Love Shadows

by Catherine Lanigan

  Taking out her charcoals, Sarah worked on her sketches for the festival, trying to quiet her mind, but the effort didn’t work. Between sketching a fanciful, 17th century Spanish coffee house booth, which she hoped to convince Scott Abbott to rent for Book Shop and Java Stop, and penciling out the cost of each booth, Sarah had a revelation.

  James had always said he needed her. Why would those words mean more to her than “I love you?”

  Truth, when it comes to call is not always a welcome visitor, Sarah realized. And Sarah had always needed to be needed. How could she have missed that about herself?

  She had always been the acquiescing girlfriend to James, helping him climb the ladder of success. Even in high school, she’d campaigned for him when he ran for student council president.

  She had cared for her mother, but to the detriment of her lucrative and fulfilling career. She had liked the attention she got from people who praised her “sacrifice” for her mother. She had not been rejected. She had been accepted for what she had done.

  Luke had seen past her manipulation and had nailed her motivations for what they were. Self-serving.

  Sarah didn’t like the fact that he saw through her one bit.

  She felt like an amoeba in a petri dish, ready for inspection. She squirmed on her work stool, feeling acutely uncomfortable.

  This new perspective of herself caused a bit of shock. Sarah’s mother was the most giving person she’d ever known, and she couldn’t help but wonder if need was what had motivated Ann Marie, as well.

  Sarah quickly dismissed the notion. Ann Marie shied away from accolades and thanks for her kind deeds. In fact, she went out of her way to keep her donations to the city and to her neighbors secret. She’d planted flowers and tulip bulbs for elderly neighbors without their knowledge. They would wake up on a Sunday morning and find their hedges clipped and their flower beds lush with annuals. She befriended young Lester MacDougal when he walked into Indian Lake from the Kentucky hills as a runaway from a brutal father. She never asked a thing from Lester in return, though he was always around when Ann Marie was tending the community flower planters downtown. Ann Marie did many things anonymously. That was not a trait of a person who was needy. Her mother’s accomplishments brought her joy—just as Sarah felt joy when working with the children’s choir, organizing the festival and even building a case for a loan for the money to renovate St. Mark’s. Her mother was not a needy person. Ann Marie’s motivations had come from a deeply caring and committed heart.

  Sarah knew that her mother’s shoes were impossible to fill. She was trying with the summer festival, and though she couldn’t accomplish what she needed to by remaining anonymous, she didn’t think she was being neurotically needy. Sarah only knew that at this juncture, despite the late and nearly sleepless nights she’d spent working on the festival and her renovation ideas for the church, Sarah hadn’t been this content in a long time.

  Rifling through the pages of her past for hours that night had resulted in one conclusion. Sarah and James were not meant to be. She had no remorse where he was concerned. She truly wished him well, and hoped he found love in his new life.

  No, she assured herself. She was not pining for James and she was not using Luke as a substitute. She responded to Luke with emotions she hadn’t known she possessed. It was because of her growing attraction to Luke, even though he was angry, that she realized she and James had only been friends. Their relationship was fed by habit. Luke was a man who felt deeply and was compassionate, and when he loved, he loved forever. He was a man of commitment and responsibility—both traits Sarah admired.

  Sarah supposed these counseling sessions, their reading materials and even her new creative outlet, were driving her to explore these introspective moments, as painful as they could be. Yet even as she trudged through the muck of her faults, Sarah realized she felt more self-reliant and in control of her life.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized she had not used Annie and Timmy for any ulterior motives of her own. She sincerely liked them both and she wanted the best for them. If there was any motivation for the things she’d said to Luke at Arts in the Park, it was that she wanted to encourage the children. All children needed reassurance and inspiration.

  She wasn’t being selfish where the children were concerned, and she wasn’t pointedly trying to fill a void, though that was happening. Someday, she would meet someone special and she would have the love she wanted for herself. She would have children of her own.

