by Jane Peart
Together they read the inscription on the flyleaf: “To my dear son, Leonard, in the hope that he will make the daily reading of God’s Word a part of his life. Your mother, Lavelle Leighton.”
Sara thumbed through the pages, many of them dogeared and filled with underlining. Looking up from this discovery, they exchanged a significant glance.
Then they paused at one page in Isaiah where, in their father’s handwriting, they read this notation: “Read at Mother’s funeral. To be engraved on her headstone.”
“Well, what do you think?” Sara asked after a moment’s silence.
“Yes,” Lucie said simply, and Sara dipped the desk pen into the inkwell and began to copy the lines.
That was the slip of paper she handed Kenneth Cartwright, the stonecutter, when she arrived at his studioworkshop.
“We want a carving of a spreading live oak tree with hanging Spanish moss and then … this,” she explained.
He read it aloud to be sure he had it correct.
No more will the sun give you daylight
Nor the moonlight shine on you,
But the Lord will be your everlasting light.
Your God will be your splendor.
Isaiah 60:19
Sara felt the hard lump swell in her throat as she listened to the words and had difficulty conducting the rest of the necessary business arrangements without giving way to tears.
When she left Cartwright’s Stoneworks and started toward the carriage, her head was bowed, the mourning veil on her bonnet covering her face.
“Sara!” she heard a voice call.
Recognizing it, she halted. A man’s caped figure stepped out from behind the shaggy bushes next to the building and Sara froze, rooted to the spot. It was Theo.
“Sara—” The voice was hypnotic, mesmerizing. She felt like an insect in a web, with the spider closing in for the kill, but still she could not move. “I have to speak to you. We must talk.”
Alarmed by the intensity of his voice, Sara replied, “We have nothing to say!” and started toward the carriage. But Theo was quicker and cut off her approach.
To detain her, he put out a restraining hand. “Listen, Sara, there may never be another opportunity.”
Frantic, she tried to wrest herself free of his grasp, but he would not let her go. His voice was low and soothing as he pleaded, “Sara, I’ve waited every evening across the street from your house, in the dark, cold, the rain—waiting, desperately hoping you would overcome your aversion, your fear—whatever it is that keeps you from coming.”
“How dare you—”
“I dare,” he cut in, “because my very sanity depends upon it.” His fingers tightened on her arm. “Please! All I ask is that you hear me out. Let me explain what has burdened me all these years. Can you not spare me a few minutes of your time?”
Sara could think of no way to escape his vise-like grip without risking a scene. Several passersby had already glanced in their direction, curious as to the confrontation taking place. Sara felt trapped.
She saw that Raleigh, the Leightons’ coachman, was standing beside the carriage, ready to open the door for her. Impulsively, Sara made a decision. It would be better to talk inside the carriage, shielded from curious eyes, than to stand out here on the street in plain view of the townspeople. She could not chance someone who knew them spotting them together, suspecting it was an arranged rendezvous.
“Come then,” she said tensely, motioning with her free hand toward the carriage.
Theo loosened his hold, but kept his hand firmly on her arm as he escorted her to the carriage and assisted her inside.
In the enclosed intimacy of the interior of the coach, Sara almost panicked. What had she been thinking? This was a mistake. But it was too late. Wiser to let Theo have his say, then end this episode as quickly as possible.
Theo gazed at her with something in his expression that stirred her very soul. What was it—remorse, regret, longing, supplication? Her hands clenched into such tight fists that had it not been for her black kid gloves, the nails would have cut the tender flesh.
Now that they were alone, Theo seemed to be having trouble speaking what was on his mind. He took a deep breath. “Please remove your veil, Sara. It is more difficult to talk through it, and there have been too many barriers between us for too long. I want to see you when I say what I have to say.”
With shaky hands, Sara lifted her veil.
“How lovely you are, Sara,” he whispered. “You have scarcely changed.”
