Home Song

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Yep, it was short and sweet,” Harriet said. “You got my vote.”

  “Thanks, that’s saying something, Harriet,” Emily whispered back, suppressing a smile. She kept her eyes forward and sat up tall in her seat.

  Charlie stepped behind the podium, a sheaf of papers rattling in his hand. He somehow looked both nervous and full of blustery ego, Emily thought. And a bit uncomfortable in his blue suit, white shirt, and bold red tie.

  At the opposite end of the front row, Emily saw Lucy Bates and their boys, their eyes glued to him. He’s a lucky man, Emily thought. She knew how badly he wanted to be mayor, but wondered if he realized how many blessings he already had in his life.

  Charlie’s speech started off as Emily would have predicted, reminding the voters how his family stretched back many generations in the village, and how his experience as a businessman qualified him to run the town. Emily had heard him speak before during his campaign and recognized familiar words.

  But when his address took a new, unexpected turn she sat up with interest. “Everybody has a dream. My dream has always been to be mayor of Cape Light,” he stated solemnly. “This village is a paradise to me, the only place I’d choose to raise my family, to grow old alongside my wife, and to be buried someday, up on that hill overlooking the harbor. I could travel the whole world and find no better place. I am dedicated to this town, watching over it like a father watches over a beloved child. Like Grace Hegman watches over her garden,” he added, inspiring a few smiles.

  “If you make me your mayor, sometimes we may very well disagree. But you could search the world over and you wouldn’t find a man—or woman, for that matter—more dedicated to this town. Or one who will work harder, giving one hundred and ten percent of his effort to the job. And you won’t find anyone who holds the title higher or who holds the dream of winning that trust closer to his heart.”

  Emily couldn’t quite believe it, but hearing Charlie’s heartfelt words and watching the open, unguarded emotion on his face, she felt a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes. He wants to win this election more than I do, she realized. And in some strange way, maybe he even deserves it more.

  “I thank you for your time and consideration,” Charlie concluded politely. He nodded his head a few times and gathered up his papers. “Like the present mayor said,” he added in a jaunty tone, “don’t forget to get out there and vote.”

  After the speeches the audience began to disperse. Emily spotted Dan over the heads of the milling group. He was talking with his photographer and one of his reporters. As she stood there wondering if she should say hello, he looked up and smiled at her. A slow, warm smile that gave her butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She smiled back, thinking he was about to come toward her. But then the photographer pointed at something on the far end of the green, and they walked off in the opposite direction.

  Just as well, Emily thought. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face him yet. She hadn’t seen him since the town council meeting on Wednesday night, hadn’t spoken with him since Tuesday—the night he dropped off the Globe article and they kissed.

  She felt herself practically blushing just thinking about it. It was really so silly. Such a little thing. Nothing to make such a big deal over. Get a grip, Emily, she coached herself.

  She looked up and suddenly faced Sara.

  “What you said up there, it was really moving,” Sara told her. “It really felt as if it came from your heart.”

  “It did,” Emily admitted. “I know I just passed up my last chance to give a ‘vote for me’ pitch, but somehow it was what I really wanted to say.” She glanced around, finding she didn’t really want to talk about the campaign anymore. “Are you enjoying the fair?”

  “It’s great. I’ve already bought so much stuff, I can hardly carry it all back to my apartment.” Sara held up two full shopping bags. “My mom loves this handcrafted stuff. I picked up some mugs and these great baskets.” Sara opened the top of one bag so that Emily could see.

  At the words my mom, Emily had felt a small pang. But I’m your mom, she had wanted to say. But of course, she knew in her heart that although she was technically Sara’s mother, she was not her mom—and would never be.

  She gazed into the bag and forced a smile as she looked back up at Sara. “It’s a very pretty set. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  Suddenly she wondered if Sara had made plans to return to Maryland. Was that why she was buying gifts for her mother?

  “I guess I’ll save this stuff for Christmas presents,” Sara said. “I never do anything like that, but the mugs might break if I try to mail them.”

