“Oh, no . . . you couldn’t. You’re the hostess. You can’t leave your own party,” Carolyn protested, ever the gracious Southern lady. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take her,” Sara offered.
Emily looked up and realized she must have been in the room awhile.
“Would you? That would be wonderful, Sara,” Emily said, feeling relieved.
“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble, Mrs. Lewis.”
Carolyn sighed and looked up at her. “Thank you. That would be a great help,” she admitted. “I’ll just run and get my coat.”
A few minutes later Emily walked them both to the door. “Please call me when you can and let me know what’s happened.” She gave Carolyn a quick hug. “I’ll be praying for Rachel and the baby. We all will,” she promised her.
Carolyn nodded. She looked too overwhelmed with worry to reply. “Good night, Emily,” she said squeezing her hand. “I must go.”
Bless them, Emily thought as they hurried down the drive. Then she sent up a quick prayer that Rachel’s child would be as healthy and completely wonderful as her own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BY THE FINAL DAYS OF OCTOBER ONLY THE weather-toughened fishermen and hardiest weekend sailors ventured out on the cold, choppy water. The harbor near the Village Green was nearly empty of sailboats and cruisers. The tall trees on the green had gone gold, rusty red, then brown. Most of the branches stood bare now, shifting against a stark blue sky in a chilly breeze that marked the start of New England’s fierce, legendary winter moving in.
But though summer’s glories were long faded and winter’s pristine beauty still a few weeks off, the villagers of Cape Light saw fit to give the season its due, celebrating with an annual Harvest Festival on the first Saturday of November.
It was Emily’s favorite town event. As she walked toward the green on Saturday morning, she was pleased to see so many people out early, making their way to the fair.
“Good morning, Mayor,” a passerby greeted her.
“Hello, Emily,” a neighbor said as she walked by.
She smiled and waved back, enjoying the attention. She still felt good about standing up to Charlie Bates in the town council meeting on Wednesday night. It was hard to say if the open confrontation and the position she had taken would cost her the election. But if it came to that, she still felt certain that she had done the right thing.
I may very well not win the election on Tuesday, she told herself. But I’m going to enjoy every minute of my last big “fling” as mayor today.
At the edge of the green Emily paused and surveyed the setup, an ambitious project that had started a few days ago. The tree-shaded lawn was filled with tables, booths, a few gaily colored tents. Rows of folding chairs stood in front of the gazebo’s bandstand, where workers were setting up microphones. The candidates were scheduled to give a speech later, the last big event of the campaign before Election Day.
Emily wondered what Charlie would say today. Would he still press the issue of Luke’s center, or had he finally abandoned that tactic? She only hoped he wouldn’t retaliate with some trick that was even dirtier. She turned toward the green, pushing thoughts of Charlie Bates out of her mind.
The farmers’ market was breathtaking and looked even more picturesque to Emily this year than usual. Or maybe she was getting nostalgic in advance? She wasn’t sure, but she wished she had a camera as she wandered from booth to booth. There were bushels of apples and cabbages, mounds of pumpkins and autumn-colored squash in every shape and variation imaginable, bunches of orange carrots and deep purple eggplant, wheels of cheese and cartons of eggs gathered only hours ago. A bushel of russet potatoes caught Emily’s eye, and she bought a few along with a bunch of chives and a wedge of sharp Cheddar.
Sometimes a stuffed baked potato made a perfect dinner, Emily thought as she strolled away with her purchases. It would be hard to get away with that menu if I had a family or even a husband, she reminded herself. There are advantages to living alone.
Another table held red and gold mums and pots of feathery purple-and-white kale. Beside it was a booth filled with colorful dried bouquets, bunches of fragrant herbs, racks of hand-dipped candles, and jars of fresh honey.
She stopped and picked up a bayberry wreath for her front door, then on impulse bought a second one to give to her mother. Since visiting her mother with Sara, Emily had only spoken to Lillian a few times by phone—brief, tense conversations. Her mother insisted she didn’t want visitors and was having her groceries delivered. Emily wondered how long her mother would cling to this attitude. Probably straight through to November nineteenth, Jessica’s wedding day, she thought wryly.
