Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  She looked at him curiously but sat down beside him on the couch.

  “Listen, I just need to know something,” Luke said. “Why did you run back in here with all the smoke yesterday? What in the world was so important?”

  Sara looked straight at him for a moment, then turned away. “It’s personal,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, well whatever this personal thing is, it nearly killed you.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, Sara,” he said in a gentler tone. “I don’t want to sound angry at you. Mostly, I’m just so grateful you weren’t hurt. Still, I can’t help wondering.”

  She turned back to him, her eyes downcast. “You’re right. You deserve to know.” He saw her take a breath. “I had to get my journal . . . but I guess I dropped it when I passed out. I found it this morning on the bedroom floor. It was fine,” she added, looking over at him.

  “Your journal? That was it?” He stared at her, sensing this wasn’t the entire story.

  She got up and walked across the room. “There was something else, too. Here, I’ll show you.” She opened a book on the kitchen table, took out a photograph, and handed it down to him. “This is what I really came back for,” she said. “This picture.”

  Luke took the photograph and studied it. He could tell by the man’s hairstyle and clothes that it was taken years ago, maybe in the late seventies. So it couldn’t be a boyfriend. . . .

  “I don’t get it,” he said honestly. “Who is this?”

  Sara sat down next to him again and looked over at the picture. “He was Emily Warwick’s husband—my father, Tim Sutton.”

  Luke felt dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say.

  He swallowed hard. “Emily Warwick is your mother?”

  Sara nodded. “My birth mother. She gave me up for adoption right after I was born. I don’t really know why.”

  He stared at her. “That’s why you came here. To find her.”

  “You’re the only one who knows,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “Wow,” was all he could manage to say. The revelation was—overwhelming. But so much about Sara that had puzzled and confused him suddenly made sense.

  “But you came here in May,” he realized, thinking back. “Why haven’t you told Emily Warwick who you are?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “Afraid, I guess. I know that sounds amazingly dumb.”

  “It doesn’t sound dumb,” he said. “But it has been a long time.”

  “I don’t know. . . . There always seems to be some reason why I don’t do it.” She pushed a thick lock of hair behind her ear. “When I first got here, I was surprised she was the mayor. I thought she wouldn’t be happy to have her long-lost daughter pop up after all this time. I thought I ought to get to know her a little. Then once I made up my mind to tell her, the election campaign started. I knew if I told her now and Charlie Bates found out, he would find some way to use it against her. This election is important to her. If she loses because of me, maybe she’ll hate me.”

  “Come on, she won’t hate you,” Luke countered. “She’ll probably think finding her daughter is a lot more important than winning the election.”

  “That’s what I thought, too—for a while. But I’ve been disappointed in Emily lately,” Sara admitted. “I used to really like her. But the way she’s acted about the center has really surprised me. She just takes the easy way out. Maybe that’s why she gave me up.”

  She looked at the photo again, then tossed it on the side table with an expression that made him think she was about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

  He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Maybe that is true,” he agreed. “Nobody can answer those questions for you except Emily. You ought to ask her.”

  “You think so? Even before the election?”

  “Why not? It’s never going to be the perfect time, Sara. If you tell her before the election, you might find out what she’s really made of. Either way, you’ll never feel settled inside unless you tell her. No matter what the answers are, or what Emily is really like, it’s better to know.”

  Sara sighed. Instead of answering, she moved closer to him, and he slipped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. It was more of a comforting hug than anything else, he knew, but he loved the feeling of holding her close.

  Sara needed looking after and he was happy to do it, he realized. He had come here a few months ago, bitter and angry, not wanting to get involved with another living thing. Now here he was, the self-appointed guardian of this strange but wonderful girl.

  She pulled away a bit and tipped her head back to look up at him. “By the way, thanks for saving my life yesterday.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied with a small smile.

  He had the impulse to kiss her, but then she slipped out of his grasp and the moment was lost.

  Sara got up, walked back to the kitchen, and started cleaning again.

  “Listen, Sara,” he said, following her, “I don’t think you should even bother with this mess. I think you should move off the property. It’s not safe here for you anymore.”

  She took a moment to consider what he said. “What about the kids in the program? If they’re coming back, why can’t I?”

  “They might not be coming back here. I have to speak to Dr. Santori later today. Looks like they’ll either go back to Boston, or maybe work at the Potter Orchard. The Potters really need some help, and Reverend Ben is trying to arrange it.”

  “Oh . . .” Sara looked surprised. She put the sponge down and wiped her hands on a towel. “That would work out well for everyone.”

  “Yes, it will. And it will be safer,” he added. “I really think you should go, too. I don’t want you in danger, Sara.”

  “But where will I go?” she asked. “I’m not even sure how long I’ll be staying in Cape Light. I don’t want to go back to some tiny hotel room.”

  “I’ll help you find something nice,” Luke offered. “Plenty of places around here rent month to month. We can go into town and start looking today.” She sighed but seemed unconvinced, he thought. “Hey, I’m your landlord, remember? Do I have to throw you out?” he threatened in a firm but teasing tone.

