Secretly Smitten (45 page)

“I think maybe a lot. I can’t believe he just left like that, without notice or good-byes or anything. I didn’t think he was that kind of person.”

So Clare hadn’t exactly doled out the details to her family. She hadn’t seen them since Sunday, and she’d done nothing but work and sleep. And fret.

Clare cleared her throat. “I, uh, kind of told him to go.”

Anna’s brows rose. “Oh.”

The confession made those last moments with Ethan replay in Clare’s mind. The kiss, the things he’d said, the way he’d flinched when she’d told him to leave. That one was the killer.

“Mom . . . do you think I’m afraid of change?”

“Afraid of—” Her mother tilted her head, squinted at Clare. Slowly her face softened in a sympathetic smile. “Well, honey . . . I think you’re the only one who can answer that.”

“I do like my routines.”

“True.”

He’d also said she was scared of following her dreams. It was true her real passion was designing gardens, not growing them. But she’d always told herself she’d start her own business someday. Did she mean it . . . or was that just something she told herself?

“Do you think I’m boring?”

Anna’s delicate brows lowered. “Did he say that?”

“No. Josh Campbell did.”

Her mother’s pink lips pressed together. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. You have a whole town that loves you, Clare. If he’s too blind to see how special you are, it’s his loss.”

Clare smiled at the mother tiger response. “Thanks, Mom.”

“About Ethan, honey . . . why don’t you call him? Straighten out your differences? There was something special about him.”

She’d never agreed with anything so strongly. “That’s the thing, Mom. He doesn’t have a cell phone. I don’t know where he went, wouldn’t even know where to look.”

It was all so final. She’d gotten up the nerve to drive by the campground last night. Lloyd Draper said he’d left early Tuesday morning, the day after their kiss, and hadn’t said where he was headed. Desperate, Clare had even gotten on the computer to see if he had a Facebook or Twitter account.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought he’d be good for you.”

“He’s basically homeless, Mom.”

“Technically, yes, but for a good cause, wouldn’t you say? He’s got a lot of love to give, and the way he looked at you . . . well, I can certainly see when someone’s smitten with my daughter. A mom can dream, can’t she?”

So could her daughter. In fact, that’s all she’d done. Dream about designing, dream about love. Dreams got you nowhere without a plan of action. Unfortunately, with no way to reach Ethan, that particular dream was a dead-end street.

Grandma Rose poked her head into the office. “I’m heading home, girls.”

Clare stood and embraced her. “Thanks for your help, Grandma.”

She framed Clare’s face. “Oh, to be thirty again—so young!” She kissed Clare on the cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” Her blue eyes looked tired, the sparkle missing.

“Thanks, Grandma.”

“I’ll walk you out, Mom,” Anna said. She turned to Clare at the door. “You coming?”

“In a minute. I’m going to get a refill.”

After they left, Clare helped herself to half a cup. The look in her grandma’s eyes haunted her. Rose was a good woman, had such a servant’s heart. She deserved to love and be loved, and for the first time since they’d discovered David was still alive, Clare wished he’d agreed to return to Smitten.

Maybe the reunion wouldn’t be magical, maybe whatever they’d had all those years ago would have evaporated. But maybe not. Maybe they would find love again, and Grandma could spend the rest of her years being cherished like she deserved.

True, it might cause more friction between her and Aunt Violet, but wasn’t the potential payoff worth the risk? She didn’t use to think so.

It didn’t really matter, though. David had already refused to come back.

Clare sipped her coffee, watching through the window as Grandma eased into the driver’s side, her silvery hair glowing under the lamplight. But what if they hadn’t tried hard enough? What if David just needed a little more persuasion? What if . . .

Clare’s eyes swept the party stragglers and settled on Zoe. Making up her mind, she dumped the remainder of her coffee and made a beeline for her sister.

Half an hour later she was entering her house, a scrap of napkin wadded in her hand. She checked her watch. It wasn’t too late, she didn’t think.

She picked up the phone, surprised at the way her hand shook. Looking at the scrawled number, she punched it in and waited as it rang once.

Twice. Three times.

Maybe it was too late. How would she persuade a tired and cranky old man to drive seven hundred miles to see a woman he’d known sixty years ago?

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.

“May I speak with David, please?”

“I’m sorry, he’s not in. May I take a message?”

“Um . . . I’m calling from Vermont. My grandmother is a friend of his.” Well. They were a long time ago.

“Oh, right. He’s, ah, out of town right now. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

“Oh. I see. Well, I’ll try another day. Thanks anyway.”

They said good-bye and Clare set the receiver down, the rush of adrenaline draining, leaving her weak and shaky. It wasn’t a no. He was just gone—for an indefinite amount of time. Well, she wouldn’t give up. She’d call back until she reached him. One way or another, she had to know she’d done all she could for Grandma.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

H
ere they come,” Clare said.

The parade rounded the bend and headed toward the train depot. A celebratory song floated from the instruments of the Smitten High School band, the engine of the parade. Behind them, flags spun in synchronized rhythm, their twirlers proudly high-stepping.

The whole family, except Aunt Violet, who was readying for her speech, clustered closer to the curb for a better view.

