A Kingsbury Collection

  Ellen clenched her teeth so hard they grated together. Being around Jane was like being subjected to mental torture—and she wasn’t finished yet.

  “My kids are not the big problem you make them out to be.” Jane raised her voice. “What would you know about raising kids? Like I said earlier, anyone who would choose a career over motherhood certainly has no room to comment about another person’s children!”

  Ellen felt her control dissolve. Angry tears filled her eyes and she clenched her fists, driving them into her knees. “Jane, you are the coldest person I know! What happened to you? You and I used to be best friends when we were little and now look at you!”

  “We aren’t little anymore!” Jane spat.

  Aaron got up and headed outside. The others left the room one by one until finally there was only Ellen and Jane, staring angrily at each other.

  “No, we’re not little anymore,” Ellen said. “That’s true. But we’re still sisters and nothing can change that.” Ellen began to sob. The fight was gone from her voice and in its place was a terrible sadness. “I’m sick of you treating me like some kind of cosmopolitan ice queen. I have feelings, too.”

  Jane remained silent while Ellen’s sobs became more convulsive. “Mike and I … we’ve tried to have children—” She broke off.

  I can’t, God. I can’t tell her this.

  But she knew she had to. When she tried to speak, the words came out in grief-stricken sobs. “I’ve … I’ve lost two … babies, Jane.” She tried to catch her breath but the sobs continued to wrack her body. “Do you have any idea how that feels? To know there’s a life inside you, and then … then … it’s gone?” She drew in several quick, jerky breaths and then exhaled slowly, trying to compose herself. “Right now … I’m … I’m just not ready to try again.”

  Jane’s lower jaw dropped and her eyebrows raised slightly. She looked instantly remorseful. Ellen wrapped her arms around herself protectively, and suddenly her mother and Megan were there, putting their arms around her.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t know,” her mother said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Dad knew. He told me not to say anything to anyone else if I didn’t want to. It was too hard to talk about it.”

  “Honey, I’m so sorry.” Mom hugged her.

  “Ellen.” Jane’s voice was low, full of misery. “I’m sorry, too. I never guessed … And I’ve been such a jerk today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She looked away quickly, but not before Ellen had seen the look in her eyes. Jane was lying. There was a reason why she’d been behaving so terribly but she was refusing to tell them.

  Why won’t she tell me, Father? Ellen’s heart cried. How long will this go on?

  When Jane turned back to her, there were tears in her eyes, too. “I’m—I’m sorry about your miscarriages. I didn’t know.”

  Ellen’s anger rose again. “Of course you didn’t know. How could you? You hardly talk to me anymore. But does that give you license to be angry with me for being childless? I swear, Jane, you think you’re the only one in the world who’s hurting.”

  Ellen pulled away from the group and headed for her parents’ bedroom. “I need to be alone for a while.”

  No one followed her.

  Once inside she shut the door and sat down on her father’s side of the bed. She stared at the telephone through a blurry veil of tears. Since Sunday she had been so busy defending herself and avoiding Jane’s wrath that she hadn’t called Mike.

  She remembered their argument the night before she left, and she was angry all over again. She wouldn’t call him. Not now when she was so upset. He would only think he was right about not coming to Petoskey.

  She took a tissue off her father’s nightstand and blew her nose.

  “Why, Dad?” she whispered brokenly.

  She missed her father so badly. And now she was trapped in his house, surrounded by reminders of him, and faced with at least one sister who didn’t even like her. She clenched her jaw.

  “I want out of here.” She glanced around the room, desperately seeking an escape.

  She had no car; she would probably be stuck at the house until late that night. Her eyes fell on the Petoskey area White Pages. Suddenly an idea hit her.

  It was crazy … or was it?

  She picked up the phone book and considered what she was about to do. She thought about the way Jane had made life miserable for the past three days. Then she thought about Mike and how he had refused to make even the smallest sacrifice for her sake.

