Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

Where in the world was he going with this one? Emily thought. At times Reverend Ben came up with some very unique anecdotes to illustrate his points. She suddenly wondered if there ever were two opera-loving friends such as this.

  But then his story drew her in again, as he continued. “The blind woman, however, had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. She said it was the most wonderful performance she ever attended. She found the voice of the soprano as clear and pure as an angel’s, and the tenor’s rendition of the romantic arias had brought tears to her eyes. She told her friend she would remember this night for the rest of her life and thanked her endlessly for taking her along.”

  He paused, looking out over the congregation. Emily heard a cough and then a nervous, restless stirring.

  “Whom are we most like, do you think? The sighted woman or the blind one? We pass through this world so distracted by the material ‘wrapping paper,’ we’re entirely blind to the beauty within one another. We’re deaf to the heavenly voices—and the sparkling pure spirits that each one of us possesses.

  “No wonder we’re suspicious and intolerant, critical and judgmental. Treating each other without sympathy and charity. The blind woman saw the performance the way God sees each of us. Not the costumes and backdrops, the unattractive imperfection of our bodies—and even our personalities. But the pure light within.”

  He paused for a moment and looked down at his notes. He stroked his beard in an absentminded gesture. When he raised his head again, Emily saw a harder, more determined expression.

  “There is unrest and anger in this village right now. No denying it,” he said firmly. “But maybe if we make the effort, we can step back a moment and look at one another ‘blindly.’ When we strive to recognize the same spirit in each other that shines within ourselves, we see the affinity, not the differences. We see the touch of the divine Creator and we are . . . humbled. That, my friends, is the beginning of seeing Heaven here on Earth.”

  Good job, Emily thought as she watched the Reverend step down from the pulpit. Would it help, though? she wondered.

  “I THINK THIS MUST BE THE TURN.” EMILY SLOWED HER JEEP AND PEERED AT the sign that poked through some hanging branches. “I can’t see the name of the road, though. What do the directions say again?”

  Jessica checked the piece of scrap paper with Emily’s scrawled directions. “Right on Scudder Lane, I think. . . . I can’t really read your handwriting. The water must be that way, so you ought to make a turn over here, I guess.”

  “Have you been here before?” Emily asked curiously.

  “I don’t think so. But I can tell we’re in Spoon Harbor. Sam brought me to a restaurant on a dock around here for our first real date,” she added, glancing out the window.

  “Really? I didn’t know that,” Emily murmured as she steered the vehicle down the narrow lane. That makes it even better, she thought.

  “Who did you say recommended this place?” Jessica asked.

  “Uh . . . somebody. I can’t remember who,” she fibbed. “But I heard that they have a great brunch. I really wanted to get out of the village for a change.”

  “You’ve had a tough week,” Jessica said sympathetically. “I bet you want to run away to Australia, or something.”

  “It wasn’t my first choice, but it did make the short list,” Emily replied with a laugh.

  They soon found the inn at the end of the curving lane, and Emily was secretly pleased to hear Jessica’s gasp. “This is lovely. Look at the flowers—the landscaping is gorgeous!”

  “Very pretty,” Emily agreed, trying not to smile.

  They pulled up on a curved drive, and Emily gave her car key to a valet. A long white limousine pulled up next. The doors opened, and a bridal party began to get out.

  “I guess they have weddings here,” Emily said as they passed through the entrance.

  “Yes, I guess they do. I wonder if the food is any good?”

  Emily didn’t reply at first. “We’ll soon see,” she said as the hostess approached them.

  They were seated in the main dining room near a long wall of windows that framed a view of gardens and a pond. The room was spacious and sunny, the tables set with heavy starched linens and fine china.

  “Look, a gazebo,” Emily pointed out. “I’d love one in my yard, but it’s way too small. You have room at your house, though. It would look great right in front of the pond. Maybe that’s what I’ll get you for a wedding present.”