Howard and Carson Smitten, descendants of the town’s founders, carried the first banner. H
APPY
200TH
B
IRTHDAY
,
S
MITTEN
! it read in large block letters. The crowd cheered as they passed.

“Look at the loggers,” Mom said. Men from the community had dressed in vintage clothing, axes resting on their shoulders. Behind them, a team of horses pulled a wagon full of logs.

Several floats followed, each by a different community group, representing significant events in Smitten’s history. The fire of 1872 when the chapel burnt down and the town came together to rebuild. The railroad coming through Smitten in 1935. The opening of Sugarcreek Ski Resort in 1971.

Clare was impressed. She’d known Aunt Violet and the celebration committee had worked long and hard, but she’d never seen a parade that told a story like this one, taking the viewers from the first days of the fledgling community to the most recent.

“Look,” Grandma said awhile later. “There’s Mia!” Nat’s little girl led her Sunday school class, waving to the crowd. They all wore lavender wreaths, symbolizing the faith that had helped transform the town so recently.

Another float, decorated in red and white with hundreds of flowers, served as the parade caboose. A bride and groom, played by Julia and Zac, waved from beneath an ivy-covered arch. The float’s banner read S
MITTEN
: T
HE
R
OMANCE
C
APITAL OF THE
W
ORLD
!

A thunderous applause went up as the final float passed. Smitten had come such a long way in two hundred years. Clare was moved, reminded how proud she was of the heritage they all shared.

“Wow, that was wonderful!” Mom said.

“They outdid themselves,” Michael said.

Tess took Ryan’s arm. “Let’s head over to the depot.”

They milled in with the crowd heading toward the depot’s natural stage where Aunt Violet would say a few words. Clare whispered a prayer for her aunt. She’d been a nervous wreck this morning over the speech.

The crowd gathered on the depot lawn, drawing close to the redbrick building.

“I wonder why they’re doing this at the depot,” Grandma said. “The square has a bigger lawn.”

“Guess they figured we may as well use it for something,” Zoe said, “after we spent all that time sprucing it up.”

“It’s kind of sad—a reminder of what could’ve been,” Aunt Petunia said.

“The railroad would’ve helped,” Grandma said, “but we’ll survive. The parade was the perfect reminder of all the difficulties we’ve come through.”

The depot looked beautiful with its new canopies, freshly painted green doors, and restored trusses. Clare took a minute to admire the landscaping she’d worked so hard on. Peonies and pansies dotted the beds with color. A cobbled walkway meandered through the perennials, merging with ivy as old as the building itself, which crept up the brick walls.

They pushed close to the stage, waiting for the others who’d be walking in from the start of the parade route. Her sisters began talking among themselves, but Clare found herself retreating inside, something she’d done a lot lately.

She found herself thinking of Ethan—something else she’d done a lot lately. She wished he’d been here to see the parade. She would’ve enjoyed sharing their rich heritage with him. She knew he would’ve appreciated the deep community roots, having none of his own.

God, be with Ethan wherever he is. Keep him safe on that crazy bike of his, use him for your glory, and . . .

Clare’s thoughts tangled like a wad of yarn.
I
don’t know what else to say, Lord.
I
miss
him. Let him know somehow I’m sorry.

He’d offered her himself, and she’d not only rejected him, she’d sent him away. All because she hadn’t liked hearing the truth. Her gut churned with regret.

Thank
you, Lord, for never turning me away. For never getting scared, for never lashing out when I hurt you, for always being there with arms wide open, ready to take me back. Help me to love better next time. Fearlessly
.

Love. Was that what she’d felt for Ethan? Why his kiss had frightened her so, why his absence made her feel hollow inside? She was beginning to think so. Beginning to see that sometimes taking no risk was the biggest risk of all.

She’d lost the only man she’d ever loved. It was too late to change things with Ethan. She’d resigned herself to that. But she’d made other changes in the week since her birthday. She’d changed things around at the nursery as Ethan had suggested, recruiting her family to help after closing. The new flow plan was an improvement, and the customers had complimented her on it.

She was even making plans toward starting her own garden design business. She was still afraid—that hadn’t changed. But she was moving forward anyway, asking God to help her be brave, trusting him to help her.

She’d looked into purchasing the old Victorian on the edge of town near Tess’s bookstore. The downstairs would make a perfect office space and the upstairs a nice living quarters. The yard, now just a boring patch of lawn, offered a clean slate to showcase her God-given talent.

Lead
me, Lord. I don’t want to hold back out of fear, but I don’t want to jump ahead of you either
.

“May I have your attention?” William Singer, their city manager, spoke into the mike, and the crowd slowly hushed.

“Doesn’t he look handsome?” Zoe said. “I love him in blue.”

Aunt Violet and her committee stood behind him against the brick wall. Her aunt looked nice in a lime-green blouse and white capris. Clare could do without the bright red lipstick, but she wouldn’t be Aunt Violet without her clashing lip color.

“Thank you all for coming out on what has turned out to be a glorious day,” William said. “The Celebration Committee has worked hard to bring Smitten’s unique heritage to life, and God has given us the perfect day in which to enjoy it. Let’s show them our gratitude.”

A boisterous round of applause followed. Behind her, Zoe let out one of her earsplitting whistles.