  With angry resolve, she took a deep breath and thumbed through the book to the 5 section. Scanning the columns of names and numbers she finally found the one she was looking for.

  Jake Sadler.

  She picked up the telephone and dialed his number. Then she held her breath and waited.

  That night, in the brand-new wing of the First Baptist church fellowship hall in Pine City, Pennsylvania, Leslie Maple and twenty other women were meeting to discuss the need for a church prayer line. The conversation was heated.

  “If someone wants prayer they can call their closest friends and ask for it,” Erma Brockmeir said. She sounded self-righteous and she knit her brows together in distaste.

  “That’s right,” someone else spouted. “Anything more and we’d have ourselves a full-fledged gossip channel.”

  Leslie Maple stood up and waited until the chatter died down. “If we are to believe in the power of prayer,” she began softly, “if we are to take the Lord at his word and lay our requests at his feet, then we have no choice. We must pray when we are alone and when we are together. We must pray constantly and we must pray as a body. A prayer line is the best, most efficient way to let the congregation know when someone is in dire need of prayer.”

  She stared beseechingly at the women. “If we are not willing to be part of that kind of prayer,” she hesitated, “then we are failing to do what Jesus wants. We are failing him.”

  Several of the faces about the room softened and Imogene Spencer positioned her aluminum cane and slowly struggled to her feet. “As the church secretary at First Baptist, I, for one, think Leslie is right. Sometimes we older women need to listen to the younger set. Their ideas may be different than what we’re used to, but it is a disgrace to think we have grown so deaf to the Spirit of God that we cannot hear his wisdom in their youthful words.” She paused. “I say we start the prayer line today. As soon as we can find people who will make it work.” She studied the women and cleared her throat. “Now, can I see a show of hands.” She raised hers high over her head. “Who else is willing to join the prayer line?”

  The ladies looked from one to another, then slowly a teary-eyed Erma Brockmeir rose her hand. Two women in the back row added their hands, and in the front row an entire section lifted theirs. Leslie grinned and pulled Imogene Spencer into a hug as the remaining ladies raised their hands.

  “Well, my dear,” Erma said. “Let’s get busy. How exactly do we start a prayer line, anyway?”

  16

  Jake Sadler twisted the cap off a cold bottle of Pepsi, sank deep into his leather sofa, and closed his eyes. He had taken orders for more than a hundred windows that day and he was exhausted.

  He reached down, picked up a week-old copy of the Petoskey Times and flipped to the Lifestyles section. There, sprawled across the top of the page, was an article about his company.

  “Sadler’s personal touch is the best thing to happen to windows and doors since the discovery of wood,” the article stated. That explained the high number of orders he was getting. A person couldn’t pay for that kind of advertising. Odds were good he’d reap the rewards for weeks to come. Jake studied the news clipping, remembering how it had been at the beginning. Sadler Custom Windows and Doors had been born in the early 1980s, after construction in Northern Michigan had slowed and often left Jake unemployed. Quick research told him that thousands of homes were nearly thirty years old and in need of renovation. Especially the custom homes th
at lined the shores of Harbor Springs, Petoskey, and Charlevoix. He tinkered around with several French and Victorian designs and finally launched his own business. Thereafter, his company supplied custom windows and doors specifically for those homes.

  That was six years ago and now his business had grown beyond anything he had imagined. It brought him a hefty six-figure income and required him to employ three additional men.

  Jake lived like a man who knew the definition of success.

  He owned a large split-level home in Harbor Pointe, a premier, gated community situated on the northern peninsula of Little Traverse Bay. Technically the home was in Harbor Springs, but through windows of his own design he could gaze across the bay at the shores of Petoskey. The city limits were barely twenty minutes away.

  He had a new boat, a new truck, a self-employed pension plan. Even before the article in the Times, his business had been thriving, gaining notice throughout Northern Michigan.

  Still, Jake was restless, vaguely dissatisfied with life. He was busy at work and sometimes went out socially, but there was no one special. There hadn’t been since Ellen Barrett.

