Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Well said. Too bad this is off the record. That would have made a nice quote.”

  His cool comment made her even madder. Then she stopped herself. It did no good getting mad at Dan—or even Sara for that matter—when the one she was angry with was herself.

  “You’re disappointed in me. I’ve fallen off my pedestal.” She shook her head. “I’ve got to stop doing that. I could break a collarbone or something,” she murmured to herself.

  “Look, Emily, I didn’t mean to be hard on you. I just assumed that you would come out in support of the project.”

  “Dan, Charlie blindsided me. How could I support Luke’s project before I had any of the facts?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just seemed that for the first time ever you were afraid to buck Charlie. But it’s your campaign. You know how you need to play it.”

  Even his apology nettled her. She didn’t like him seeing her as a spineless politician. Even if I am acting like one, she thought. “Thank you,” she said dryly. “I appreciate that.”

  Dan didn’t reply for a moment, and she thought he was getting ready to say good-bye.

  “Listen, before I hang up, I really just called about that letter you sent over today, on the firehouse substation.”

  “Oh, right.” She’d nearly forgotten. “So what do you think?”

  “Not bad.” High praise, she knew, coming from him.

  “Someone helped polish up the writing. But the ideas were all mine, of course,” she added hastily, as if suddenly everything she did was suspect.

  “Of course. I just wanted to tell you it will be in tomorrow’s edition. That’s all.”

  “Thanks. I’ll look for it.”

  I should tell Sara, Emily thought, but she had a feeling that Sara would not be eager to hear from her now.

  “Emily, are you still there?”

  “Oh . . . sorry, I got distracted for a moment.”

  “You must be tired. You ought to go home and get some rest. Return to fight another day,” Dan advised.

  “Or, in my case, return to sidestep?”

  “Hey, I just report the news. I don’t tell people like you how to make it.”

  “Is there someone I can call?” she asked.

  He laughed, then his voice became more serious. “I think you’re already getting enough advice. Maybe you ought to have a long talk with yourself.”

  She didn’t know how to answer for a moment. “I’ll make a note on my schedule. Good night, Dan. Good to talk to you.”

  “Good to talk to you, Emily. As always.”

  She hung up the phone, her emotions churning. Sara and Dan were both disappointed in her. Maybe I’m just not the person I think I am—and want others to think I am, she thought woefully.

  Maybe Dan was right. Maybe she had to look inside herself for answers now, but when she did, she felt as if there was nothing there to see.

  On impulse, Emily bent her head over her desk, closed her eyes, and folded her hands in prayer. What should I do, Lord? I’m so confused. I’ve lost Sara’s respect, and even Dan isn’t thinking well of me tonight. Have I changed so much—replaced my moral compass with a popularity meter? Please help me find the way out of this dilemma, Lord. . . .

  Emily remained with her head bowed, trying to hear a clear voice, an answer that would ring true—the voice of the Spirit, speaking inside her.

  But she didn’t hear any answer, only the clatter of her own anxiety, guilt, and fear. A hollow, empty sound.

  Finally she pulled herself up, slipped on her shoes, and prepared to go. She felt sad and lonely, as if even God were disappointed with her tonight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MCALLISTER’S APPLIED FOR PERMITS. HE BROUGHT in the paperwork this morning,” Harriet reported in a rush. She moved closer to Emily, sitting on the edge of her chair. “What do you want to do?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “What do I normally do about building permits, Harriet?” Emily frowned, shaking off a feeling she didn’t like. “If everything’s in order, the permits go through. I never get involved in it.”

  “Well, you could if you wanted to.” Harriet sat back in her seat. “There are things the mayor can do to slow down the application, to stop it altogether—all perfectly within your rights.”

  Harriet gave her a knowing look. She had worked in the Village Hall a long time. She knew all the tricks, and Emily knew what she was hinting at. The insinuation upset her.

  “Within my rights as mayor, maybe, but not exactly aboveboard. That’s not my style,” Emily said, getting up from her desk. “I thought you knew that by now.”

  Harriet looked flustered. “I didn’t mean to infer that you would ever do anything unethical, Emily. I never meant that at all. But you have more authority in this situation than you think,” Harriet reminded her.

  “More than I want to use, you mean,” Emily said, slipping on her suede jacket. “Or misuse, actually.”

  Harriet pursed her lips and didn’t reply.

  “I’m going out. Do you want anything?” Emily asked.

  Harriet shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, see you later.” Emily turned to go. As she left the Village Hall and stepped out into the crisp fall air and bright sunshine on Main Street, she knew that the only thing that Harriet and her other supporters wanted from her now was to do whatever was necessary to win the election.

  It was early for lunch, but Emily found herself drawn to the Clam Box. Since the debate, she had avoided the place. But she suddenly felt the impulse to show Charlie she wasn’t hiding from him. Besides, if I’m sitting right there, he’ll have to stop bragging for five minutes about how he embarrassed me.

  She walked in and took a seat in a booth near the front window. The place was quiet. She looked around for Sara, then caught sight of her in the back. Sara glanced over for an instant, then walked into the kitchen before Emily could say hello.

