Suddenly, Sarah remembered what Annie had told her about Luke not allowing Annie to sing. Sarah dismissed the possibility. Sarah believed she knew Luke well enough by now to discuss Annie’s participation in the choir and her idea about the summer festival with him.
Her mind reeling with one idea after another, Sarah didn’t hear Miss Milse as she came to the front door and let herself in. Not even Beau’s barking had broken through the tornado of creativity in Sarah’s mind. Her feelings of helplessness floated away like foggy vapors. Her energy spiked. She felt as if an ethereal magician had whisked away the cloak of depression that had wrapped itself around her for months. For the first time since her mother died, Sarah was Sarah again.
Something was happening to her and it was all good. She couldn’t put her finger on the exact moment of the alteration. She didn’t know if it was the haunting voice of a little girl singing in a church, or a
zing
from a man’s touch on her chin, or the spark of an idea that ignited her natural creativity. Sarah was moved to wonderment.
“First things first,” Sarah said to herself, gathering up her drawings for the church improvements. She needed Father Michael’s permission. She swallowed hard and paused. Then she shoved her cost calculations into her father’s portfolio.
I can do this. And if I don’t do this...
She shuddered. The idea of false starts or failures turned her blood cold. She was coming back to life and she didn’t want to lose this new excitement.
She would find a way to make this happen. She had to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
L
UKE
PULLED
A
bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer and put it in the microwave.
“They take six minutes,” Annie said without looking up from the roasted chicken breasts Luke had bought at the supermarket deli. She placed a chicken breast on each of three plates. Timmy poured two glasses of milk for him and Annie and one very tall glass of water for his father.
When the microwave beeped, Luke divided the vegetables among the three plates. Annie carefully put out three red-and-white-checked placemats on the round kitchen table, then folded paper napkins and put them under the forks the way her mother had taught her.
They all sat down, and just as Luke was about to cut into the chicken, Annie said, “Can we say a prayer for Father Michael? He’s very sick.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said. “He’s got pneumonia. He’s going to die.”
“He is not!” Annie argued.
“That’s what Miss Sarah said,” Timmy rebutted.
“Sarah said he was very sick. Not that he was going to die,” Annie shot back at her brother, then put a pat of butter on his vegetables.
Timmy shut his eyes, pursed his lips and shook his head vigorously. “You don’t know anything. I heard Miss Sarah tell Mrs. Cook that Father had pneumonia and his heart wasn’t working.”
“She did not!”
Luke put his fork down, not hearing a whole lot past the mention of Sarah’s name. “Hold on, you two. Let’s get the facts straight here before we jump to the wrong conclusions. Now, Annie. Who exactly are we talking about? Sarah who?”
“You know, Miss Sarah. She helps at Bible School with Mrs. Cook. And I saw you talking to her at the marina.”
“She’s Beau’s mom,” Timmy said, carefully moving the peas away from the carrots and corn on his plate.
Luke nearly dropped his fork. Sarah from his counseling sessions was also his kids’ volunteer Sunday school teacher. The woman really got around. “I know who she is,” he said.
“I like her a lot,” Annie said. “She teaches us how to draw and paint. Well, not really paint, but about colors and fun stuff like that.”
Timmy never looked up from his task. “I like her ’cause she’s pretty.”
“Oh, Timmy,” Annie grumbled. “There’re more important things than being pretty.”
“Like what?” Timmy and Luke asked in unison.
Annie glared at her father and brother.
“I was just kidding,” Luke said.
“I wasn’t,” Timmy said.
All three instantly burst into laughter.
Luke took a long slug of his water and watched his children eat. He was amazed that Sarah Jensen kept turning up in his life as if she’d been plunked in his path by crazy circumstance.
On Saturday, while unloading his tools from his truck, he’d glanced over to the house next to Mrs. Beabots’s and had seen a very familiar-looking golden retriever run out of the house and race around the yard. The dog had stopped in his tracks and stared at Luke, but he had not approached or barked. Luke didn’t believe in anthropomorphizing animals, but he could have sworn the dog smiled at him in recognition. Luke had rubbed the back of his neck, feeling icy prickles as he realized Sarah Jensen lived next door to his new summer weekend job. It was as if he couldn’t escape the woman. Now she was giving his kids art lessons. What was going on? Why would he suddenly keep running into the same woman?
Or had Sarah been around town, in and out of places where he’d been, where he was, and he just hadn’t seen her?
Was that what was happening?
Though Margot was a great counselor, it was Sarah’s unbridled compassion that truly made Luke want to continue the sessions. She had a way of listening without judgment, speaking without criticism and reaching out to him, exposing her own flaws, that drew him to her.