  Sarah looked up and saw that a horsetail cloud had swept across the moon and obliterated some of the stars from view. Peeking through the whisper-thin cloud, she saw Venus sparkling as if it was meant for her.

  Venus was the planet of love—a big, important star, and just the right one for Sarah’s wish.

  * * *

  SARAH STOOD AT the podium in St. Mark’s and gave an impassioned plea to the congregation about the church’s need for renovations. Surprisingly, she was met with loud applause.

  “I have spoken to Father Michael, who has graciously given his approval. Before speaking to you today, we conducted an emergency meeting of the Church Council, who has also agreed that the renovations are desperately needed.”

  Sarah had gathered some of her old brass and wood easels from the attic and brought them to the church that morning, setting them up in the vestibule. She placed her poster-size drawings and renderings of her vision for construction changes on a first set of easels. Before the service, she’d already received awe-filled looks and generous compliments on her work. It was a hopeful sign.

  On a second set of smaller easels, she placed her drawings for her summer festival concept. The children were more than enthusiastic and she saw that some of the parents expressed delight over her ideas.

  “Permission has been granted from both the Church Council and Father Michael to move forward with fund-raising,” Sarah continued. “As you saw from my drawings in the vestibule, we are planning a summer festival to be held here at St. Mark’s, in the church parking lot and adjacent school yard.”

  As Sarah described the festival and the practicality of scheduling the carnival immediately after the Fourth of July Parade, she was met with silence.

  Surprised and a bit fearful, her only tact was to plow forward in a rush. “I have contacted and hired a small traveling carnival and rented two red-and-white-striped tents. Mary Catherine Cook is now passing out fliers that we’ll use to advertise. Please take these to your places of business and post or distribute them to the public.

  “I will also need help to draw or even paint the cardboard scenery. Don’t worry, it won’t be difficult. No more than coloring inside the lines.”

  Still there was silence.

  Sarah swallowed hard and continued. “To do what this church needs us to do, we will all have to work together and work very hard over the next four weeks. I need volunteers for all the committees I’ve mentioned. I have spent many hours organizing and drawing up a budget for everything we need. Working together is what church membership and fellowship is all about. The time has come for everyone at St. Mark’s to pitch in and preserve what our parents and grandparents bequeathed to us in this church that they built over a hundred years ago. This will be the fourth renovation that St. Mark’s has undergone, and it won’t be the last. In order for our children to come to our church, be married here and bring their children here, this is our mission.”

  Charmaine Chalmers was the first parishioner to stand up and applaud. Mrs. Beabots would have beaten her to it, but her hips were more than the usual bother to her this morning.

  Aunt Emily and Uncle George shot to their feet. Isabelle Hawks and Olivia Melton, Louise Railton and half a dozen of Sarah’s friend rose and gave her a resounding applause. Annie and Timmy, who had been dropped off for Sunday services by their father, jumped up and clapped alo
ng with the entire children’s choir. In fewer than two minutes, every person in the congregation was applauding.

  Sarah’s face broke into a wide and relieved smile. Mary Catherine rushed over and hugged her.

  “Thank you. Thank you all,” Sarah said with a lump in her throat. “I’ll meet you at the back of the church with sign-up sheets. And thank you all again.”

  * * *

  MISS MILSE WAS working in Sarah’s kitchen when Sarah returned from church. The fact that Miss Milse had a key to the house so she could come and go when she wanted or needed had never bothered Sarah, but because Sarah had not slept all night, she’d planned to draw the drapes and stay in bed the rest of the afternoon. Sarah had never known Miss Milse to work on a Sunday. Unless there was a very good reason.

  “Miss Milse, I’m surprised to see you,” Sarah said, petting Beauregard. The dog was vying for all her attention. “You never work on Sundays.”

  “I come. Your mother’s sister...”

  “Aunt Emily called you?”

