“I can’t imagine it.” The First Baptist and the First Methodist churches were the only two churches in Dove Pond and each actively poached members from the other, a practice enthusiastically encouraged by the two preachers, who were by nature of the town’s shrinking population sworn, if polite, enemies. “You know, Aunt Jo, if you’re unhappy—and I can see why you would be—there’s another perfectly good church in town, and we’d love to have you.”
“Shut your mouth! I’ve been going to First Baptist since before you were born. It’s where I was baptized and wed, and all my children were baptized and wed, and it’s where I plan to have my funeral, too.”
“Even if it’s been painted high-school-pool blue?”
“Even then, although if it is that horrible color, I might just ask that everyone go into the service through the back door. The trees will cover up most of that ugly blue then.”
Sarah laughed. “I hope your preacher doesn’t get his way with the paint color.”
“Me too. I’m beginning to suspect Preacher Thompson is color-blind, to like such a horrible shade. Still, he’s worth putting up with. That man is as handsome as the day is long. Zoe Bell says he looks like Idris Elba’s younger and sassier brother.”
“Zoe knows men.”
“She does. And she knows we’ve a winner in our new preacher, so I’m staying, even if the building gets painted black with orange flames. Sermons go faster if I have something nice to look at.”
“That’s one thing your preacher has over mine. As much as I love Preacher Lewis, he’s not what I’d call easy on the eyes.” Preacher Lewis was plump, bald, and a bit of a mess when it came to his clothing. Sarah didn’t think she’d ever seen him when he didn’t have a mustard stain on his shirt.
Siegfried meowed loudly, which caused Moon Pie to growl as if nervous.
Aunt Jo eyed the cat with disfavor. “What’s wrong with him? He’s meowing like he’s about to give birth to a dozen wildcats.”
“He’s uneasy, and so am I.” Sarah hesitated and then said, “Aunt Jo, I think something is about to happen.”
“Happen?”
“Here. In Dove Pond.”
Aunt Jo’s warm brown eyes lit up. “The Dove family good luck? Is that it?”
“I hope so. I’ve seen signs. I’m not sure, but—”
“It’s about damn time!”
“Don’t I know it,” Sarah said fervently. She hoped she was right. She was a Dove, darn it, and the journal had foretold that she’d be pivotal to saving their town. Where was the promised good luck? She’d been waiting so long, and she couldn’t help but worry that her friends and neighbors were starting to question the Dove family lore.
Meanwhile, she was left waiting, each day adding to the growing worry that somehow she’d already messed things up.
“Tell me about these signs,” Aunt Jo said. When Sarah hesitated, the old lady rapped her cane on the sidewalk. “Spit it out! I’m almost ninety years old. This ticker can’t take suspense.”
Sarah laughed. “Then I’d better say it fast, because I don’t want Preacher Thompson coming after me because I smote down his best deacon.”
“He’s about to find out what a good deacon is, and it’s not going to be pretty.” Aunt Jo moved a little closer. “But enough about the church. Tell me about these signs you’ve seen.”
“Okay. But just know that I could be wrong about this. I hope I’m not, but I could be.” Sarah looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “The first sign came from Siegfried.”
Aunt Jo’s face fell. “That mangy cat is one of your signs?”
Moon Pie sneezed, and it almost sounded as if he were trying to keep in a laugh.
“Yes,” Sarah said earnestly. “He’s been walking in three counterclockwise circles in front of every door on Main Street for almost a week now.”
“Every day?”
“And every door.”
“Oh! Well. That’s something, then.” Aunt Jo looked impressed. “Even for a cat.”
“There’s more,” Sarah said. “The flowers in the town planters keep changing colors.”
Aunt Jo’s eyes widened. “All of them?”
“No, just the ones on this end of town.” Sarah wondered yet again what that meant. “Which makes it even more suspect.”
Aunt Jo looked at the flowers across the street in front of town hall and then eyed the planters that staggered down Main Street. “They’re all purple.”
