Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I didn’t even think of that,” Emily admitted. “Well, then, we won’t wait. I’ll call an emergency meeting for this Wednesday night. Can you hold off the foundation until then?” she asked Luke.

  He nodded, looking grateful. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s do it.” Emily said firmly. “We all know where this is coming from. It’s time I showed up Charlie’s underhanded tactics for what they are.”

  “But what will you say?” Sara asked. “You already said the Stop Work order was valid.”

  Emily rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I don’t really know,” she said. “Something will come to me,” she added hopefully.

  Sara and Luke glanced at each other.

  “All right. We’ll be there,” Luke promised.

  “Thanks, Emily,” Sara said.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Emily replied cautiously. But Sara just smiled at her, as if to say, I know you can do it.

  Emily smiled back, feeling her stomach twist with tension. She had to do something. She had to pull this one out of the fire. But how? she wondered pensively. How would she manage it?

  Emily sat at her desk and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt a headache coming on and massaged the bridge of her nose, fighting it off.

  Lord, I really need your help. Not just because Sara is depending on me, but because it’s the right thing to do, the right choice for the town to make. Charlie’s tactics have muddied the waters so much by now, it’s hard for most people to see this clearly anymore. Please help me make it clear to them. Please don’t let it be too late.

  ON TUESDAY NIGHT, JUST PAST MIDNIGHT, EMILY SAT IN THE VERY SAME place, in a similar state of mind. Just slightly more desperate. Since meeting with Sara and Luke on Monday, she had worked on little else than her presentation to the town council for tomorrow night’s meeting. But despite her hard work and prayer, she still felt ill prepared.

  She stared at the computer screen, her eyes burning, then sat back and blinked—not quite believing it when she saw Dan Forbes standing in the doorway of her office. That’s how I get when I have too much coffee, she thought vaguely.

  “I saw the light on, but I couldn’t quite believe you were still here,” he said, proving that he was indeed real. “You work too hard, Emily,” he greeted her as he walked in.

  “That habit will be easy to mend, once the voters get through with me,” she countered. “I can’t quite figure out what to do after my career in politics, though.”

  “Oh, you’ve got time,” he said lightly. “Getting ready for the meeting tomorrow night?”

  She nodded and sighed. “I’m trying. I don’t have much ammunition, though,” she admitted, standing up. “So far, I’m counting on firing blanks and hoping they jump back.”

  Dan smiled and tossed the manila envelope he’d been carrying on her desk. “Try that. I was going to drop it off as a surprise for you, but I’m glad I found you here. Open it carefully. It’s definitely live ammunition.”

  She glanced at him curiously, opened the envelope, and slipped out what looked like a fax transmission. It was a newspaper article from the Boston Globe, set in type, but missing the photo insert. “Coastal Town Battles Change and Benevolence,” the headline read.

  Emily scanned the text quickly; her glasses slid down her nose, but she didn’t bother to push them back up. The article was about Cape Light and the opposition to the New Horizons Center. It showed the town in a very poor light, mean-spirited and biased against newcomers.

  She felt confused at first. Why had Dan given this to her? Then she thought about it a moment. Yes, she could use this. It was definitely live ammunition.

  She took off her glasses and looked up at him. “How did you get this?”

  “A friend of mine at the Globe. I heard she was doing an article on the New Horizons controversy. I called in a favor and got an early copy.”

  “That was good of you,” she said slowly. “But not very objective.”

  He smiled. “Sorry to ruin my image, again.”

  “I’m not sorry you did,” she said honestly. It was hard to look at him suddenly. He had tossed her a lifeline when she really needed one.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, so quietly she wondered if he could even hear her. Then impulsively she stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  Dan stood very still for a moment, then turned his face to hers and put his arm around her waist, pulling her close. His mouth brushed hers tentatively at first, then he really kissed her. She closed her eyes and felt herself melt against him. She felt breathless—and swept off her feet. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, kissing. She felt as if it could have gone on and on.