  “Ya. She did. You not sleep all night, she say. She say I cook for yew. I make eggs, bratwurst and waffle. Come. Eat.”

  Miss Milse yanked Beau away from Sarah and walked him over to his enormous doggie bed. Sarah noticed Miss Milse had picked the last of the late-blooming daffodils and put them in a blue vase on the table. Sarah smelled buttery waffles just as the waffle iron beeped.

  Miss Milse peeled the waffle from the iron and put it on a plate along with pork link sausages and a huge bratwurst that Sarah knew she’d bought at the butcher shop on Main.

  Miss Milse poured the maple syrup that had been heating on the stove into a white china syrup pitcher Sarah’s mother had used since she was a little girl.

  Sarah’s stomach growled. She’d had no idea she was this hungry. She’d been running on adrenaline, caffeine and inspiration all night and morning long. “It smells divine,” Sarah said, sitting at the table.

  Miss Milse plopped a hunk of butter on the waffle and placed it in front of Sarah. Then she poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  Sarah crammed her mouth full of waffle. Never had anything tasted this good. She rolled her eyes and thanked Miss Milse, who was scrubbing the pan she had used for the sausages.

  Sarah was a good cook, and she’d been taught a great deal by her mother, who was known to have been just about the best cook and baker in Indian Lake, but it would be a tall order to rival Miss Milse’s years of experience in the kitchen. “Did Aunt Emily tell you why I stayed up all night?” Sarah asked.

  “For the church.”

  “Yes. That’s right. I’m organizing a summer festival. I’ll need a lot of help.”

  Miss Milse crooked her head over her shoulder, and without stopping her scrubbing said, “I come every day. You work. I work here. That is best.”

  “I’ll be having the committee meetings here. There will be a lot of people in and out. They’ll need tea and coffee.”

  “Ya. And strudel.”

  “Yes. That would be lovely.”

  “I make for you. I make for the church.”

  “You mean for the festival?”

  “Ya. Aunt Emily asked me to.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?” Sarah smiled and cut up the sausages. “Well, no one in Indian Lake makes apple strudel like you do.”

  “And prune. Apricot. Poppyseed. Lemon. Blueberry. Cherry. I make them all. You sell. You make church nice. You make your mother proud,” Miss Milse said with a very noticeable clutch in her voice. Sarah felt the anguish Miss Milse had for loving and losing Ann Marie.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SARAH SAT IN a white, Adirondack-style rocker next to Aunt Emily, drinking strong coffee laced with heavy cream and two sugar cubes. “This is sinful,” Emily said.

  “Miss Milse makes it this way every morning. I’ll probably have to take up jogging to work it off. But in the meantime, I’m enjoying every sip.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Emily laughed. “But you’re young. You could probably drink this stuff for about a decade before it shows. I, on the other hand...”

  Sarah held up her palm. “Don’t even say it. You are not old.”

  Emily eyed her. “I am and you know it. I try to pretend I’m as young as you and as hardy, and some days I can keep up.”

  “Aunt Emily. Please. You’re up at the crack of dawn every day ready to take on City Hall and push them to make the improvements that keep Indian Lake going. Frankly, I don’t see anyone else in town doing that.”

  “Your mother did. Now it’s up to me.” She sighed deeply. “All I can say is, thank God we got as much accomplished when she was alive that we did.” Emily shared a compassionate look with Sarah. They both missed Ann Marie and that would never, ever change.

  “Okay, Sarah. What is it that you want me to do for the summer festival?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t invite you for coffee just for that.”

  Emily narrowed her eyes. “Sarah...”

  “I’m really bad at entrapment, aren’t I?”

  “Terrible. But I’ve always said that bribery has its points. This coffee is enough of a bribe. We’ll skip the apple strudel, please.”

  “I’ll take it over to Mrs. Beabots. She loves Miss Milse’s strudel.”

  Emily leaned down and withdrew her day timer from her overly large yellow purse. “Okay. Let’s get on with it. I am assuming you want me to be cochair with you.”

