He shook his head. “No, she died when I was a child.”
“I see.”
“Did you know her?” he asked as he took the seat across from her.
“I did. I knew… her brother.”
“My mother had a brother?” Why had no one ever said that to him? Of course, his father’s family had raised him and didn’t talk about his mother. Maybe they didn’t even know much about her.
“Yes. Jonah.”
Miss Eleanor’s voice cracked.
“I never heard anything about Mom having a brother.”
Miss Eleanor looked at him, and he knew what he was seeing in her eyes was raw pain. “Jonah… he died. During a hurricane that came through. He was working on securing boats at the marina and was swept away. I never saw Joanie again after the hurricane. After Jonah was… gone.”
He felt a stab of pain for the loss of an uncle he never even knew existed. “Did they live here on the island?” He struggled to process all the information Miss Eleanor was giving him.
“No, they lived on the mainland. But Jonah worked here on the island. Came over on his boat every day. He often brought Joanie with him. She adored him. She was about four years younger, I believe. But every summer, she came over with him while he worked and hung out at the marina with him.” She tapped her finger on the photo. “I was there that day the photo was taken. One of Joanie. One of Jonah.”
“I only found the one of my mother.” He frowned. “What about their parents? Do you know anything about them?”
Miss Eleanor gave a small smile. “They were hardworking people. Your grandfather worked as a carpenter. Mostly on the mainland, but sometimes over here on the island. I believe your grandmother was a seamstress.”
“Well, that gives me a little more to go on. I’m trying to learn more about my mother’s side of the family. You’ve been a big help.”
She nodded slowly, a sadness clinging to her features. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He rose. “I hope so too.”
Felicity cleared up the last of the breakfast dishes and brought a tray full of them into the kitchen. She’d been sorry that Brent hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning. But then, she’d been a little relieved too.
“Here you go, Gran. Last of the dishes.” She set the tray on the counter. “Why don’t you let me finish cleaning up here?”
“Nonsense. I can get these. Don’t you want to find Brent and help him with his research?”
“I thought I’d work on the storage shed today. Go through the boxes and clean up in there. I’m sure there are things we don’t need anymore. If I get it cleaned up, you’ll have more storage space for things we do need.”
“You don’t have to do that. That’s quite a project.”
“Gran, I’m here to help, remember?”
“Okay, okay. But don’t overdo it. You don’t have to tackle it all today.”
Felicity crossed the yard and pulled open the door to the storage shed, a musty scent greeting her. Dust danced in the beams of morning light that slipped through the windows, adding an otherworldly quality to the cluttered interior.
She glanced over to the corner where she used to play as a young girl. Believing this was her castle, and the world outside, her kingdom. The memories brought a smile to her lips.
She stepped farther inside, eyeing the stacks of boxes piled against the walls. Some sat haphazardly, while others were neatly labeled in Gran’s careful handwriting.
She’d always found it fascinating how a single shed could hold so many memories. She explored every corner of the space as a child, building imaginary worlds out of forgotten treasures. Now, as an adult, the shed represented a different kind of adventure—one rooted in practicality and the desire to assist Gran.
After clearing space on the floor, she set to work, rifling through the first box of red, white, and blue decorations—remnants of Fourth of July celebrations. The next box held odd kitchenware. Each box told a story of the guests who’d once stayed at Bayside, of summer flings and lazy afternoons spent on the porch. She fondly remembered one particular family who returned every summer while their children were young, and she always shared her special place here in the shed with their daughters.
Enough of the memories. She had a job to do. She divided the contents into two sections. Items to keep and items to discard. A stray glass vase, pretty but with a small chip at the rim, joined the pile meant for charitable donation. The Christmas lights with frayed cords went into the trash pile. An antique lamp that didn’t work, but look liked it might be of some value, was set aside to show to Dale. Maybe he could fix it.
Despite the physical exertion, she found comfort in the repetitive task. Her mind wandered to other simpler times, before the complications of adulthood overtook her dreams. As she worked, she thought about Brent and his recent findings—his mother’s connection to Magnolia Key, the tangled history and secrets they’d uncovered about the prince, and the whirlwind it had stirred within her.
