CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
E
ARLY
J
ULY
WAS
when Indian Lake was resplendent. Down the avenues, the side streets and the winding roads around the lakes, the houses were festooned with flags, red geraniums and blue ageratum. Lawns were lush velvet green before the blazing Midwestern summer heat turned them to toast in August. Flower beds were weeded and mulched and planted with mounds of begonias, impatiens and marigolds. Daylilies and Asian lilies shot up like fireworks and exploded into orange, yellow, crimson and white blooms.
Every Victorian, Colonial and Italianate stucco home sparkled with clean windows that caught summer sun rays in their beveled corners.
On every streetlamp on every street of the downtown area, American flags flapped in the summer breeze.
The lakes were filled with boaters, skiers and fishermen. Across the town, the Fourth of July church bells pealed out the joy of freedom.
Roaring sonic booms exploded over the Indian Lake County Courthouse at precisely eleven in the morning on the 4th of July. Three Air Force F-16 jets flew in formation over Main Street, where thirty thousand local townsfolk and tourists cheered and waved at the pilots. Originating from Grissom Air Force Base in Peru, Indiana, the pilots would fly over the city three times and tip their wings, exciting the crowds.
Sarah stood in the middle of Main Street and felt the thrill of her own deep love of country erupt in goose bumps all over her body. She waved at the planes, and as they soared out of sight, the air filled with dozens of fire engines’ peeling sirens. Sarah and the other townspeople hurried to the sidewalks to watch the beginning of the Fourth of July Parade.
She waited for the first few trucks to pass, then headed down the street toward St. Mark’s. Today was the summer festival, and she had an impossible number of finishing touches to complete. But no list of chores and obligations would ever keep her from seeing the flyover.
Sarah was filled with excitement as she entered St. Mark’s parking lot, which for today was the St. Mark’s Summer Festival grounds. She’d followed Luke’s suggestion for the entrance gates, and they now resembled the drawbridge to a fairy-tale castle. She’d draped deep blue fabric along the sides and tied these “curtains” back with twisted gold ropes. From the bar that spanned the wide entrance, she’d strung two hundred silver, glittery stars that Isabelle had made. Inside the gates, the grounds looked like a Renaissance village.
The false-fronted booths she had painted and cut out of Sheetrock, as Luke had suggested, formed a wonderland of little fantasy shops. With butcher paper and gold spray paint, Sarah had created a walkway for people to follow through the “village.”
Sarah had promised Scott Abbott that she would place his booth next to that of Isabelle Hawks. Sarah and half the town knew Scott was so smitten with Isabelle that he would do anything to be near her. Since Isabelle was one of Sarah’s closest friends, Sarah made certain that Isabelle had no objections. Isabelle’s ambition was to see her oil paintings hung in a Chicago art gallery someday. She was hoping the summer festival just might draw a gallery owner or two to her booth.
Scott hooked up his cappuccino machine to a portable generator and stacked a mountain of bags of roasted coffee on a sparkling stainless-steel rack. He’d doubled the size of his booth and then tripled it. Sarah wasn’t sure if it was ego that urged Scott to have the largest booth, or if all his staging was to impress Isabelle.
Scott had found three authors who lived in the area and brought them in to sign books at the Book Shop and Java Stop booth. He’d rigged up a very large computer screen that flashed the names of the different authors and the covers of their books. As people came in to buy the books or talk to the authors, Scott would entice them to buy a latte.
Maddie Strong’s booth was a confection of pink batiste cotton and tulle all whipped up to look like a giant cupcake with mounds of icing. Lester MacDougal had constructed the plywood cupcake bottom and Maddie had painted the wood. Maddie and her new employee, nineteen-year-old Chloe Knowland, used staples and hot-glue guns to whirl the yards and yards of fabric into what looked like a giant mound of pink buttercream frosting. On four tiered displays that Lester had constructed out of plywood and staircase posts, Maddie placed her best-selling cupcakes. Maddie did not have a generator for her espresso machine, and instead chose to sell coffee from tall, stainless-steel carafes.
Helen Knowland, Chloe’s aunt, spearheaded the Quilting Bee booth and even Sarah was amazed at the number of quilts and crib blankets that the very small group of women had produced for the festival.
