One Lavender Ribbon

Chapter 10

August 1944

Dear Sara,

I asked Grace to give you this letter. My mind has been on you lately. I imagine you’ve grown in the time I’ve been away. Are you still playing ball? Sometimes, some of the guys here get together, and we attempt to play baseball. For a bunch of soldiers, they aren’t half bad. And to tell you the truth, they aren’t half honest, either. My team hasn’t lost a game since we started. And with our victories, the opposing team seems dead-set on rewriting the rules. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’d laugh if you could see them. But I’m glad you can’t. It’s a tough place to be, knowing you might play a game with a friend one day and dig his grave the next. But I won’t dwell on that. I didn’t write to you to tell you about the hardships. Though they are plentiful, I suspect they will forever remind me to be thankful for every day I have.

How’s the fishing? Are the snapper biting? I know Joseph Wilmer offered to take you night fishing. Grace told me. But don’t you go, Sara. I don’t trust that boy. Something in his eyes, like he’s always scheming. ’Course, I know it’s none of my business, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go. I worry about you enough, sweet Sara. When I get home, we’ll borrow Old Man Orlin’s boat, and we’ll fish all night if you want. But just . . . please don’t go till then.

Well, give your sister a hug for me. I hope she’s okay. I know you’re taking care of her, keeping her from getting lonely. You girls stay out of trouble, all right?

And I’ll see you soon.

William

Adrienne folded the letter and placed it in her purse. From the safety of her car, she watched as Sara Chandler sat in the courtyard of the Southern Palms retirement home in Winter Garden, Florida. The older woman reached down and plucked a dead flower from the plant next to her. A small plate of cookies was mostly hidden under the edge of her skirt. Had Sara ever gotten to read that letter? Had Grace shown it to her, or had it become another secret Grace had kept hidden?

Adrienne hoped this wasn’t a huge mistake. But the question plagued her, and after her date with Will, she’d searched the Internet for Sara Chandlers with a newfound urgency she couldn’t explain. If she admitted the truth—which she wouldn’t—concentrating her effort and energy on Sara and Pops kept her from thinking about Will. The near kiss, the brush of lips against her ear. Adrienne had never been around anyone who so absorbed the world. Next to Will, other men she’d known just seemed small. Even Ryan, larger-than-life, fun-loving Ryan. She gave her head a good shake, hoping it would settle the fluttery bits of memory of a perfect night, complete with a perfect Prince Charming.

She’d tracked only seventeen Sara Chandlers that had lived in North Carolina and only one that fit the age group. That Sara Chandler had moved to Winter Garden, Florida, just two years back. Going on Leo’s assurance that she had never married, it was an easy find.

Sara loved to fish. That’s all Adrienne could think about on the boat with Will and Pops and again when the fisherman hauled in the shark. Sara loved to fish. And Sara was alive and well and right in front of her eyes. When Adrienne had first called the retirement center, they had been reluctant to give out any information. But when she explained she’d moved into a house that Ms. Chandler once lived in, they were gracious and forthcoming. The receptionist said Sara spoke of Bonita Springs often.

Adrienne had googled directions to the Southern Palms Retirement Village, and now, three hours later—and with a physical description of Sara that proved to be spot-on—here she was. She exited the car but didn’t make eye contact. She chose a nearby bench where she could decide which level of stalker she’d become before approaching Sara.

She wasn’t sure what could be accomplished by her visit, but Adrienne had come to the conclusion that Pops had a right to know Sara was alive and had once loved him.

And Sara had a right to tell him so.

“Sara!” A screeching voice came from behind the bench where the attractive older woman sat. Adrienne moved so she could hear the conversation passing between Sara and a round woman in a long housecoat, wearing several layers of jewelry.

Sara turned slowly toward the panicked voice, sweeping fine white hair from her eyes. “What is it, Louisa?”

Dressed in a dark pink blouse and white skirt, Sara looked decades younger than the jittery woman wobbling toward her. “Mr. Tibbles has fallen in the tub again.”

Adrienne started to stand and rush over to see if she could help, but Sara’s look of indifference stopped her. “Louisa, if your cat can get into the bathtub, he can get out.”

