Thomas Kinkade's Cape Light

by Katherine Spencer

  “The meeting I had today was important. It’s a situation that will affect everyone in this town for years to come. It will affect you when you’re an adult, if you ever decide to live here,” she added. “But I know that doesn’t make up for missing your big moment in the debate.”

  Jane sighed. “No, it doesn’t, Mom. Remember how you kept telling me that if I was nervous to look for a friendly face, like you or Dad? I did feel nervous, and I looked for you. And you weren’t there. I felt so bad . . . I lost my place for a minute and my brain totally went blank. I had no idea what I was supposed to be saying, even though I’d memorized that part backward and forward. And then I felt so awful, I just wanted to run off the stage.”

  Emily’s heart ached. Dan hadn’t told her about that. She reached over in the dark and squeezed Jane’s shoulder. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Jane took a breath. She seemed determined not to cry. “I got through it. And we won, so I guess it wasn’t the worst thing.”

  Wasn’t it? Or was hearing Jane describe how disappointed and abandoned she had felt the worst thing?

  Emily felt awful, too upset and distracted to drive. She pulled over to the side of the road. Jane turned to her with a confused expression. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong with the car?”

  Emily shook her head and took a breath. “The car is fine. But I’m not. I need to tell you something. So please look at me while I’m talking.” Jane turned, finally giving Emily her full attention, though Emily did notice a slight eye roll. “I need you to know that you are the most important person in the world to me. What you do and what you think and feel is more important than any issue or cause, or any job I’ve had or will ever have. Or any . . . anything. I couldn’t love you more if I tried.” Emily found her daughter’s hand in the dark and took it in her own. “I’m sorry for what happened today. But please try to forgive me. And believe me?”

  Jane stared straight ahead a moment, then looked down at their hands. “I know you love me, Mom, and I love you, too. But sometimes, I don’t feel like all of that is true—that what I do and think and say is that important to you. You know what you always tell me . . . actions speak louder than words?”

  “That’s true,” Emily admitted. She was aching to put her arms around her daughter, but she was sure that if she did, Jane would stiffen, and she wasn’t sure she could bear that now. “Actions do speak louder. I just have to try harder, I guess. Someday, sweetheart, you will believe me. I promise.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sophie sat in one of the front rows at church on Sunday morning. She preferred the back, but her daughter Evelyn liked it up front better on the pulpit side. Sophie had to agree that you could definitely hear Reverend Ben better; she wondered what she had been missing all these years. She also had a good view of the young family who came up to light the third candle of Advent. It was almost Christmas—only one week left.

  She remembered a time when she was a young mother, too, standing there with Gus and the girls, who were just in grade school. Lifting Bart up in her arms so he could have his turn, too. It seemed like no time at all had passed since that Sunday. But, of course, decades had gone by. That’s the way she felt about a lot of things lately.

  Since she had made the decision to leave the orchard, she had gotten so nostalgic. Anybody would be, she knew. But she didn’t like to wallow in sentiment and memories. She had always been a forward-looking person, not one to moan and groan over situations she could not alter. And she didn’t want to be any different now.

  She shifted in her seat, reading the bulletin. She wore her best dress today, dark red with black velvet trim at the collar. She usually saved it for Christmas Day, but today was special, too. She thought of the announcement she had to make, and her stomach fluttered with nerves. Then she asked for God’s help and forced herself to focus on the service.

  Reverend Ben stood at the pulpit, spreading his arms in welcome.

  “Let us come together for worship,” he announced, and then began with the morning prayers.

  To Sophie that always meant to cast aside the cares of the material world and set your sights on Heaven for a while. On the things that really matter and will never fade or crumble or pass away with time. Give your worldly concerns to the Lord for an hour and try to see them through His eyes. How small and insignificant they are. Don’t you think the power that made the moon and stars, the sun that shines and the birds that fly, can fix these worries for you? Trust in Him and let your heart be light.

