He set his mug at the end of the table, hoping for a refill. Then he pulled his wallet from his front pocket, checked the ticket, and laid down a fifty.
Before pocketing his wallet, he took out an almost-new one-dollar bill. Inspected the picture on the front. Pushed it across the table toward Ariel.
“This is the real reason I don’t want to lose the inn.”
She looked down at the money, then met his gaze again. “A dollar?”
He pulled the bill toward him again. Studied it.
“Not the dollar—the picture on it. Somewhere in our hotel—no one knows where—a picture frame once hung. It held a land-grant document that states President George Washington deeded a tract of land on Jonathon Island to my tenth great-grandmother, Elizabeth Jane Kennedy, a widow with a small child named Caleb Henry Kennedy. Just weeks before he died, Washington gave her the land in appreciation for her heroism during the Revolutionary War.”
Caleb raised his gaze to Ariel. “Elizabeth Jane served as a spy for the Continental Army. She risked her life and her only child’s life for the sake of her country, listening to conversations at her Boston tavern and reporting to then-General Washington. The island wasn’t settled yet, so after Caleb Henry was of age, he married and brought his wife and mother here—its first pioneers.”
Ariel laid her hand on his arm in that way she had, the one that always made him feel a connection to her. He reminded himself not to get used to it.
“I’ll bet Elizabeth Jane built your hotel on that ground.”
He nodded. “She sold her tavern and eventually built the island’s first inn.”
“And her Caleb inherited it and passed it down to his son. I understand your strong attachment to your hotel.”
The ponytailed waitress refilled his mug as the opening notes of “Blowin’ in the Wind” flowed through the speakers. He poured in cream and took a swig. Thank the Lord for creating coffee. As always, the hot mugful made him feel better. “It’s more than that. Every generation since then has received his name. Including my sixth great-grandmother, the youngest child in a family with six daughters and no sons.”
Her look of mild horror made him laugh. “She was Olivia Caleb Kennedy. She retained her maiden name when she married, and she gave it to her son. Others used it as a middle name too. Granddad’s name is Jacob Caleb, and my dad was Samuel Caleb. I’m Caleb Joshua. Try living up to both of those biblical names.”
“I’m beginning to understand your dilemma. But what about your music, your band?”
He took another long gulp from his mug. “That’s the part I haven’t figured out. Do I stay and preserve the treasure my ancestors worked for? This inn has survived everything—two world wars, blizzards, the Great Depression, epidemics, the fire at the Grand, which impacted trade on the entire island. Now even the Grand’s flood affected us with bad reviews because we weren’t prepared.”
“But you love music, and you have incredible talent.”
It might be foolish to confide in a woman he’d formally met only two days ago. But for some reason, he thought she’d understand. Caleb set down his mug. “When I play, either alone or with the band, I always sense the Lord’s pleasure. Sometimes the presence of God comes down so strong, it becomes the only thing on earth to me. I don’t experience that when I run theprofit-and-loss report or go to the bakery for warm cookies or help clean guest rooms.” He dropped his gaze to her guitar case. “I haven’t felt it since my last day with Drake.”
“I know that feeling,” she whispered. “And I can relate to the legacy.”
He picked up the dollar bill again, gazed at the image of Washington’s face. “Sometimes I wish he hadn’t given that land to Elizabeth Jane.”
“But he did. And the Lord knew you’d receive it someday.”
Caleb swallowed hard, realization hitting him in the gut. As keeper of the family legacy, he could still play music. Pastor Arnie would probably put him on the worship team, and he could revive his parents’ and Uncle Augo’s music nights in the inn.
He could be a part-time musician. But not a part-time innkeeper.
This was the only way he could do both. And if he failed and lost the legacy, at least he would have tried, and he could go back to his music. Although by then, Drake would have found his replacement.
But for now, he had hot coffee, a good song playing over the speakers, and a beautiful, sweet woman across the table. He might not have them for long, but seize the moment, right?
“On a happier note, you said you liked one of the songs the writers gave you. Want to show me?”
“I’d value your opinion.” She picked up her guitar case and unzipped it.
Her room key fell out, the brass hitting the floor with a familiar thump. “Caleb, do you rent the guest rooms in the parlor wing? I once spent an evening there, and I loved it so much, I’ve never forgotten its beauty and comfort.”
She didn’t know about the parlor’s secret. “We haven’t rented it in years.”
Ariel’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at the key. “I prefer to play new songs on a piano instead of guitar. Could I use the parlor piano to play the new songs from our writers? We have one in our suite, but Aunt Dahlia often sleeps in during our working vacations. The parlor is so cozy and homey, I think I could get a lot done, and I wouldn’t bother the other guests.”
The parlor. The place he tried never to think about, never to relive the last time he entered that room. He wanted to say no, to forget it existed.