She straightened her shoulders. “You’re wrong, Theo,” she said, her tone cold. “I have changed a great deal. I am no longer the foolish, infatuated girl you duped into believing you loved her.”
Theo shook his head. “Sara, if you only knew how many times I have castigated myself for the hurt I caused you. The circumstances were such that it was impossible to tell you my reasons without injuring someone else—someone who did not deserve anything but kindness and consideration.”
“I suppose you mean Evangeline Archer,” Sara said reproachfully. The moment the name slipped out, she was sorry. She had not meant to show any reaction during this talk Theo had forced upon her, nor give him any idea of the agony she had experienced over their broken romance. Her only intent was to let Theo speak his mind, then dismiss him haughtily from her presence … and her life.
“It’s true,” he agreed sadly. “I could not bring myself to be that cruel.”
“But you did not hesitate to be cruel to me!” she retorted.
“Sara, you are so strong. I knew you would soon recover from whatever hurt I inflicted. There were a dozen others standing in line for a glance or gesture from you! As a matter of fact, almost every young man in Savannah was in love with you!”
“So that is your justification for callously leading me on, then brutally telling me of your engagement to someone else?” she flung at him with all her old fire. “How did you know that I was not as capable of suffering as anyone else?”
“Sara, you have survived. You are more beautiful than ever. I can see new strength and character in your face, your bearing. I watched you with your father’s guests at the memorial service, your dignity, your graciousness—all that is new.”
“That may be true. But it still does not explain nor excuse you for what you did to me.” She was adamant. The emotions she had dammed up all these years were, in spite of her resolve, ready to spill out. She found herself wanting to hurt Theo as he had hurt her. This was her chance for revenge. Perhaps the only chance she would ever have. “I loved you! I would have given up everything for you! Didn’t I offer to run away with you and forfeit the lavish wedding my family would have given us? What more could any man want? Has what you gave me up for been worth it to you?” she demanded.
For a moment Theo seemed taken aback by her outburst. He regarded her flashing eyes, the high color burning in her cheeks.
“Sara, I never meant to be cruel to you. I thought I was being kind. If I had followed my heart’s desire, eloped with you, forsaken my family, my responsibility, and yes, my honor—it would have been the cruelest thing I could have done to the person I loved most in the world. You, Sara! If we had run away together, you would have come to hate me for ruining your life.”
She stared at him, unable to follow the gist of his meaning.
“Your life has turned out well, hasn’t it, Sara? You are married to a fine man. You have children, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Two boys … but I don’t see what that has—” This whole encounter was unreal, bizarre. She and Theo, after all these years.
“You see,” he went on, as if explaining the alphabet to a very young child, “sometimes things turn out for the best. Ironically, most often they do. Doesn’t even Scripture tell us that ‘everything works together for good for those who love the Lord and are called to His purpose'? How can we ever be sure what His purpose is in the things that happen to us in life? Perhaps your purpose was to marry Clayborn Montrose
and mother his children. And mine? Well, unfortunately, I have not yet discovered His purpose inmine.” Theo sighed heavily.
“I must go, Theo,” Sara said. All her old feelings, the old anguish of his rejection threatened to rise disturbingly, and she knew it was dangerous to linger here alone with him any longer.
Her hands were still imprisoned in his, and he leaned forward, saying huskily, “Sara, Sara, the nights I have lain awake thinking of you, dreaming of you, longing for you—to hold you—kiss you—”
Frightened, Sara drew back. “No, Theo, this is wrong. You must go,” she said firmly. Inside, she was trembling, feeling her pulses race, knowing how close she was to temptation. “Please! If you have any love left for me, go now, before we do something foolish that we will both regret.”
“Ah, Sara, Sara!” moaned Theo. For a minute his face twisted in the agony of desire, regret, and relinquishment. “What did I always tell you? You are strong. I am not. What a fool I was to let you go. I will never get over losing you. You were … are … the love of my life.”
