Bountiful Bay
Bountiful Series Book One
Bountiful Bay
Verna Clay
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”
— Eleanor Roosevelt
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”
— Helen Keller
“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”
— John Lennon
Bountiful Bay
Bountiful Series Book One
Copyright © 2020 by Verna Clay
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
vernaclay@vernaclay.com
www.vernaclay.com
Publisher: Verna Clay
Cover Design: Verna Clay
Picture: Can Stock Photo / Elenathewise
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Preface
Until a few years ago, I had never stayed at a Bed and Breakfast. While planning a vacation with my mother, and since she had never stayed at one either, we searched online and found a lovely B&B. Our stay turned out to be perfect with a wonderful room and delicious breakfasts. I will always cherish that vacation with Mom.
Many of the books I enjoy reading are centered on small towns with beautiful forests and mountains, lakes or rivers, or the ocean. The residents and tourists are quirky and there is usually a B&B. Because of that, I have written several stories incorporating those elements, and this latest series is no exception.
The title of the series is Bountiful and the first book is about Fleur Wilson and the mansion she inherits near Bountiful Bay, close to the town of Bountiful (fictional areas). Many of the residents will become staples in subsequent books, and some will have their own stories.
As for Fleur, she hasn’t a clue as to why the mansion was left to her, but she seizes on the opportunity to turn it into the Bed and Breakfast she has always dreamed of owning. And, while pursuing her dream, she meets an older man who thrills her heart, but whom she considers forbidden to her. As Fleur’s story is revealed, so is her mother’s with glimpses into the past.
I loved writing Bountiful Bay and introducing characters who share their hopes, dreams, struggles, and heartbreak with readers.
Table of Contents
Preface
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Epilogue
Novels and Novellas by Verna Clay
Prologue
The elderly, sad woman stared at the bland hospital walls surrounding her, but envisioned the once vibrant wallpaper in the bedroom of her home—red roses and green vines. Lifting a weak and weary hand to her cheek, she brushed away the single tear that had finally escaped.
So many years of bitterness, sorrow, and regret added to the burden of a life harboring a secret. And now that her life was about to make its exit, she envisioned what might have been had she made other choices. But she was a practical woman, often gossiped about as being cold and calculating, and to some extent that was true, but not entirely. Beneath her carefully honed exterior, she had hidden the brokenness of a shattered heart. Soon she would become as forgotten in death as she had been in life after the deaths of her beloved sons. And that was what she wanted. Her attorney would abide by her wish that there be no funeral.
Slowly, removing the oxygen tube from her nose, she finally felt victorious. She would die knowing that she had made the only decision possible for righting the wrongs of the past. It was done.
One
Flipping the switch on her computer, Fleur Wilson released a long sigh and closed her eyes. Entering more numbers into her company’s accounting program would surely make her quit her job and escape to an island. She grinned at the thought.
“A penny for your thoughts,” said a voice in her office doorway.
Fleur opened her eyes and winked at her coworker for the past two years. “I’m thinking of running away and becoming a nomad living on the beach—surviving off bananas, coconuts, and wild berries; and getting the best tan imaginable.”
“Oh, please let me join you,” begged Hailey.
Fleur was about to come back with a quip when her office phone rang. She made a face as she reached toward the receiver. Midway there she paused when her friend said, “It’s 5:02 on Friday; you don’t have to answer.”
Sighing, Fleur lifted the receiver. “Hello, Fleur Wilson speaking.”
A female voice said, “Oh, good, I’ve reached you. Please hold the line for Attorney Harris Parker.”
Fleur frowned, glanced at Hailey still standing in the doorway, and shrugged.
A male voice came over the line. “Miss Wilson, my name is Harris Parker, with the Law Firm of Parker and Barzetti, and I would like for you to make an appointment to come to my office in Manhattan next week. It’s not far from your office in Queens”
“What’s this about, Mr. Parker?”
“It’s about the passing of Mrs. Eleanor Bountiful.”
Fleur had never heard the name and said, “To the best of my recollection, I’ve never met anyone by that name. Please be more specific.”
In the doorway Hailey made a waving motion and whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Fleur nodded and waved goodbye.
Mr. Parker continued, “Mrs. Bountiful, who owned a home and land on the coastline of Oregon, passed away two weeks ago and her Last Will and Testament names you as sole inheritor.”
Fleur was shocked into silence, but finally sputtered, “Mr. Parker, like I said, I’ve never met anyone by that name and I’ve never been to Oregon. Perhaps you’re confusing me with someone else.”
