The Red Gloves Collection (25 page)

The reminder stung. “I’m saving up the money. Then I’m going to Nashville.” She lifted her chin, proud of her efforts. “I work seven days most weeks.”

“Well,” Sam’s eyes met hers and held them. “If you can spare a night this weekend, I’d love to take you out.”

“Really?” Sarah glanced at her tables, making sure none of her customers needed her. Butterflies rose and fell in her stomach. A date? With Sam Lindeman? She looked at him again, suddenly shy and soft spoken. “That’d be nice.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “See you at six o’clock Saturday.”

The days that followed were painfully slow.

“Is it a date?” her mother wanted to know before he showed up in his new Rambler. “Because I’m not sure a girl of nineteen should be seeing a man in his twenties.”

“Mama, it’s Sam. Our neighbor, remember? We used to vacation with them and you never worried.”

In the end, her mother relented, agreeing that Sam couldn’t possibly be a threat. Sarah had to laugh about her mama’s reaction. Sam never wanted to leave Greer. If her mother had known that, she’d have Sarah married to him by Christmas.

Of course, regardless of what she told her mother, that first night definitely felt like a date. Sam brought her flowers, opened doors for her, and made her laugh so hard at one point she had tears streaming down her face. Before he walked her up the steps to her house that night, he turned and the two of them locked eyes. “I had fun tonight.”

The summer temperatures had cooled and a strong breeze sifted over the front yard and up onto the porch. Sarah moved closer, so that only a few inches separated them. She was five-foot-seven, but he was still much taller than her. She held her breath. “Can I ask you something?”

He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and the moonlight shone in his eyes. “Anything.”

“Okay.” She tilted her head, trying to figure him out. “Was this a date?”

His expression changed and slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he took hold of her hands and drew her close. Then, in the sweetest single moment of Sarah’s life to that point, he kissed her. Sarah was dizzy with the feelings swirling inside her, glad she had Sam to lean against. Otherwise her knees wouldn’t have held her up.

When they pulled apart, Sam searched her eyes. “Does that answer your question?”

Sarah had a dozen things to say, a hundred questions, but she let the most pressing rise to the top. “How long, Sam?” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “When did you stop seeing me as Mary’s little friend?”

A sigh eased from Sam’s lips. He released one of Sarah’s hands and wove his fingers through her hair. “You wanna know?” He leaned in and kissed her again. “That morning when I saw you at the foot of our stairs. You were seventeen, and I thought I’d seen a vision. This blonde, blue-eyed angel walks through the front door and all of a sudden I realize it’s you. Mary’s friend, Sarah.”

“But you didn’t call.” Sarah swallowed. Maybe she shouldn’t be telling him this; maybe it would only make it harder to leave once she had the money to get away from Greer. “I thought … ”

“I had school.” He let his lips brush against her forehead, her cheekbones. “You had to grow up. But now, here we are.” He drew back and gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe you’re not supposed to leave Greer, Sarah. Ever think about that?”

She couldn’t say anything. At that moment, all she wanted was to be lost in Sam’s arms forever. Nothing could’ve pulled her from him. But later that night after he was gone, she reminded herself of the truth. No matter how much she enjoyed Sam’s company, she had to move ahead with her plans. Leaving was something she’d spent a lifetime wanting, and not even Sam Lindeman could make her stay.

At least that was the idea.

In the end, Sarah did stay, for a while, anyway. For the next four years she dated Sam on and off. He took college courses toward his administrative credentials and hinted about marriage. She continued to sing at church, and without fail Sam sat in the second row, watching.

When Sam would call for a date, Sarah couldn’t help but say yes. She loved him, didn’t she? Besides, by then most of her friends were married and having babies. A night out with Sam was better than a night at home with her parents or an extra shift at The Mixer.

Every few months, Sarah counted her money and every few months she convinced herself she needed more if she wanted to do well in Nashville. In hindsight, she was only doing what was safe. Staying in Greer, dating the only man she’d ever desired, dreaming about a far-off future, but never actually packing her bags and making it happen.