“No he can’t. And I’m just not strong enough to lift him.” Louisa’s tight mouth pursed, dotted with tangerine lipstick.

Sara sighed and scanned the courtyard. Adrienne dropped her gaze as Sara’s eyes landed in her direction. “Fine.” She stood from the bench and reached down to scoop up the plate of cookies. Louisa froze.

“You’re waiting for those kids!” Louisa hissed, eyes growing wide and wild.

Sara bristled. “So what if I am?”

Louisa pointed a bony finger at her. “You’re going to get into trouble.”

Sara squared her shoulders. “I’m a grown woman, and I have every right to give away cookies.”

Louisa shot a look behind her, then to the left and right. “Well, I’m not going to get in trouble for those ragamuffin hooligans.”

“I love seeing those kids, and if the management of Southern Palms disagrees, they can try to stop me. I buy the ingredients, I bake the cookies. I can give them to whomever I want.”

Well, Sara still had a good measure of that spunk Adrienne had heard Pops talk about.

Louisa crossed her arms. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Sara nodded, left the cookies there, and followed Louisa until she disappeared into one of the apartments. While she was gone, Adrienne moved to stand near Sara’s bench, half-hoping she’d come back and half-hoping she wouldn’t.

A few minutes later, Sara returned. She was an attractive older woman with straight white hair cut into a blunt style that brushed her shoulders and gave her a distinct air of sophistication.

“May I sit with you?” Adrienne asked.

Sara nodded, smiled, and motioned to the seat beside her.

“Are you Sara Chandler?” Adrienne’s nervous fingers were balled in her lap.

“Why, yes.”

“I’m Adrienne Carter.” She extended her hand.

Sara took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.” Then she asked, “Are you here to visit someone?”

“Yes.” Adrienne nodded. “I’m here to visit you.”

This drew the older woman’s awareness, so much so that she pivoted on the bench to give Adrienne her full attention. “Are you the mother of one of the skateboarders? I hope you don’t mind the cookies. I was a schoolteacher for years and—”

Adrienne placed a hand over Sara’s. “No, I’m not. And I’m sure any good mom would appreciate your having an after-school snack for her child.”

The wind caught Sara’s hair. She tilted into it, and Adrienne had to wonder if Sara loved Florida sunshine and wind as much as she herself did. Sara’s finger traced the platter of cookies. “So many kids are home alone after school.”

“Sara, I live in the house on Hidden Beach Road.” Before she could stop herself, words spilled from Adrienne’s mouth, almost as if in confession. Sara seemed to follow most of the story, but she placed a hand to her heart when Adrienne confessed she’d found a small metal box.

Sara held her hands up and shook her head. “Wait, dear. Wait a second. I searched before we left. I searched everywhere. The box was gone.”

“I nearly missed it myself. It was tucked into the rafters above the breaker box. I thought Gracie must have put the box in the attic, but you had it?”

Sara’s face paled. “No.”

Adrienne waited for the explanation. If Sara knew about the box, she’d read the letters, including the one written to her.

Sara turned away from her, hiding her expression. “It . . . it must have been Momma.”

“You meant to take the letters with you after Grace died?”

“William’s letters survived?” It was a breathy question. One filled with so much desperation, Adrienne didn’t feel the need to answer.

Wrinkled hands brushed imaginary lint from her white skirt. “You see, when my mother found me with the letters, she was angry. Furious, in fact. I thought Momma burned them.”

Adrienne’s voice drew her. “They’re safe and sound. Did you hear me, Sara? They’re all intact. William has them.”

Sara’s inhale was a tiny gasp of air. “He’s still alive? William is still alive?”

Adrienne nodded. “Alive and well. He lives with his grandson in Naples.”

A thousand thoughts must have inundated Sara’s mind, for her eyes danced around the courtyard as if chasing each one. “He’s alive. Oh, that’s wonderful. I . . . I returned to Bonita Springs once, three years after leaving with Momma. William was married to Betty Nichols.”

Adrienne touched Sara’s arm. “That must have been very hard for you.”

