Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(23)
Author: Irene Hannon

“Rose.”

 

Reverend Baker did a double take. “When did you two become confidantes?”

 

“Some people appreciate my humor. I chat with her on the phone now and then. But I’ve only been to tea there once.”

 

“You’ve had tea at Edgecliff?” The minister gaped at him. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned that?”

 

“A priest knows how to be discreet about private conversations.” He flecked an imaginary speck of lint off the sleeve of his shirt. “Rose and I became acquainted three years ago when the wind ripped off most of our roof in that ferocious winter storm we had. She made a generous contribution toward a replacement.”

 

“But she’s not Catholic.”

 

“I believe her charitable support is nonsectarian. A lovely woman. Ah, Marci.” He turned to the Herald editor as she joined them. “How nice to see you.”

 

“Likewise, Father. Reverend.” After giving both men of the cloth a cursory nod, she introduced herself to Ashley. “I heard you’d arrived.”

 

Was there anyone who hadn’t?

 

“Last night. Late.”

 

“I told Ashley you’d most likely want to do a story about her venture,” Reverend Baker said.

 

“Yes. This is big news for Hope Harbor.”

 

“I agree. And from what I saw during my visit, Edgecliff will make a superb wedding venue.” The padre clasped his hands behind his back.

 

Reverend Baker hiked up an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Catholics believed in outdoor weddings.”

 

“We don’t. We like to maintain a sense of the sacred and keep a clear focus on the sacramental nature of marriage. A church setting is more conducive to that. But as you know, I have a deep appreciation for the beauty of God’s handiwork. Nature can be very spiritual.”

 

“My friend here does have a way with plants.” Reverend Baker tipped his head toward the priest. “The meditation garden at St. Francis is worth a visit.”

 

“I’ll second that. It’s beautiful.” Marci pulled out her cell.

 

“Thank you both.” Father Murphy gave a tiny bow. “You’re welcome to visit anytime, Ashley. Like Rose’s generosity, our garden is also nonsectarian.”

 

“I’ll stop by soon.”

 

The minister touched her arm and motioned toward a door off to the side. “I hope you’ll join us for coffee and doughnuts in the fellowship hall. Even though my Catholic comrade here claims St. Francis has superior doughnuts, he often manages to show up at our door on Sunday during the social hour after one of our services.”

 

“I’m not here for doughnuts.” The priest gave an indignant sniff. “I came to pick up my copy of the minutes from our last Helping Hands board meeting—which I believe you were supposed to send out? However, as long as I happen to be here while doughnuts are being served, I may detour that direction and sample one. Would you like to join me, Ashley?”

 

“Thank you, but after my marathon drive, settling into my quarters and a nap are my highest priorities.”

 

“Understandable. Please tell Rose I’ll be in touch.”

 

“I’ll do that.”

 

“I hope to see you again next Sunday.” Reverend Baker once more shook her hand.

 

“That’s my plan.”

 

“If you ever get tired of this guy’s sermons”—Father Murphy waved a hand toward the minister—“don’t hesitate to swing by St. Francis. I can usually be counted on to liven up my preaching with a laugh or two.”

 

“You might use a few Bible verses instead of jokes.” Reverend Baker took his arm and tugged him toward the side door.

 

“I use plenty of Bible verses.”

 

“Try not to mix up Elisha and Elijah again.”

 

The priest heaved a sigh. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you? I was still getting over the flu, and I . . .”

 

As they disappeared from view and their conversation faded away, Marci grinned. “They’re a hoot, aren’t they?”

 

“I’ll say. They’re not like any clerics I’ve ever met.”

 

“I hear you. But they’ve been best buds ever since Father Murphy showed up on the reverend’s doorstep during our pastor’s first week in town years ago with a box of golf balls and invited him to play a round. From that day on, they’ve had a standing tee time every Thursday. So when can we schedule an interview?” She opened the calendar on her phone, finger poised.

 

This dynamo didn’t waste a moment in pursuit of a story, as Reverend Baker had predicted.

 

“Soon. I want to get the word out as fast as possible to generate interest. Money is going to be flowing out at a mind-boggling clip, and I need to begin refilling the coffers.”

 

“Does Tuesday morning work?”

 

“That should be fine.”

 

“I’ll come out around ten. I can’t wait to visit the house again. Rose served me tea on my first visit, but I only got to see the drawing room.”

 

“I’ll give you the full tour.”

 

“Fantastic. Do you think Rose will join us?”

 

“I’ll ask, but don’t get your hopes up. She made it clear she wants to be a silent and largely invisible partner in this enterprise. If she declines, though, I’d be happy to pass on a few questions and she could email you answers.”

 

“That’ll work in a pinch.”

 

Ashley tried to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. It was a long trip out. If I didn’t have to drive again for a year, I’d be happy.”

 

“You won’t have to drive much at all here. Everything is close in Hope Harbor, and Coos Bay isn’t far away if you crave a bigger-town fix.” She twisted her wrist and scanned her watch. “Oops. Gotta run. My husband’s on duty with our three-year-old twins, one of whom has the sniffles, and I promised not to linger. See you Tuesday.”

 

She dashed toward the exit, vitality pinging in her wake.

 

Ashley followed at a much slower pace. Too bad she couldn’t absorb a smidgen of the Herald editor’s energy. How strange to be dragging at this hour of the morning.

 

But she’d be back in top form by tomorrow, ready to tackle the multitude of items on her to-do list. First up? An in-person conference with BJ, who also had boundless energy, and the intriguing landscaper who’d won the bid to restore the Edgecliff grounds and who seemed somehow in need of restoring himself.