  Emily wondered if she had been snubbed. Or was Sara just busy? I’ll try to say hello later, she thought.

  Charlie ambled out from the kitchen, carrying a huge can of tomato sauce. He dropped it on the counter with a grunt, and then spotted her. His jaw dropped a notch and Emily nearly laughed. She nodded hello instead.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor,” he said.

  But before Emily could reply, Lucy rushed over with a menu. “Here you go, Emily. Specials are up on the board, as usual.”

  “That’s okay, Lucy. I don’t need a menu.” Emily handed it back to her. “Just some cottage cheese and melon,” she said, remembering her diet, “and tea with lemon.”

  Lucy looked surprised at the order. “Feeling okay?”

  “Just trying to diet.”

  “Give me a break, you look great,” Lucy assured her with a pat on the shoulder. “But I guess everybody starves themselves before a wedding. Did you find the dresses yet?”

  “Uh . . . no, not yet. But there’s still time,” Emily replied.

  “Weddings always seems like a mess, but it all comes together,” Lucy promised as she whisked away.

  This one was more of a mess than most, though. Emily wondered if her sister had visited their mother, as she had promised. Or patched things up yet with Sam.

  She sighed and glanced out the window, cheered by the sight of Dr. Elliot heading for the diner. When he entered she waved to him, and he smiled and came over to her booth.

  “So, not afraid to enter the lion’s den, are you?” Ezra commended her.

  “No big deal. But I could use some company. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” Ezra pulled off his cap and sat down. “What’s the latest with McAllister? I heard he’s applied for building permits.”

  “You heard that already?” Emily was amazed. Dr. Elliot wasn’t exactly part of the Village Hall grapevine. How fast did gossip travel in this town anyway?

 
“For pity’s sakes, everyone knows it.” Charlie stepped forward and slammed her mug of tea on the table. “The question is, what do you plan to do about it?”

  Emily glanced up at him. She hadn’t noticed him standing there. Now he loomed over them with a smug expression. She felt cornered and didn’t like it.

  “Block the applications, you mean?” she asked.

  Charlie nodded. “That would be a start.”

  She felt Ezra staring at her, his thin eyebrows arching up over his glasses.

  “There are no legal grounds for stopping or delaying those permits,” she explained. “If the applications are in order, they’ll go through.”

  Ezra nodded at her and sat back, his expression relaxed again. He spread his napkin over his lap, carefully avoiding looking at Charlie.

  “I knew you’d say that. I just wanted to hear it from your own mouth,” Charlie said, sounding pleased with her answer.

  She had just handed him more ammunition to use against her, but it couldn’t be helped. Then again, she hadn’t really taken a position; she had simply defended Luke’s rights to go forward within the system.

  “You’re transparent, Bates. That’s what you are.” Ezra peered up at Charlie. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill and hoping to scrabble up top and declare yourself king. Don’t you think the people around here can see that?”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he took in the doctor. “Of course you’d say that. You got your money. What do you care if Cape Light is going to be ruined by McAllister’s project? I bet you knew about this whole mess months ago and just kept it to yourself.”

  “That’s a lie, Bates,” Ezra said angrily. “You said it at the debate, as well. Now, take that back or I warn you, there’ll be consequences—”

  Emily heard the bell on the door jingle as Art Hecht and Larry Carter, a local real estate broker and Betty’s competitor, entered the diner. The two men were among Charlie’s biggest supporters, Emily knew.

  “I stand by what I said,” Charlie told Dr. Elliot. “And there’s a lot of people in this town who think the same.” He glanced meaningfully over his shoulder at his friends.

  “All right, I’ve heard enough.” Dr. Elliot came to his feet. “You must have thicker skin than I do, Emily. My hat’s off to you,” he added as he pushed through the little knot of people around the table and headed out the door.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” Emily told Charlie. “Dr. Elliot didn’t know anything about Luke McAllister’s plans.”

  Charlie looked about to reply when Lucy scooted between them, setting down Emily’s lunch. “There you are. And here’s some plain crackers,” she added, placing a basket on the table.

  “Thanks, Lucy,” Emily said.

  Emily stared down at her plate. She had no appetite. Charlie had wandered away with his pals, she noticed.

  “Can I get you anything else? More hot water?” Lucy offered.

  “I’m in up to my neck already, looks like,” she murmured with a tight smile. Lucy looked puzzled but smiled anyway.

  “Is Sara around?” Emily asked, looking around the diner. “I thought I saw her out here a minute ago.”

  “Maybe she’s helping Billy in the back. Do you want me to get her for you?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Emily felt certain that Sara was avoiding her. “Just tell her I said hello.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell her,” Lucy said agreeably. She walked off to check on another table, and Emily tried a bite of her lunch.

  Out on Main Street she saw Jessica walking purposefully up the block. She was on the other side of the street, and Emily knew she couldn’t attract her sister’s attention by waving through the window. It was just as well, Emily thought. She had to get back to the office soon. She’d call her sister tonight to catch up, she decided.

  Maybe Jessica, at least, would have some good news. . . .