“They are now, but every once in a while, the ones on this end of the street will be blue or pink or some other color. Then, a few hours later, I’ll look again, and they’ll have changed back.”
“Lord help us, you’re giving me chills.” Aunt Jo looked eagerly at Sarah. “What else?”
“There’s one more thing. Yesterday at noon, the town fountain started running again.”
Aunt Jo gasped. “That fountain hasn’t run in almost fifty years!”
“I couldn’t believe it, either. And it started up on its own. I know because I mentioned it to Mayor Moore and he didn’t even know it was running again.”
“Praise the Lord! I knew it would happen sooner or later!” Aunt Jo’s voice held all the awed hope that Sarah felt. “Sarah Dove, we are seeing the beginning of the famed Dove family good luck! Your momma would be so proud.”
“I hope I’m right and that’s what’s going on,” Sarah said fervently. “Something good needs to happen to this town. It feels as if it’s fading away, right in front of me.”
“I know. Money’s tight, businesses are failing, and people have been moving away like rats jumping from a sinking ship.” Aunt Jo shook her head, her hat flopping decisively. “Cowards, all of them.”
“They don’t have a choice. They can’t stay without a job, especially if they have kids.”
“I know, I know. Our youth program at church is just pitiful. There’s maybe three couples young enough to have children, and they don’t seem to be trying. I suggested we have an oyster bar for Sunday dinner, just to urge things along, but Preacher Thompson didn’t want the smell in the church.”
“He has a point. Besides, it’s not easy to get fresh oysters this far inland unless you’re a restaurant and have connections.”
Aunt Jo sighed. “It’s a damn shame, but no one stays put nowadays.”
“Most of my sisters have left, too.” Only Sarah and Ava remained. After college, much to Sarah’s chagrin, her older sisters had scattered to the wind, following better jobs and unworthy boyfriends away from Dove Pond. “They have to come back,” she said firmly. “Our family belongs here.” The books she held murmured in agreement, and she wondered if they knew more than she did, or if they were merely being supportive.
“I hope so, I— Oh!” Aunt Jo waved at the police cruiser driving past. “There’s Sheriff McIntyre. He’s just now back from that conference in Atlanta, isn’t he?”
Sarah’s heart fluttered, but she refused to look. “Was he out of town?” She tried to keep her voice from sounding as if she cared, even a little.
“Yes, he was, as I’m sure you already knew.” Aunt Jo looped Moon Pie’s leash over the handle of the drop box and came to stand a little closer. “He paid for the training and the trip himself, too. I know, because his momma has been bragging about it, saying he’s the perfect public servant and should run for mayor.”
Sarah didn’t answer, and Siegfried, offended by the bright red leash now hanging near his head, meowed his complaint and left, swishing his tail as he went, stopping to turn three times in the doorway of the antique shop before moving down the street to the next door.
Aunt Jo sent Sarah a sly look. “I never expected the town’s richest bachelor to become the town sheriff, but of course, you probably knew long before the rest of us that Blake McIntyre wanted to go into law enforcement. After all, you two dated once.”
“A long time ago, and I wouldn’t call it dating.” Sarah managed a shrug. “I’ve hardly spoken to him since.”
<
br /> Which was true. Mostly. From the day all those years ago when Blake had caught her talking to Charlotte Dove’s journal, they had avoided one another. That had lasted all the way through middle school.
But when they’d reached high school, Blake had started pursuing her with a doggedness that had caught everyone’s attention. Sarah, a late bloomer and far too engrossed in her books to want a boyfriend, had ignored him so thoroughly that his friends eventually started calling him Blake the Invisible.
All that had changed at the beginning of her junior year. When they’d returned to school that fall, she’d discovered that over the summer Blake had grown three inches taller, his shoulders were broader, his light brown hair magically lightened by the sun, and his smile—which had always been his best feature—newly dazzling. To her astonishment, Sarah had found herself suddenly, instantly, and deeply in love.
But the damage had already been done. The years she’d spent ignoring Blake had been promptly returned tenfold and he’d repaid her for the public humiliations she’d so unthinkingly heaped on his head by never again looking her way.
