The Lights of Sugarberry Cove

by Heather Webber

  “Good Lord, Susannah!” Teddy exclaimed as she came down the stairs, one hand holding up the hem of her maxi dress so she wouldn’t trip. “I was wondering what all the commotion was down here. Come on, come here,” she summoned when she reached the landing. “Leave that be for now and let’s get something sweet to eat and maybe a Bloody Mary to kick-start the day. A virgin one for you, of course, my dear Susannah, since we need to treat that heart with a little tender loving care for a while.”

  For a moment, Mother looked like she was going to argue but then let out a puff of breath that blew a curly strand of hair out of her eyes. Finally she looped an arm around Teddy’s. “Now that you mention it, I am a bit parched.”

  “It’s no wonder! Look at this place. You’ve done tore it up, piece by piece. It looks a sight better already, if you don’t mind me saying so.” They slowly came down the rest of the steps like debutantes descending into a ballroom.

  Looking mighty relieved for the reprieve, Uncle Camp hurried as fast as he could toward the front door, the bag of wallpaper still in hand. “I’ll be outside if anyone needs me.”

  Mother turned to him to say something but he was already gone. She chuckled. “He hasn’t moved that fast in years.”

  Her cheeks were flushed, and I quickly beelined for the fridge, dropping my yoga mat in the corner by the door as I went by. My call to Connor could wait a few moments until there wasn’t an audience. “I’ll get your drinks ready. The breakfast starters are here on the counter.”

  Sadie had done a wonderful job of laying out the spread. A coffee-and-tea station anchored the end of the counter near the wall, with a pitcher of ice water and orange juice, along with glasses, and a floral-embroidered runner ran the rest of the length of the peninsula. A three-tiered stand was stacked with rectangular white ceramic trays—the top was filled with fresh fruit, the middle displayed mini raspberry scones with vanilla icing, and the bottom held six mini mason jars filled with berry parfaits, nestled in a bed of crushed ice. To the side, ramekins held crushed nuts and granola.

  As I grabbed olives, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and vegetable juice from the fridge, Bree and Nigel came back inside, and Nigel raced around to greet everyone, his skinny tail wagging.

  Mother beamed at him and laughed as he flopped at her feet. I ignored a stab of resentment and set the Bloody Mary fixings on the prep island.

  Teddy fussed with the filigree combs that held her teased hair away from her face and took a deep breath. “I smell the magic in the air this morning! I can feel it, too. The air is crackling with energy. This might finally be the year my water lantern wish will come true. True love at last.”

  Mother inhaled and rubbed her hands together. “All I smell is delicious bacon.”

  “Your omelet is waiting to be reheated, Mama,” Sadie said as she cracked eggs into a batter bowl. “If you’re wanting bacon, I can make you some turkey bacon.”

  “Hell no!” Mother tsked. “I don’t want any turkey bacon. That’s sacrilegious. Why do we even have turkey bacon?”

  “I ordered it from the market yesterday.” Sadie stood firm, shaking an egg in her direction. “It’s heart-healthy.”

  Mother scowled and looked to be building up a good head of steam. I was grateful it wasn’t directed my way for once as I added ice into a cocktail mixer.

  “Here,” Teddy said, intervening. She plucked a parfait from the tray and pressed it into Mother’s hand. “Eat this. Put some of that crunchy stuff on top. Looks like it might mask any healthiness.”

  Thank heavens for Teddy. I hadn’t been on board with the cottage hosting guests this weekend, but since Teddy was practically family, she was the perfect foil for Mother’s pigheadedness. And even though she looked like she still wanted to argue, Mother didn’t put the parfait back onto the tray. Under her breath, she muttered, “Turkey,” with such disdain that I thought ham would be on the menu this coming Thanksgiving.

  Bree fed Nigel a treat and said, “Wishes don’t really come true at the lantern festival, do they?”

  “Oh yes they do,” Mother, Sadie, and I said at the same time.

  We all glanced at each other and laughed, and the tension in the air fizzled.

  Teddy set two mini scones and a banana onto a plate. “Thanks to Lady Laurel.”