  He saw the corners of her mouth turn down as she tried not to smile. “If you put it that way, what choice do I have? I really don’t like leaving you all alone here, though. Maybe you should move, too.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said right away.

  Her suggestion made sense, but he felt a gut reaction against it. I may have lost some ground, he realized, but I’m not ready to give up on this place yet.

  Sara walked past him toward the bedroom. “I guess I’ll change my clothes, and we can go apartment hunting,” she said.

  “I’ve got some phone calls to make. Come knock on my door when you’re ready.”

  He pulled open the door and stepped outside. Two firemen and a police officer were still picking through the charred rubble.

  He nodded to them and walked to his cottage. What have I done? he asked himself. Sara’s secret was the only thing holding her here. Once she confronts Emily, she’ll probably go back home.

  But this is something she has to do. She has to resolve it, one way or the other. It’s important to her and I have to help her. She might leave once she confronts Emily. But it will always get in the way between us if she doesn’t.

  EMILY WALKED QUICKLY TOWARD THE VILLAGE HALL, TRYING TO IGNORE the slight knot of tension in her stomach. Her campaign committee had been surprised to hear from her on a Saturday morning, but they all agreed to come to a meeting, even though she had been deliberately vague about her agenda.

  This meeting was going to be tough, despite her resolve. She had known the men and women on her committee for years and would still have to face them daily despite today’s fallout.

  But it had to be done, Emily reminded herself. Things had gone too far in the wrong direction.

  They were all wai
ting for her when she arrived, seated at the meeting table in her office. Only Betty offered a small welcoming smile.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Emily apologized as she took a seat. “Here, I’d like you to read this. It’s going to appear in Monday’s paper, but I wanted to let you all know in advance.”

  She passed out copies of her letter to the editor, then braced herself for their reactions.

  “Wait, this is just too much,” Warren muttered. He began to read aloud. “ ‘ . . . That is why I support Luke McAllister’s initiative to bring the New Horizons program to Cape Light. Let’s put our fears aside and look at the facts, which clearly show that the center is not a danger to Cape Light.

  “ ‘We are very fortunate to live in such a beautiful place. But is it really ours alone to share or not share? Where does this biased spirit end—with setting up checkpoints at the road into town, so we can control who’s allowed to enter?’ ”

  Warren stopped reading and tossed the letter on the table in disgust. “Thanks a lot, Emily. I’m sure that will do wonders for the campaign.”

  Emily had expected him to come out swinging, and wasn’t surprised. She sat up straight and put her hands flat on the table in front of her. “All of you already know how I really feel about this issue. I had to come out for it. I couldn’t face myself otherwise.”

  “Did you consider us for one minute when you gave this to Dan Forbes?” Warren demanded. “All our hard work for you, all the hours we’ve spent on this campaign? Did you even think of calling any of us up to talk this over before you did it?”

  “I never thought of calling you, Warren. I knew you would try to talk me out it,” she returned bluntly. Then, looking at the others, she said, “I appreciate the time that you’ve all given to my campaign. No question. But supporting a candidate is not just about me. It’s about ideas, plans, and values. If you don’t agree with this position and don’t support it, then you’re working for the wrong candidate. It’s that simple.”

  Warren pushed his chair back and got up. “I’ve had enough. I’m gone.”

  The room was silent as they all watched him leave.

  Emily sat back in her seat. Her pulse was racing, but she felt clear, determined. “All right . . . who else?”

  The members of her committee were glancing at one another uncertainly. Emily found herself looking at Harriet, who wouldn’t meet her eye. She knew Harriet had her grievances. Would she follow Warren?

  Suddenly Doris Mumford stood up and picked up her purse and jacket. “I’m sorry, Emily. It’s nothing personal. I still think you’re a better choice than Charlie. But I just don’t agree with this center issue, so I guess it’s best if I go.”

  “All right, Doris. No hard feelings,” Emily assured her.

  Doris nodded, then, without looking at the others, quickly left the room.

  Betty cleared her throat. Was she going to leave, too? Emily wondered.

  “This is quite a letter,” Betty said. “I guess if you had called me, I would have told you not to write it, too,” she admitted. “But I have to say, I realize now that in my heart, I do agree with you. It may not be the politically smart thing to do, but I for one feel good supporting someone who is willing to stand up and say what needs to be said. What should be said.”

  “Even if I’m waving the banner of a lost cause?” Emily gently chided her.

  “Especially since you are. I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do it,” she replied.

  Emily smiled. Betty’s words meant a lot to her.

  “I’m in,” Frank Hellinger said simply. “You’re still the best ticket in town, no question. Warren takes this stuff too personally. How about you, Harriet?” he added.

  Harriet sat back and took a deep breath. She looked at Emily. “I would do things differently in your shoes. I don’t make any secret about it, either. But on the whole, I still support you and want to see you back in this office come next January.”

  Emily was surprised. She had thought that Harriet would leave with the others.