Clear blue eyes flashed to her. Sara’s head shook from side to side. “No. It wasn’t hard. William survived the war, made it safely home. He was happy with his wife and a new baby on the way.”

Sara’s voice dropped as if traveling from far away. “In the last few years, it has simply been easier to assume that William had led a happy life and died a quiet death than to . . . to wonder . . . ”

Several moments passed between the two women as Adrienne gave Sara plenty of room to revisit a world she’d likely spent a lifetime forgetting. Slowly, Sara stood up from the bench. Off to their right, young voices drifted closer. “Would you care to come back to my apartment for some tea?” Sara asked. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to entertain skateboarders today.”

They started across the courtyard, Sara carrying the heavy weight from so long ago. Adrienne could practically see it on her shoulders. Maybe Sara had made peace with what she’d done—fallen in love with her sister’s fiancé. But Adrienne had certainly opened a wound, if not that one, some other deep-seated scar from back then.

And now the secret she’d harbored was stabbing her in the heart, all because of Adrienne’s intrusion.

They stepped into the apartment, made for a single person but large enough to comfortably entertain a guest. The small living room was decorated with soft sea colors, anchored by a lovely antique bureau that, in spite of its size, fit perfectly on one wall.

After Sara poured the tea, they fell into a conversation about Bonita Springs, how it had grown and changed and how Sara loved it. “I called some of the retirement villages there, but they were pricey. Winter Garden offered everything I needed, though I’d rather be on the Gulf, not inland like here.”

“How long has it been since you were there?” Adrienne took the honey offered and put a spoonful into her drink.

“Thirty years, at least.”

Adrienne tapped her finger on the porcelain tea cup. “If you would ever like to come to Bonita Springs, I’d be glad to have you visit.”

Sara laughed lightly. “It’s what, three hours? That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think these old bones would be up for such a long haul there and back.”

“You could spend the night. I have plenty of room.” Almost quietly, she added, “We could go visit William.”

Sara stared beyond Adrienne to a photo on her wall. It was a snapshot that looked like the Grand Canyon. “I don’t think William or Betty would be that excited to see me.”

Adrienne swirled the spoon in her tea. “Betty passed away five years ago. You would be going to see William. And I think he would be very happy about that.”

It was a long, long way down to the bottom of that canyon. And if Adrienne was right, Sara was wishing she could enter the picture and jump off the edge.

Sara shook her head. “No.”

“Sara, I know about the diary.”

Suddenly, Sara stood up from the table. She walked into the kitchen and stood at the sink, fingers splayed on the cool countertop, her back to Adrienne.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of falling in love with William. He’s quite an incredible man.”

Sara spun, a hardness in her eyes so solid, it surprised Adrienne. “I. Left. Him.”

Adrienne set her tea on the table, wondering if the older woman might shatter into a million pieces.

Sara shook her head slowly. “Do you understand me? I left. He was wounded, had lost Grace, and I left him.”

Adrienne shook her head. “You had no choice, Sara. Your mother made you go.”

“No. We weren’t supposed to leave for another week. But I found out William was coming home, and I told her that if she wanted me to go, we had to leave before he got there.”

The words swirled around Adrienne as she tried to catch up to what Sara was admitting. “You were ashamed . . . ”

“I was a coward. I fell for him. I fell so hard. If I hadn’t loved him, maybe Grace would have . . . maybe things could have been different for all of us.”

Adrienne stood and walked to her. “Sara, you can’t help how you feel. Don’t you think it’s time William knew?”

Sara was shaking, and the tremors became more violent with each breath.

Adrienne touched her shoulders. “Would you just consider it? Please, I know this is a lot to ask, but William, he’s such a wonderful man . . . ”

Sara pulled away from her and stared out the kitchen window, the muscles of her throat stretched tight.

Giving her a moment, Adrienne dug in her purse. “I’m writing down my phone number.” Her hand fell across the copy of the letter from William, but she pushed it aside. There was no way Sara was ready to see it. That was obvious. Adrienne would keep the letter to herself. She held out the scrap of paper with her number. Sara stared at it as if it might strike. Adrienne held her ground. Finally, Sara took the paper.