  JESSICA SAW SAM’S TRUCK PARKED IN THE DRIVE NEXT TO THE BRAMBLE Antique Shop. She heard the sound of power tools coming from the barn in back, where Sam had his shop. She paused, gathering her nerve. Maybe now wasn’t the best time. Sam didn’t like to be interrupted when he was working. Maybe I’ll try to see him later, she thought.

  She suddenly noticed Grace Hegman, crouched in the flower beds in front of the shop. Grace’s yellow Labrador, Daisy, was lying on the porch, calmly watching her work.

  In the height of summer the garden was a spectacular and unorthodox mix of vegetables and lush banks of flowers thriving side by side. Jessica was also a gardener—though a novice compared to Grace—and she watched closely as Grace’s knowing hands prepared her beds for winter, cutting back the dried brown stalks, and planted bulbs for spring. Grace worked at a quick pace, unaware of her audience.

  “Hello, Grace,” Jessica said, walking up beside her. “Cleaning up the garden?”

  “Just the usual. Another summer come and gone. Hard to believe it.” Grace shook her head and sat back on her heels. “Every year I say I’m not going to plant so much. It’s too much work. But somehow it keeps getting bigger.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m planning a garden for the new house,” Jessica told her. “I bought about a million bulbs, but I haven’t put them in yet.”

  “You ought to get to it then. Once the ground freezes, you’ve missed out. You won’t have any flowers in the spring, and all those bulbs will go to waste,” Grace warned her.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve got to get to it.” She had to get to so many things. . . .

  Grace pulled a burr from one of her gardening gloves. “Here to see Sam?” If she had heard anything about their problems, she didn’t let on.

  Jessica nodded, still not sure if she wanted to go back to the barn.

  “He’s there,” Grace assured her with a nod. “See you later,” she said, turning back to her work.

  “See you.” Jessica walked past the building and then out to the barn in back. Sam’s woodworking shop took up one half of the huge old building; the other side was an annex for the Bramble.

  She felt nervous about facing him. They had hardly spoken since their argument on Monday night and had not seen each other since. Only five days. But it felt longer. Long enough for his heart to have frozen against her? she wondered.

  Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. We really love each other, and a person just doesn’t fall out of love that fast.

  She stood in front of the half-opened door and her heart ached, and she felt sure she loved him more than ever.

  Jessica pushed the door the rest of the way open. The workshop was dimly lit, as usual, with low shop lights over the machinery and worktable. Sam’s strong body was silhouetted by the sunlight streaming through a back window. He looked up, but she couldn’t quite see his face—or gauge his reaction to her appearance.

  “Working hard?” she said, walking toward him.

  “Just trying to finish this chair. I promised Luke McAllister I’d go out to his place this afternoon and look over a job.”

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and she felt as if he was purposely acting distant from her. Still angry. She could tell that about him by now.

  She moved closer and touched his arm, then stretched up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you,” she said honestly.

  He glanced down at her. “I missed you, too.”

  She waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, she said, “I went to see my mother.”

  “Oh? How did that go?”

  Jessica turned away. A bit of fancy molding caught her eye, and she picked it up, turning it over in her hand as she tried to find the right words for her answer. She had to tell him the truth, but she didn’t want to sound too negative. “We had a talk. She still won’t come to the wedding. But I feel as if I tried,” she added hopefully.

  “Does that mean you’re ready to set a new wedding date?” he asked carefully.

  She could see that he was holding himself very still, waiting for her to answer. “I . . . I want to, Sa
m,” she said slowly. “But it’s hard. I lost my temper with her. We had words, and I don’t think I did a very good job of getting through to her. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m not ready to give up yet.”

  Sam shook his head and breathed out a long sigh of frustration. “If you don’t mind me saying so, your mother is a piece of work, Jessica.”

  Despite everything, she did mind him saying so, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to call him on it right now.

  “She refuses to acknowledge me in public,” he went on, “refuses to come to our engagement party or our wedding, and now you’re taking the blame on yourself, saying you did something wrong. You honestly believe that the problem is you didn’t say the magic words that will change her mind.”

  “Okay,” Jessica said, trying not to get defensive. “You have a point. But no matter how my mother manages to twist things around to suit herself, when all is said and done, she’s still my mother, and I still want her at the wedding. I think she just needs more time, Sam.”

  “Well, my folks are starting to get concerned, too, Jessica. They keep asking me why you just can’t set a date. They’re not sure you really want to marry me.”

  “Of course I do,” Jessica said. “Would your family expect you to just sail right ahead with a wedding if your mother said she wasn’t going to attend?”

  “My mother would never pull a stunt like that,” Sam countered. “Most people wouldn’t.”

  “Well, I guess you’re just luckier than I am,” Jessica snapped. “I’ll try to be more careful next time I pick my parents.”

  Sam tossed the piece of wood he was working on down on the table and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. She could see he felt as tense and frustrated as she did and was trying hard not to blow up at her.

  Dear Lord, please help us come together. Help us find a way out of this mess we’re in, she prayed silently.

  Without thinking, she walked over to where Sam stood and rested her hand on his arm. “I wish you would just try to understand,” she said quietly.