  Emily felt relieved, but couldn’t help worrying. She knew that Sara was trying to work out a delicate balancing act between two mothers. “Have you spoken with your parents lately?” she asked in a tentative tone.

  Sara nodded. “I finally called them last week and told them that I had spoken with you, and how that all went.” Sara avoided Emily’s gaze for a moment. “They sounded really happy for me,” she added. “So, that was nice.”

  “They sound like wonderful people,” Emily said sincerely. She hesitated a moment, then added, “I’d like to meet them someday.”

  Sara looked surprised. “Sure. That would be . . . good. They would like to meet you, too. My mother, especially. She asked a lot of questions about you.”

  “I get a generally good report, I hope?” she joked.

  Sara smiled. “Generally, yes,” she replied with a grin. “Better than that, actually,” she admitted. She looked self-conscious and picked up her shopping bags again. “I’d better get going. I start my new job at the library this afternoon.”

  “That’s great,” Emily said. “It should be more interesting for you than the diner.”

  “In some ways. The pay isn’t great. No tips,” Sara noted with a shrug. “But I will get first crack at the new books, so that’s a plus.”

  “Definitely,” Emily agreed. “Did you speak to Dan Forbes yet?”

  “No, not yet,” Sara said. “I just haven’t gotten the chance.”

  Her expression made Emily think Sara was scared to approach him. Emily’s first impulse was to offer to handle the situation for her. Then she caught herself. She didn’t want Sara to feel smothered or pushed. This was something she had to deal with on her own.

  “I was just wondering,” Emily said. “Oh, I nearly forgot. The bridal shop called and said your gown should be in on Monday. I can take you after work to pick it up.”

  “Won’t you be busy Monday with the election?”

  “By Monday night there won’t be anything left for me to do but stress out. It will be the perfect distraction,” Emily told her. “Besides, I want to make sure it fits you right. And we still have to find you some shoes.”

  Emily had persuaded Sara to let her pay for whatever she needed for the wedding. It seemed the least she could do. Emily wished she could do more of—everything, actually. Though that impulse was totally unrealistic, she realized. But there would be time, she kept telling herself. Opportunities would come up in the future, to help Sara with graduate school perhaps, or maybe even with Sara’s own wedding.

  “Oh, the shoes,” Sara replied, cutting into her thoughts. “I nearly forgot. Sure, if it’s not any trouble for you. Monday would be fine. I’ll be working at the library so I can come over to your office when I’m done.”

  Emily agreed to the plan and then watched as Sara ambled away, her shopping bags loaded with gifts for her real mother.

  Well, at least Sara would definitely be here until Jessica’s wedding. Maybe she ought to just be grateful for that, and willing to wait and see what happened next.

  ON HER WAY HOME FROM THE HARVEST FAIR, EMILY TOOK THE LONG route and stopped at her mother’s house. She climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. It was late afternoon and she saw one lamp lit in the living room and heard the sound of the television. She waited a few minutes, then pressed the bell again, wondering if her m
other was asleep. Or was something really wrong? She realized that Lillian had missed her speech today, which was very unusual for her. It’s probably because she’s still furious with me, Emily told herself.

  At last Emily saw the corner of the living room drape pulled back for an instant, then close again, and she knew her mother was fine.

  Still, she stood waiting. Lillian did not come to the door. Emily considered going in with her own key, then decided not to. Although she worried about her mother isolating herself like this, Emily realized that she was angry, too.

  She couldn’t get past Lillian’s cold, derisive reaction when she told her about Sara.

  It’s hard to forgive her for that, Emily thought, though I’m trying my best. And it’s hard being caught in this place, stuck between anger and concern.

  Lillian obviously didn’t want to see her. Though this couldn’t go on forever, it seemed to Emily best right now to just let her have her way. Let her have some time to feel what it’s really like to be cut off from her family, she thought as she walked down the porch steps and headed for home. If she really needs something, I’m sure she’ll break down and call me.