  “The business needs me,” he told the women who had come and gone over the years. But he knew that wasn’t completely true. Every now and then when he’d walk through his neighborhood or relax on his back deck, staring at the bay, he would think about Ellen … and wonder.

  Tonight was one of those times.

  John Barrett had died that past Friday. Jake heard the news hours later from his high school friend, Andy Conover. Andy worked as a technician in the hospital emergency room and was on duty the day John Barrett had suffered his heart attack. When a nurse mentioned the patient’s last name, Andy became curious. He called Jake as soon as he got home.

  “What was Ellen’s dad’s name?”

  “Ellen Barrett?”

  “Yes, what was her dad’s name?”

  “John. John Barrett.” Jake was struck by the urgency in Andy’s voice. “Why?”

  “Oh, man, I thought so. We had him in ER today.” Andy paused. “Jake, he’s dead. Massive heart attack. Guy didn’t have a chance.”

  The news hit Jake hard, and he hadn’t stopped thinking of Ellen since. Certainly she would come out for her dad’s funeral. She was probably already in town. She and Jane and the other Barretts.

  Jake took a swig of his drink and wondered if there were still problems between Ellen and Jane. Back when he and Ellen were together it seemed he was constantly acting as referee for the sisters. In the end they had always worked things out, but Jake’s last year with Ellen had been one of the worst.

  That year Jane and Ellen had shared an apartment a few miles from their parents’ house. It was 1988 and Troy was not yet back in Jane’s life. Somehow, Ellen managed to look back on that year as a happy one. Jake remembered differently.

  Jane was forever upset with Ellen for leaving dirty dishes in the sink or piling the trash so it overflowed. Ellen often forgot to tidy the living area and was, in general, a poor housekeeper. She planned too many activities for too short a time and inevitably her house was the first thing to suffer.

  Ellen’s messy habits had not been a problem outside of home. But as a roommate, Ellen’s messiness was wearisome and Jake thought Jane had every right to express her concern. What bothered Jake back then was Jane’s tone of voice when she spoke to Ellen. Jake would listen between the lines and what he heard was a lifetime of hate and resentment there.

  The strangest part of all was that somewhere behind intricate layers of unexplained bitterness, the sisters really did love each other. Jake was sure of it.

  He drew a deep breath and set down his drink on the varnished maple coffee table. Ellen. It had been years since he’d seen her but he had never stopped thinking of her. Her memory was so real he could almost touch her.

  You blew it, he told himself. You let her go and now you’ll spend a lifetime regretting it. He sighed and reached for the remote control just as the telephone rang.

  He reached out to lift the receiver. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” Still nothing.

  He was about to hang up when a familiar voice said, “Jake? It’s me. Ellen.”

  Jake sat up straight, his eyes wide, his heart suddenly beating faster. “Ellen … how are you?”

  “Well, not too good, really.” He thought he heard tears in her voice. “My dad died … last Friday.”

  “I know. Andy was at the hospital. Andy Conover. He called me that night.” She didn’t say anything, but he heard her sniffing. “Ellen, hey, are you crying?”

  She still didn’t answer. Memories of her flooded over him, of her tender heart, her love for her father. This had to be killing her.

  He tried again. “Where’s your husband? Isn’t he there?” She released a single sob. “No. He didn’t come.”

  “You’re not doing well. I can tell.”

  There was no response. Only the muffled sound of Ellen’s cries. Jake stabbed his fingers absently through his hair. Her crying made him ache, made him willing to do anything to take the hurt away. “What can I do, Ellen? Tell me.”

  She sniffed loudly and regained control of her voice. “I … I don’t know. I mean, that’s why I called. Everything’s kind of crazy around here and … well, I guess … Could you come over and pick me up? Take me somewhere so we could talk?”

  “Sure.” He looked at his watch: eight-thirty. “Let me change clothes and I’ll be there at nine. Okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll be out front.”

