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How did she always know exactly what to say?
Wes and Beatrice slept peacefully in the thousand-count sheets of the hotel bed beneath the same moon that had led Martha to freedom so many years before. Wes did not wake up with nightmares. He didn’t dream at all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was incredible how quickly Amanda’s law license was restored. The Massachusetts Board of Bar Overseers contacted her in early July to declare they’d reviewed her case and decided she was a lawyer of sound mind and principles. They wished her well. Amanda considered framing the letter but thought better of it and threw it in the recycling. She was happy to put this period of her life behind her.
“It was never your fault,” her mother assured her over a congratulatory dinner that night.
But Amanda thought she’d learned a great lesson throughout that process. Number one: moneyed people could hurt you if you let them. Number two: when it came down to it, Amanda could live without her career. Her long and sun-dappled days with Genevieve and Sam were enough. God forbid, if she ever lost her law license again, she would find another way to survive. She would use her intellect some other way. She would teach or write or help Sam at the inn. She would always be Amanda Harris with a unique set of skills that would serve her well in whatever field she chose.
All at once, it was the Friday before Grandpa Wes’s wedding to Beatrice. Time had really had its way with them. Before long, it would be autumn.
Amanda met Audrey for a walk on the trail between the Sheridan House and the Sunrise Cove. Max was with his grandmother Lola, and Amanda had Genevieve in a carrier on her back, where she slept soundly as they padded along. July sunlight splintered the bright green and lush tops of trees. Everything looked taken from a dream. Audrey was talking about another journalistic case she was trying to break, something about a Boston hotel with a seedy underbelly. Amanda knew Audrey would figure out what was afoot. But she begged her to take care of herself along the way. “You don’t know what dangerous people lurk behind this story. Keep your wits about you.”
Audrey said she would, then teased, “You’re the big sister I never had.”
Amanda’s heart swelled. As a little kid, she wanted a girl cousin or a sister—somebody to share her secrets with. She’d adored her brother and still did, but he’d never fit the bill.
“What are you wearing tonight again?” Audrey asked as she tied her hair into a high ponytail. Her elbows were pointy, her upper arms tan.
“That dress you helped me pick out in Manhattan,” Amanda said. “You?”
“I’ll probably steal something from my mom’s closet,” Audrey said. “Like always.”
Tonight was the rehearsal dinner for Wes and Beatrice in the Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel—a perfect place for a wedding and the same venue where Amanda had married Sam last summer. Her wedding had been topsy-turvy—complete with a mid-wedding thief and a whole lot of confusion about where the groom had gone. She hoped Grandpa’s wedding would prove to be a bit calmer.
They rounded the last bend of the trail, and the Sunrise Cove Inn came into view. Amanda stopped for a moment to take a breath. She never tired of looking at that beautiful inn: the beating heart of her family and the place that tied them all together. As they approached, Sam and Grandpa Wes came out to speak to a number of reporters, all of whom waved microphones in their faces. Today was the first day of the Sunrise Cove’s reopening. Excitement for the basement room and its place in history had activated a rush of tourism that would carry them all the way into winter 2025. Sam practically floated these days. He thanked Amanda continually. “If you hadn’t come up with that plan to save the Cove, we would have had to close our doors forever.”
Not many men went out of their way to thank their wives the way Sam did. Amanda always remembered to count her blessings.
When the reporters faded away and left Sam and Grandpa Wes alone, Amanda and Audrey approached. Grandpa gushed with excitement. “Look at this place, girls! Back up and running, just like always! Zach’s inside cooking up a storm for lunch, and Christine made a huge batch of scones. They’re delicious. In fact, I might have another one.”
Amanda had noticed a tremendous shift in Grandpa’s moods and memory the past few weeks. The rumor was he was on a new medication—one that removed the plaque on his neurons and kept his memory alive a little while longer. It was never clear to Amanda how long they’d have him; how long it would be till everything was thrown off its axis. But she smiled wider as he spoke with his hands, telling them about all the chaos at the Sunrise Cove from the past few days. Sam had already told her, of course. But she wanted to give Grandpa Wes as much time to speak as he pleased.
In the foyer, Grandpa Wes had hung a beautiful portrait of Martha. The photograph had been discovered after the others, in a hidden cabinet in the old basement room. It seemed likely that Matthew had wanted to hide that period of his life away. Perhaps his love for Martha hurt him too much after she’d gone. Perhaps he’d hated himself for letting her go.
Matthew’s involvement in why Martha had gone away was lost to time. It was clear he was the father of her baby, and this wouldn’t have been cause for celebration across Martha’s Vineyard. Amanda knew it was devastating to Grandpa Wes to consider the fact that Matthew had been the one to send Martha on her way. People made mistakes, she wanted to remind him. But there was no rewriting the past.
Martha smiled in the photo, a rare thing to see in those days. Beside her on the grass was her toddler daughter, Mary. Yonder in the yard were two of the four Sheridan children, scampering barefoot. It looked like a blissful summer day on Martha’s Vineyard—not unlike today. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Amanda imagined the last decades of Martha’s and Mary’s lives in Canada. She imagined Martha bringing Sheridan Smith into the world, teaching him to read, write, and appreciate the freedom he’d always known. She imagined the pride Martha had had when her son founded his own printing press company—proving himself to be just as well-read as any fully White man.
Christine appeared with a platter of blueberry scones. Her face was pink from the heat of the kitchen. From down the hall came Zach’s voice as he called out to one of his sous chefs. A stream of tourists entered the bistro and filled the tables, eager to dine at one of the best establishments across the island.
Amanda took a scone and took a big bite. Christine watched expectantly. No matter how good she knew she was, she always needed to hear it.
“These are delicious, Aunt Christine!” Amanda cried.
“So good,” Audrey agreed.
Christine looked euphoric. “It’s so good to be back in the kitchen together,” she said, peering down the hall at Zach as he burst out of the kitchen door to help a server set another table. “Zach is just as stressed as ever.”
“You sound wistful,” Audrey joked.
“Zach and I don’t know what to do with ourselves when we don’t have stress from the bistro,” she explained. “It’s a part of our genetic makeup at this point. Mia is doomed.”
Audrey, Amanda, Grandpa Wes, and Christine laughed together as still more tourists buzzed past them. Some paused briefly to look at Martha’s photograph on the wall. A woman said, “That was the ex-slave who lived downstairs. I heard on NPR she had a Sheridan baby and went north.”