Finally on Christmas Eve of 1940, Sam presented her with a ring. “Be my wife, Sarah.” He dropped to one knee and the small diamond solitaire shone in the glow of the Christmas lights.

T
his was the part of the memory that matched most with the first ornament, the part that pained Sarah even now.

As if it had only just happened, Sarah could see herself. The way she stared at the ring as her head began to spin. How had she let their relationship get so serious? Why had it taken so long to save up the money to leave Greer, and how come she hadn’t talked more often about her plans? There’d never been any question that she would leave as soon as she had the money.

Hadn’t she made that clear?

W
ith Sam still kneeling, still waiting for her answer, her words began tumbling out. “Sam, I’m sorry… I never … ” She looked down, pinched the bridge of her nose, and gave a hard shake of her head. “I can’t.”

Slowly, as if he’d aged ten years in as many seconds, Sam stood. “Four years, Sarah.” He hung his head so their foreheads touched. “You talked about moving away, but every month, every week you were still here. I thought … ” He drew back and met her eyes. “I thought you stayed because of me; because you loved me.”

“I do.” She folded her arms tightly around her waist. “I care about you, Sam.” Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. She hated the pain in his expression, hated the fact that she’d let him think she was ready to get married. “It’s not about you. I have to get out of Greer. It’d kill me to stay here forever. I have to go, find a life outside of—”

“Stop.” His voice was quiet, kind. “I understand.” With that, Sam’s expression changed once more. He no longer looked hurt and vulnerable, but resigned. He studied her for a long time, the desire from earlier that evening gone. In its place was the brotherly look he’d had for her back when she was a young girl. “It’s over; no more explanation.”

Sarah bit her lip, unable to stop the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Shhh.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t say it.”

Then, without another word, he closed the small velvet ring box, slipped on his coat, and headed for the door. Before he left, his eyes met hers one last time and he whispered, “Good-bye, Sarah.”

She watched him leave and over the next hour she packed her bags. She would go even if she didn’t have enough money, go even if it meant never seeing Sam again. When the holidays were over, her parents drove her to the train station where she bid them good-bye, took hold of her two oversized suitcases—one of which held an envelope with every song she’d ever written—and boarded a passenger car that would make a handful of connections and eventually take her to Nashville.

The future lay out before her as the train pulled away. She was going to Nashville, going after the dream. She wanted more than a sweet, simple life with Sam Lindeman. She wanted a big stage and a packed house, a record contract and all the glitz and glamour that went with it. She didn’t want a wedding and babies.

She wanted everything tomorrow had to offer.

And the entire train ride to Nashville she was absolutely convinced that’s what she would find.

S
arah lowered the paper ornament to her lap.

Her back and legs were sore from sitting on the edge of the bed for so long. She closed her eyes against a wave of tears. The ritual was not without pain, especially at the beginning. How could she have walked away?

She sniffed hard and sat a bit straighter. Enough. She would take the pieces one at a time. Her eyes opened and despite her trembling fingers, she hung the ornament on one of the lower tree branches. Then she pulled her legs back onto the bed and rested against a mound of pillows. Her eyes moved across the tree—only a few feet high, sparse and dime-store green—to the ornament.

Tomorrow
indeed.

A long breath made its way through her clenched teeth and she looked toward the window. The song came next. Not the words, not until it was time. But the melody at least, the tune that had turned it all around. Notes forever etched in her mind.

The song couldn’t come until she reached the window. Too tired to move just yet, she waited ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, until she was finally ready. Then, with a determination bigger than yesterday, she forced her legs over the edge, found her walker, and worked herself across the floor to the window. Ahh, yes. It was there still, and now that the twelve days had begun, she could almost see them, the two of them sitting there.

She and Sam.

The tune came, quietly at first and then louder until her humming filled the space around her. She leaned against the window and lowered her chin, searching the heavens, as the song rang out, trapped in her closed mouth. He was up there somewhere, her precious Sam. Could he see her now? Hear her?

The door opened behind her. “Sarah?”

She didn’t turn. The song stopped for no one, because it couldn’t. Sarah had to hum it all the way through before the first day would be complete. She hummed through the verse and the chorus. When it was over, she looked at the bench one last time and then turned around. “Yes?”

