Kate turned around at the sound of her name being called—or shouted. Shouted was the more accurate term.
It was Evan who was calling her, of course. In fact, she’d become rather sick of hearing him butcher her name. Besides, no one else knew her enough to yell out across the room for her. She spotted him and made her way to where he stood among, she guessed, a group of other farmers.
“Have y’all met my beautiful wife?” Evan pulled her close to his side. “This is Kate. She’s from the Philippines” he said proudly of his imported goods.
When Kate agreed to marry the charming man holidaying in her home country, she hadn’t anticipated that her whole life would be placed on hold and that she would be someone’s—for lack of a better term—trophy wife.
“It’s nice to meet you, honey,” one of the guys said.
“Oh, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?” another said, as one might say of their prized cattle.
“Do you have a sister that looks like you?” joked another.
“My uncle has a Filipino girlfriend,” said the tall one. “You might know her, she’s from the Philippines too.”
“Do—you—speak—English?” someone asked slowly, several decibels higher than normal.
Yes, Kate spoke English. She had also graduated with a degree in Hotel and Restaurant Management and worked at one of the top hotels in Manila. However, to the tall one’s dismay, she didn’t know every single one of the 110 million Filipinos in the world. But she didn’t say all that. Gosh, no. She wouldn’t have dared. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, people made it perfectly clear that they didn’t understand (or appreciate) her thick, foreign accent. So she had learned to keep things short and simply answered with a yes or no.
She felt Evan kiss the side of her head, leaving a trail of goose pimples down the back of her neck. Daily threats of divorce and calls to immigration had left her less than enamored with her older husband. But she smiled at him—smiled at them. She had learned to. In just six months, Kate had been trained to sit, stand, and do, like a good ol’ American farm dog.
Never in her life had she felt so alone.
“Don’t do it,” her mother had warned in Filipino. Kate could still remember the disapproval in her face. “What could you possibly have in common with a man twenty years your senior? You haven’t known him long. People change when the vacation is over! I forbid it!” She ended her sermon with a mighty “tsk!”
But, always the believer in love, fate, and happily ever-afters, Kate brushed off her mother’s caution and followed the man of her dreams. Everyone knew that when life beckoned you as a twenty-five-year-old, you answered. “I’m an adult, Ma!” she had argued. “I’m doing it and you can’t stop me.”
It disappointed her to the innermost depths of her broken heart to learn that her mother had been right. Evan turned out to be, not the man of her dreams, but of her nightmares.
“I’ll just go and help Sarah with the children,” Kate said when she noticed the three butter-blonde Gardner kids running around in the backyard. It was the perfect excuse to get away from the awkward conversation she’d found herself in with Evan and his farmer friends. And when the guests had started leaving, Kate told her husband that she had offered to stay the night to help Sarah with the kids.
“Good idea, darling,” Evan said, his voice deep. “You make sure you keep her happy. We don’t want to lose her as a customer.”
Kate nodded.
That night, when the sun fell and only darkness filled the sky, Sarah approached her. Kate was on her hands and knees picking up the children’s toys, which had been scattered everywhere. “Thank you,” Sarah began, “for your help.” She looked drained.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m happy to help.” Kate knew that Sarah had no idea who she was. The truth was, she hadn’t properly met Sarah. But it was an excuse to take a much-needed break from her controlling husband, so she jumped at it, thinking she would deal with the consequences later. “Why don’t you get some rest,” she said. “I’ll put the children to bed.”
“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.” Sarah’s eyes spoke of sadness.
Kate stood up and offered a hand to Sarah. “I’m Kate,” she said. “Evan Morgan’s wife. He’s the one that delivers your milk and eggs.”
Once a connection had been established, Sarah’s face relaxed.
“You go and have a nice bath and I’ll put the children to bed.” Kate placed a hand on Sarah’s arm. “When you finish, I’ll have something ready for you to eat.”
Sarah stood motionless for a second before a tear escaped from her eye. “My babysitter quit.”
“I know,” Kate said, though she hadn’t, really. She had been to many funerals in the Philippines before. It was always a weird, but nice, family gathering of sorts. Wakes were held for nine consecutive days before the funeral. Friends and relatives stayed and surrounded the grieving family. They sat and kept watch over the dead, never leaving the bereaved alone with their grief, offering to do everything for them, come hell or high water. “I’ll stay with you. You’re not alone.”
Sarah bit her lips. She was fragile and weak.
“I’ve got you.” Kate meant what she said. She would be there for this woman whose heart, like hers, had been broken into a million pieces.
Louise Delaney
THE DAY AFTER ADAM Gardner’s funeral, Louise got up early. She’d decided the night before, that she would go over to check on the wife, Sarah.
The funeral reception was held at the Gardner’s house and while Louise had been sitting admiring the French country style sofa, she’d heard two women talking. She hadn’t turned around, but from the conversation itself, she surmised it was the babysitter. From where she sat, Louise could feel the pain of both women—pain that emanated from the one doing the breaking up and pain that came from the one broken up with. The dumper and dumped.
She knew exactly what poor Adam’s wife was feeling. It had been three years since her own husband died, but not a day went by that Louise didn’t think about Warren. With three children under five-years-old, she had no doubt that the young widow had her hands full.