  But suddenly an irritating sound broke into her consciousness, the bleat of a cell phone.

  Dan stepped back, releasing her. He looked disoriented for a moment. “Mine or yours?” he asked, glancing around.

  She felt embarrassed and ran her hand through her hair. “Umm, yours I think,” she said.

  He nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Yes?” he said. “Oh . . . Wyatt. Where are you? . . . All right. Let me call you back in a few minutes. I’m in the . . . in the middle of something here,” he said slowly, avoiding Emily’s gaze. She noticed a faint hint of color slip into his cheeks. “. . . Okay, I will.”

  He clicked off and slipped the phone back in his pocket. “My son, on the West Coast. He always forgets the time difference.”

  Emily smiled and nodded. Wyatt, who was coming to take over the paper when Dan left town in December, she thought wistfully.

  “Well, guess I’d better go,” he said awkwardly, lingering by the door.

  “Thanks again, Dan,” she said sincerely.

  “That’s all right. What are friends for?” he added with a slight smile as he left her.

  Was that a message? she wondered. A postscript to the kiss? Oh, well, she already knew the fine print: No expectations, no future there.

  But Dan had proven himself to be a good friend, she thought gratefully. If nothing else.

  ALTHOUGH THE MEETING WAS ANNOUNCED WITH VERY SHORT NOTICE, THE auditorium at the Village Hall was filled on Wednesday night. The setup was typical of an ordinary town council meeting. The council, along with Emily, sat at a long table on a raised platform in the front of the hall. A podium and a microphone were set up in front of the table, so residents could address the town officials.

  However, the setup was the only thing ordinary about the meeting, Emily thought as she looked at the audience. The room was tense and quiet as Charlie addressed the council, nearly shouting into the microphone.

  “It’s a valid Stop Work order, in accordance with the laws of this village. The mayor can’t start writing new laws to suit herself. Or help her friends,” Charlie added harshly.

  Emily leaned forward and spoke into her own mike. “Speaking of friends, Charlie. I would like it to go on record that Ray Farley is part of Mr. Bates’s campaign advisory committee. I’d also like to note that since this ten-day time limit was written into the books, it has been enforced to stop construction”—Emily glanced down at her notes—“once in twenty years. On the other hand, it has been ignored, totally, by the building inspectors . . . oh, approximately twenty thousand times.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Charlie argued back at her.

  Emily pushed her voice to the limit to talk over him. “It’s perfectly transparent that Mr. Farley, who sides with the faction in this town that opposes the New Horizons Center, has used his office and this arcane ordinance to obstruct Luke McAllister’s legal rights and to further the cause of his candidate of choice, Charlie Bates. This is politics, clear and simple. Dirty politics, I should say.”

  “Of course you’d say that. The work is stopped, fair and square,” Charlie insisted. “There’s nothing dirty about this. And plenty of people in here are relieved to hear about it.”

  Joe Clark, a member of the town council, took the mike, looking irritate
d. “Pipe down, Bates, we can hear you,” he said. “You don’t have to shout your head off. Now does anyone else want to speak?” he asked the audience.

  Emily’s glance fell on Sara and Luke, sitting together in the front row. She thought for a moment Luke would get up and address the issue. But he didn’t. He looked at her a moment, then down at the ground, one hand gripping Sara’s.

  He’s depending on me, Emily realized. They both are.

  “I have something more to add,” Emily said. She stood up, holding the article from the Boston Globe. “ ‘Coastal Town Battles Change and Benevolence,’ ” she read aloud. She held it out for all to see. “That’s about us, folks. An article that’s going to appear in this week’s Boston Globe. Here, let me read you a little of it.”

  She held the article in front of her, and started to read aloud. “A quaint, picturesque Main Street, complete with gaslights and well-preserved storefronts dating back to the 1800s, Cape Light is a place out of time. A town invented to fit the adjective charming, it would seem to any visitor, the perfect day trip by car or even boat from the bustling urban scene. But since a former Boston police officer, Luke McAllister, has tried to establish a learning center and retreat for disadvantaged city teenagers on property he owns there, another face of Cape Light has reared its head—the ugly face of a biased and mean-spirited population, suspicious of newcomers, terrified of change. The term provincial at its very worst . . .”