  Jessica didn’t look up from her menu. “We haven’t been working on the house much lately,” she admitted.

  Emily didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “Yes, I know. Sam told me.”

  Jessica stared at Emily for a moment, her expression unreadable. Is she angry? Emily wondered.

  “When did you talk to Sam?”

  “Last night. He dropped by my house. I think he had just been with you, as a matter of fact.” She paused, letting the information sink in. “He told me that you had another argument. He was very upset.”

  Jessica sat back. “I was upset, too. He’s just been pressuring and pressuring me—”

  “He loves you. He wants to marry you. For goodness’ sake, I wish somebody like Sam was pressuring me to get married,” Emily added, in a half-joking manner. Now, where in the world did that come from? she wondered, but had no time to follow the errant thought.

  Jessica’s face had gone pale. “When we spoke to Reverend Ben, Sam agreed that I could try to talk to Mother one more time,” she said, her voice defensive.

  “I know he did,” Emily said. “But it’s been what—two or three weeks? Time is passing, Jessica. You haven’t tried to see her, and frankly, I don’t think anything would be changed by it. Mother’s never going to give in on this. I think you have to accept that now . . . and go on with your life.”

  Jessica didn’t answer. She sat sullenly, studying the pattern on her china plate.

  “Jessica, I don’t mean to be hard on you, but I can’t just sit by and watch Mother ruining everything. Look at me,” Emily implored her. “No husband, no children, a microwave dinner, and two cats to come home to every night. Is this how you want to end up ten years from now?”

  Jessica reached over and touched Emily’s hand, looking close to tears.

  “Sam told me he won’t wait any longer. He means it, too,” Emily went on. “Is it worth losing him? Because that’s what’s happening.”

  Jessica swallowed hard and gripped her hands together. Emily’s heart shifted. Had she finally gotten through to her?

  “I don’t want to lose him,” Jessica said, her voice breaking. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  “Call him. Ask him to meet you here,” Emily said, pulling out her cell phone. “I think he’ll be happy to.”

  Jessica took the phone in hand. “Right now?”

  “Just do it,” Emily prodded her. “You and I can check out the food while we’re waiting for him. Then maybe you two can find somebody to talk to about the wedding. I happen to know that they have the date you wanted free.”

  “They do? How do you know that?”

  “Uh . . . somebody told me, I don’t remember who,” Emily mumbled. She pushed her chair back and got up. “You call Sam. I’ll give you some privacy. I’m going to check out the buffet. It looks yummy—and I think I’m ready to ditch that awful diet,” she added happily.

  JESSICA AND EMILY WERE STILL AT THEIR TABLE, FINISHING A SECOND CUP OF coffee when Jessica noticed him standing at the entrance to the dining room. Jessica waved at him and felt a bit better when he smiled at her.

  But as he strode toward her, she felt herself go tense with worry. What if they argued again and he walked out—this time for good? What if they really couldn’t work this out?

  “I wish you wouldn’t run off right away,” Jessica admitted to Emily.

  “I don’t belong here now. You two have to talk this out alone.” Emily patted her hand. “As far as I’m concerned, the wedding is on. I’m going to start working on t
he bridal shower right away. Call me later, but I don’t want to hear differently,” she warned.

  Jessica bit her lip and nodded.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Emily whispered as Sam approached. “Just remember how much you love each other.”

  “You’re one in a million,” Jessica told her, finally smiling. “If we have a girl first, I’m going to name her after you,” she said impulsively.

  Emily’s eyes brightened. “I’d love that,” she said sincerely.

  Sam stood near the table, his gaze lingering on Jessica.

  “What are you two smiling about?” he asked curiously.

  “Baby names,” Emily admitted, rising from her chair. “Good to see you, Sam. But I’ve got to run,” she said, picking up her purse.

  Jessica could tell Sam understood perfectly. “Good to see you, Emily—and thanks,” he added.

  Emily smiled, but only said, “You two ought to take a walk out in the garden. I think you can go right through that door.”