Sarah should have left well enough alone, but she was too caught up in her own emotions to make a good decision, and the more Blake refused to speak to her, the more crazed about him she’d become. Crazed was the right word, too. “Terrible teen hormones,” she muttered under her breath.
“What?” Aunt Jo asked, her bright eyes locked on Sarah’s face.
“Nothing. I just remembered I have a meeting this afternoon. That’s all.” As far as Sarah was concerned, the entire Blake episode had been one big horrible mistake, which had culminated in a night she refused to think about even now. The past was dead and gone and there was no benefit in reliving it. The books on her hip hummed in concern and she absently patted the top one.
Aunt Jo tsked. “I wish you’d talk to that boy. At least try to be friends.”
“I do talk to him,” Sarah said. “We’re not enemies. We’re . . .” Good God, what were they? They were nothing. And it was better that way. “It’s been years, Aunt Jo. There’s nothing there.”
“I guess so,” the old woman said, looking disappointed. “Your momma and I always thought—” Her gaze locked on something across the street. “Is that the new town clerk?”
Sarah turned. Grace stood by the door to town hall, staring at the planter as if she’d only just noticed it. She was dressed in a finely tailored gray suit with tan power high heels, complemented by a fashionable turquoise tote. With her dark hair pinned in a neat bun, Grace looked more like an actress playing a posh New York attorney than a small-town clerk.
“That’s a nice suit, except for the color.” Aunt Jo wrinkled her nose. “It’s boring. She’d know better if she’d watch a few episodes of Project Runway.”
“But those shoes.” Sarah looked down at her own blockish sandals where they peeped out from the hem of her lilac maxi-dress.
“I’d fall and kill myself if I tried to wear heels like she’s wearing, but it might be worth it,” Aunt Jo said with a sigh. “I hear she’s reorganizing everything in town hall, getting things onto a computer, even.”
“It needed done. When I paid my property taxes last month, Mrs. Phelps gave me a carbon copy receipt.”
Aunt Jo sniffed. “I might be almost ninety, but even I know that’s some 1950s stuff right there. As much as I love Philomedra—and I do, because she always makes me laugh—our town needed a new clerk.”
“Well, we have one, and she seems very detail oriented. Or so I’ve heard.”
Aunt Jo turned a surprised look at Sarah. “Haven’t you met her already? She lives only two houses from you!”
“I know, I know.” It wasn’t because Sarah hadn’t tried. She’d been to visit her new neighbors no fewer than three times, but each time she’d been met at the door by the charming but flustered Mrs. Giano, who always said the same thing—that Grace wasn’t home, even though on at least one of those occasions, her car had been parked in the drive.
It was obvious to Sarah that Grace was avoiding her for some reason. The whole thing was regrettable, because Sarah was excited to have new neighbors. The elderly Mrs. Giano, who was Mrs. Phelps’s cousin, reminded Sarah of a very small, wise elf, like those from one of her favorite books. Meanwhile, Daisy, with her heart-shaped face, Cupid’s-bow mouth, and halo of blond hair, could very easily be a sullen fairy. When not swinging wildly in the tire swing that hung from the tree in the front yard, she stood staring over the fence at Trav’s motorcycle as if she longed for a ride. And yesterday, both Mrs. Giano and Daisy had chatted with Sarah on their front porch for a full half hour when she’d brought them a welcome-to-the-neighborhood pecan pie.
But as friendly as the two were, Grace was the polar opposite. She hurried in and out of her house with her gaze locked straight ahead, as if afraid someone might try to engage her in a conversation. Someone like Sarah, who’d waved until her hand felt like it might fall off, and who hadn’t gotten so much as a nod for her efforts.
And now, Grace stood across the street, staring at the planter in front of town hall as if wondering where she could buy one.
Aunt Jo jostled Sarah with her elbow. “Go over there and say hi.”
“She doesn’t want to meet me—or anyone, for that matter.”
“Some people don’t know what’s good for them. Go talk to her. Find out everything about her, and then call me and Moon Pie and tell us what she says. We want to know who she is, where she came from, and if she has a church yet. I’m not a gossip, but this dog—well, you know how he is.”
