The Red Gloves Collection (31 page)

“And now?” Sarah’s mother was quiet, probably afraid of her answer. “How do you feel about him now?”

Sarah shook her head. “I never knew him. I made … ” She hung her head. “I made a fool of myself.”

“No, you didn’t.” Her father was on his feet, his arms outstretched. “You’re here, aren’t you? You had the sense to come home, to know that we were waiting for you.” He gave her a hug. “Nothing foolish about that.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Sarah held her breath. She’d been dying to ask the question since the night she found out about Mitch, but now the moment had come. “Have you heard from Sam?”

Her parents exchanged a look, and then her father sat back down in his chair, his elbows planted on his knees. “Sam left, sweetheart. Took a job somewhere up north. New York, maybe, or New Jersey.”

Sarah’s mouth went dry. What? Sam left? He took a job and didn’t tell her parents whether it was in New York or New Jersey? Her head began to spin and she sat in the nearest chair, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hand in order to concentrate. “What … sort of job?”

“He’s a principal, honey.” Sarah’s mother gave her a sad smile. “The last time we saw him, he said something about getting on with his life.” She dropped her chin, her gaze gentle but unwavering. “I think he was referring to you, dear.”

Sarah was drowning. As if she had a steel cable around her waist and no matter how hard she kicked and swam she couldn’t get to the surface, couldn’t grab another mouthful of air. “Where … ” She gave a few short exhales and rubbed her fingers into her brow. “Where did he apply? Do you know?”

“To tell you the truth, honey, I don’t think he wanted us to know. His parents moved away a few years ago— you know that. And when he came by the house his visit had a sense of finality to it.” He looked at Sarah’s mother. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Yes.” She bit her lower lip and gave a sad shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I somehow guessed you’d come looking for him one day.”

Sarah didn’t have to finish the thought. The truth hung out there in the open for all three of them to gawk at. She’d waited too long for Sam Lindeman. He’d given years of his life to courting Sarah, and now he’d moved away, given up. The way he should’ve given up a long time ago.

In the next few days, Sarah tried everything to find him. She called the principal at his previous school, but the man was adamant. “We don’t discuss former employees,” he told her. “The files of our teachers—past and present—are highly confidential.”

Sarah had another idea. She called the operator in the town where his parents had moved and asked for their number. After nearly a minute of checking, the operator came back on the line and apologized. “Apparently they’ve moved. There’s no one in that town by the name Lindeman—listed or unlisted.”

At the end of the week, she had to admit her situation. Sam was gone, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

Sarah broke her stare at the window, peered at Beth Baldwin, and nodded her chin toward the little Christmas tree. “That’s why the seventh ornament says
Gone.”
She kept her eyes on the tree. “And number eight, see it there?”

Beth slid to the edge of the padded chair and looked on the backside of the tree.
“Longing?
Is that the one?”

“It is.” Sarah relaxed her neck and allowed herself a view of the window once more. She would’ve liked to tell the whole story perched along her walker, staring down at the bench. But this would have to do, this knowing that the bench was there, just outside the window.

She drew a full breath and continued.

When her efforts turned up nothing, she had to admit the truth. Sam was gone. With every hour that passed, Sarah longed for him, and became more certain that he had been exactly right for her, the man she’d always wanted. She’d left him to chase paper dreams and lost more than her high hopes along the way. Yes, Sam was gone, but she could no more stop longing for him than she could stop the sun from rising.

Not that Sarah expected much to come of her feelings.

Sam deserved someone whole and pure; he was too good for a girl like her. She was yesterday’s news, dead broke without a plan in the world, her singing career over almost as soon as it had started.

For the next month she held that opinion, certain that though God had forgiven her, it must’ve been a struggle for Him to do so. And Sam—if she ever saw him again—couldn’t possibly see her the same as before. Not if he knew the truth.

But something changed at the end of that month.” Sarah’s voice sounded distant, dreamy, even. “People kept seeing me and asking about Sam, and finally one Sunday I took the situation to God.”

Beth’s eyes were wide; she looked like she wouldn’t have moved from her chair for anything in the world. “And?”

