A portable stereo still sat on an unmade bed, CDs scattered on the blanket.
Gooseflesh rippled down Sarah’s arms as she looked from the bed to the desk to the assorted clothes scattered on the floor. She half expected her sister to stick her head out of the closet and bark at her for not knocking.
Sarah rubbed her arms again, an old, familiar sorrow pressing down on her chest, and, following that, guilt. If only...
Sarah pushed the thought aside and in a fit of anger at the resurrected feelings, snatched her sister’s shirt from the back of the chair. She didn’t know her father had done this. When they came home after the funeral, he had locked himself away in his study downstairs. Sarah couldn’t go into the room and her father had told her that one of his sisters would take care of cleaning it out. Obviously, no one had ever been here.
This felt wrong, twisted, to not have her sister’s things attended to.
But as she folded the shirt and hung it back over the chair, a puff of dust and the faintest hint of Marilee’s perfume were released and her heart stuttered. Sarah clutched the shirt and allowed, just for a moment, the scent to surround her, eking out memories of her younger sister.
Marilee helping Sarah with her hair as she got ready for a date. Marilee screaming with abandon from the stands whenever Sarah played. Marilee bouncing down the hallway of the school, trailing admiring people in her wake. Marilee—sunshine and laughter and open, unabashed rebellion. Her father’s favorite.
For years, Sarah had tried to emulate her bubbly, fun-loving sister, but she could never come close to bringing a smile to her father’s face the way Marilee could. Sarah could never catch her father’s attention the way Marilee had so effortlessly.
As they grew, Sarah tried to find her own place in Riverbend, in the family. She thought she had when she started playing basketball, but her father was always more interested in Marilee’s dance recitals, Marilee’s plays, Marilee’s anything.
The favoritism wasn’t lost on the family and often her uncles and aunts would try to compensate by showing up at her games en masse, cheering her on.
Frank Westerveld had never seen her play.
Sarah closed the door on her sister’s room and strode down the hall, past the door to her father’s room to her own bedroom. As she opened the door, nostalgia assailed her.
The same posters hung on the wall. The same flowered bedspread still covered the bed. But, while Marilee’s had the curious stopped-in-time feeling, Sarah’s had the tidy order of an occupant that had moved on.
And as Sarah dropped her suitcase on the floor, it was as if she had stepped back in time.
Once again she was a young girl, waiting to hear if Marilee was going to sneak home in time or if her father would catch her this time.
Somehow Frank never did.
As she crawled into bed, she saw her old Bible lying on the bedside table. She used to read it regularly and take comfort and encouragement from the words between the worn covers.
She could use some comfort tonight. Some answers.
But she had learned the hard way that God’s voice didn’t always resound or give answers.
As she pulled her blankets around her, the glow from the streetlight outside shone onto the same patch of floor it always had, and with the familiar sight came the memories.
Sarah spun over onto her other side only to face the wall on which Marilee had written Sarah’s name in calligraphy.
She should have gone to Janie’s after all, she thought, closing her eyes. But even as she blocked out images from the past, more recent pictures swam into her exhausted mind. Her father, angry with Logan, her father collapsing.
And Logan, watching her.
Chapter Three
Sarah looked up from the bulletin and glanced around the building that had been her church home since her first memory. Other than a colorful banner hanging in the front of the church, nothing had changed here, either. Sarah glanced up at the ceiling with its 1,578 ceiling tiles, and then over at the thirteen small stained-glass windows with their simple colored panes, for a total of 104 panes of blue, green, gold and brown.
She had grown up in this church, as had her parents and grandparents. Her great-grandfather and -grandmother were buried in the graveyard beside the church alongside assorted aunts and uncles.
And Marilee.
“There you are.” A tall body dropped into the pew beside Sarah and gave her a good-natured shove with her hips. “Janie said you were going to come.”
“Hey, Dodie.” Pure pleasure leaped through Sarah at the sight of Janie’s outspoken and irreverent sister. And before she knew what was happening, Dodie had grabbed Sarah in a tight hug.
“So Sarah,” Dodie said pulling back and giving Sarah a sad look. “Sorry about your dad. Mom told me while I was gone. I just got back last night. How’s he doing?”
“We won’t know for a couple of weeks yet.”
“That’s too bad. So how long are you around for?”
Sarah pleated the bulletin once, then again. That was the question of the week. “I’ll stay as long as he needs me,” she said quietly.
“I’m guessing this interferes with your trip?”
“I think I’m going to call it off.”
“Maybe you can go when this is all over.”
The words “long slow recovery” hung in the back of Sarah’s mind. “Maybe.”
“So, what’s up for the week ahead?” Dodie asked, plucking the bulletin from Sarah’s unresisting fingers. She ran one blue-painted fingernail down the paper, moving her lips as she read. “A Soup Supper. Ladies are singing in the homes again. Did you read this?” Dodie angled the bulletin to Sarah, who shook her head. “Your old basketball coach, Dick DeHaan, ended up in the local hospital. Looks like he had a heart attack. I’m not surprised the way he was putting on weight. The Kippers family is leaving for Nigeria again, I’m sure her mom is going to miss those kids...”