Sarah laughed and looked at Moon Pie, who was now sleeping on his back, sprawled across the sidewalk with his tongue hanging out one side of his gaping mouth. “Fine. I’ll speak with her and then I’ll call Moon Pie and tell him everything.”
“He’ll thank you when he wakes up. But you’d better go. Any minute now she’ll head inside and you’ll have to talk to her through the clerk’s window, which would put an end to any sort of juicy tidbits she might accidentally drop.”
“You’re right. I’d better get over there. Thanks, Aunt Jo.” Encouraged, Sarah waved goodbye and then hurried across the street.
She’d just reached the other side when she realized she was still carrying the stack of books. Well, she’d just have to take them with her; she couldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers.
She hurried up the sidewalk toward Grace, who was still looking at the yellow flowers in the plant—
Yellow?
Sarah stopped and looked down Main Street. The rest of the flowers were purple. Only the flowers near town hall had changed.
What was so different about this end of the street compared to the other? She couldn’t think of a single thi—
Grace.
The books resting against Sarah’s hip shivered.
Good lord, it’s her. The thought poured into Sarah’s mind perfectly formed, as if she was reading it and not thinking it for the very first time. Grace Wheeler of the flawless tailoring and distant disposition is important to Dove Pond.
But important how? And to whom?
The books chattered in agreement, so loudly that Sarah was surprised she was the only one who could hear them. They rattled on and on, making wild, hopeful suggestions and talking over each other until she could only make out a few words here and there . . . help . . . maybe . . . town . . . she . . . can—
Shush! Sarah silenced their chattering, her temples aching from the rampage. Still, she wasn’t angry. She was relieved.
It was finally happening.
Dove Pond was going to be saved after all, and—even better—lovely, generous Fate had sent Sarah a helper.
Sarah had to fight the urge to pump her fist in the air and dance around. Excited, the books rustled, and she had to scramble to keep from dropping them.
She’d just settled them back on her hip when she saw Grace turn from the planter and take a step toward the doors.
“Wait!�
�� Sarah called out and then ran the last ten yards to where Grace stood.
Grace turned, her expression cool and distant. “Yes?”
Sarah smiled. “Hi. I’m Sarah Dove, the town librarian. I live two doors down from you on Elm Street. The mauve house?”
“Oh yes. Nice to meet you.”
Sarah’s excitement faltered at the coolness of Grace’s tone. She shifted the books to her other hip. “My sisters and I inherited the house from our mom. Just my sister Ava and I live there now because the rest of them moved away after college.”
A stiff smile touched Grace’s mouth, but other than to murmur a polite “I see,” she didn’t add anything that could be interpreted as encouragement to continue the conversation.
Sarah refused to give up. “Ava owns her own gourmet tea business. She also does landscaping, so if you ever want someone to do your yard, I’m sure she’d be happy to take you on. My two oldest sisters have Ava and her crew drive to Raleigh every spring for their own yards because no one can do it like she can.”
“I’ll be sure to contact her if I need help.”
“She’s really good. My oldest sister, Madison, is as picky as they come, so if she likes something, it’s got to be good. She’s a doctor, you see. My other sister Alex is a veterinarian. They live only three houses away from each other, although they haven’t spoken in almost five years. There was a man who— Well, you know how that goes.”
Grace glanced at her watch.
Sarah should have stopped there. She knew it, and yet she couldn’t. Instead, she heard herself adding breathlessly, “My other sister Ella trained in Paris to be a chef and now she owns her own pie company. But she comes home every Christmas and makes our dinner, which is good, because while I can cook, I can’t make dishes the way she does. My other sisters are Cara—she’s a computer genius and runs a matchmaking site that is making her rich—and Tay, who is an English professor specializing in ancient manuscripts and—” Noticing that Grace was ever so slowly moving away, Sarah clamped her mouth over the rest of her sentence. “I’m sorry. I was rambling. I didn’t mean to.”
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