustang. I’ll drop off Caroline’s car and she can come back with you when you’re ready.

They waved and watched her drive away. Then Chad said, Somethin’s up. Time for show and tell.

He pulled Caroline to him, which was a challenge with the twins between them. The Atlantic breeze wrapped its tendrils around all four of them. His family.

Will you take me to the pier and stand with me in the pavilion? Caroline whispered.

This was no answer to his question, but he caught a glimpse of something that made him uneasy. She had the intuition that always marked the artists in the generations at Painter Place. It made her unpredictable. She was the most interesting person he had ever known.

Chad looked over her head as she rested it on his shoulder. As he ran his fingers through her hair, he murmured, I’m glad you asked. I was comin’ home to take you there and told Patrick I needed an hour before I join in the mad rush to board up the Castaway.

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Ten minutes later, they stood at the end of the ocean pier, on the spot where they said their wedding vows. He brought her here on their fourth anniversary two weeks ago and told her he loved her even more than he had on their wedding day.

Now, he stood facing her again and holding her hands. Tell me who I am.

This was a trap, she knew. But she decided to cooperate—creatively.

You’re Phillip Chadwick Gregory III. You grew up here, left for college, and returned after four years to crash the Island Summer Dance and my world again, promising you’d always look after my home for me. She looked down at the signet ring on his right hand and ran her finger over it. You gave me this ring at the dance because you knew I’d need visible proof that you could be trusted. It has your motto engraved on it from Psalm 1:3, about a man who seeks God.

She paused, watching his scowl melt away. You’re the guy who met the heroic conditions set up by our parents for you to court me and be vetted as the next Gregory to oversee Painter Place. I assumed you left me and this life behind. Then you earned my trust again when my sister Marina sent you on a quest to prove you’re not a frog, but a prince, and you had to do it all without a kiss.

She glanced down at their clasped hands, where the sunshine became caught in her diamond. To prove you were my prince, you proposed to me with my dream engagement ring, a smaller version of the one Grace Kelly’s prince gave her. You put it on my finger in our secret childhood place on the veranda of the Big House, where you’d dreamed for years that I’d say ‘yes.’ All of this happened in the summer of 1985—the summer when a magical spell fell over the island, resulting in seven other weddings, five of them before the year was over.

Caroline paused again, smiling up at him. Memories now danced in his eyes.

"We made history as the first Painter and Gregory to marry since settling Painter Place over 300 years ago. We had our first kiss here in this spot on our wedding day. My first kiss had always been yours, and your first kiss had