She was thoughtful and generous—like the way she’d given him those cookies for the kids. She offered them without thinking. He hadn’t seen that kind of graciousness since Jenny.
Sarah certainly had a way about her that snapped him into awareness.
Luke had to admit he’d been caught in a time warp since Jenny’s death, and even if he’d run into Sarah prior to that day at the groomers, he honestly wouldn’t have remembered it.
Looking at his children, he was taken aback at how much they had grown and changed in the past two years. Some days, he almost felt as if he didn’t know them. Annie was nearly nine. Timmy was six and a half. While he had been trapped in a haze of pain and grief, they’d had to march on with their lives without him.
Luke had been chastising himself for being angry with his kids and other people all the time, but what was worse was that he had simply been absent. He went through the motions of everyday life with them, but he hadn’t really been involved. Even now, Annie and Timmy were chattering away about something and he wasn’t listening.
“I’m sorry, Annie, what were you saying?”
“Mrs. Cook just started a children’s choir and she asked if Timmy and I can sing in the choir. So can we, Dad?”
Their faces were filled with so much anticipation, he nearly winced from the force. “That would mean rehearsals,” he mused.
“Yesss...” Annie replied tentatively, already feeling his rejection coming on. She had to think quickly. “But you wouldn’t have to drive us or take time away from your job.”
“How is that possible?”
Annie folded her hands and placed them on the table, prepared for this rebuttal. “Practice this summer is going to be part of our Sunday school sessions. Timmy and I will just stay a half hour longer, is all.”
“So I would pick you up then and take you out to the marina.”
“Yes,” Annie said, glancing at Timmy. He kept his mouth tightly shut as Annie had instructed him to do when she was negotiating for them. Timmy only nodded.
“I suppose it’s all right,” Luke finally said. “I have this weekend job for Mrs. Beabots. It’s only a few blocks from the church. You guys really want to sing in the choir, huh?”
Annie’s face lit up and Timmy grinned broadly. “We do!” they chirped.
“Then that’s decided,” Luke said and speared a piece of chicken.
Timmy scooped two carrots onto his fork. “Will you come and hear us sometime?” Timmy asked without thinking.
Annie immediately jabbed her brother in the ribs. She remembered her father’s vow never to cross the threshold of St. Mark’s church after their mother died.
Timmy’s eyes flew open as he realized his mistake. He slunk down in his chair.
“Don’t push it,” Luke replied sourly.
Annie bravely leaned closer to her father and asked, “Will you think about it? Just a little?”
Luke’s mind was filled with memories of taking the kids to St. Mark’s with Jenny. His gut churned with loneliness, and once again all he saw was the future looming dark, empty and endless in front of him. “I’ll think about it. Now eat your peas.”
* * *
S
ARAH
PUSHED
THE
doorbell at the rectory at precisely nine o’clock when she was scheduled to meet with Father Michael. Amazingly, she wasn’t nervous or timorous. She was confident and excited.
Colleen Kelly, the housekeeper and one of Sarah’s favorite people, opened the door. The church council had hired Colleen to take care of Father Michael once it was apparent his health was failing.
Colleen was as thin as a rake handle and as feisty and as loud as a cattle drover. With six children all under the age of twelve, she told Sarah all she needed was one paddle, one bullhorn and a sack of hard candies to keep control of her brood.
Colleen answered the door holding her one-year-old baby, with her two-year-old clutching his mother’s leg so tightly Sarah wondered if poor Colleen was going to develop bruises.
“Mornin’, missy,” Colleen said with a smile as bright as an Irish dawn. Colleen was the daughter of two Irish parents who came to the United States from Belfast and who taught her that life was all about attitude. Colleen believed that being cheerful to others was the only way to live.
“Good morning,” Sarah replied. “How is Father Michael today?”
“Father is jes fine. Plenty of my good cookin’ is fattening him up. I’ve been getting him back inta living. Ever since his wife passed, he’s been dyin’. Everybody says so. He jes needs my kids around. Ain’t nothing that brings life back to a body like children. They keep a body young and they give purpose to every sunrise.” Colleen grinned a crooked-toothed smile. Her blue eyes flashed in her freckled, heart-shaped face.
“That’s wonderful, Colleen.”
“Yep. I got this house running like a top. Keeping them busybodies outta here has really helped. Nobody can get well if they’re bein’ pressed upon by a bunch of ninnies who can’t handle their own lives.”
“But that’s part of Father Michael’s job. To counsel his flock,” Sarah said.