  “I hope I will be, too,” Emily replied. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  By the time Emily got home that evening, she felt exhausted but still on edge. She went for a long jog, and felt herself unwinding as she made the turn back to Emerson Street. She glanced wistfully at Dan’s house as she ran by. The windows were dark, his driveway empty. She wondered where he was. But it was Saturday night, she reminded herself, when most people have a social life.

  Well, good for him, she grumbled to herself as she opened her front door.

  She heard a vehicle pull into her driveway and turned. It was Sam’s blue truck. She stood on her doorstep and watched as he got out and came toward her.

  “Sam . . . is everything all right?”

  “I need to talk to you, Emily. It’s about Jessica,” he said, his expression serious.

  “Sure. Come in.” She opened the door all the way, and he followed her into the living room. “Is this about the wedding?”

  “What else?” He began to pace in front of the sofa, too agitated to sit down. “I was just with your sister. I finally got her out to the house, to do some work. We haven’t been there much since we decided to put off the wedding.”

  Not good, Emily thought. She hadn’t realized that.

  “We had another fight about setting the wedding date.” He turned to her. “Has she ever asked you to come with her and Reverend Ben to talk to your mother?”

  “Uh, no, she hasn’t,” Emily said honestly. “Is she going to?”

  “Jessica said she needed to give it one more try before she sets the date. Meanwhile, she’s terrified of facing your mother again. So here we are, totally stuck on square one.”

  “I see.” Emily sat down on an armchair, facing him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought things were going better after you met with Reverend Ben.”

  “So did I,” Sam said, sounding confused—and terribly disappointed, she thought. “Your sister just doesn’t understand how I feel. I want to set the date or call the whole thing off.”

  He means it, too, Emily thought, feeling a chill.

  “Have you told her how you feel—just that way?” she asked.

  “I’ve told her every way I can think of,” Sam replied grimly. “I don’t know what to do next. I wanted her to go with me tomorrow to look at a new place for the wedding. My dad knows people in the restaurant business, and he has a friend who runs this great inn, out in Spoon Harbor. They even have our date open—someone else just canceled. But Jessica wouldn’t hear a word about it. She said November nineteenth is way too soon, and she couldn’t possibly be ready.” He sighed and sank down onto the sofa. “Well, it’s not too soon for me. I’m starting to think she’ll never be ready. She either wants to marry me or she doesn’t. I’m not going to beg her.”

  His angry tone surprised her. Sam was normally so easygoing, Emily never imagined he had a temper. Was this about Sam trying to control things? she wondered. No, she realized at once. His pride was hurt; he thought Jessica was rejecting him.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Emily promised. She stood up and looked up at him. “Don’t worry. Jessica loves you.”

  “I thought she did. But I’m not sure anymore if that’s going to be enough.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Emily said. “I’ll call her tonight.”

  “Thanks.” He suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry to burst in on you like this, Emily. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m glad you came to see me. Really,” she assured him as she walked him to the door.

  If anyone could talk some sense into Jessica, she could, Emily thought unhappily. Who would know better what her sister was about to throw away?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JESSICA . . . WAIT,” EMILY CALLED SUNDAY MORNING from the bottom of the steps of Bible Community Church.

  Jessica turned to look at her sister. Warily at first, Emily noticed. Then, when she realized Emily was alone, she smiled.
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  Emily quickly caught up with her and kissed her hello on the cheek.

  “Where’s Mother?” Jessica asked.

  “She didn’t want to come out today. She thinks she’s coming down with a cold and didn’t feel up to it. I’m going to see her later, after we have lunch.”

  Just as she promised, Emily had called her sister a few minutes after Sam left. But instead of mentioning Sam’s visit, she invited Jessica out after the church service. It was a perfect fall day, and Emily was looking forward to an afternoon away from the village.

  They walked into the church and took seats. Emily glanced around for Sam, but only saw his mother and father, sitting in their usual seats. They cast a strained smile at Jessica, and she smiled back, but Emily could read the tension in the brief exchange.

  Jessica turned around and paged through her book for the opening hymn. She sang in a clear strong voice, and Emily realized she had hardly ever heard her sister sing in church before.

  Jessica’s faith had grown so much since she returned home. Sam was the one who initially drew her back to church. Now, despite their troubles, her faith continued to grow. She’s become a real example to me, Emily thought.

  But I am trying to get back on track again, Lord, Emily silently explained. Please help Jessica and Sam. And help me to help them.

  A short time later Reverend Ben stepped up to the pulpit, and Emily found herself sitting up straight and even feeling a bit apprehensive about what he might say this week.

  But his tone was gentle and conversational as he started off with an anecdote about two women who went to the opera together. “. . . One was sighted and one was blind,” he explained. “They sat side by side, in the same row of the theater for the entire performance. When the show was over they compared notes, as theatergoers will do. The sighted woman was very disappointed. She criticized the costumes and scenery—not to her taste at all. The soprano, she thought, was not very pretty and rather old for the part. The male lead was too short, she said, and didn’t look anything like a prince. It ruined the romance of the story for her. . . .”