devastated the former owner. The passengers had been so close to freedom in a vast country, yet they had been denied entry and returned to Europe. Subsequently, many of those passengers died in the war.
Upon learning their fate, Amelia had vowed to help as many World War II refugees as she could begin new lives in a new country. Nick’s grandparents owed their lives to Amelia. In turn, they had built a farm for their family, employed others, and produced Nick, whose ingenuity had contributed to a valuable medical breakthrough.
“I wonder how many people Amelia looked after here,” Shelly said.
Ivy had often wondered, too. “I don’t know if we’ll ever know that. However, we can continue to do what we can, just as Amelia might have.”
“Except we don’t have her gazillions,” Shelly said pointedly.
“A hand up is often more valuable than a handout,” Poppy said.
Shelly raised her brow. “That’s deep. Where’d you learn that?”
“One of my professors taught conscientious marketing,” Poppy replied. “And the cost, if any, is usually less. Certainly in the long term.”
Ivy was impressed. Poppy was young, but Ivy had always thought their niece was destined for great work.
“That’s part of a conscientious marketing plan I’m working on for my new client.” Poppy went on with enthusiasm. “I’m suggesting that for every specialty food item they sell, they donate a percentage to a farmers co-op in a lower socio-economic region, here or abroad. They can buy seed or upgrade their farming equipment to produce more food for their community.”
“I think people are often willing to pay more for a healthy product that gives back,” Shelly said thoughtfully. “I know I am. It makes me feel better about what I buy, especially if it’s something I might not need.”
Ivy stole a glance at Shelly. She rarely heard her sister admit to such profound thinking, even though she knew Shelly had a soft heart for those in need. Shelly was volunteering at the local high school and mentoring kids who were interested in gardening. Most of them didn’t know the options that were available in the field.
“See the psychology at work?” Poppy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “My client can spend less on advertising, and we’ll run a publicity campaign to spread the news. It’s a win for everyone.”
Ivy listened to Shelly and Poppy chat. Her sister had changed since she’d moved to Summer Beach. Maybe part of that was due to Mitch, who was often the first to offer help to those in need, just as Bennett had helped him when he’d arrived in Summer Beach.
Mitch had been a surf bum who’d just served time in prison for theft, sleeping wherever he could. But Bennett had seen his potential and helped him find his way, encouraging him to think beyond his station and helping him secure a small business loan to open Java Beach. And that was one of the many reasons Ivy admired her new fiancé.
Poppy said, “Most of all, my clients are the kind of people who want to make a difference in the world. This can be their way. If I present it right, I think they’ll like it.”
“And recommend you to others.” Ivy smiled at her niece, thinking about how mature and responsible Poppy had become.
Ivy hoped that some of Poppy’s ideas would continue to rub off on Sunny. Her daughter had become more grounded since moving here, too. Although Sunny was in her last year of school, she still didn’t have a strong direction.
“So what can we do with these old clothes we found?” Ivy asked. “They’re so out of date I can’t imagine they’d be much use to anyone.”
Shelly held up a finger, and her lips formed a circle. “Maybe our new Summer Beach theater group could use them. Kai tells me that Axe aims to be ready with a new show in a few months.” She took a sip of her drink. “But maybe we’ll keep the wedding dress ensemble. It’s so exquisite.”
“That’s a great idea.” Ivy winked at Poppy. She would have the dress carefully cleaned and stored.
Their new friend Kai was Marina Moore’s younger sister. Recently, they had both returned to their grandmother’s beach house, which everyone called the Coral Cottage. Ivy knew Marina from years ago when they were teenagers spending a summer on the beach.
A local contractor, Axel Woodson—Axe to all who knew him—had also performed in summer stock. A few years ago, he’d bought a piece of land with the dream of turning it into an amphitheater