“They can flock elsewhere until Father is fit and fine again. Till then, I’m keeping the door shut to visitors,” Colleen said, ramming her fist fiercely against her hip and glaring at Sarah.
“I hope I’m not lumped into that group,” Sarah said.
“No, ma’am.” Colleen beamed and led the way into the living room. Normally, the heavy burgundy drapes were drawn, but not this morning. Sunlight flooded the room, and through the French doors, Sarah could see yellow and orange marigolds had just been planted. Apricot-colored impatiens were clumped next to pink begonias. Sarah turned to Colleen. “You’ve been busy.”
“Sometimes, it’s best to feed the soul before you feed the body. Father does it with prayer. I do it with flowers.”
“So true,” Sarah replied.
“Don’t be talking about me behind my back,” Father Michael warned, entering the room.
“Anything we said, we would gladly repeat.” Sarah smiled.
“Don’t,” he said, and sat down heavily in his favorite, very worn recliner.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Colleen said, scurrying out of the room.
Sarah scanned Father Michael’s face. “You look good. Your color is back.”
“I’ve been to Hell and back ever since that woman came to roost here with that brood of hers,” he grumbled through a tightly clenched jaw.
“Father. How unkind of you.”
“I don’t care.” He slammed his fist on the chair arm. “Do you have any idea what she makes me do?”
“No.”
“She’s here at six o’clock with half those kids of hers. I hear her ordering them around. Pots and pans are rattling and banging. No one could sleep through that racket. She has the audacity to wake me up and hand me a jogging suit and tells me that I have to go for a walk before breakfast. When I come back she ushers me into the bathroom where she’s already got the shower going. Then she marches me to the table and feeds me so much food, I can’t move for an hour. Now here it is nine o’clock and she expects me to start taking business calls.”
He leaned forward and whispered, “She’s trying to kill me, I tell you.”
“She’s doing just as the doctor told her to. You have to start exercising and eating right.”
He frowned and looked at the garden.
Sarah noticed his expression soften a bit. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“It’s exactly the way Mary used to plant that little patio. Exactly.”
Sarah allowed him to indulge in his memories for a moment longer. “And by the way, Father, since when am I a ‘business meeting?’”
“Isn’t that why you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, but how did you know?”
He tapped his temple. “I’m psychic.”
Sarah laughed. “And what do you think it’s about?”
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s a strategy to get that...that woman out of my rectory and take her children with her.”
“Father, she and everyone else at St. Mark’s are trying to save your life. You aren’t dead yet, and since you’re stuck here on earth, I want you to have good health while you’re here. Besides, we have a lot of work to do.”
Father Michael knitted his fingers together in a prayerlike fashion, and cocked his head. “Now what duties of mine are you taking over?”
“Architect. Construction General. Designer. Though I will need the pulpit for ten minutes or so on Sunday.”
He shook his head. “Elaborate, please.”
“The church is falling apart. So is the staircase in the school, as you pointed out. The school needs a bit of refurbishing, but not as much as the church. The roof needs new shingles. Bricks need tuck-pointing. The pews are wobbly. The terrazzo is cracked, the carpet is worn, the paint is peeling. Here,” she said, opening her folio case. “I made a list. Along with drawings for a total renovation.”
Sarah stood up and withdrew her poster-size drawings. She’d done her homework and had swatches of pew pad coverings stapled to the sketches. She had paint chips, carpet samples and shingle samples. Carefully, she laid the presentation out around the room, leaning the drawings against tables and on the sofa. Drawing by drawing, she led Father Michael through the steps she would take to renovate the church.
When she finished, Father Michael was in awe. “Why, Sarah, it’s just beautiful. I never thought that taking the cry room out would make such a difference. And these colors!”
“I want the church to be happy and to elicit joy. Once the windows are scrubbed clean of soot, they’ll sparkle, and the colors will dance around the nave.”
Father Michael was so enthusiastic he rose from his chair to feel the fabric swatches. “How beautiful this emerald-green is. And the mustard-gold. How will you ever decide?”
“That’s the fun of it, watching the paint go on, and the new lights being installed. When the lighting is in, I’ll take the samples into the church and we’ll decide.”
“It’s all so...” he started to say, and then, as if deflating like a balloon, he folded back into his chair “...so expensive. St. Mark’s can never afford such an undertaking.”
“I think we can,” she said, taking out the second set of smaller drawings she had just completed. “We’ll start the fund-raising with a summer festival.”
She placed these drawings on the floor in sequence, so they could see the festival as a patron would. “On the Fourth of July we have thousands of tourists who come here just for the parade. If we started our festival immediately after the parade before people left town or went up to Lake Michigan, we could garner a good number of those people.”