  He hung up slowly, then sat there, staring at the phone, dazed. Had that just happened? Had Ellen just called him?

  He exhaled a long, slow breath. Yes, it had happened. And he knew, as clearly as he knew anything in his life, that Ellen needed him. And he would be there for her.

  Ellen hung up the phone and stared at her wedding ring. What in the world was she doing making plans to spend an evening with Jake Sadler? She didn’t know … and right now she didn’t care. She needed someone … someone to listen, to care. She left her parents’ bedroom and headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Her mother looked at her, surprised.

  “Out.”

  “You didn’t eat and you don’t have a car. There’s nowhere you can go on foot at this hour of the night, Ellen. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  Ellen released a short laugh. “At this point anything would be safer than here.”

  “Ellen, please—” Mom began, but Ellen stopped her.

  “No. I called an old girlfriend.” Why am I lying? Why not just tell the truth? I’m not going to do anything wrong far heaven’s sake!

  But she couldn’t tell them. She didn’t want to deal with their reaction if she did. “She’s picking me up and we’re going for a drive. I’ll have her drop me off at Megan’s apartment later on. Don’t worry about me.”

  “What about the funeral service? We didn’t figure out about the eulogy. Whether you five kids will each read something.” Clearly Mom was tired and frustrated. She wanted them to stay together until the plans were finished.

  “Whatever you decide is fine with me.” Ellen walked outside and shut the door behind her.

  She was dressed in denim shorts and a white T-shirt, and suddenly she felt six years younger than her age. She found a place on the cool grass and sat down to wait for Jake. Then she tried not to think about how she’d done that very thing at least a hundred times before, long ago, when life had seemed so much simpler.

  So much happier.

  Inside the Barrett home, Jane heard the front door close and looked up from her dinner.

  “Who was that?”

  “Ellen. She’s going out with a friend. She’ll meet you and Megan back at the apartment later.”

  “That’s nice.” Jane had really tried to be more civil since Ellen had told them about the miscarriages, but she couldn’t keep the tinge of sarcasm from her voice. “Shouldn’t she be here? We haven’t f
inished working out the funeral plans.”

  Their mother shrugged. “She said she’d go along with whatever we decided. I think she needs time away.”

  “Well, then, let’s decide whether or not we’re going to write separate eulogies and read them at the funeral. I think we should do it because it’s something Mom wants.”

  Jane looked around the table, waiting for a response. “Well?” she said when they were silent.

  “I don’t like it, but I’ll do it,” Amy said finally. “Mom, it doesn’t matter if it’s short, does it?”

  “No. Make it as long or short as you like.”

  Aaron shook his head. “I can’t write something like that, Mom. You know how I am.”

  “I’m not asking you to write an essay, Aaron. Just a few words about your father and what you’ll miss the most.”

  Aaron was quiet a moment and Jane wondered if he might actually cry. He nodded abruptly, then rose from the table. “Fine. I’ll try.”

  Megan wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I already said I liked the idea.”

  “And Ellen said she’d do whatever we wanted, so I guess that settles it. Right, Mom?” Jane looked at her mother expectantly.

  “Seems like it. You’ll have to let Ellen know tonight. Other than that, I think we’re about done.”

  “I’m going to bed,” Aaron announced.

  “So early?” The disappointment was evident in Mom’s creased forehead, in her pained expression.

  “Yes.” Aaron’s voice was defensive. “I need to work on what I’m going to say. Is that all right with you?”

  True to form, Mom backed down. “Sure, honey. I’m sorry. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  The others finished their dinner and gathered in the den to watch television. Since that didn’t interest her, Jane borrowed Megan’s car and set out to relieve Aunt Mary of her children. As she walked across the front yard she passed Ellen. She said nothing to her then or ten minutes later when she returned with the children in tow.

  What Ellen had told her had struck deep. Had it been any other person, any friend, who had shared such a struggle, Jane would have known what to say, what to do. But this was Ellen. And with Ellen, Jane simply didn’t know any way other than anger.