  Later that night, though, Emily dialed her mother’s number. When the machine picked up, she left a brief message. “Hello, Mother, it’s Emily. I wondered if you wanted me to pick you up for church tomorrow. You can call me back tonight, or in the morning if you like. I’ll be leaving here at the usual time, around nine.” She waited a moment, picturing her mother standing near the phone, listening. “All right, maybe you went to bed early. Give me a call if you need anything,” she said finally.

  Lillian didn’t return her call on Saturday night or the next morning. Emily wondered if she should call again. She finally decided not to, but she did wait until nearly half past nine before leaving the house.

  She arrived at the service late and slipped into a seat in the back row. She saw Jessica and Sam sitting together with Sam’s parents a few rows up ahead. Gus Potter had returned to his post as usher of the pulpit side, wearing his gray tweed sports coat and a burgundy wool vest. While he did not look completely recovered, he did look bright-eyed and cheerful, and Emily was pleased to see him back.

  As she listened to Reverend Ben’s sermon, she felt odd to be sitting there alone, even though there were many weeks when Lillian did not feel well enough to attend the service. But this Sunday Emily knew her mother had deliberately missed the service in order to avoid her company, which somehow made it feel different.

  The Reverend Ben cleared his throat. “ ‘Forgive us, Lord, as we forgive those who trespass against us,’ the Lord’s Prayer says. But I’ve sometimes thought that prayer, as beautiful as it is, has been written backward,” he said. “Or at the very least, the author has made a huge assumption. I really think the directions should be more like, ‘Dear Lord, please let us forgive each other the way that you forgive us.’

  “You see, because the Lord is so much better at this business of forgiveness than we mere mortals could ever hope to be, we’re the ones who should be modeling His method, not the other way around. The Lord forgives us unconditionally. He doesn’t need to sit and think it over, withholding His compassion, His mercy, and His grace. He doesn’t cling to his grudges, like we do, reliving them daily, reminding himself how He was hurt or cheated, or disappointed by someone as frail and flawed as we are. He forgives and wipes the slate clean. That is true forgiveness, the pure, ideal spirit of amnesty we must try to extend toward each other.”

  He paused and looked down at his notes a moment, then smiled. “I once heard it said that ‘Everyone in this world is walking around, chewing on something that just won’t go down,’ and sometimes, my friends, it does ring very true to me,” he said over a smattering of laughter.

  “It’s a rare person who does not carry around some grudge, small or large, some onerous bit that won’t go down. But how many of us find that as we approach middle life and even later, we are carrying around a load of grudges, like a big bag of rocks, slung over our shoulder. The wrongs the world has done you—parents, siblings, friends, coworkers, neighbors—oh, so many wrongs that we righteously cling to. It takes a lot of energy to carry that bag around with you, doesn’t it? It doesn’t really make much sense, either. . . . So, why do we do it? We drag it along, letting it pull us down when we can be lifted up. When we can follow the Lord’s example and forgive—and let go.”

  He stood quietly for a moment and pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. “As I leave you today, I suggest that you select even the smallest pebble in your collection and consider how you can let it go.”

  Emily swallowed hard. It felt as if the Reverend had been speaking directly to her about the situation with her mother. She glanced down at her prayer book, but didn’t really see the words. Yes, she would like to be free of this bag of rocks she dragged around. It was really an enormous nuisance.

  But true forgiveness was very difficult and seemed so very elusive to her. Maybe I just need to try harder, Emily thought as she automatically came to her feet for the next hymn. Maybe it will be easier for me, now that I’ve found Sara.

  When the service ended, Emily left church through the front door, stopping to greet the Reverend.

  “Wonderful sermon, Reverend,” she said sincerely.

  He smiled and took her hand. “Thank you, Emily. I usually save that theme for the holidays. But for some reason it seemed fitting for today. . . . Where’s your mother? Not feeling well?”