Louise didn’t know her very well, but she lived two houses down from the Gardners. It made sense to her that she should go and see what she could do to help.
Louise knocked on the bright red door of 603 Mulberry Lane and held her surprise when an Asian woman answered the door. “Good morning. I’m Louise Delaney,” she’d said, a hand to her chest. “I live in number 607. I thought I’d come and see if Sarah needed a hand with anything today.”
“Come in, come in” the woman said. “I’m Kate. I’m just helping Sarah out too.” Her accent was not from this part of town, Louise could tell. She’d lived in Carlton Bay for a very long time, and she thought she knew everyone in the small seaside town.
“Thank you.” Louise stepped into the house. “How’s Sarah?” Louise followed Kate through to the living room where Louise could see she had been vacuuming.
“She’s still asleep, and so are the children. I thought I would get a start on tidying up after last night’s reception. Were you there?”
“Yes, I came by, but I didn’t stay for very long.” Louise took her jacket off and hung it on the coat rack on the corner. “Should I get some breakfast going for when they wake up?” It was 8:30am and it wouldn’t be too long before Sarah or at least one of the children woke up.
“Okay, sure,” Kate said as she turned the vacuum back on. She was obviously not one for conversation.
Louise went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge to see what she could cook. From her own experience, food was the last thing she thought about. The morning after Warren died, Louise couldn’t bring herself to eat anything. The smell of food made her retch, and she recalled how their daughter, Madison, made sure that she ate something—anything—to get some kind of nutrition inside her. But Madison was thirty-years-old when Warren died. The Gardner kids were all still so little.
<
br /> She looked in the pantry to see what she could prepare. Oatmeal was something that both Sarah and the kids could eat. She pulled some bread out in case they preferred something like peanut butter or jam on toast. Or both.
Louise considered herself a very lucky woman. She had married Warren when she was just nineteen, and they remained married and perfectly happy for thirty-seven years. The ‘perfectly’ part of their marriage came with hindsight though, she admitted. It wasn’t unusual to appreciate something until you’ve lost it. But they had Madison. And Madison was the love of her life.
It was through Madison that Louise learned about unconditional love. Before Madison was born, Louise only knew love as that between a man and woman. Or love for family. Friends. That kind of love. With Madison though, she bore for her child an immortal kind of love. A love that would never die. A love that would never hurt and never falter. Not when Madison first told Louise she’d hated her—Madison was ten-years-old at the time. Or that time when she’d said Louise embarrassed her, and blurted, “why can’t you be like other mothers?” Not even when Madison had her first boyfriend and was never home. And most certainly not when Madison decided to get married and fly across the world to live in New Zealand. No. Louise’s love—a mother’s love—withstood all kinds of hurt, disappointment, and pain.
After Madison left for New Zealand, Louise made a conscious decision to look after herself. She wasn’t dead. No. In fact, she had plenty of life in her yet.
It all happened one day. She’d gone to church, just like every Sunday—only that time, it was a Wednesday—and she prayed. She’d asked God for a sign; something that would tell her what she should do.
Her fervent prayers had been answered when one afternoon, as she strolled the dockside along Lighthouse Road, she entered the Carlton Bay Bookstore—which unsurprisingly was the only bookstore in Carlton Bay. As usual, it was empty, bar maybe one or two customers. She browsed the shelves and talked to Edna, who owned the shop, asking her about any new releases that may have come in.
What she’d learned instead was that Edna wanted a change. “I’m too old for this,” she’d said. “And I’m thinking of closing up at the end of next month. It’s time that I retired.”
Four weeks later, Louise signed the dotted line and found herself the owner of the only bookstore in Carlton Bay. She had renamed the store, Chapter Five.
Chapter one represented her youth.
Chapter two was for the next phase of her life as a married woman.
Becoming a mother took Chapter three.
Chapter four marked the death of her husband and the beginning of her life as a widow.
And chapter five was—well...it was her chapter. The chapter that revolved around no one else, but herself.
“Louise?”
Louise looked up from the pot of oatmeal she’d been stirring. “Sarah,” she sighed the name with a smile. Louise turned the pot off and walked across the kitchen, arms extended, to where she stood. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but no words followed.
“I know, darling, I know...” Louise comforted. She took Sarah by the shoulders and led her to the breakfast nook, where she pulled a chair out for her. “Have a seat and I’ll pour you a coffee.”
Sarah didn’t fight her. She had let herself be led and sat down. “You don’t have to do all this,” she said softly.
“I want to.” Louise smiled warmly. She knew what it was like to lose a husband.
Winter
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray to God my soul to take.
~Henry Johnstone
Chapter 1
Sarah Gardner
Sarah woke to Zoe crying hysterically. She rubbed her eyes and sighed as she stood up from the yellow armchair—her favorite. She made her way up the stairs when she was overcome by a dizzy spell. Sarah leaned against the wall to steady herself.