  When it was time for the Scripture readings, she found her reading glasses at the bottom of her purse and read along with the words that Reverend Ben spoke aloud, from the Book of Luke, Chapter One.

  “‘My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,’” Reverend Ben read aloud, “‘for He has been mindful of the humble state of His servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me—holy is His name’ . . .”

  My soul does glorify the Lord, Sophie reflected. Even on this sad day, knowing what I have to say. Whatever He wants, I’ll do, she silently added to the verse.

  When it came time for Joys and Concerns, Sophie raised her hand, and Reverend Ben called upon her first. She got to her feet.

  “You can talk sitting down, Mom,” Evelyn reminded her.

  “That’s all right. I want people to hear what I have to say.” She held the edge of the pew to steady herself and lifted her chin. “I have one joy and one concern. I took a little fall last week. It was nothing at all, honestly. But I want to thank everyone for your phone calls and cards. That made me feel better a lot faster.”

  “We’re glad to hear that, Sophie. And glad to see you back so quickly,” Reverend Ben said.

  “Thank you, Reverend. I have to add my concern now. Falling down did shake some sense into my old head. I’ve decided it’s time to move in with my daughter Evelyn and her family and give up growing apples. Well, they’ll still keep growing whether I’m there or not,” she added with a grin. “But you all know what I mean. I won’t say it was an easy decision for me,” she admitted. “So I’m asking for prayers to help me through this big change in my life.”

  Her friends and neighbors looked back at her with surprise. Even Reverend Ben seemed surprised, though they had talked about it less than a week ago. “Of course we’ll include you in our prayers, Sophie,” he said. “And I’m sure many here would be happy to help you with the practical matters of moving. When the time comes.”

  “Thank you, Reverend. That’s all I have to say, for now.”

  She sat down, her knees feeling suddenly watery—not the weakness of age, but her nerves giving out on her. It had taken more effort than she had expected to share the news and to show a bright face to the world.

  “You did very well, Mom.” Evelyn patted her shoulder.

  Sophie nodded but didn’t answer. Her announcement had very likely been the hardest she’d ever had to make. Next to announcing her beloved Gus had passed on. It was one thing to tell her family about her decision—and even Zoey, though she had taken the news hard. But announcing it here made it so painfully real.

  The choir had begun to sing one of her favorite Christmas songs, “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” She tried to join in, but her mind wandered, wondering again if she was doing the right thing. God, please, if I’ve spoken too soon or I’m making a mistake, please right it for me? I feel so confused today. This is much harder than I ever thought it would be.

  * * *

  Emily, Dan, and Jane had gone to church together and planned to spend the rest of the day putting up their Christmas tree and baking cookies.

  “Should we have lunch first?” Emily asked as they got into the car. “Or go straight to Sawyers’?”

  “I vote for lunch,” Dan replied. “It’s hard to focus if your stomach is grumbling.”

&n
bsp; “Me, too,” Jane said. “At Willoughby’s.”

  “Willoughby’s sounds great,” Emily replied, grateful that Jane hadn’t requested the Clam Box.

  Dan nodded and turned on Main Street in that direction. “It’s still early. There won’t be too much of a crowd. I bet we have our tree up and decorated by dinnertime,” he predicted cheerfully.

  “And some cookies baked,” Emily added, glancing back at Jane. She felt happy and relieved that they were back on track and getting on with their holidays. Jane seemed to have forgiven her after their heart-to-heart in the car. After huffing around the house Friday night, Dan had let the topic go. He could see that she was mad enough at herself for both of them.

  After a quick lunch at the bakery, they picked out a fine tree and went straight home. It took all three of them to get it standing straight and secure in the stand. Then Dan began to work on the lights, which were, as usual, tangled and missing a few bulbs.

  Emily and Jane started their baking, promising Dan that they would only come out once in a while to advise on the Christmas tree lights.

  “I like all white,” Emily said as she measured out molasses for a gingerbread recipe. “Even though it’s boring.”

  “All white can be pretty, but I think Dad’s already strung the multicolored. I don’t want to be the one to tell him to take them all off again.”