Sarah smiled, slow and full. “He gave me my song.”

“And that’s Number Nine?”

“Yes, dear.” She pointed at the four envelopes remaining. “Could you hand me the one with the nine, Beth. Please?”

The envelopes looked ancient, cracked and faded. Beth took Number Nine and handed it to her. “I’m dying to know what happened.”

“The most amazing thing, really.” Sarah paused. “Sit back, Beth. You won’t want to miss it. Not the story … or the part that comes afterwards. Remember, I told you?”

Beth grinned, and her eyes didn’t look as pained as before. “The secret to love?”

“Exactly.” Sarah pointed her finger in the air to make her point. “The secret to love.”

Sarah took the ornament from the envelope and said the word out loud. “The word is
Opportunity.”
She placed it on the tree. “Let me explain.”

The more time passed that summer, the more Sarah had longed for Sam. All she needed was a way to find him, to let him know she was thinking about him. An opportunity.

“And so I did the only thing I could think to do.” She angled her head, her eyes on the window once more. “I wrote a song.”

“The one you’ve been humming?”

“That very one.”

Every day Sarah would walk to Greer Park and sit on the bench at the edge of the grassy field, allowing God to mold the words and lyrics to her song. That fall, sitting on the bench, she finally finished it. And then she begged God for a miracle, for His help in finding Sam. Even if only for a few minutes, so he could hear her song.

Another month went by. Then, one Monday morning in late September, Mr. Hamilton, her boss from Trail-way Records, called. Someone had fallen for her voice. Not a Mitch Mullins. This time the person interested was the head of the company. The president of Trailway Records.

Sarah couldn’t believe it, not even as she waited for Mr. Hamilton’s explanation. While working in Nashville, she’d never met the president of the recording company, and now—now that she’d given up her dream and crawled home with her tail between her legs—now her voice had caught the attention of someone at the top of the industry.

“We’d like to bring you back out, Sarah.” Mr. Hamilton’s voice was brimming with excitement. “You can sing some of your other songs, and maybe something new. Would that be a problem?”

Sarah was thrilled, but not at the idea of living in Nashville. “I can come out, but I won’t stay. My home is here in Greer.”

“That’s fine. We’ll only need you for a week or so.”

She thought of something. “I’m … I’m not sure I have the money to get there.”

Mr. Hamilton gave a soft laugh. “Sarah, we’ll pay for the train ticket, your meals, and your hotel. You’ll be staying in the Trailway Records suite at the big hotel just down the street from our offices.”

Sarah had to stifle a scream. She was getting her break after all! And without compromising anything! Her excitement was dimmed only by the fact that Sam would never know. He had prayed for her, wished her well, and let her go. But now he wouldn’t be a part of whatever God was about to do. And she knew it was God, as surely as she knew what day it was. She’d given all of it—her life, her singing, her heart—back to God. And now, in all His mercy, He was giving her the chance to sing her own songs on her own terms, living at her own address.

She accepted the offer to come, and that afternoon she promised her parents that this time was different, legitimate. Among the musical pieces she slipped into her satchel before she left for Nashville was “Sarah’s Song.” She wasn’t a bit surprised, when she sang for the president of Trailway Records later that week, that it was “Sarah’s Song” he fell in love with.

Six weeks later it debuted in the number one spot on the country charts, and suddenly Sarah had the answer to her prayer. The opportunity she’d needed all along. The words she wanted to tell Sam were out there for all the country to hear. Absolutely everywhere.

Sarah stopped and looked at Beth. “It’s time for the words. The first verse and the chorus.”

Nothing more needed to be said.

Beth helped Sarah to the window, and there, for the first time since starting the simple ritual, Sarah opened her mouth and sang the words to her song—the one she’d written for Sam Lindeman back when she’d thought all hope of finding him was gone forever. Despite the years, her voice was sweet and clear, and the words were marked by feelings that had never dimmed.

It’s not too late for faith to find us.

Not too late for right to win.

Not too late, let love remind us.

Not too late to try again.