Sarah went into Zoe’s bedroom to find her sitting up in bed. Her normally wispy golden hair was a rat’s nest and snot ran down from her nose. Sarah opened her mouth, but no words came. Sarah stared at her two-year-old daughter. How can such a loud, invasive sound could come from someone so small? Sarah narrowed her eyes. Please shut up, Zoe. Please. Please. Please! Sarah took a deep breath in. “Zoe, honey,”—Sarah said as she sat next to her little girl—“what’s the matter?”
Instead of answering however, Zoe’s cries only grew louder.
“Please, Zoe...” Sarah could feel a headache coming. Sarah picked her up and rocked her in her arms, when Noah marched in with his pudgy hand inside an open jar of peanut butter. “Oh my goodness, Noah! Where did you get that? Can you please come here?”
Like his little sister, the three-year-old did not give his mother an answer. He put the jar under his arm and began opening and shutting Zoe’s drawers, smearing peanut butter everywhere.
“Noah, don’t do that. You’ll get—”
As one would expect, Noah shut the drawer with such force that he’d accidentally slammed it on his own finger.
Sarah stared at him, shocked.
Noah wailed, and Zoe joined him.
The only thing that kept Sarah from joining them was the realization that her oldest son, Liam, was not there. Without saying a word, she pulled Noah close and kissed his finger. “Liam?” Sarah called out.
“It hurts, Mommy,” Noah said with tears as large as the peas he refused to eat the night before.
“I told you not to do that,” she said to Noah. “Liam!” Sarah called out once more. Firmer, louder.
Sarah put Zoe down, which only prompted the toddler to cry again. “Stay here,” she said. “Noah, stay with your sister.” Sarah stumbled down the stairs to the living room. There was no sign of Liam. She went into the kitchen. “Liam!”
Sarah stopped in her tracks. She had no idea where he was. Liam was missing.
“Mommy,”—Noah came up behind her—“Liam’s not letting me play with him.”
“Where is Liam?”
“He’s not letting me play.” Noah said.
Sarah got on her knees to face him. “Noah, I need you to tell me where Liam is.”
Noah took Sarah by the hand and led her to the garden. Liam had covered some hedges with a blanket to build a fort.
Sarah kneeled by the makeshift entrance and lifted the corner of the blanket. “Liam?”
“Get out!” Liam screamed.
“Liam, I was worried about you. Please come inside.”
“Mommy, I want to play in too,” Noah cried.
“Noah—get inside!” Sarah didn’t mean to snap at him, but she did.
Noah cried and stormed off into the house.
Sarah let out a breath and lifted the blanket again. She put a hand on Liam’s leg. “Honey, please come—”
“Go away!” Liam kicked her hand.
“Ow! Liam, so help me—” Sarah got up and brushed her knees. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.
Sarah returned to the house and headed straight to the fridge and scanned the notes posted on the door. Then she saw it; a yellow post-it square which had the numbers of Kate and Louise. Sarah grabbed the note and looked for her phone.
She did the only thing she could think of. She sent them a message.
HELP!
Sarah sent them a text, even if she didn’t know the women well. From the little she had managed to pick up, Kate was the one who had stayed over the night of Adam’s funeral. And Louise was a neighbor—Sarah had seen her around before—who had come the morning after and made them breakfast.
The two women had continued to go around to Sarah’s every day after that. And grateful as she should have been, the day came when Sarah started turning them away. She stopped answering their phone calls. And when they rang the doorbell, she hid.
After that, Kate and Louise did the next best thing. They sli
pped notes under Sarah’s front door, asking if she needed anything—a break, a meal, a shoulder to cry on. They’d also left casseroles and cooked meals on the doorstep. But for Sarah, none of it mattered. The dust had settled. Everyone had gone back to their own lives. It was then that it hit her—and it hit her hard. Adam was dead. He was never coming back.
The truth was, Sarah had been spiraling. It felt as if she was falling down a deep, dark well—reaching for a rope or a hand—but no one was around to pull her up. She’d spent that last three weeks sleeping on the yellow armchair in the living room. It was her favorite. The yellow fabric brought a pop of color to the otherwise beige room. She hadn’t had a decent rest, waking up several times each night.
But it was the only thing she could do. Sarah couldn’t go back to the bedroom she’d shared with Adam. No. Never. It was where Adam had died.
It happened sometime around 5:30 or 6:00am. The alarm hadn’t yet gone off. Sarah turned over and laid her head on Adam’s chest, expecting him to take her into an embrace, like he always did. Only this time, he didn’t. Instead, the icy touch of his skin slapped her awake.
No, she couldn’t do it. It would hurt too much.
The day times weren’t quite as bad. Sarah moved purposefully. Or she tried to. With three children under the age of five, she had to—even if she didn’t want to.
They say that time waits for no man. While it may be so, Sarah had learned that grief too waited for no one. It overwhelmed her at every turn and every point of every day. And as soon as the sky turned dark and Sarah had fed, bathed, and changed the children, she would allow grief to finally take her.
Within the space of fifteen minutes, both Kate and Louise stood in Sarah’s living room—or what remained of it.
It would have been obvious to anyone that Sarah hadn’t picked up a broom, dishcloth, or rag in three weeks. She hadn’t vacuumed either. Nor had she showered.
Love Me Timeless--A Willow Oaks Sweet Romance Page 15