“My husband, Tim, your father, died in a car accident right before you were born. I was in the car, too, and there were injuries. You were born prematurely and I was . . . sort of a mess. Even younger than you are now. I wanted to keep you. I only saw you once, but you had been inside me for nearly nine months. I already loved you.” She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “My mother came down to help me. I didn’t have any money or even a job at the time. . . . Adoption seemed like the right choice, the best choice for you. It was a weak moment for me, a confused time in my life. I didn’t really know what I was doing, what I was giving up.”
Emily’s tone had started off in its familiar, reasonable pitch but now sounded desperate, as if she were pleading with Sara, her pride entirely forgotten.
“So, your mother talked you into it? Was that it?”
Emily met Sara’s gaze. Then she looked away and rubbed her forehead. “No, that’s not how it happened. Not really.” She took a long, shaky breath. “I blamed her for a long time, but I was wrong. I can’t blame her anymore, because I’m the one who did it. It was my own mistake.
“I tried to undo it,” she went on, her voice trembling. “I looked for you. But the adoption was closed. The best I could do was leave information in case you wanted to find me.”
“That’s how I found you,” Sara admitted. “Right now, though, I’m not so happy I bothered.”
“Sara, please, don’t say that. I’d give anything . . .” Emily’s voice trailed off. “Please try to understand the way it happened. I was really very young. I didn’t realize—”
“You already said that,” Sara cut in. “You think you can—”
Sara felt a lump in her throat, blocking her words. She heard herself gasp and realized she’d burst into tears. She turned and pulled open the door, then ran out of the cottage and down the path to her car.
“Sara, please, wait. . . .” Emily called, running after her.
Sara didn’t look back. She got into her car and started the engine. As she shifted into gear, she saw Emily standing nearby, watching with a sad expression, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears.
She’s too late, Sara thought. Too late.
EMILY HESITATED FOR A MOMENT, THEN CLIMBED IN HER CAR AND FOLLOWED Sara. She drove out to the Beach Road, where she thought she caught sight of Sara’s white hatchback rounding a turn.
Emily pressed down hard on the accelerator. The fact that she was speeding barely registered. She took the curves of the road heedlessly, her concentration narrowed to one blazing thought: She had to find Sara.
Where did she go? Emily asked herself. Had she turned off someplace? Most of the turnoffs were private roads that dead-ended at houses.
Emily went down a few of those roads, but Sara’s car was nowhere in sight. Finally Emily found herself heading into town and driving down Main Street. Maybe Sara went to the diner to talk to Lucy. They were close friends, Emily reasoned.
She parked her car and started walking down the street at a fast pace. Then suddenly she found herself running, overwhelmed by a feeling of urgency. She raced down the street, her open coat flapping around her legs. She hardly noticed the cold or the strange stares as she wove around people on the sidewalk.
She was panting as she pulled open the door of the Clam Box and stepped inside. She spotted Lucy at the counter, flipping through some receipts. Thank goodness, she thought. She wasn’t sure she could deal with Charlie now.
“Is Sara here?” Emily asked.
“No, she took the day off to do some packing. She’s moving tomorrow,” Lucy explained calmly.
“Yes, I know that. . . .” Emily shook her head, finally catching her breath. “I mean, did she come by just now?”
Lucy gave her a puzzled look. “No, I haven’t seen her.”
“Thanks.” Emily turned and slipped out the door, feeling Lucy staring at her back.
Out on Main Street again she walked quickly, looking around in all directions for Sara. Would she have gone down to the harbor or the green? Emily wondered. She picked up her pace, straining her eyes to see down to the waterfront. Did she turn around without me seeing and go out to the Point?
Sara was all packed up to move tomorrow, Emily remembered. Would she just take off and go back to Maryland without even giving me a chance to explain things to her?
The possibility froze Emily’s heart.
At the dock and on the green there was no sight of Sara. Emily felt bleak and deflated. She turned and found herself standing in front of the church. The door was open and she went inside. Just to sit down for a moment and catch my breath, she told herself.
