Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,26

the trees had grown back, and began to reach toward the sky, like they did now.

“An interesting fact about the barracks,” a low, soft voice said behind her. “I didn’t know about that.”

She turned sharply. It was John.

“Yes,” Wendy said. “Of course, after Pearl Harbor, the government was very concerned with the protection of the coastlines, which became all the more intense in Oregon after the shelling of Fort Stevens, and the balloon bombs.”

“Of course. My father didn’t talk about that, but then, he was deployed overseas.”

“Yes, I think it’s easy to forget.”

“I came here because I needed to see the place,” he said. “You see, my father just passed away.”

“Oh,” Wendy said, feeling a sharp twist of pain in her chest. His loss reminded her of all of theirs. “I’m sorry.”

“He was ninety-six. He had a very good life, and I’m sorry, too, but I am glad that he was so healthy for so long. But in any case, he spoke with fondness about this place, and I thought it was time that I come see it. Because nothing makes you realize that time isn’t infinite quite like loss.”

Wendy’s heart twisted. She understood that, and all too well.

“Yes. That is true.”

“My great-great-grandfather was Olaf Hansen. The first lightkeeper at Cape Hope. Back in the late 1800s. I believe Jenny Hansen was his wife.”

Wendy blinked. “Oh. Of course. Hansen. It’s such a common last name...”

She couldn’t believe she was looking at Jenny’s relative. Jenny was like a friend, in many ways. When Wendy had first come here and had learned to adjust to the gray of the Oregon coast, to her new life, the story of Jenny, the mail-order bride, had connected with her particularly.

She’d spent years compiling letters and tracking down journal entries, so that she now had as complete a story about the woman as possible.

And here was her great-great-grandson.

“I know it. But yes, this was...the first place my family lived in the United States. After Olaf came from Sweden.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Wendy said. “He was a lighthouse keeper there originally, wasn’t he?”

A strange smile touched his face. “What an interesting thing, to meet someone who already knows your family history. At least, some of the ancient family history.”

Wendy supposed that would be strange. “Your family history is a part of mine,” Wendy said. “I’ve been innkeeper here for... Well it’s been thirty-three years.”

“About as long as my family was here. So it’s in both our blood, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Do you have anything here that’s part of the Hansen family? Any photographs?”

“Oh, yes,” Wendy said. “All of these.” She gestured to a line of photographs on the top of the piano. “Olaf and his wife, Jenny.”

“I haven’t seen this one,” he said, leaning forward, his blue eyes glittering. “Incredible.”

“Your great-grandfather was born here. In this house,” she said, and goose bumps rose on her arms.

“Of course he was,” John said, looking around the room as if the space had just taken on new meaning. “What a thing.”

Wendy fell back and stayed silent, and she could hear Anna continuing to give her talk in the other room. She was all the way up to how their family had come to be the innkeepers.

“I would love to continue to talk to you about this,” John said. “Perhaps over dinner.”

Wendy drew back. She hadn’t expected that. And she couldn’t sort through whether or not he was asking simply because he really did just want to have a discussion with her about his genealogy, or if he was interested in her.

Not a lot of single men came to the bed-and-breakfast on their own. Quite a few single women did, typically when they were experiencing a major life change.

It was a good beginning point to someone’s emotional journey.

But she didn’t often have handsome men in her age group roaming around without a wife attached to them.

So it was entirely possible that he did have a wife.

Though there was no wedding band on his hand.

Not that that meant anything, necessarily.

“I’m busy,” she said.

Because being busy didn’t require her to sort out what his intent was. Because it just allowed her to avoid it. Avoid him.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

“If you have any more questions, though, today, my daughter Anna is an expert.”

“Oh,” he said. “She’s your daughter.”

“Yes,” Wendy said. “And I swear if you say she looks like she could be my sister...”

“No,” he said. “I’m far too old to try a line like that. I might have done it twenty years