Sarah knew no response was required so she kept quiet as Dodie continued to narrate the events of the church community, maintaining her own running commentary on the various people, condensing Sarah’s six-year gap in six minutes. The Reader’s Digest version of Riverbend.
When Dodie finished her speed gossiping, she handed the bulletin back to Sarah and glanced around the church, then elbowed her cousin.
Sarah turned in the direction Dodie was angling her head and her heart did a slow flip as Logan walked down the center aisle of the church, his tall, dark figure looming over his mother.
“I didn’t know Logan came to church.” Sarah willed her heart to resume its normal beat.
Dodie gave Sarah a knowing look. “He just started coming the past few months. And now he’s bringing his mom, though I know she’s not too hot on the residents of Riverbend or us Westervelds. She still blames your dad for her husband’s death. Although I don’t know how she figures that.”
Logan stood aside to let his mother into a space two pews ahead of them. The brown wool blazer and tan-colored shirt gave him a more civilized look than the jean jacket he had worn the other day, though he still had on blue jeans and cowboy boots.
At that moment Logan glanced back at Sarah. A faint frown flickered between his dark brows, as if he was surprised to see her here.
But why should he be? When they were dating, she was the one who went faithfully to church while he stayed away, claiming that church was simply a collection of hypocrites.
So what had made him come now?
The praise team started singing and there was no more opportunity for puzzled glances or speculation. Logan turned to his mother again.
As the congregation was swept along, Sarah felt left behind. Despite her previous time in the church, none of the songs were familiar and she felt like a bystander. Logan seemed to know most
of them.
When they were done singing, the minister greeted the congregation in the name of the Lord then gave the people an opportunity to greet each other, which offered Sarah another glimpse of Logan as he turned to shake the hands of several people.
Again their eyes met, and again Sarah felt a troubling frisson of awareness, an echo of younger, more immature feelings.
You are crazy, she thought as she broke the connection, anger coming hot on the heels of her schoolgirl reaction to his good looks. He was part of her past. Those times were gone.
“Before we begin, I want to ask our congregation to remember Frank Westerveld in prayer,” the minister said when everyone had settled. “He suffered a stroke yesterday afternoon. We don’t know any more, but we will continue to remember him and his family in our prayers.”
The minister paused a moment, as if to let the news settle in. A quiet murmur began in the congregation.
Logan glanced back, frowning.
She shouldn’t have been looking at him and quickly averted her eyes.
But then the minister began to speak again, bringing them through the liturgy, and Sarah, determined to focus, forced all her attention back to him.
Yet his words, once so familiar, did not touch her. Once upon a time church had meant something to her, but Marilee’s death had robbed her of a vital spark—had stolen a gentle innocence that equated good fortune with God’s blessing.
When her father had dropped into the dark pit of grief and mourning, he had left Sarah behind to muddle through the hard, eternal question always put to a purportedly loving God: Why?
And with each day that Frank kept himself apart from her, each week that Sarah slipped quietly through a house heavy with sorrow, alone and grieving, Sarah had pulled further and further into herself.
When Frank finally did emerge from his grief long enough to notice Sarah, it was to cry out that the wrong daughter had died.
That phrase had reverberated through the following years and had kept Sarah at arm’s length from Frank. Until now.
Sarah glanced down at the bulletin she held, pretending to read it as she shut out the present and the past, thinking about her future and the job waiting for her.
A poke in her ribs threw her abruptly back into the present. She blinked, looking around. Dodie got up, taking Sarah by the arm and pulling her up as well. The service was over.
One down, who knows how many more to go?
She glanced around at the congregation then froze as she saw Logan coming down the aisle toward them. She couldn’t face him again. She had to get out.
“Sarah. Sarah Westerveld. How are you?” A hand caught her from behind, and, as Sarah turned, she smiled. In spite of the toddler clinging to one hand and the baby on her hip, Alicia Mays looked as cute and put together as she had in high school. Her curly hair was pinned up. Her eyes shimmered with subdued eye shadow and her trim figure was enhanced by a narrow blue dress.
“Hey, Alicia. How are you?” Though her words were automatic, Sarah’s heart trembled at the sight of the young mother. Marilee’s one-time best friend.
Alicia bounced the baby. “Busy, as you can see.” She just giggled. “God’s been good.” She flashed Sarah another smile. “I’ve got another one on the way.”
Sarah glanced at her trim stomach and pulled in her own.
“Mommy, I want to go,” Alicia’s little boy said, tugging on her hand.
“And you? How are you doing?” Alicia asked. “Haven’t seen you around in ages.”
“I’ve been in school. In Halifax and working there over the summer. I’ve graduated and have a job starting next September in Toronto.”
Alicia gave a slow nod, as if filing away this information. “And, any special person in your life since Logan?”