As if on cue, Emily heard her sister’s voice nearby. “Oh, those wreaths are pretty. We ought to get one for our front door.”
Emily turned to see Jessica and Sam strolling her way. They wore identical paint-spattered sweatshirts, jeans, and baseball caps. Emily guessed they were taking a break from working on their house.
Jessica greeted Emily with a quick hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be up on stage by now, announcing things.”
“I probably should be. I just snuck over early to do some shopping.”
“Same here, I’m afraid,” Sam said, glancing at Jessica and raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, shush.” Jessica gave her fiancé an affectionate poke in the ribs. “I haven’t bought a thing.”
“Yet,” Sam finished in a knowing tone.
Jessica smirked at him, then couldn’t help smiling.
“I just narrowly escaped a major purchase of lawn sheep,” he confessed to Emily. “An entire flock of them. We don’t even have a lawn yet.”
“Lawn sheep?” Emily turned to Jessica. Her ever-tasteful sister buying lawn sheep? She must have the prenuptial jitters real bad, Emily thought.
Jessica shrugged. “They were really cute. But Sam is right. We need to focus on the major things now. We only have two more weekends until the wedding.”
“I know. I’m counting the days,” Emily said happily.
“Me, too,” Sam agreed. He put his arm around Jessica’s shoulder and gave her a tight hug.
Then with Jessica’s head tucked under his chin, he glanced at Emily, his eyes sending a silent thank-you for helping them get back together. She smiled in return, then looked away. She felt happy for her sister and Sam, but she also knew that in a way, she had done it for herself, as much as for them.
Without releasing Jessica, Sam glanced at his watch. “Fifteen more minutes of browsing, then we have to get back to the house. You promised, remember?”
“Yes, boss,” Jessica agreed with a contented sigh. She gave Emily an apologetic glance. “We’ve got to run. Looks like we’ll miss your speech today.”
Emily grinned. “That’s okay. You’ve heard most of it before.”
Jessica kissed her. “Good luck. I’m sure it will go well.”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” Emily promised. One last chance to win over a few more votes.
Emily heard the sound of horses’ hooves and took a quick step back to make way for a hay wagon full of bright-eyed children. One small, beautiful beaming face waved down to her, and she waved back.
Why waste time worrying about Charlie on a beautiful day like today? Thank you, God, for reminding me.
Up on the gazebo, the high school band was beginning a medley of Broadway show tunes, an ideal backdrop for the happy crowd, Emily thought.
She turned to a long row of booths that displayed handcrafted work—wood carvings, woven rugs and mats, and pottery. A quilt caught her eye that she thought would make the perfect wedding gift for Jessica and Sam. But as she walked closer to examine it, Emily was distracted by the sound of Sophie Potter’s voice.
Sophie stood at one of the demonstration tables nearby, with a small but intensely interested audience gathered around her.
Emily moved closer to listen in. “. . . Now the beauty of this ty
pe of crust is that you don’t have to fuss, rolling it out with a pin. It’s more like cookie dough. So you can just take a hunk like this, and flatten it out in the pan, like so. . . .”
Her fingers moved in a swift, able fashion, Emily noticed, as she pressed a wad of the buttery-colored dough into a large round tart pan. Emily caught sight of Gus, sitting on a stool just behind his wife, smiling proudly. He looked a little pale, Emily thought, not his usual robust self. Still it was good to see him up and about, enjoying the day.
“Maybe you want to arrange some slices on top in some nice design, like a spiral or a star,” Sophie went on. “Then a little more sugar and spice mix on top and a few pats of butter, and into the oven. Bakes about forty-five minutes,” she concluded, wiping her hands on a cloth.
She turned and whispered something to Gus, who reached into a carton, then handed her a pie. “Thank you, dear. That’s my husband, Gus. He married me for my cooking, no matter what he says otherwise.” The group responded with a laugh. Then she held up a baked apple tart and her audience emitted a collective sigh.