  “But seriously,” Bree said. “The lady of the lake? That’s just a made-up story to get tourists to come to town.”

  Suddenly intent on her waffle batter, Sadie turned away from the conversation, as she did any time Lady Laurel was brought up. She resisted talking about her accident at every turn. Again, I was reminded of wounds still too raw to talk about and wanted nothing more than for her to finally heal.

  “Not quite.” I poured Tabasco sauce into the mixer. “Local legend says Lady Laurel was quite real, once upon a time. Laurel isn’t her real name, though—that’s been lost to time.”

  Mother’s eyes lit. “Talk of Lake Laurel’s magic—lake magic—goes back centuries! The lake itself is an impact crater, formed when a meteorite crashed to earth millions of years ago, or so the fancy scientists say. There’ve been tales passed through generations of how the water is rejuvenating and refreshing and even one or two tales of miraculous healings, and that’s all before the lady of the lake even made an appearance.”

  Nigel wandered over to one of the overstuffed chairs next to the fireplace and hopped up onto the seat cushion, turned twice, and settled in for a nap, making himself right at home. Bree sat down on a stool, looking both enraptured and cynical. “When was that?”

  “Some fifty, sixty years ago, give or take, when the lake was more of a summer destination and the town was just getting established. The story goes that on the last weekend in August, a young couple up here on their honeymoon went out on a rowboat at sunset. There was a terrible accident when a speedboat didn’t see the rowboat. It was an awful crash, with the rowboat ending up split in half. The couple disappeared into the water, seemingly lost to the depths.”

  Goose bumps rose on my arms, as they always did when the legend was retold, especially by my mother, whose enthusiasm was contagious.

  “Upon hearing of the accident, search boats were launched and people gathered to set lanterns along the shore, beacons of hope. Some set lanterns afloat, too, and all were lit with the fervent wish that the couple was still alive and would see the light and know people were looking for them. Well,” Mother said, dragging out the word, “after a time the floating lanterns started disappearing, one by one. Plop, plop, plop, like they were being plucked straight off the water’s surface, and the lights began glowing under the water! Not a few minutes later, the missing man was found alive by one of the search boats.”

  As Mother paused for dramatic effect, I shook the mixer and started filling two tall glasses. I’d heard this story a thousand times, but Mother told it as if she were telling it for the first time ever. There was a renewed light in her eyes and a brightness to her spirit I hadn’t seen in quite a while.

  “The man claimed the love of his life, who had died instantly in the crash, used the wishes from the lanterns to turn into a loon that helped keep him afloat until he was rescued. No one believed him at first, thinking he’d been hallucinating, until the loon appeared crying for her mate. The lady of the lake legend was born. The following year on the last weekend in August, people lit water lanterns in tribute, writing wishes on the wood. Some of those lanterns disappeared—plop, plop, plop—and those wishes came true. Eventually, the festival turned into what it is now.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And to this day, on the darkest of nights, you can see Lady Laurel’s lights shining underwater.”

  Sitting straight, fully attentive, Bree rapped the countertop. “Wait, wait. Did they ever find the young woman’s body?”

  It was nice to see Bree coming out of her shy shell and being so involved in this conversation. The lake was already working its magic on her and she hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours yet.

  “Never d
id.” Mother stared with consternation at the parfait in her hand. “But the loon still shows up at dusk and dawn every day, crying for her mate.”

  Bree wrinkled her nose. “You think the lady of the lake is a loon?”

  “You’ll never be able to tell me differently,” Mother stated. “Even though the lantern festival has become known for wishes being granted, it’s really a tribute to that young woman and the strength of her love. It’s a love festival.” She slowly grinned as what she’d said registered. “Shoo. That doesn’t sound quite right, does it? This isn’t any Woodstock. Let’s try that again. The water lantern festival is about the power of love.”

  “How do we not know her name?” Bree asked. “Wasn’t there a police report?”

  Mother laughed. “We didn’t have any local law enforcement back then. By the time the county sheriff showed up, the grieving man had disappeared.”

  “So all this could be made-up,” Bree said, one eyebrow raised. “To keep the tourists coming. It’s kind of a brilliant marketing plan.”