  “Good point,” Emily agreed. It felt good to be back in an easy, happy mood with her family, especially with Jane. She had thought about that in church this morning, saying a silent prayer of thanks.

  “I can’t believe Mrs. Potter is selling the orchard,” Jane said. “That’s so sad.”

  “It is sad,” Emily agreed. “But I suppose it’s just too hard for her to live there alone and run the place. I know her children help her, but I don’t think any of them are interested in taking over the business. I guess that fall scared her. She’s very lucky she didn’t get hurt.”

  “I know. But I love going there to pick apples and peaches and berries in the summer. And she used to have that big barbecue on Memorial Day every year. Remember?”

  Emily measured out the baking soda and added it to the bowl. “Yes, I do. The whole town would be there. She hasn’t had that sort of party for a while,” she added wistfully.

  “I wonder who will buy it. I hope it’s someone who wants to grow apples and won’t just tear all the trees down.”

  Emily felt a pang in her heart hearing that possibility spoken aloud. If the new zoning laws went through, Potter’s Orchard would be snatched up in a heartbeat by a developer. She was sure there was a flock of them circling the town like buzzards right now, waiting for valuable property to go up for sale. But she didn’t want to get into all that today. She had sworn off any discussion of that issue until at least the first of January.

  The open-space group had emailed her several times over the last few days, and had also sent some text messages. But she had answered with a quick note saying she was unavailable right now and would get in touch when she had some free time.

  Jane was applying her impressive volleyball muscles to mixing the butter and sugar. “You know, Mom, I was thinking, maybe Potter’s Orchard is a landmark. Like Grandma’s old house, Lilac Hall? Maybe someone could say it shouldn’t be torn down or changed, because it’s a historic site—or someone could start a petition about it?”

  Dan stood in the kitchen doorway holding an armful of tangled tree lights. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He glanced from Emily to Jane and back to his wife. “Is there a virus going around this house? Is it something in the water?”

  “I don’t know, dear.” Emily shook her head, trying not to laugh but secretly gratified by her daughter’s inspiration. “That’s an excellent idea, Jane. I’m not sure if the orchard would qualify, but I like the way you’re thinking. Very civic-minded.”

  She shared a smile with her daughter, then returned to the task at hand. “Let’s finish mixing this dough and put it in the fridge. While it’s chilling, we can decorate.”

  Jane seemed happy with that plan, and Dan shot her a look of sheer relief.

  * * *

  C.J. had come home from college Sunday night, and Charlie had quickly put him to work at the Clam Box. C.J. didn’t seem to mind, and even offered to close up on Tuesday night so Zoey could have the night off. Zoey had plenty left to do before Christmas, more shopping and baking with Lucy. But instead, she headed to the orchard. She had offered to help Sophie prepare for her Christmas Eve party, and there were only five days left. And the truth was, she wanted to hang out with James, too.

  A few knocks on Sophie’s side door caused Macintosh to sound the alarm. “Come on in,” Sophie called. “The door is open.”

  Zoey walked into the kitchen, struck by the sight of James on a ladder, stringing Christmas lights around the room as Sophie directed from below. Christmas ornaments and an assortment of ceramic figures, tiny snow-covered houses, snow globes, and all sorts of holiday knickknacks covered every shelf and window ledge.

  “That’s it, honey, hang them sort of swoopy. I’ve got white candles for the windows and big snowflakes that hang on ribbons.”

  Zoey gazed around in awe. “It looks like a Christmas village in here.”

  “Thanks, dear. That’s what I’m aiming for.”

  “Where did you get all this stuff? Did you buy out a Christmas store?”

  “Of course not. Though I could probably open one.” Sophie dropped into a kitchen chair, looking tired but pleased. “It’s just piled up over the years. I’ve never put it all out at once, but this year, I decided to shoot the works. Most of this stuff will get passed on to whoever wants it or end up in a yard sale soon. You see anything you like, just let me know, okay?”