“Oh, most of us have had some of these quilts around for years,” Helen explained. “Just didn’t know what to do with them. So we dug everything out. We have table runners, placemats, tablecloths, even some aprons that Mrs. Beabots and I made years ago. They fell out of favor for a long time, but the young girls tell me aprons are back.”
“It’s true,” Sarah said, glancing over Helen’s shoulder toward the food tent. “Must be the influence of all those cooking shows on television. Helen, I have to check on something.”
Sarah walked quickly toward the food tent.
Aunt Emily and Uncle George were hauling huge electric roasters filled with shredded pork. They were going to sell barbecue pork sandwiches along with potato chips, coleslaw and baked beans.
The dining tent had been set up the night before by a professional company Sarah had hired from South Bend. The canvas was red-and-white-striped with a scalloped edge. Sarah had hung baskets of red geraniums, potato ivy, white daisies and tiny blue dayflowers from the tie-down ropes. From the top of each basket she’d hung red, white and blue bows that she and Maddie had been working on until well after midnight.
“People are coming in already,” Sarah told Emily.
“I figured that would happen. We’re doing fine here. You’d better make sure there’s someone up front to collect the entry fee.”
“Father Michael and Lester are on duty,” Sarah said. “I’ll make sure the rides are ready to go. I told them we wouldn’t start until after the parade.”
Sarah talked to the rides supervisor and was assured that the carousel, Ferris wheel, children’s train and the toddler’s boat ride were set up.
Sarah walked past the elephant ear cart, the taffy apple booth, the corn on the cob booth and the hot dog cart, which was usually parked downtown during the parade. This year, the owner believed St. Mark’s was a better bet for making money.
There were over a dozen booths set up by local artisans—pottery, blown glass and handmade jewelry were all on display. Three booths were selling women’s purses, hats, decorated shoes and boots, women’s faux fur vests and men’s felt hats.
Thanks to Luke’s ideas, Sarah had found a young girls’ costume maker whose booth displayed princess dresses, tall cone hats with streaming veils, sequined pinafores, glittery sneakers and hundreds of decorated headbands and flower crowns.
Sarah passed the maple syrup booth and quickly put in an order for three bottles. Next to it was a booth with bright ropes of colored lights set against midnight-blue fabric that sold bread-and-butter pickles, pickled watermelon, spiced peaches and even homemade ketchup.
Liz Crenshaw was advertising her grandfather’s wine at a very small booth, though by law she was not allowed to give out samples. She handed out elegant brochures announcing that next year, the Crenshaw Vineyards would be selling their first bottles of Pinot Noir, which had been produced three years previously.
Sarah couldn’t help admiring Liz’s assertive marketing strategies. When Liz paid for the booth, she told Sarah that the Fourth of July was usually a “dead” time for the vineyard. But with this chance to advertise, Liz was hoping to pick up some new out-of-town customers.
Before the parade was even over, the trickle of people into the church parking lot became a stream. Music blared from the calliope inside the round housing of the carousel. People flocked to the Ferris wheel, and as far as Sarah could see, the carnies wouldn’t need worry about filling the rides. The lines were already long.
By one o’clock, the dining tent was filled to capacity and all the cakes and brownies were gone. On the north side of the parking lot, now the festival midway, Father Michael sold raffle tickets for a glittering, silver, late-model Chevrolet Malibu that had been donated by Jess Carpenter, owner of Indian Lake Motors. Though the Chevy was used, the chance to win a free car for only ten dollars a ticket was a big attraction. Sarah saw at least a dozen people gathered around Father Michael shoving ten-and twenty-dollar bills at him.
At Maddie Strong’s booth, cupcakes were selling fast. Sarah also heard Maddie taking orders for birthday parties and family reunions. Sarah smiled to herself, knowing that her friends were all benefiting from their generosity to her church. It was the way it was supposed to be, she thought.
“Miss Sarah!” Annie called out the moment Sarah entered the school hall. Annie rushed up to Sarah and nearly threw her arms around her. She stopped just short of knocking Sarah over. “I’m...I’m glad to see you,” Annie said, clearly putting the brakes on her emotions.