  Mother patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll discover the truth for yourself soon enough—I assure you. Everyone does if they stay here for any length of time. Lady Laurel isn’t shy about sharing her kindnesses.”

  Teddy dipped a spoon in the parfait. “And as for Lady Laurel being a loon, there are tales that she gets so lonely sometimes that she comes out of the lake to walk among us…”

  Mother’s eyes widened as she theatrically added, “Disguised as a tourist. One who gives out random acts of kindness as a thank-you to the people of Sugarberry Cove for the kind wishes that saved her mate.”

  “Have you ever seen her?” Bree asked, enrapt at this point, despite her misgivings.

  “Sadly, no. The closest I came was once over at the Landing, she was giving out gold coins to strangers. I missed it by minutes, and I’m still a mite salty about it.”

  Bree squinted as if she wasn’t buying a word of what she heard. “What does she look like?”

  “That’s up for debate.” Mother sprinkled a generous helping of granola onto her parfait. “Her description changes depending on who you ask. You know, at one point, I thought Teddy was Lady Laurel in disguise. I convinced myself of it for a full year.”

  “No you did not,” Teddy said with a deep, barking laugh.

  “Oh, I did so,” Mother admitted. “She just seemed a little too perfect. And she’d come into my life at a time when I needed a friend most of all. Her kindness saw me through some dark days.”

  I glanced at Sadie and found she was looking at me with a question in her eyes. I’d never heard any of this and apparently neither had she.

  Teddy put her arm around Mother’s shoulders. “You sweet, sweet delusional woman. If I were Lady Laurel and could become anyone I wanted, I’d have much better hair and a whole lot of money.”

  Mother laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile, too. Teddy was light and love and fun, and Lady Laurel or not, I was glad she had found her way into our lives.

  “What made you change your mind about Aunt Teddy?” Bree asked.

  I was curious, too.

  “Well,” Mother said, “the illusion was shattered one night when Teddy and I went out for drinks at a country bar up the road a piece.”

  By Mother’s droll tone, I could already tell this was going to be a good story.

  “Oh Lord,” Teddy muttered.

  “Teddy perhaps had a little too much to drink and practically served herself up on a silver platter to the house band’s drummer. At one point I found them in a hallway, getting a little, shall we say, handsy.” Mother smiled fondly at Teddy. “It just didn’t seem the type of thing Lady Laurel would do.”

  “Aunt Teddy!” Bree said, her eyes wide.

  Teddy shrugged. “I’m not sure how that incident ruled me out. I was being kind.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Really kind.”

  After a roar of laughter died down, Mother looked at Teddy and added, “We’ve had some good times over the years.”

  “Sure have,” Teddy agreed.

  Bree smiled at them, then said, “I still think the whole Lady Laurel thing sounds fishy.” She reached for a mug and then the coffee pot. “I mean, where in the world would she get gold coins?”

  “From the lake bed.” Mother spooned a bite of parfait into her mouth. She looked for a moment like she was going to complain about the taste, then tipped her head as if saying it wasn’t too bad, considering the healthiness of it all. “Rumors have swirled for years that Confederate soldiers on the run during the Civil War had buried a chest of gold coins in the sands of the cove to ease their load. By the time they came back for it, the lake had risen, swallowing the chest.”

  Bree took a sip of the coffee and pulled a long, sour face. “Whoa, this is strong.”

  “It’s the chicory in it,” Sadie said. She pushed the sugar jar across the counter. “Adding a little sweetness helps.”

  As Bree spooned sugar into her mug—one, two, three scoops—Mother said, “Lady Laurel’s also been known to rescue people from the lake. Stranded boaters might get pushed to shore with sudden waves that come on out of nowhere. Once, during a water lantern festival, she saved our Sadie Way. She was underwater ten whole minutes before the lady of the lake intervened. Sadie’s the only one that Lady Laurel has brought back from the dead.”

  With a spoon, Teddy scraped the bottom of her mason jar. “That’s why we think she has that silvery hair—it’s from Lady Laurel’s magic touch.”