Golden light streamed through the stained-glass windows. It was so quiet, she could practically hear the sound of her own heartbeat.
She knelt down in the last pew and folded her hands. Thank you, God, for answering my prayers and sending my daughter to me. She is a wonder, a miracle. But what’s going to happen now? I know I told you that even if I only saw her for five minutes, it would be okay. But I was wrong. I do care, God. I do want more. Please give me some time with her. Help her to forgive me. Is there a way? I don’t know how, but surely you can find one.
Please forgive me, Lord, for ever doubting you, she added. Help me to stay strong.
She sat for a long while with her eyes closed, her head bowed on her hands. When she picked her head up, she felt strangely refreshed, almost as if she had been asleep.
She sensed someone nearby and turned to see Reverend Ben, who stood in the aisle, watching her.
“What is it Emily? You look awful,” he said bluntly.
Emily got up off her knees and sat down in the pew. “Sara Franklin is my daughter. She just told me. She came to this town to find me.”
“Sara?” He stared at her amazed. “All this time she’s been here and never told you . . . but why?”
Emily bit her lip. This was hard to talk about, even with Reverend Ben. “I don’t know. Sara didn’t say. We didn’t get that far,” she added, feeling overwhelmed again. “She’s so angry with me. I tried to explain how it had happened, how sorry I was for the mistake I made and the wrong I did to her. But she—” Emily shook her head. “She didn’t understand. I’m afraid she’s so angry, she’ll just leave here and go back home again.”
Reverend Ben sat down next to her. “You can find her and try again. Just try to persuade her to wait and not just rush off. If she won’t see you again, maybe you should write her a letter,” he suggested.
“Yes . . . I guess I could. I could tell her how it was for me back then. It’s so hard to describe, though. . . . She’ll think I’m exaggerating, or making it up just to convince her.” Emily paused, her thoughts racing, then she felt a glimmer of hope. “I just remembered. I used to write in a journal back then, almost every day, just like Sara does. I still have it. I could give it to her, have her read it. It’s all there—what I went through when I was deciding what to do, all my thoughts and feelings. She would have to see that it was genuine.”
“Absolutely,” Reverend Ben agreed. “That’s an excellent idea, an inspiration.”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Emily agreed, smiling weakly through her tears. “Thank you, Reverend.” Emily leaned forward and gave him a tight hug. “Thank you for talking with me.”
“I didn’t say anything, really,” he admitted. “You’re the one who thought of it.”
“God reminded me. I’m sure of it.” She got to her feet. “I’ll get it and bring it to her house right away.”
“Good luck, Emily,” Reverend Ben said to her as she left him. “I’ll pray for you. And for Sara.”
“Thank you, Reverend. I need it.”
A short time later Emily drove back to the cottages and parked her car. She saw lights on in Sara’s cottage and guessed she had returned.
She walked up to Sara’s door, knocked softly, and waited, feeling a tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
Maybe she’ll see it’s me and not answer
the door, Emily thought. But just as she was about to write a note and leave her package on the doorstep, the door opened.
Sara stared at her, her eyes hard.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” Emily said quickly. She pushed the large envelope that held the journal into Sara’s hands.
“You came a long way to find me and went to a lot of trouble. Please don’t leave until you read this. I know it’s hard to believe what I told you, about the past. I know the way I acted about Luke’s project disappointed you. Frankly, if I were you, I’d be angry, too. But if you read this, I think it will answer some of your questions and doubts. Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.”
“What is it?” Sara asked warily.
“My diary. I kept one back then. This book is from the months when I was expecting you . . . and later, after Tim died and I had to decide what to do.”
Sara didn’t react at all, and Emily felt her heart sinking. Was she making it worse? Should she just leave now and give up? No, she couldn’t do that.
“You said you wanted to know why,” she reminded Sara.
Finally Sara reached out and reluctantly took the envelope from her. “I don’t owe you anything, and I’m not promising I’ll read this,” she warned.