  Jessica glanced at Sam, feeling her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Want to?” she asked.

  “Sure, why not?” He pulled out her chair and she stood up.

  As they walked together toward the exit, he took her hand, surprising her with the affectionate gesture. She glanced up at him, and his mouth tipped in a half smile.

  “This place is very pretty,” she said when they got outside. “You’re the one who found it, right?”

  “My father suggested it. He knows the owner.” They followed a path that led around the small pond. Though the landscaping and flowers were far more manicured here, Jessica was suddenly reminded of the walk she and Sam took the first time he brought her out to his house—the house they were now going to share as man and wife. It had started to rain that day, she remembered, and he had kissed her.

  He was so quiet. Was he remembering it, too?

  “Listen,” Sam began. “I owe you an apology. I think this all started that night you got the phone call about the job. I’m sorry I was eavesdropping. I couldn’t help it.”

  “I didn’t really care. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”

  “I know that. It’s just that the whole thing made me feel like . . . well, like maybe your mother is right,” he admitted.

  “What?” Jessica stopped, not quite believing what she had heard.

  “I don’t want to feel as if I’m limiting you, Jessica, making you give up opportunities or the kind of life you really want. I don’t want you to have regrets about marrying me—and sometimes it sounds as if you already do,” he confessed.

  It hurt to hear him say that, but Jessica felt as though she finally understood why this was so hard for Sam.

  “My mother is not right, not about anything concerning our relationship,” she said flatly. “I have no regrets about passing on that job or any other, Sam. It was never an issue for me.”

  He stared down into her eyes and didn’t say anything. “You’re sure about that, really?”

  “Absolutely,” she said emphatically.

  She turned away and looked out at the pond. Two swans floated by. One ducked its head, hunting for food, and the other beat its wings against the water.

  “I’m not going to try to see my mother again,” she said with finality. “Ten more visits won’t change her mind. I have to face that.” She turned to face him again. “If she won’t come, she won’t come. What more can I do?”

  He stepped toward her, his warm gaze enfolding her in a sympathetic light. “I know this is hard for you. Don’t think I don’t know that,” he assured her quietly.

  “I’m trying my best now to forgive her, like Reverend Ben said,” Jessica confided. “Maybe after we’re married, she’ll give up and come around.”

  A slow, tentative smile spread across Sam’s face. Her future husband really was so handsome, Jessica thought. She was definitely a very lucky woman.

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Does this mean you’ll meet me on November nineteenth on the altar at the Bible Community Church?”

  She nodded, feeling tears of joy and relief well up in her eyes. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she promised.

  “No, I’ll be honored to be waiting there for you. But not too long, I hope,” he said, pulling her close for a long, slow kiss.

  “YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHO STOPPED BY TO VISIT ME TODAY,” LILLIAN SAID. Before Emily could guess, her mother filled in the blank. “Sara Franklin. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Emily sat with her mother in the living room, a typical Sunday night scenario, she thought. For once the noisy TV set was off. Emily had made them both some tea, and Lillian sat sewing new buttons on an old cashmere cardigan. Lillian’s eyes were still good enough for fine sewing, her fingers nimble and steady.

  “She told me that she’s moving to an apartment in town. A few blocks from here, on Clover Street.”

  “Really? I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t think she should stay at the cottages anymore.”

  “Not since the fire there. I agree.” Lillian snipped a thread with her scissors. “She’s moving in on Tuesday. I told her she could take a few things from the attic if she wanted. It’s a lot of old junk up there, quite frankly, but some of it might be useful to her,” her mother said with a shrug.

  “That’s good of you,” Emily said, surprised by her mother’s generosity. Lillian usually clung to her possessions tenaciously, no matter how old or worn. The sweater she was working on, for instance, Emily thought. The gray cashmere had been fine once, but was now not even worth the investment of new buttons. It was more suited to the charity basket, or even the trash bin. But try to tell her mother that . . .