Sarah looked at Annie askance. She had the impression that Luke had warned his daughter not to be effusive with her. Maybe it was just her imagination. At the same time, Sarah saw a little girl who needed female guidance and appreciation. Annie needed Sarah and just the thought of that desire, innocent and guileless, made Sarah’s heart trip.
“Do you like my dress?” Annie asked with so much anticipation in her voice, she was breathless.
“I do,” Sarah said with an approving smile.
Annie twirled around and let the full skirt of the apple-green sundress fan out around her. Underneath the skirt, three layers of netting kept the skirt full. The bodice had a square neckline and was sleeveless. There was a thick band of red satin around the neck and a wide, red, satin sash at the waist. Annie’s shimmering hair was tied up in a ponytail with another red satin ribbon.
“Is it new?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, no. It’s the last dress my mother bought for me. She found it at a garage sale and even though it was too big back then, she said I would grow into it. And I did!”
“Yes, you did.”
“She was very smart, wasn’t she?” Annie said, holding out the skirt and looking down at the red satin around the hem.
Sarah knew the little girl was remembering her mother and all the love they must have shared.
Sarah put her fingertips under Annie’s chin and lifted it.
“She would be so proud of you, Annie. Today is your day, and when you get up there on that stage, you sing your best for your mother. She would want you to do that.”
“Yes, Miss Sarah. She always liked to hear me sing.”
“Remember, if you get nervous, you just look at me. I’ll be standing in the wings and will give you a cue if you need one.”
“And my dad will be up front,” Annie added. “He’s already got a seat.”
“Really?” Sarah swallowed hard.
“He said he was going to mark it. But he was also going to help Mr. Abbott for a while, too.”
“That’s good,” Sarah assured Annie. “Now, where is Timmy? I want to go over his lines.”
“In the bathroom,” Annie said and then motioned for Sarah to lean down very close. Annie cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered in Sarah’s ear. “He’s really nervous, but he doesn’t want you to know.”
“Poor thing. Does he know his lines?”
“Oh, yes. Backward and forward. And his song is great. It’s just that his hat keeps falling off and he doesn’t want to look like a dork.”
“I’d better see to this.”
Sarah and Annie walked toward the men’s restroom. There were kids everywhere, going in and out of the restrooms and classrooms, running up the halls and down the stairs. They yelled for their parents and they squealed with the kind of nervous anticipation that children always held for events they just knew they would never forget.
Sarah caught their storm of preshow jitters. Suddenly, it hit her that her name was on the program alongside Debra La Pointe. People would expect a great deal from her. Despite the fact that this was just a children’s pageant, she also knew audiences had a tendency to compare even the most amateur performances against those of seasoned and very talented professionals. Sarah swallowed her anxiety and felt her stomach roil. For the first time in her life, maybe she really had taken a too-large bite of this apple.
Sarah had also arranged for a small contingent of the Indian Lake High School Band to play for the pageant. As the folding chairs filled up with parents, friends and tourists, the band played the George M. Cohan Fourth of July favorite, “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
Before the song was finished, every chair had been filled. Sarah noticed that more people came and stood in long lines; some sat on the ground. Mothers held babies and fathers hoisted toddlers onto their shoulders to see over the crowd.
Chills played tag up and down Sarah’s back as she stood behind the roll-drop canvas curtain she and Mary Catherine had painted with Valley Forge scenes, an impressionistic version of John Trumbull’s famous painting of
The Signing of the Declaration of Independence,
and Sarah’s own depiction of Paul Revere’s famous ride.
The Children’s Choir assembled in the center of the stage and began the program with “The Star-Spangled Banner.” When the children finished, they left the stage with proper decorum following Sarah’s instruction.
Sarah and Mary Catherine rushed onto the stage and placed a cardboard picket fence, pots of fake flowers and a large cardboard Boston Colonial housefront. Mary Catherine placed a white wooden rocking chair next to the flowerpots.
Next onstage were two children inside a much-rented horse costume. Their entrance, with much neighing and clomping of hooves, elicited uproarious laughter from the audience.
Timmy, dressed in period clothing and his tricorn hat, walked confidently to the center of the stage. He was joined by two other boys in similar costume.