  Mother huffed. “I still say it’s starlight. The lake was made from a meteorite, after all. It’s possible.”

  Bree gazed at Sadie’s hair. “Wow.”

  “Oh, good Lord,” Sadie whispered as she pulled the waffle iron from a cabinet.

  To change the subject, I quickly set the glasses on the peninsula and said, “So, true love, Teddy? Do you wish for it every year?”

  “Sure do.” Teddy took a sip of her Bloody Mary and smiled. “Just right. Thanks, Leala. And though none of my wishes have come true just yet, I feel like this is the year. What are you going to wish for?”

  I froze. I didn’t want the questions that would come with why I didn’t make wishes anymore, so I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Wait.” Bree added cream to the coffee, too. “I thought wishes wouldn’t come true if you talked about them.”

  “That’s birthday wishes,” Teddy said, heading for the dining table on the back porch, her plate and drink in hand. “These are lake wishes. Anything goes. What about you, Bree? What will you wish for?”

  Bree’s eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t really think this is all real, but it probably can’t hurt to make a wish.”

  Ah, little did she know. “Make sure it comes from a good place, unselfish and pure.”

  Sadie dropped the spatula and mumbled something under her breath as she tossed it into the sink.

  Nigel’s head came up, and he let out a yip as though complaining about being disturbed.

  “Sorry, Nigel,” Sadie said. “It slipped right out of my hand.”

  He hopped down from the chair and followed Teddy onto the back porch, suddenly curious about her plate of food as she said, “Get to thinking about it, Bree. Time’s a-tickin’. The festival is just a week away.”

  Mother wiggled off her stool, took a sip of her drink, and frowned at me. “Surely a little vodka wouldn’t have hurt, LC.”

  I sighed. “Firstly, your heart. Second, your medications. You can’t mix them with alcohol.”

  Mother scowled at me, then walked away.

  I heard Teddy ask, “I wonder if that drummer from the bar is still single…”

  Smiling, I turned to face Sadie and let out a long breath. “How is it only seven in the morning?”

  She nodded toward the coffee pot. “Lots to do today still. You might want to fortify yourself.”

  I poured a cup, filling it nearly to the brim. “I have a feeling I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get. Mother’s li
kely to need more supervision than Tucker and that’s saying something. At least Tucker listens to me. Most of the time. Speaking of, I need to call Connor.” My brain whirred with potential emergencies until I forced it to pause as I told her how my phone had sunk in the lake.

  “Here, use mine,” she said as she slid her cell from the back pocket of her shorts and handed it over. I smiled at the background image on the screen. It was a picture of Sadie and me when we were little, our faces and hands covered in blackberry stains after raiding Buzzy’s berry patch. The photo felt like it was taken forever ago, in a time when life seemed so simple. Sunshine, smiles, and my sister. It made me suddenly question why I’d always wanted something more when it was obvious that I’d had so much.

  I pushed aside those troubling thoughts and clicked over to the phone’s keypad. As I stared at the numbers, I suddenly drew a blank, unable to recall Connor’s cell phone number. Finally, I realized I had never known it. I hadn’t bothered to memorize it; I’d simply inputted the numbers into my phone and trusted that I’d always have my phone handy. Embarrassed, I gave a little laugh. “I just realized I don’t know Connor’s number by heart. Do you have it in your contacts?”

  Waffles sizzled as Sadie wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I don’t think so. Maybe Mama has it in her address book?”

  It didn’t surprise me that Sadie didn’t have his number. They had never been anything close to friends. “I’ll check.”

  I crossed the hall and opened the office door. The room, wedged into the space under the stairs, was the size of a narrow walk-in closet, six feet by twelve feet. Light filled the room from the lone window that faced the front yard, and I winced at the mess on Mother’s oak desk. Stacks of papers, file folders, catalogs, and travel guides. There was no computer, but I was happy to see she had an accounting calculator and not an abacus. Fortunately her address book was where it always was—under the landline phone, which made me hope that there was some semblance of organization to her chaos. I flipped through the address book and found no number listed under Keesling at all. I checked C for Connor as well, because Mother’s method of filing was whimsical at best, but there was no listing.