  “Of course, she wouldn’t tell me why she stopped coming by, just said she’s been busy. Busy, busy, busy. Everyone is so busy these days,” Lillian added in a mocking tone. “Busy with nothing, if you ask me. In my day we just called it living.”

  “I think Sara’s been upset with me about something,” Emily offered. “Maybe that’s why she hasn’t been by lately.”

  “What does she have to be upset with you with about?”

  “She was disappointed when I didn’t come out right away in support of Luke McAllister.”

  “Oh, that—” Lillian waved her hand in disgust. “We had a long debate on that topic. You know how that girl likes to argue,” Lillian said, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, I agree with her actually. I wrote a letter to the editor supporting the project. It should appear in tomorrow’s paper,” Emily replied evenly.

  Lillian’s stared at her in shock, dropping her sewing into her lap. “Why in the world did you ever do that?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do, Mother,” Emily said simply.

  “The insane thing to do, you mean. You’ve handed Charlie Bates the election. I guess you just don’t want to be mayor again after all.” Lillian picked up her sewing and shook her head.

  “Not that badly.”

  “Well, I don’t mind saying I think that center is an awful idea. For once I agree with that fool Bates.”

  “You know what they say, ‘Politics makes strange bedfellows,’ ” Emily remarked lightly.

  Her mother looked up at her over the edge of her half-moon reading glasses. “Very funny.” She turned back to her sewing and clipped off a thread with her scissors. “Did you see your sister in church today?”

  “Yes, I did. In fact we went out together afterward.” Emily paused. “The wedding is on again. Same date as before. Jessica and Sam have made up and booked an inn for the reception in Spoon Harbor.”

  Lillian didn’t lift her head, and Emily wondered at first if she had even heard her. Then she noticed how her mother’s hands shook as she placed the sweater in her lap and laid the needle and thread aside.

  “Thank you for sharing the unhappy news. I’m not coming, so don’t even bother to ask me.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you,” Emily replied honestly.
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  Her mother stared at her for a long, tense moment. “Don’t give me that smug look of yours, Emily. I know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking that I feel relieved that Jessica and Sam will be very happy together.”

  “Dear me. If you lose the election, you can always get a job writing greeting cards. You have a real talent for it,” her mother snapped.

  “Now, there’s a useful suggestion. I hadn’t thought of it,” Emily said, willing herself to remain calm under fire.

  “You can’t fool me. I know why you did this. You just wanted to get back at me,” her mother charged.

  “What do you mean, get back you?”

  Her mother gave a long, aggrieved sigh. “It makes no difference to you if your sister marries Sam Morgan or the Man in the Moon. But you know it pains me to see her throw her life away. So, you encouraged her, helped them patch things up—just to hurt me. Just to punish me for your own mistakes.”

  Emily felt her face get hot and red. “I just want to see Jessica happy. I don’t want to see her end up like me, with nothing.”

  “And who’s fault is that? It’s certainly not mine,” Lillian insisted, shaking her head. “You make me out to be a monster. A cold, unfeeling mother who gives no thought to her children. I know that’s what you really think of me, don’t deny it.”

  “I would never say you were unfeeling, Mother,” Emily replied carefully. “Can’t you see that if Jessica doesn’t marry Sam, she’ll be heartbroken and so will he? And she may never fall in love or have that chance again. Can’t you see that when you forced me to give up my child for adoption, I was horribly shortchanged?”

  “Forced you? Whoever forced you? I certainly didn’t. And what were the alternatives at the time?” Lillian challenged her. “What kind of shape were you in when I came down to Maryland, Emily? No money, no job, living in a cheap apartment. Laid up in the hospital after that husband of yours crashed the car and killed himself, with not even enough money in the bank to give him a proper burial. . . . I still say he must have been drinking, though I’m sure you’ll deny it—”

  “You can stop right there, Mother,” Emily interrupted her. “I’ve heard this all before.”