“Can I return and visit you, again? I promise not to drop any more news like this if I do. But I feel like I know you. I live in your house. May I come back?”

Sara turned away once more. She placed Adrienne’s phone number on the kitchen counter. When Adrienne thought she’d surely tell her no, Sara faced her and forced a smile. “I suppose.”

“I’d like to. I’ve heard so much about you from the letters and from William. It would be an honor to get to know the girl he cared so much for. But today, I’ve taken enough of your time.” Adrienne placed her purse on her arm. She paused at the front door. “Please consider coming to visit. Good-bye, Sara.”

The door clicked shut. The air conditioner kicked on, the only sound other than the whispers and accusations from the past. Still in a haze of memories, Sara watched from her window as Adrienne walked to her car. A group of boys devoured the cookies on the bench smack-dab in the middle of the retirement center’s courtyard. Seeing them always made her smile. But not today.

Sara shuffled to the bureau across the room and withdrew a key from the high cabinet. Hands trembling, she placed the key in the bottom lock and listened for the click. Her eyes closed and her heart bled. For the first time in years, she opened the desk drawer and lifted out the letters from her long-ago home. Without untying the lavender ribbon, she slid one from the stack. They had no envelopes and were adorned with no postmarks. Simple pages, tri-folded and aged by the years. Fear and sorrow fought for dominance in a heart she’d thought had healed. Sara clenched her teeth and opened the letter.

Dear William, it began. Sara continued to read.

One thing Adrienne was good at was damage control. She’d unfairly dropped a horrible bombshell on Sara—and she wouldn’t blame the woman for not forgiving her—but now, only two weeks later, the two women were conspiring against the nursing home. Sara made no mention of William. Adrienne didn’t push the subject.

Instead, they invaded the grocery store and bought enough products to fund a bakery. “Bootlegging” them, Sara liked to refer to it as. The management of Southern Palms didn’t want kids skateboarding on the property, so feeding them was frowned upon, much as one might be warned against feeding bears or seagulls or stray cats. Sara was fearless in her efforts to keep the youngsters coming by. The management had scared the other residents into submission, but not her. Why couldn’t she be that fearless in going to visit William?

“I finished the upstairs bedroom. Your old room.” Adrienne had painted it Sara’s favorite color. “It’s lavender.”

“Lovely, Adrienne. I bet the house looks marvelous.” Sara tucked her hair behind an ear. The apartment was warm from the oven’s heat and filled with the delicious scent of fresh-baked goods.

Though her second visit had been more out of guilt than for fun, Adrienne was really enjoying Sara’s company. Since Adrienne’s own mother was usually too busy keeping up appearances or trying to fix her daughter, Adrienne hadn’t grown up with someone who wanted to let her be herself. Sara was like that: no nonsense, speaking her mind, and allowing others to simply be. “I was hoping you might come and see the house.” This was it. Her last-ditch effort to get Sara to Bonita Springs. And more importantly, closer to William.

Sara plunked the bottle of vanilla extract down on the kitchen counter. When she answered, her words were clipped. “Adrienne, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I don’t want to see William. My life is what I chose. I cared for him at one time, but those feelings are dead and I don’t want to revisit them. From what you’ve said, William has made peace—even with Gracie’s betrayal. I’ve caused him enough pain. I won’t be the source of more.”

Adrienne brushed flour from her cheek. “Okay. I understand.” She returned to her job of placing warm, gooey chocolate-chip cookies on a wide platter while Sara finished putting away ingredients. “I’ll drop it . . . for now.”

“My mind is made up.”

“Okay. Now, let’s go find some skateboarders.” They headed out, platter of cookies in hand. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

Just before they stepped into the bright sunlight, Adrienne watched Sara’s gaze shift to the antique bureau in her living room.

“Sara, is everything okay?”

For an instant, something white-hot flashed in the older woman’s eyes, but she quickly blinked it away. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Adrienne frowned, noticed how Sara’s face had paled, as if her question had scared the color out of her skin. “You sure?”

“Everything’s perfect, dear.” But Sara refused to make eye contact.

Though Sara was good at harboring secrets, Adrienne was equally skilled at drawing them out.