“Fair enough,” Emily said. She was dying to ask if Sara planned on leaving, but she forced herself not to say any more.
“Thank you, Sara,” she said quietly. “No matter what you think of me, I’m still glad you found me. I still feel this is a blessed day in my life,” she added, not daring to meet her daughter’s eyes.
Sara didn’t reply. She stood by the door as Emily turned away, then Emily heard the door snap closed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHAT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE?” LUKE MUTTERED to himself as he drove down the gravel road to his property. “A surprise party?”
The hard rain on Wednesday night had left puddles in the rutted road that splashed the sides of the Toyota as he sped up.
Sam’s blue truck, Dr. Elliot’s Buick, and Paul Delgado’s van stood side by side in the parking area behind the cottages. Sam and Digger were unloading ladders, long planks of fresh lumber, and rolls of roofing paper. Three kids from the program hung around near the truck, looking as if they were waiting to be told what to do.
Dr. Elliot was the first to see him. He walked toward the Toyota as Luke came to a stop.
“We’ve been waiting for you, McAllister. Sam thought he should start unloading, though.”
Luke peered down at the doctor as he hopped out of his truck. “Where did all that stuff come from?”
“Sam picked it up someplace. Bought on account—on account of the work here has got to start again, you know,” the doctor quipped.
Luke didn’t know what to say to him. “That’s my call, I think, Doctor,” he said finally.
“May be. But what are you waiting for, exactly?” Dr. Elliot persisted. “We heard that you got the okay from Santori on Monday to keep going.”
“That’s right.” Luke said. He wondered where the group had heard about his meeting. That was the problem with a small town. It was hard to keep any secrets.
“So, what do you say?” the doctor pressed. “It’s a fine day—the weather cleared up nicely, no wind, either.” He tipped his head back to survey the sky. “You won’t find a better one.”
“The weather’s great,” Luke conceded, “but people in this town are still against us. Even Emily Warwick changing horses in the middle of an election hasn’t done too much to help our side.”
“Yes, that letter she wrote was extremely supportive—and at great risk to her own career. I have to hand it to her,” Ezra remarked, shaking his head. “But I get your point. You’re afraid to go ahead again. You’re scared.”
The doctor’s choice of words nettled him. “Not scared. I’m just trying to be realistic. Maybe this center doesn’t have a chance here, even if I force it through.”
Luke suddenly realized that all the activity around him had stopped. Sam stood up on the truck bed, looking down at him. Digger put down the long black metal toolbox he was carrying. Luke felt seven pairs of eyes fixed on him.
“Maybe you’re right, and the center doesn’t have a chance.” The doctor surprised him by agreeing. “But you won’t know that unless we keep going. If we quit now, you’re the one who called it off.” Dr. Elliot paused, letting his words sink in. “Do you really want to run and abandon this thing half done?”
The word run struck a bull’s-eye. Run, like everyone said he did the night he was caught in the shoot-out. Luke tasted something bitter and metallic at the back of his throat and shook his head to clear it. He wished everyone would just stop staring at him. But he knew they were waiting for him to make the decision and tell them to start work or quit.
Luke looked up and cleared his throat, finding his foreman’s voice. “Okay . . . get to it, then. You all know what we have to do,” he said curtly.
The others looked briefly at each other, then returned to what they’d been doing, as if a “freeze frame” button had been pressed and now the movie was turned on again.
Luke released a long breath and glanced at Dr. Elliot. “Did you organize all this?”
Dr. Elliot nodded. “Purely selfish motives. I’m looking for a little part-time job here once the buildings are up and things get rolling. See any possibilities for me?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Luke replied, matching the doctor’s wry tone.
Luke had the impulse to thank him for the timely kick in the pants. But he brushed the thought aside, his feelings too close to the surface.
He opened the back of his truck and took out his toolbox. There would be time for thanks later, he thought. Ezra Elliot was going to be around here for a while.