Then, before she could stop him, Theo had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a kiss full of tenderness, passion, and finally, renunciation. When it ended, Sara could not speak.
Theo released her gently. “Good bye, Sara. I will never try to see you nor contact you again. I promise. I just needed to let you know I loved you. I loved you the first time I saw you. I love you still. I will go on loving you for the rest of my life.”
Theo opened the carriage door, stepped out, then turned and looked back at Sara for an endless moment. “Forgive me, Sara,” he said and closed the door.
Sara slumped back against the leather cushions, shuddering.
Suddenly she heard the sound of glass against metal as Raleigh opened the pass-through from the driver’s seat. “You wants go home now, Miss Sara?”
“Yes,” she replied, knowing Raleigh meant the Leighton house. But Sara realized that she really longed to go home to Montclair—to Clay and her children.
chapter
15
THE DAY SARA LEFT Savannah, the weather turned dreary. Gray clouds hovering overhead added to her sense of desolation. As her small trunk was placed on top of the carriage that was to take her to the dock, Sara had the strange premonition she would never return to this house.
Her father was dead, and she had no reason to believe Georgina would ever invite her back. And why should she even want to come? Lucie and her husband lived in the country miles from town, where they had built their own beautiful house. If Sara should ever need to come to Savannah, she was sure of a welcome there.
Still, this house held memories that could not be laid to rest as easily as her father’s body had been planted in the soil of South Carolina.
The evening before, the sisters had talked far into the night. They had discussed the fact that neither of them would receive any inheritance from their father’s estate. By a recent change in Leonard’s will, everything had come to Georgina, and she had been quite blunt about it, stating that since both were married to wealthy men, they needed nothing more from her. But it was a bitter pill to swallow that she had not at least offered them the opportunity to select something of sentimental value to take away with them from their father’s home.
“It’s so like her,” Sara said bitterly. “Selfish, inconsiderate, insensitive!”
“It doesn’t matter,” consoled Lucie. “They’re only things. We still have each other and the memory of the good times when we were children. And she is right that we are both blessed with good husbands who will see that we lack for nothing.”
When it was time for her to leave, Sara said a final goodbye to her stepmother with all the cool detachment that had always marked their relationship. But parting with Lucie brought inevitable sadness. Both knew that, when they left this house, they would be bidding farewell to their childhood once and for all, the girlish dreams they had dreamed together, the hopes for the future they had shared.
As she hugged Lucie, Sara reminded her, “If you need me when the baby comes, you have only to send word.”
“Thank you, Sara, but Brock’s mother will be there and, of course, Mammy June is now with us, too.”
Even this reasonable refusal caused Sara pain. Lucie had a life of her own, comfortable and happy, and there was little room in it for Sara. Though she was gratified for her sister, this was yet another door that was closing to her. She shook off the feeling of depression and gave Lucie a bright smile, promising to visit “soon.”
Tying on her bonnet, Sara fastened the braid clasps of her cape and, with a final embrace, hurried down the stone steps to the carriage waiting to take her to the dock.
Before going below to the shelter of her cabin, Sara stood on deck as the boat maneuvered its way out of the harbor cluttered with ships loaded with cargo. A light rain had begun to fall, and the farther they moved into the channel leading out to sea, the more blurred grew the outline of the buildings along the wharves below the bluff.
A sense of finality enveloped Sara, and she shivered involuntarily. This had been so sorrowful a journey in every way that she felt deadly cold, riddled with inconsolable grief and lingering regrets.
Gathering her cloak around her, she turned away before the shoreline was completely out of sight, and went below.
When she reached her cabin, she was chilling so violently that Lizzie, who had accompanied her mistress to Savannah, wrapped her in blankets and brought her hot tea.
“You must have cotched sumpin', Miz Sara. You jest done too much de whole time we been gone. Traipsin’ ‘round in de chill, doin’ all de honors fo’ Miz Leighton.” Lizzie shook her head as she fussed over Sara.