  Emily glanced out at the audience, judging the effect of her words. “Want to hear more?” she asked.

  “That’s enough for me,” someone in the audience called out.

  “Is this for real?” another voice asked. “I’d like to read it with my own eyes.”

  “Me, too,” another person spoke up.

  “Betty, would you pass out those copies now?” Emily asked. “If you’d like to read this for yourselves, Betty Bowman has some copies in the back of the room.”

  Several people got up and moved toward Betty. Charlie looked flustered. “Big deal. The Boston Globe,” he said. “Who cares what they think? They’re not living here. They don’t know what’s really going on.”

  “You’re right, they don’t know what’s going on,” Emily agreed. “They don’t know the real Cape Light. Cape Light is a place where people live together as neighbors, good neighbors. It’s a place where people work hard and believe that everyone should have a chance for a good life. It’s a place where we pull each other through the hard times. Those are our ideals, and they are the spirit of this town. We are not provincial or mean-spirited bigots, and this is the time to prove it.” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Whether or not I am reelected is not important. What is important is our town, the town we all love. We never want to be ashamed of it.”

  “Come on now,” Charlie blustered at the microphone. “Let’s not get all sentimental over this.”

  But before Charlie could continue, Emily saw a few residents rise and approach the microphone, their copies of the article in hand. This time Charlie was forced to step aside and let them speak.

  “I have to agree with Mayor Warwick,” Doris Mumford said. “Revoking the permits seems too much like political shenanigans to me. I think we should stop fooling around and let this center in.”

  Emily noticed that Jack Anderson was the next in line for the microphone, and his wife, Rachel, stood right behind him.

  “I think we need to give more attention to the real facts,” Jack said. “There’s no evidence that crime rises or real estate values go down. But kids do get a chance to get back on track and have decent lives. How can we have pride in our town if we won’t give kids that chance?” he asked.

  Rachel took the microphone next. “As some of you may have noticed, I’m going to have a baby soon,” she began with a smile. “And I don’t want to bring this child up in a place that’s ruled by fear. One of the reasons we live in Cape Light is that we believe it’s a good place, filled with good people. That’s the home I want for my family. Isn’t it what you want, too?”

  “That’s right. I agree with the Andersons!” someone else shouted out.

  Sophie Potter took the microphone, smiling. “So do I,” she said. “And I would like to tell you all that I have had those kids living in my house and helping me and Gus out for the last two weeks. As far I’m concerned, we’re very lucky they’re here. I will always be grateful to them.”

  “They’re good kids,” Digger Hegman called out. “Good workers, too.” A few people began to clap, and Emily felt herself relax a little. Finally, it seemed, the tide was turning in her favor.

  “I move to vote,” Harriet DeSoto declared. “All in favor of renewing Mr. McAllister’s building permits, say aye.”

  Four of the five council members raised their hands. “Aye,” they said in unison.

  “Wait a minute—” Charlie called out.

  “All not in favor, say nay,” Harriet continued.

  “Nay,” the remaining voice said bitterly. It was Art Hecht, Emily noticed, one of Charlie’s key supporters.

  Charlie stood staring with his mouth partially open, like a man who has just narrowly missed a train and is watching it chug down the tracks away from him.

  “This meeting is adjourned,” Emily said gratefully, banging her gavel.

  She suddenly caught sight of Dan, standing at the very back of the room. He got up immediately and made for the aisle. Rushing off to write his story, she guessed. Then he paused a moment, caught her eye, and nodded. She lifted her chin and smiled at him. Thank you, friend, she thought.

  Thank you, Lord, she added.

  She gathered up her papers, feeling drained but happy. Sara and Luke stood waiting for her. She walked over to them, smiling.