  “Well, she’s not speaking to me right now. Because of Sara,” Emily explained briefly. “I guess that’s why she didn’t come to church today.”

  “Ah, that’s a pity, though predictable, I guess,” he said thoughtfully. He rubbed his cheek a moment, thinking. “I’ll stop by and visit her during the week,” he promised. “She needs some time to work this out.”

  Emily nodded. “Yes, she needs time. It was a shock for her.” She paused, then added, “I’m going to think more about your sermon, Reverend Ben—and what you said to me in the park that day.”

  He smiled, his eyes bright with kindness. “Good, Emily. Think and pray,” he suggested.

  “How is Rachel doing? I heard that she’s still in the hospital,” Emily added.

  “Her doctor wants to keep her there for a few days. They stopped the bleeding, but she’s still in danger. They’ve diagnosed the condition as something called placenta previa. It’s not uncommon, I understand, but in Rachel’s case it’s rather severe.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Emily said. “How is the baby?”

  Her heart fell when she saw the grim expression on the Reverend’s face. “They’re still not sure. She lost a lot of blood. They’ve taken a sonogram and think the baby is all right, but these tests can only tell you so much. We really won’t know until the child is born,” he reported honestly. “We’re hoping for the best, of course.”

  “Of course,” Emily agreed sympathetically. “Tell Rachel I said hello and wish her the best. I’ll be praying for her and the baby.”

  “Thank you, Emily. It’s a comfort to know that so many prayers are being said for her right now.”

  Emily said good-bye to the Reverend and left the church, thinking that she couldn’t imagine what he and his family were going through right now. She knew she wasn’t much of a cook, but maybe she’d make a casserole today and take it over to their house. When someone was in the hospital, it was always a help if you didn’t have to bother about shopping and cooking dinner. She decided she would send Rachel flowers at the hospital, too.

  Reverend Ben had done so much for her over the years, she wished that right now there was something more she could do. Emily promised herself that no matter how busy or tired she felt later today, she would set aside some time to pray for all of them. She knew that the Reverend and his family would appreciate that effort most of all.

  SARA STOOD AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKED HARDER. MAYBE THE DOORBELL wasn’t working, she reasoned, and Lillian hadn�
��t heard her. Then she heard a shuffling sound and knew that her grandmother was standing on the other side.

  “Lillian? It’s me, Sara,” she announced boldly. “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing.”

  Sara couldn’t actually hear her grandmother breathing, but she thought the remark would be irresistible to her.

  “I’m sure you cannot because I’m practically not breathing at all. Down to my last breaths, actually. I’m sure of it. And I don’t feel like having visitors, so please go away.”

  “I’ll only be a minute. I have something for you,” Sara coaxed her.

  “Leave it by the door, I’ll get it later,” Lillian called back.

  “Come on, Lillian. That isn’t very good manners,” she countered, thinking that would get her. “One doesn’t ask a visitor to leave a gift without even opening one’s door,” she added, imitating her grandmother’s instructive tone. “Unless of course, you’re not quite decent. . . .”

  Sara listened for a long moment, but didn’t hear any reply.

  Then she heard the sound of the door latch clicking, and the door magically swung open. Lillian stood to one side, neatly dressed, as usual, in a silk blouse and a long, pleated wool skirt and sweater set, her reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.

  “I’m quite decently clothed, as you can see. And you may come in . . . I suppose,” she said crisply.

  As Sara entered, Lillian directed, “Go on into the living room. I was just doing some mending.”

  Sara did as she was told and sat down in the middle of Lillian’s high horsehair sofa. The thick upholstery had a silky finish that made her feel as if she were going to slide off the cushion.

  Lillian walked into the room slowly and settled herself in her large armchair. “Well, what brings you here? Did Emily send you?” she asked bluntly.

  “No, she doesn’t even know I came.” Sara reached into the shopping bag she had brought and took out a box. She handed it to Lillian. “There was a fair on the green yesterday. I bought this for you.”