Sara let her fuss. Lizzie might think she was coming down with something, but Sara knew better. Huddled in the comfort Lizzie was providing her, Sara allowed her mind to wander over the events of the recent past. Perhaps, once in every life, a person is able to see herself as she really is, stripped of all pretense. That day it happened to Sara.
The unanticipated encounter with Theo thrust itself vividly into her consciousness, and she relived it in all its horrifying reality. Although she had not actually arranged it, was it possible that, by her secret thoughts, she had somehow brought it about? How many hours had she spent fantasizing about just such a meeting? Over and over she had rehearsed what she would say, what she would do if ever she had the opportunity to confront Theo with his perfidy. How many years had she entertained secret longings and frustrated dreams of what “might have been"?
With a shudder of revulsion, Sara buried her face in her hands, knowing it was all true.
In the cold light of reality, Sara had to admit she had been flattered that Theo had never forgotten her, that even after all these years, he still loved her. He had confessed to tormenting thoughts of her and regrets that he had given her up. Wasn’t that what she really wanted? Theo’s declaration of undying love? To know that she still held the upper hand, that he had not rejected her, after all?
Sara groaned. Oh, how wicked she was! She was guilty of pride! She had been taught that pride is one of the seven deadly sins. Now she could no longer deny that she had clung to her guilty love for Theo out of pride, allowing it to poison her marriage, her appreciation for the fine man who was now her husband.
That love had haunted her waking and sleeping hours like some evil thing. She had foolishly nurtured her heartbreak, deifying it as something noble, writhing in anguish over losing him, harboring bitterness for the woman who had taken him from her.
Sara was ashamed. She felt ugly, blemished, degraded as she saw herself, unadorned. What was it the Bible said about such sin? Wasn’t even the thought of someone other than your spouse considered adultery?
Oh, dear God, forgive me! Sara cried from her heart.
At last she saw clearly what a twisted thing love could become. Now, with all the honesty and integrity of which the new Sara was capable, she faced this demon within, and exorcised
it.
chapter
16
IN WILLIAMSBURG a light snow powdered the ground while great, puffy snowdrops floated lackadaisically from a cloud-heavy sky.
Clayborn Montrose, pacing back and forth impatiently, waited in front of the Raleigh Inn for Sara’s arrival by stage from Norfolk. After her absence of nearly a month, Clay was as anxious as a bridegroom to see his wife again.
This beautiful, enigmatic woman still intrigued him, fascinated him with her beauty, her mystery, her mercurial personality. He often marveled at his incredible good fortune in convincing her to marry him. He had done everything in his power to make her happy. But after nearly seven years, he was still not sure he had succeeded.
He saw her before she saw him, and he drew in his breath. Sara had never worn black before and, although it was her badge of mourning, it enhanced her beauty as he had never seen it. Like a beautiful jewel set against black velvet, her face in its pallor had a luminous quality. The eyes, shadowed now with fatigue from her travels and the grueling schedule of her father’s last rites, were so dark blue that they appeared almost purple.
She was giving Lizzie directions about her baggage, so was not aware of Clay’s approach until he called her name. At this, she spun around with a cry of welcome that thrilled his heart.
“Oh, Clay, darling, I’m so happy to see you!”
“And I you, dearest. Was the trip exhausting?” he asked solicitously. “I’ve brought the carriage. The horses are fed and ready to go … unless you would like to remain overnight in Williamsburg and leave tomorrow morning after a good night’s rest.”
“No, no, Clay. I’d like to start at once. I’m anxious to get home. How are the boys?”
“Fine. But I had a hard time dissuading Malcolm from insisting on coming with me to meet you. They have missed you, my dear.” Clay smiled fondly at Sara, then added in a lower tone, “As have I! More than I can tell you.” He took her hand, and slipping it through his arm, covered it with his other one, gazing down at her with hungry eyes.