The tune changed, and Sarah stared at the park bench, willing him to be there beside her one more time—one more day when they could sit together and marvel at the miracle of 1941.

She uttered a quick sigh; it was time for the first verse—the only one she wanted to sing that day. From the corner of her eyes, she glanced at Beth. The woman wasn’t only listening, she was hanging on every word. Sarah kept singing, but she closed her eyes so nothing would interfere with the memory.

In my life the straight and narrow had a face, and it was yours.

I took crooked paths around you, shut you out, and locked the doors.

Long I wandered tired and aimless, seeking all the world might hold.

There you waited, true and blameless, soul of goodness, heart of gold.

They were both silent, and Beth swallowed hard. Sobs built within her, sobs she couldn’t explain. What was it about the story that touched her so? And how come whenever Sarah spoke, the story seemed to be about Beth and Bobby instead? Not the details maybe, but the heartache behind them.

Or maybe it was the song. The words played again in Beth’s mind.
It’s not too late for faith to find us. Not too late for right to win. Not too late, let love remind us. Not too late to try again.

Wasn’t that what Bobby had been trying to tell her ever since her decision to leave?

Beth choked back the sobs and cleared her throat.

“I’m tired.” Sarah made a backwards shuffling motion. “Help me, Beth, will you?”

When Sarah was in bed again, when she’d caught her breath, Beth searched the old woman’s tired eyes. “Sam must’ve heard the song eventually. Right, Sarah?”

“Now, now.” Sarah’s eyelids lowered, as if she might fall asleep in the midst of her sentence. “You said you’d come tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.” Beth took her chair again.

“The answers are coming, Beth. I promise you.”

“When, though? Which day?”

“Some will come tomorrow.”

Beth didn’t push beyond that. She refilled Sarah’s water pitcher, tucked the blanket in around her again, and bid her good-bye. The story of Sarah and Sam couldn’t be rushed, and maybe that was the richness of it.

Beautiful stories took longer to tell.

For a moment, as she hurried into the hall and off to the next resident’s room, Beth let that thought simmer in her heart. If beautiful stories took longer, then why was she in such a rush to leave Bobby, to move Brianna away from her father and give up on their marriage?

The thought was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it came. The reasons were all too obvious. A story like theirs wouldn’t get better over time; it would get worse. Unbearably worse, right?

But somehow, even with all the justifications she could muster, her decision to leave felt weak and wrought with poor excuses.

Several times over the next few hours Beth caught herself remembering the early days with Bobby, the silly little somethings only the two of them understood, the rich rainy Sunday afternoons before Brianna was born, the quiet intimacy that had lasted long after they left the bedroom.

Why had they let time barge its way between them? And how could they rewind the clock now that they’d reached this point? She’d already made up her mind, hadn’t she? Willing things to be better wouldn’t make that happen between them. Beth mulled that over and wondered: What would it take to find their way back to a marriage marked by love and laughter?

By the time she drove home late that afternoon, one line of “Sarah’s Song” had etched itself firmly in her mind. She had hummed it and sung it to herself a hundred times that day, and every time the first four words caught in her throat and made her feel like crying.

It’s not too late …

They were words that screamed of hope and forgiveness and new life. But the sound of them on her own tongue made her heart heavy with sorrow because Beth was pretty sure about one thing.

Precious words like those would never apply to her.

CHAPTER TEN

P
ANIC SHOT THROUGH
S
ARAH,
and she couldn’t catch her breath.

She struggled to sit up, to wedge a pillow beneath her, but she couldn’t do either. Instead, she sucked in with all her might. For her efforts, a single raspy bit of air toyed with her lungs, hardly enough to bring relief to her screaming body.

“Help me!” The words hung on the edge of her tongue, not loud enough for even Sarah to hear. She was dying; that had to be what was happening. Dying before she had a chance to finish her story, before she had the chance to tell Beth how everything had come together.

Before she’d gotten to the secret of love.

God, no! Don’t let me die now. Not yet.
She winced at the pain in her chest and made another desperate attempt at a breath. This one brought in less air than the last and she could feel herself waning away, feel her heart slowing within her.