Emily stood back, watching as Sophie served slices of the tart onto paper plates, and Gus magically produced more pies from the carton. Emily also noticed a couple near the table who appeared to be videotaping Sophie’s performance. She knew right away from their clothing and haircuts that they weren’t locals. The woman wore a leather jacket, slim-fitting jeans, and big sunglasses. The man wore a baseball-style satin jacket and a black cap turned backward, and he was holding a heavy-duty video camera, the kind that professional newspeople used.
The couple moved closer to her, and Emily overheard their conversation. “Get a shot of her dishing out the pie, Kyle. Can you move in closer? I want the design she made with the apples.”
Suddenly Sophie looked up and seemed to realize that she was being filmed. She held a slice of apple tart out to the woman. “Care for some tart?” she asked politely.
“I’d love some, thank you,” the woman replied with a smile.
“How about you, fella?” Sophie asked the cameraman. She eyed his video equipment but didn’t ask any questions.
“Sure, thanks.” He put his camera down on the table and took a slice of tart.
“We’ve been watching your demonstration, Mrs. Potter,” the woman told Sophie. “We’ve filmed it, actually. It might be on the news tonight, part of a segment we’re putting together on autumn fairs in the area.”
“Oh, how nice,” Sophie said, sounding pleased. She folded her hands across her aproned stomach. “Hear that, Gus? We might be on the news.”
“You don’t say?” Gus got up off his stool and stood beside his wife, eyeing the strangers. “What channel?”
“Channel five, WKPR. I’m Nina Miller, a producer there. I really enjoyed your presentation, Mrs. Potter, and I wondered if you would be interested in doing the same type of thing in a studio setting for a show I’m putting together. This would be just a preliminary taping, sort of a sample for my boss.”
“You want to film me in a studio making a pie?” Sophie asked in disbelief.
“Well, making a pie, weaving a basket, making some soap, maybe?” Nina asked hopefully.
“Sure, I can do that. I also make honey and beeswax candles. I keep bees, you know,” Sophie offered.
Nina looked remarkably pleased to hear it. “Oh, you do? That’s wonderful. We could really do something with bees.”
“You want to put Sophie here on TV? Like on one of these cooking shows?” Gus cut in.
“Quiet down, Gus. The girl is just talking,” Sophie said to him, looking a bit embarrassed.
“First we need to do a pilot. The sample show,” Nina explained. “Then I’d need approval to tape a few segments. But the concept is already on the board for next season, and I think Mrs. Potter would be just perfect as the hostess.”
Sophie suddenly seemed to be standing a few inches taller, Emily noticed, with her head high and shoulders proudly squared.
“What will you call it?” Gus asked eagerly.
“We were thinking of something like, A Yankee in the Kitchen—New England Cooking and Crafts.”
Gus clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. “That’s perfect. It’s got my Sophie’s name written all over it. Don’t you think so, honey?” he asked his wife.
“Calm down, dear. One step at a time,” she reminded him. Still, Emily could tell she was excited.
“I’ll bet you’ll be paying her nicely for this, too,” Gus added pointedly.
“If it all works out, the salary will be attractive, I’d think.” Nina Miller smiled again and handed Sophie a business card. “Here’s my number. I’m going to show this clip around, and I’ll call you sometime next week. Where can I reach you?”
“Potter Orchard,” Sophie and Gus replied simultaneously. They looked at each other, and the young woman laughed. “Maybe there could be a part for Mr. Potter on the show, too,” she suggested.
“You can call me Gus,” he said brightly. “And you take this pie. The phone number is right on the box, and your boss can have a taste, too. That film might make him hungry.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Nina Miller took the box, then slipped on her sunglasses again and glanced at her cameraman. “Kyle, let’s just get a shot of that band before we go,” she said. “Nice meeting you both. I’ll speak to you soon.”
“Nice to meet you, dear. I’m going to think of some ideas for your show,” she promised.
As the television producer and cameraman walked away, Emily caught Sophie’s eye. Sophie waved at her to come closer.