  “You were awesome, Emily,” Sara said.

  “Well . . . thanks,” Emily replied. Awesome. She called me awesome. I can die happy now, Emily thought giddily.

  “That was great,” Luke added. “Really. I didn’t know what was going to happen there for a while,” he admitted. “Where did you get that article? That reporter called me weeks ago. I forgot all about it, figured they never printed it.”

  “Oh, I have my sources,” Emily said lightly. “Why don’t we get out of here? It’s getting a little stuffy,” she suggested, hoping to distract them. She couldn’t tell them about Dan.

  Outside Luke suggested they go to the Beanery to celebrate. But Emily begged off. “Thanks, but you two go without me,” she said, not wanting to intrude. “I’m really beat.”

  “Are you sure?” Sara asked her.

  “Positive.”

  “Well, good night, then, Emily,” Sara said. She leaned over and gave Emily a quick hug.

  Emily was caught by surprise for a moment, then hugged her daughter back. She smiled into her eyes. “Good night, dear. I’m glad it all worked out.”

  “Me, too,” Sara said sincerely.

  Emily stood at her car a moment, watching Sara and Luke walk arm in arm down Main Street.

  Thank you, Lord, for your help tonight, she silently said. It was . . . awesome.

  “WHAT’S THIS?” JESSICA ASKED, UNFOLDING THE LAYERS OF WHITE TISSUE paper. “Oh, a nightgown—oh, my goodness, it’s gorgeous,” she gushed. She held up the peach silk fabric for the rest of the women to see.

  “Oh, that is beautiful,” Betty agreed. “Look at that lace. It must be handmade.”

  “I love the color,” Suzanne Foster said. “It matches the walls in your bedroom.”

  “Sam won’t notice,” Sophie predicted, drawing laughter from the other women.

  Emily listened in contentedly as she set up the cake and coffee. The bridal shower was a small gathering, about a dozen women altogether, most from the village plus a few friends of Jessica’s from Boston. Rachel Anderson couldn’t come at the last minute because she wasn’t feeling well, but everyone else who had been invited was there.

  Jessica hadn’t even mentioned their mother, and Emily believed she was now resigned to L
illian’s absence.

  Although the party had been put together in a rush, it had turned out to be a very nice evening, Emily thought. Molly had helped with the food, which everyone raved about. Molly’s daughters, Lauren and Jill, who were going to be junior bridesmaids, were also there. They were so sweet, Emily thought. They had been staring adoringly at Jessica all night.

  But for Emily the best part was that Jessica had gone out of her way to make Sara feel welcome, and Sara seemed completely comfortable. Though she tried to be laid back about it, Emily couldn’t help showing her off proudly. Sara was a wonder to her.

  She caught sight of Sara now, sitting near Jessica, handing her the gifts and keeping track of the cards. Her adoptive parents had to be fine people, Emily thought wistfully. She had asked Sara a little about them and had privately thanked God for putting her child in the hands of such a loving, responsible couple. One day, Emily thought, she would have to thank the Franklins in person for taking such good care of her child.

  The phone rang in the kitchen. Emily picked it up and immediately recognized Reverend Ben’s voice. “Hello, Emily. May I speak to Carolyn please?” he asked.

  He was either in a hurry or greatly distressed, Emily thought. “Yes, of course, I’ll get her for you,” she said.

  She called Carolyn to the phone and couldn’t help but overhear her conversation.

  “Hello, Ben,” Carolyn said curiously. She paused and Emily saw her face grow alarmed. “Oh, no—when did that happen? Are you at the hospital with her now?” she asked anxiously. “All right . . . tell her I’ll be right there. Yes, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  She hung up the phone and turned to Emily. “Rachel has been rushed to the hospital in Southport. She’s bleeding and they’re having trouble getting it to stop—” Her voice faltered and Emily took her hand. It was ice cold.

  “Here . . . sit down a minute,” Emily urged her. “You’re too upset to drive, Carolyn. I’ll take you to the hospital.”