  Sarah looked down the street at the summer flowers that were shooting up by the day. The zebra-striped African grasses were stretching up and leaning against blue Salvia. Blue French geraniums were already in bloom and the potato vines were leafing out. By the Fourth of July the black-eyed Susans would be vying for center stage. “Mom always said you had a gift for precognition.”

  “She was being kind. I’m just sharply aware of what you need. And right now, you need me to get my butt in gear and organize the ladies in my women’s group.”

  “I do. You know everybody and they’ll do anything for you.”

  “They won’t do anything, but they will sew, cook, bake and crochet for me. This is true.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s your biggest job?”

  “I had thought it would be the play. But yesterday I took care of that. I enlisted Debra La Pointe.”

  “Nationally known playwright, Debra La Pointe? You’ve got to be kidding,” Emily said in a high-pitched, very surprised voice. “She’s never done anything in this town that didn’t give her a considerable personal kickback. I don’t believe it.”

  Sarah smiled to herself. “Believe it. She’s signed on.”

  “Deb is going to write a play for you? Free of charge? Not possible.”

  “She’s not actually writing a play, but she’s going to put together a collage of songs and skits. She explained that that would be easier for the kids.”

  “And where are you getting the kids?”

  “I’m advertising for city-wide auditions. I wanted to use Debra for the casting and she agreed. Actually, we’ll both audition the kids. I want the best actors from the high school, and I’ve already talked to the Drama Club coach, Bill Bartin. He’s on board and loves the idea. He said he can cross-advertise his fall production of Brigadoon.”

  “Brigadoon? Again?” Aunt Emily moaned.

  “I love that musical,” Sarah protested.

  “You would! So much fantasy and fairy tales.” Aunt Emily harrumphed.

  “I suppose you’d like Streetcar Named Desire or something truly depressing.”

  “I like tragic love stories. Sturm und Drang and all that. Forget it. Tell me more about Debra and why she’s so important to us.”

  “I do have an ulterior motive.” Sarah giggled mischievously. “By using D
eb’s name, I can get some press from the surrounding towns. I’m shooting for journalists or even a talent scout from Chicago.” Sarah crossed her fingers. “I hope. I want this to be bigger than just another stupid bazaar.”

  “I’m seeing that,” Emily said, piercing her niece with a studied look. “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this. So what’s the biggest job?”

  “I need to get the booth construction under control. I’ll need money for the wood, paint, staples, nails, glue and other supplies. My thought is that if I make the booth fronts on heavy corrugated cardboard they’ll be cheap and easy to store for next year.”

  “Next year?”

  “Yeah. I want to do this every year. Even if we do well, we will still have to borrow a good chunk of the restoration budget. To pay back the loan, the summer festival will need to become a yearly fund-raiser.”

  “I hadn’t realized that,” Emily replied thoughtfully.

  “The way I look at it, if we’re successful, the children will want to come again and again. This way, the kids will have a carnival to look forward to every year. And if Debra pulls through for me like I believe she will, this pageant could become a feeder for all those televised talent shows. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities for Indian Lake to skyrocket in stature in this state.”

  Emily watched her niece and realized she was moving past the mind-set of being her mother’s caretaker. She was unsure about her career, that was true, but this was a new Sarah. Her niece had a fire in her belly that she hadn’t seen before. In fact, she’d never seen Sarah this intense about anything. Perhaps Sarah had been adrift when she first came back to Indian Lake, but something had given her a rudder. Thankfully, she was steering it in the right direction.

  “How much do you need to pay for these supplies?” Emily asked bluntly.

  Sarah’s head jerked up. “Aunt Emily, you couldn’t possibly...”

  “Who’s going to do it? You? You don’t even have a job right now, plus I’m not blind. You’re paying Miss Milse out of the kindness of your heart. I would bet that you’re paying for quite a few of the materials and expenses for this festival already.”