The question was pure Alicia. Direct and to the point. She and Marilee were two of a kind.
“I’ve been busy with school.” Sarah didn’t want to talk about the precious few boyfriends in her life. It would make her look like some loser who had been pining after her high school love, when, in fact, she had simply been too busy for any kind of meaningful relationship. She had been determined to excel in her schoolwork, determined to make her own way, and she had.
“He’s still single, you know.” Alicia gave Sarah a knowing look, which puzzled Sarah. Surely she knew of Marilee’s tryst with Logan that horrible night? And if she did, why was she dropping hints like rocks at Sarah’s feet?
Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t want to delve into that now. Not with Alicia’s little boy tugging on her hand and people milling about
them.
“Mommy. I have to go. Now.” The toddler tugged on Alicia’s hand, dragging her sideways.
And Sarah was rescued from the wink-wink, nudge-nudge that Alicia excelled at.
“We’ll catch up some time,” Alicia called out as she left.
“Sure. You take care.” Sarah gave Marilee’s old friend a smile and, with a sigh of relief, turned.
And came out into the aisle right beside Logan’s mother.
Sarah caught a quick sidelong glance from Donna, received a curt nod and a mumbled “Hello.”
But when Sarah responded, Donna glanced away, her mouth pursed. Behind, she felt Logan’s looming presence like a storm cloud waiting to let loose.
It didn’t take a mind reader to realize that at that moment, she was as welcome as a gravy stain on a tablecloth.
But even as her discomfort grew, so did her anger.
What did Donna know about Sarah? Nothing. She and Logan had been discreet when they were dating and thus Donna and Sarah had never met face-to-face.
She had to get away. Her emotions were too fragile to deal with the animosity she could feel surrounding her.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to anyone who would care. She ducked into the first open pew and walked over to the next aisle.
“Oh, Sarah, honey. There you are.” Aunt Dot caught her unaware and, before Sarah could step aside, her aunt had enveloped her in a smothering hug. Behind her, Auntie Tilly looked at Sarah with a pitying look.
From the fire into the frying pan, thought Sarah, gently extricating herself from her aunt’s buxom bosom and giving her other aunt a quick smile. But at least this way it looked as if she had deliberately chosen to go to her aunts, instead of trying to give herself some space.
“Hey, Auntie.” She gave her Aunt Dot a feeble smile. She was stuck here now.
“Oh, my dear girl.” Dot stroked Sarah’s face, then was about to hug her again, but Sarah neatly avoided the hug.
“How is your father?” Aunt Tilly asked. “Have you heard anything this morning?”
Sarah dutifully reported back what the doctor had told her this morning on the phone.
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Aunt Dot said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Uncle Morris and I will take you there right after church.”
Sarah gave her aunt a smile, allowed Auntie Dot to tuck her arm through hers and pull her back into the bosom of the family.
* * *
He shouldn’t have been surprised.
Logan watched Sarah scramble between the pews, headed away from him and his mother and diving headlong into a Westerveld refuge. Running away again. Sarah’s specialty.
Six years ago, after breaking up with him over the phone, she had scurried off to Nova Scotia without another word.
Now she was showing him her back again.
The momentary peace he had felt from the church service was effectively wiped away with that one simple action by Sarah.
He had started coming to church in the past six months, trying to find answers to the myriad of questions he’d had since his father died. Questions that had only increased when he overheard a conversation between Dan and F
rank Westerveld.
For weeks after that, Logan wished he had walked away when he’d heard his parents’ names mentioned, because that information had only reignited the anger that had burned white-hot against Frank Westerveld since Frank had cut off his father’s livelihood. Anger that had only increased when Frank pushed Sarah to break up with him a couple years later.
Logan had hoped that the church, which had once given his father such comfort, could help him deal with some of that anger, old and new.
Logan gave himself a mental shake and laid his hand on his mother’s shoulder in a tacit gesture of comfort.
But his mother had her stern gaze fixed firmly on Sarah, and Logan could see that she stared like a mother bear protecting her cub.
He chanced another look across the empty pews at Sarah. She wore her blond hair longer and she was thinner. Her soft blue eyes held a haunted sadness that he understood a little too well.
But she was as beautiful as the first time he had seen her running across the gym playing basketball, that blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes bright, her lips parted in a smile that showed anyone watching how much she loved the game.
He’d fallen half in love with her then and there. Even when he found out she was Frank Westerveld’s daughter, the man who owned half of Riverbend, the man his father spoke of with a mixture of fear and contempt, he wasn’t fazed.
And when she stopped, turned and looked back at him, still holding on to the basketball like a trophy, he fell the rest of the way in love.
Logan willed his wayward thoughts to the back of his mind. That infatuation and those rampant emotions were a thing of the past. Too much had come between them now.
Sarah was just back to visit her father, that much he had understood from the bits and pieces of gossip he’d picked up since the ambulance took the man away. She wasn’t back to take a stroll with him down memory lane.
A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Page 20
