With the entire Schooner Bay community now agreeing with him that Horatio Figg was both a fraud and coward, Captain Gregg was in the best mood she had ever seen. Delighted with his good spirits, and frankly enjoying being the center of his attention, she had readily accepted his invitation to join him in the parlor. The children were tucked into bed, Martha had retired early, and after having slipped on one of her favorite dressing gowns, she curled up on the couch, mesmerized as he launched into just one of the tales that warranted (or so he claimed) his right to be Schooner Bay's favorite son, worthy of their attention and admiration.
Watching him pace, arms waving as his tale reached the perilous climax; she smiled to herself as he threw himself into the retelling of the adventure. And at the knock on the parlor door, she couldn't help thinking, as his face crumbled in disappointment at the interruption, that he had been a long time without an audience.
Seeing Jonathan standing at the door, she knelt down, looking briefly back at the Captain. Smiling, she let herself think how nice it was to have the two of them in her world. She would have been a bit disturbed, if she let that thought continue down the inevitable path, so it was probably a moment of grace when Jonathan chirped, "You know what would be really neat Mom?" "What?" she said patiently. With greater excitement, he continued, "If Schooner Bay put up a statue to a real hero like Captain Gregg!" Proudly, she gave him a kiss on the top of his head, "Goodnight Jonathan." "Goodnight," he grinned as he turned and headed back to bed.
Standing, she expected the Captain to grumble at the interruption, but clearly, the boy's praise had made its mark. "That's a fine lad you've raised there Mrs. Muir," the Captain said warmly. "Bright and loveable, that's a fine lad."
"I always thought so," she grinned, curling up on the same spot of the couch. "But as you were saying?" Tilting her head, she was surprised to see him begin to pace in front of the fire. "Lost your place in the story?" she asked quietly. "No, not at all," he said so quietly, she had to concentrate to hear him. "Something wrong?" "Perhaps not wrong, but," he paused, sitting beside her, "more something I find I regret somewhat."
Knowing, even after their short acquaintance, that his offering of any kind of regret, or heavens perhaps an apology would be a rare thing, she wisely decided to just look and silently wait for him to continue.
Standing suddenly and resuming his pacing, he finally turned and looked carefully at her. "My thought, my impression. . ." he paused again, clearly searching for the appropriate words. "Well, it seems to me that I may have put you in somewhat of an awkward situation regarding the historical society and even that harridan Mrs. Grover." "Possibly," she smiled down to herself, "but go on."
Clearing his throat, he turned facing the fire, "I realize you were seeking a place in the local community, and I have made that somewhat difficult for you." He stood, hand on mantle, and drumming his fingers, he finally continued, "Mind you, not a worthwhile one in the bunch," he murmured, finally turning back toward her. "I really couldn't say," she said in what she hoped was a non-committal tone, "all I can imagine, is that these people, who make up the community in which I hope to spend my days, are now left thinking either I'm an lunatic kleptomaniac, or that I'm under the spell of the ghost of Gull Cottage."
With a bemused smile, and a distinctly gentle look in his eyes, he finally settled down beside her, "Good to know you like it well enough to stay." Looking away, and re-tying the bow at her throat, she blushed a bit. "I'm glad you approve," she glanced quickly at him. "Yet, you are right, still tricky to recover from their 'little suspicions' – any suggestions?" Flashing an unashamed grin, he shrugged, "Well, you returned the 'missing' objects, so can't really say thievery is involved, can we?" "No, no I suppose not," she chuckled. "And as for being under the spell of the local ghost?" he asked thoughtfully. "Ah," she said gently, "that would be a different tale. Let's leave that for another day, shall we?" "Of course," he said, with a wistful look and standing he began his pacing again, "now where was I?"