  “Sure, Sophie. Thanks.” Zoey shrugged off her khaki-green coat and forced a smile. Anything you’d like as a remembrance or souvenir of the orchard, Sophie meant.

  Zoey felt as if her heart were on a roller coaster—her spirits boosted by the lavish, eye-popping display, then sliding down again, remembering the announcement Sophie had made at church on Sunday. Everyone had talked about it after the service, and at the diner, too. But Zoey had not seen Sophie since and could hardly believe it was true. “So, it’s settled. You really are leaving here?”

  “It is, dear. That fall I had was a warning, a message, I think. I’m going to heed it. I don’t want to leave, heaven knows. But sometimes we have to step up and do things we don’t want to do. For our own good—and for the people we love, too.”

  Zoey nodded. It was hard to hide her unhappiness, though she tried. “You sound as if you’re okay with it. So I guess I will be, too.”

  “Thank you, Zoey. That’s just what a dear friend should say. Isn’t it, James?”

  James was still on the ladder, draping the rest of the lights across the other side of the room. Zoey could see the big dining room through the doorway, decorated just as thoroughly.

  “I feel the same, Grandma. As long as you’re at peace, I won’t try to change your mind.”

  “I know it’s hard to fathom, but don’t feel sad for me. I’ve had the most wonderful life in this house, on this land. A richer, happier life than most anyone I know. I’m truly grateful for that, and for all the memories. No one can ever take that away from me.”

  Zoey admired her attitude. She was sure that if she was ever in Sophie’s position, she wouldn’t be nearly so positive or grateful.

  “I wonder who will buy the place,” she mused. “I hope they don’t change anything.” The words had barely left her mouth before Zoey regretted them. How insensitive can you get? Sophie must be worried about the same thing, and now you’ve made her feel worse.

  “That’s my dearest prayer now,” Sophie confessed. “And my biggest regret. Those trees . . . they’re like my children. I do feel as if my life’s blood runs in the branch
es, same as my own kin. I hate to abandon them. Makes me feel like a bad mother,” she confessed.

  “I know, Grandma. But maybe someone will come along who wants to run the orchard.” James had come down from the ladder, and he patted his grandmother’s shoulder. “There are a lot of young people interested in agriculture now—in organic farming and keeping farmland in a place like this open and undeveloped. I just saw a documentary on it a few weeks ago.”

  Sophie’s laugh was incredulous. “It seems all the young people run off fast as they can to make a life in the city.”

  “It’s true, Sophie,” Zoey said. “I read about that, too. Look at James. He went to New York. And now he wants to work on a farm in South America.”

  “Good point. See, you have a young farmer right under your nose. I never thought of myself as a young agrarian type. But I guess I am,” he agreed with a laugh.

  James’s impending departure felt like another loss, coming right on top of losing the orchard. But Zoey didn’t want to dwell on that now.

  “Maybe that’s true. I didn’t realize it was a tide among you young people.”

  “Do you mean a trend?” Zoey asked respectfully.

  Sophie laughed. “Yes, that’s what I meant, a trend. If you meet up with any of those young farmers, send them my way.”

  “We will, Grandma. Count on it,” James promised. He glanced at Zoey. She could tell he, too, felt sad about his grandmother’s decision.

  “I don’t know who will be celebrating Christmas here next year. Young farmers . . . old farmers. This house may even be knocked down by then,” Sophie said honestly. “I want to be very careful who I sell to, but it’s really in the Lord’s hands. All I know is that we’re going to have the best Christmas party ever, to celebrate and honor all the good times my family has known here. For three generations.”

  “What’s going to be on the menu?” Zoey asked.

  “Well . . . everything,” Sophie replied with a grin. “We’ll have a big punch and lots of starters. I’ll make baked clams and get some raw clams, too. Your father likes that,” she said to James. “The dinner will start with a corn and lobster chowder. And I’m cooking some sort of roast—beef or ham? Maybe both. Potatoes gratin and a roast goose with apple and chestnut stuffing. That’s what my mother used to make every year on Christmas.”