Beth had taken a seat at the end of Sarah’s bed. “That was beautiful; someone told me you used to sing.”

“Yes.” Sarah smiled. The minutes spent in the past were never long enough. She pushed her walker back to the bed and allowed Beth to help her get under the covers.

“Did you sing professionally?” She tucked the sheet beneath Sarah’s arms. Her tone was tinged with intrigue. “I mean, you know, did you record anything?”

Sarah considered the young caregiver and felt the corners of her lips lift. “I did.” She leaned into the pillows. “It’s a long story.”

Beth looked around until her eyes fell on the small artificial tree. “Just one ornament?”

Sarah followed her gaze. “For now.”

“Tomorrow.”
Beth narrowed her eyes and looked at Sarah. “Does it mean something?”

“Yes.” Sarah folded her hands. “Much.” She nodded to the envelopes spread across the nightstand at the foot of the tree. “One ornament for each of the twelve days of Christmas.”

“I see.” Beth smoothed out the wrinkles in the bedspread. “Does each ornament have a word?”

“A word … and a story.” Something warm ignited inside Sarah’s soul. “Stay longer tomorrow. I’ll tell you the story behind the second ornament. And after the twelfth day, I’ll tell you the secret.”

“The secret?” Beth raised an eyebrow, her expression doubtful.

“The secret to love.” Sarah managed a tired smile. “It’s worth finding, Beth.”

“Yes, well… ” Beth gave a quiet nod, her eyes never leaving Sarah. “I might have to come back for something that special. The secret of love, and all.”

Sarah bit her tongue. Beth thought she was a doddering old fool, eccentric and troubled by the ravages of old age. Nothing could be farther from the truth, but Sarah wouldn’t say so. Beth would have to find out on her own.

The conversation ran out and Beth patted Sarah’s hand. “Lunch’ll be ready in a few minutes; just thought I’d warn you.” She stood and headed for the door before stopping. “Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“Did you write the song, the one you were humming?”

“Yes.” Sarah dropped her eyes and then looked at Beth again. “It’s part of the story.”

Beth nodded. “I thought so.”

For a moment Sarah thought the young woman would ask more questions. But instead she reached for the door. “I’ll get lunch.”

The knowing came as soon as Beth left the room.

So she was the one after all. The one Sarah had prayed for. And God would bring her back. She would come tomorrow and hear the story, learn about the second ornament, find hope in the telling, even learn the words to the song.

And maybe, by the twelfth day, Beth would know it well enough to sing along.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE SONG
stayed with her.

Beth heard it in her head the entire drive home to Spartanburg. Sad, really, the old lady sitting in her room, singing some old song, reminding herself of a story that had been forgotten for decades.

The radio in Beth’s Honda didn’t work, so her mind wandered to the scene ahead. This was the night. Her planning and plotting and figuring out had finally come to this. She took one hand from the wheel and snagged a piece of gum from the side pocket of her purse. Without looking, she pushed the paper wrapping off, dropped it back into her purse, and popped the gum into her mouth.

Yes, tonight was the night.

She’d been talking with her mother about the separation for weeks, making promises that her time away from her husband would only be temporary. But she’d never told Bobby, never let on that the routine that passed for their marriage was making her crazy with boredom.

Bobby’s face came to mind—simple, faithful, content. Uninteresting. How would he take the news? And what about their five-year-old daughter, Brianna? Beth pictured them, Bobby and Brianna. She would be watching TV with him now, same as every afternoon. Bobby worked maintenance at the local hospital, six to two. Brianna’s preschool was on his way home.

What would happen to their routine after tonight? She squinted at the sun, bright and low in the sky. The good weather wouldn’t last; not in December.

The song came to mind again.

Whatever the old lady’s story, Beth was sure it involved a man. Sarah Lindeman might be pushing ninety, but she was a woman after all. And a woman in love couldn’t hide the fact, nineteen or ninety-nine. It was that part that made Beth doubt she’d show up to hear the story. Not when she herself had spent a lifetime longing for that look, that kind of love.