“Is your mother Penny Wilson? And did she die five years ago?”
“Ye-yes.”
“Then I have the right person. If you’ll make an appointment, I’ll explain more when you arrive. Right now, I have a pressing engagement. Please wait to speak with my assistant.”
Before Fleur could say more the attorney disconnected and muzak played over the line. A minute later his assistant said, “Miss Wilson, our next available appointment is next Thursday the eleventh. Is tha
t a good day for you?”
Fleur was beginning to feel put out by the heavy handedness of the attorney, but her curiosity kept a sarcastic remark in check.
“Thursday afternoon would be fine.”
“How about two o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you have a pen to jot down our address?”
“Yes, what is it?”
After writing the address and being told by the rude assistant to use GPS to find the office, Fleur hung up and stared at the phone. Who the heck was Mrs. Eleanor Bountiful?
On Thursday, Fleur sat in the waiting room of the attorney’s office and pondered what she had learned from her internet searches regarding Eleanor Bountiful. Having discovered an obituary in a local newspaper from a small town named Bountiful, she learned that the woman had been preceded in death by two sons in the nineties and her husband ten years later. The article also said the town had been settled at the turn of the twentieth century by the Bountiful family. And that was all. There was nothing about a funeral or additional relatives. In a way, Fleur felt sad for the woman. No accomplishments other than her husband’s ancestors founding the town were noted, which seemed a pathetic commentary for the life of a 74 year old widow.
After reading the obituary, Fleur had found a small Wikipedia article about the town. She learned that a Boston businessman named Jedediah Bountiful, who had made wise investments, traveled to the northwest coast and fell in love with the area. He settled in a small community that as yet had no name and purchased land nearby. He met his wife in the area, built a home on his land that was near a bay, and invested in improving the lives of his neighbors. And, to honor him, the natives had named the community after him, as well as the bay. As the area populated, Bountiful became a real town.
At the town’s website Fleur basically read the same history that was on Wikipedia. The town was described as quaint and picturesque and a few minutes drive to the beach. Photos showed a downtown of cute shops and eateries.
“Miss Wilson, Mr. Parker can see you now,” said the blond receptionist who reminded Fleur of a Barbie doll.
“Thank you,” Fleur said as she walked across plush cream colored carpet to an ornate door that the receptionist opened for her. When she entered, the gray-haired attorney was seated behind a desk overtaken with files. He flexed his neck and said, “Please have a seat, Miss Wilson.”
“Thank you,” she said as she sat in a black leather chair placed squarely in front of the huge, ornately carved black walnut desk. Obviously, this was a successful attorney.
Mr. Parker flipped through some pages in a folder, adjusted his eyeglasses, and finally said, “Our associate law firm in West Linn, Oregon has passed this case on to me, and although I cannot reveal the reason for the inheritance due to attorney-client confidentiality, I can inform you that our client has left the entirety of her possessions to you.”
Before Fleur could protest, Mr. Parker said, “I will read the pertinent parts of her will and give you a copy to take with you.” As he read, Fleur’s confusion increased. Mrs. Bountiful knew who Fleur’s mother was, knew Fleur’s address, knew Fleur’s place of business, and other personal details.
Mr. Parker finished the preliminaries and said, “Now I will reveal the totality of Mrs. Bountiful’s possessions.”
Fleur raised a hand to stay him. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Parker, but this makes no sense. If I had met this woman, I would remember because her name is unusual. Why would a stranger leave her possessions to me?”
Appearing somewhat perturbed, Mr. Parker replied, “As I clarified before, the will does not allow me to divulge that information. Now please let me continue.”
Because protesting seemed to be getting her nowhere, Fleur acquiesced with a nod. He continued, “You are now the owner of ten acres of property and the Bountiful family home, including all furnishings, which is designated as Bountiful Mansion, near the shore of Bountiful Bay, located on the southern coastline of Oregon, not far from the small town of Bountiful. The nearest larger coastal town is Brookings.
Fleur’s eyes widened as he handed her a picture of a Victorian style mansion with a large front veranda and columns. It was three stories and beautiful.
He said, “This is the only picture Mrs. Bountiful gave us. The inheritance also includes 102,265 dollars and 27 cents.”
“What!” Fleur exclaimed.
Mr. Parker furrowed his brow. “Would you like me to repeat that?”
“No sir. But I would like to understand how this all came about.”