“Did you hear all that? That girl says she thinks I could be on TV. She says she’s a TV producer, though she hardly looks out of high school. A Yankee in the Kitchen. That would be me,” she said in a hushed but elated tone.
Emily smiled at her. “You’ll be absolutely wonderful. Move over, Martha Stewart.”
“It’s all just talk for now.” Sophie patted Emily’s arm. “But it would be fun,” she added, her eyes twinkling.
“It would sure be a big help to us,” Gus pointed out bluntly. “If you got on this television show and they paid you some good money, we wouldn’t need to give up the orchard.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Emily realized. She turned to Sophie. “I do hope this works out for you, Sophie. It could be the answer to your prayers.”
“Yes, it just might be.” Sophie nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful. “We’ll have to wait and see if this is what the Lord has in store for us, right, Gus?”
Gus nodded sagely. “Yes, we’ll have to wait and see,” he agreed. “Of course, if it all comes about, you’re going to have to share those recipes of yours. Nobody’s going to have a cooking show with secret recipes,” he warned her.
Emily struggled not to smile too broadly as she watched Sophie process this troubling issue.
“Oh, dear . . . I suppose you’re right. I have a lot to think about here, all of a sudden, don’t I?”
A woman pushing a stroller stepped up to the table. “Excuse me, am I in the right place for the apple butter demonstration?”
“Yes, you are, dear. I’m just about to set up for that,” Sophie assured her. “Here’s a nice slice of apple for your baby. Just let me take the skin off.” She handed the woman an apple chunk. “It’s a handy thing when they’re teething.”
“She is teething,” the young mother admitted. “I never tried apple, though—”
Emily saw her chance to say good-bye. “I’ll see you later, folks. You have a good day.”
“You, too, Emily,” Sophie called out to her. “I’ll be listening for your speech later.”
Emily waved and turned toward the gazebo, decorated with bunches of corn stalks, pots of mums, and huge pumpkins. On the stage the American flag waved at one corner and the flag of Massachusetts at the other. The Cape Light High School band was just winding up its performance with a rousing rendition of “Oklahoma,” and the rows of folding chairs were now almost f
illed. She spotted the town council members gathered to one side of the stage, and knew it was almost time for her appearance.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER EMILY STOOD BEHIND THE PODIUM, DELIVERING her speech to the crowd. A small voice in her head kept reminding her this could very well be her last public address as mayor. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to go forward, hoping for the best. She truly believed she was a better choice than Charlie Bates and hoped that her speech would touch the hearts and minds of her audience.
She held the pages of her speech in front of her but instead of reading the familiar words, she found herself studying the audience. Her closest supporters—Betty, Harriet, and Frank—sat in front-row seats. In the row behind them she saw Felicity and Jonathan Bean smiling up at her with encouraging expressions. Digger Hegman sat between Harry Reilly and Ezra Elliot. Suzanne Foster and some of Jessica’s coworkers from the bank sat in a row near the back. All of them seemed familiar and dear to her. Then Emily spotted Sara, standing alone under a nearby tree. On impulse, she put the notes aside and spoke from her heart.
“I think you all know my positions by now,” she began, her voice sure and steady. “I said everything I needed to say at last Wednesday’s meeting. But what I want to say to you today is thank you. I had a wonderful time being your mayor during these last three years. It has been a pleasure and an honor.”
She paused and took a breath. “Thank you for your time, and remember, get out there on Tuesday and vote. I have complete confidence that whoever you choose will be the best mayor for Cape Light.”
She nodded and stepped back from the microphone. The audience responded with strong applause, and Emily felt an unexpected wave of hope. Maybe she had a better chance on Tuesday than she had thought.
She glanced over at Sara, who stood closer now and was clapping vigorously. Emily met her daughter’s eye and Sara smiled. Emily smiled back, feeling warm inside.
Emily stepped down from the platform and took the seat that had been reserved for her in the front row between Betty and Harriet. Betty leaned forward and patted her shoulder. “Good job, Emily,” she whispered. “I think they appreciated that.”
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