SUNDAY MORNING AFTER THE SERVICE, EMILY STOOD IN LINE BEHIND HER mother as the congregation exited. Reverend Ben made a point of shaking hands with everyone who waited in line, taking time for a private word with each. When Emily stood beside him, he took her hand. “Any word yet from Sara?” he asked quietly.
Emily shook her head. For nearly a week she had barely slept or been able to eat or focus on her work. It seemed all she had done was wait and wonder about Sara.
“She’s still in town,” Emily said in a low voice. “She’s moved to the village, I know that. I just don’t know what to think—about the other thing.”
“I’m praying for you, Emily.” He pressed her hand between his own.
“Thank you, Reverend. So am I,” Emily said sincerely.
Her mother had stepped away to chat with friends from the museum board. As Emily approached she pinned her with a curious stare. “What was that little tête-à-tête all about?”
Emily didn’t know how to answer that. She wasn’t ready to tell her mother about Sara and certainly was not about to have that conversation in the middle of the church vestibule.
But before she could reply, Lillian spoke again. “It was about your sister and Sam Morgan again, right? I don’t want to hear another word about them, so don’t even bother.”
“All right. Let’s go, then,” Emily said. Taking her mother’s arm, they proceeded out the wide arched doors of the church.
THE SUN SANK INTO A BANK OF PURPLE- AND ROSE-TINTED CLOUDS. THE damp air off the water felt colder, and it was almost too dark to read the scrawled, rushing handwriting that covered the pages.
Sara had found it hard to decipher at first. But by now she had read the book through twice. At first, very hurriedly, scanning the lines, as if afraid to really hear the voice inside the words.
Then she put it aside for a few days, trying hard not to think about it, not to let the voice in, using her anger and pain like a door to keep it out. But this morning she had taken it out again and started reading. Slowly this time. Now here on the beach with Luke at the end of the day, she still wasn’t done.
She glanced down at the page, checking the date. April 3, 1979.
The baby kicked me
today, a strange, fluttery feeling. I could barely believe it. I made Tim try to feel it, but I’m not sure he did. She feels so strong. I know it’s a girl; I just have the feeling. I love her so much already. I can’t wait to see her, to hold her. I imagine how she’ll feel, lying right on my chest. I was reading today how babies like to rest near their mother’s heartbeat. It comforts them. I’ll keep her there, close to me. I talk to her, too, sometimes. Tim heard me the other night. He thought it was funny at first, then he started to do the same thing—talking to my huge stomach in bed.
I’ve been trying to pick out a name, but it’s so difficult to choose. I want to find something really special for her. Not like Emily, so drab and ordinary. She won’t be like that at all, I’m sure of it. . . .
Sara paused and stared out at the sea. A sudden flare of light illuminated the horizon. She looked down at the book again and flipped ahead. The top of the page read May 5.
Tim is dead. I have to keep writing that out, saying it out loud. It won’t sink in. I can’t believe it. How can it be? I don’t remember the accident. Only just a second before. The look on Tim’s face. His arm swung out to hold me back, then—just blackness.
They say it was two days ago. I’ve been unconscious. I’ve lost a lot of blood, but my baby is all right. They think so, anyway.
I’m so worried about her. Something feels—wrong. I can’t lose her, too. She has to be okay. Tim . . . Tim, what am I going to do without you? I don’t think I can live. But I have to. The baby needs me. She’s all I have now. Thank God, she survived. Thank God. If I had to hear she was gone, too . . .
There was another line or two on the page, but so blurry Sara couldn’t make out the words. She turned the pages, moving through Emily’s past. Finally she found the page she was looking for.
It would be the best for the baby, Mother keeps telling me that, night and day. “Best for the baby. You have to think about her now.” She says I’m being selfish, horribly selfish. A bad mother already. Not putting my feelings, my needs aside for my child. But doesn’t she need me, her own mother? She’s not even born yet. I can’t let her go. She’s part of me, my flesh and blood. Part of Tim.
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