The attorney closed his folder. “As I said before, I cannot reveal–”
Fleur waved his response away. “I understand that. But you need to understand that this is something I must think about.”
Mr. Parker removed his glasses and looked down his aquiline nose at Fleur, as if questioning her sanity.
She said hastily, “If I choose to accept this inheritance, what are the next steps in the process?”
A month later Fleur’s coworkers threw her a going-away party abounding with gifts, jokes, and finger food. After the party, Fleur sat at her desk and gazed around an office now empty of her possessions. For two years she had worked for Jones and Taylor, a sizeable accounting firm, and she’d recently been promoted. At the age of 25, as one of the lower-level managing accountants, she had been paid enough to support herself, enjoy a nice vacation every year, and sock savings away for her dream of one day owning a bed and breakfast. But inheriting Bountiful Mansion with the money that came with it was the stuff of dreams.
Although many people receiving such an inheritance would have immediately accepted it, Fleur had informed the attorney she needed time to make a final decision. During that interim she had done additional research and discovered an old newspaper article with a picture of the home. The photo had been taken to include a swath of the bay behind it. Again she viewed a three-story Victorian mansion whose backside faced the ocean, with the front and sides surrounded by forest. The house appeared to come within a few hundred feet of the bay, with tall columns rising to the roof of a wide veranda running the length of the ground floor. Although there wasn’t a photo of the back of the house, in her mind’s eye, she imagined the mansion as a B&B with guests sitting on a back terrace enjoying refreshments, while marveling over a glorious sunset streaking the sky.
Something about the home had pulled at Fleur’s heart and she’d almost cried. How could she not accept what a twist of fate had handed her? Could this home become the B&B she had always dreamed of owning?
Closing and latching her briefcase, she gave a final glance around her office and said a silent goodbye to her old life. She was about to embark on an adventure that had an unknown outcome. Had her decision to accept the inheritance been right or would it lead her in a direction she would later regret?
Her thoughts turned to two obituaries, other than Mrs. Bountiful’s, that her research had uncovered. One had been for the woman’s two sons having died in the crash of a friend’s small airplane. The other was for Mr. Bountiful who had passed at the age of 55 from heart failure.
Lifting her briefcase, Fleur rose, opened her office door, and headed toward her new life.
Two
Standing beside her car Fleur blinked back tears. In front of her rose a disaster. The lovely Victorian home she had seen in the attorney’s photo and the newspaper article was anything but that. Some part of her had believed that fate had intervened to redirect her path and given her the opportunity of a lifetime, and although that was still true because the land and house would fetch a fortune no matter the condition, the Bay had proven to be beautiful beyond words. The attorney had explained that the coastline of Oregon was public property and not part of her estate, but the positioning of the house was perfect. Could she part with such perfection? Was it possible that the finances she had available would be enough to restore the home and transform it into a bed and breakfast?
The mansion rose tall and foreboding, wit
h peeling white paint, lopsided shutters ready to tumble to the ground, boarded windows, and sagging veranda.
Mr. Parker had said that Mrs. Bountiful had been residing in a nursing facility prior to her death, but for how long? Years? Fleur had assumed it was a short time so the house would be livable—a stupid assumption.
Walking to the back of the mansion she saw the second veranda she had hoped would be there and again envisioned guests enjoying beverages while watching a stunning sunset. Turning to face the bay, she inhaled deeply of the briny air and considered her options: sell the home and land and add the proceeds to her funds, which would perhaps allow the purchase of another suitable house, or keep and restore this one and turn it into Bountiful Bay Bed and Breakfast.
Rather than contemplate her next move she walked the short distance to the shoreline and sat in the sand. An amazing sunset captured her imagination and for the moment blocked depressing thoughts. A sprinkling of distant purple clouds faded into gold when the sun slipped behind them and radiated angels’ wings. For a long time she watched nature’s theater and understood that living in this house would grant her nightly performances of equal beauty.
All too soon the sun slid into its final showdown and she heaved a heartfelt sigh of thankfulness for such splendor. Returning to her car she decided to drive back to the nearby town of Bountiful, rather than explore the grounds further. Tomorrow she had an appointment with a local real estate agent holding the key to the property. She would retrieve it, ask pertinent questions about the house, and contemplate her next move—sell or restore.
Jackson Winters watched the car in front of the decaying mansion round the circular drive and leave the property. From his perch atop a nearby cliff he’d seen a woman arrive, peruse the home, and then sit on the beach to watch the sunset.