Debra C. Thomas                

Sarah Lindhof's Diary

24 September, 1904

I lay awake all last night worrying about Kate. I have made up my mind to seek out Gustav as early as is seemly--as if a single woman visiting a man unchaperoned would be considered seemly--and demand that he tell me what is going on. If Kate has been harmed because of the things I told her, I will never forgive myself. Nor will Hardy forgive me, I fear. I pray my foolish confidence has not put a wall between Gustav's brother and myself, for such an impediment will surely prevent any further relations between Gustav and me.

Chapter 12

I realized Melanie was watching me, waiting for a response. I shrugged. "I'm a natural-born shopper. I like to see everything that's available before I make up my mind."

"Smart woman. I'm going for some of Aunt Suzanne's ice cream. Enjoy the social."

I thanked her and wandered on down the line of tables, reading the cards that told not only what flavor ice cream each freezer held, but who had made it. Certain names appeared more often, Weiss, Lindhof, Watson, just as they had in the historical records I'd seen. The same people still ran this town as they always had.

And then a comfortingly familiar voice called my name. Bessie Heinz waved from behind the last table in the row. I dodged a group of children making a beeline for the freezer of peanut butter ice cream and worked my way up to Bessie's table. She stood behind a large hand-cranked freezer advertising chocolate chip ice cream.

"Kate, how nice to see you. I tried to call you earlier, but your phone was busy, and then I got to rushing and forgot to try again. I'm glad somebody else thought to invite you."

"So am I, especially since you have my favorite flavor." I held out my bowl and she dropped in two generous scoops. "Melanie Foster stopped by with a key and she told me about it." 

"Well, I'm glad she did. If you'd like to come around here, you can sit down to eat. We have extra chairs."

"Thank you, that would be nice. I'm not that adept at juggling food and drink." I worked my way through the crowd to the back side of the table.

Bessie offered me a folding chair with a built-in cup holder. "I see you gave generously. That's what the orange ticket means. That was very nice of you."

I settled into the chair with a sigh. "It seems like a worthwhile project. It looks as if the whole town has turned out this evening. I like that."

"It makes a nice break from the mindless junk they show on television these days. We're generally a pretty sociable community, especially if there's food involved. Oh, good, the band's going to play some music for a change, instead of just squawking all evening."

She turned her attention back to her duties as a tall gray-haired man walked up and presented his bowl.

The strains of a Sousa march accompanied me as I ate ice cream, drank tea and watched a group of kids play hide-and-seek behind the bandstand. A couple older boys tossed a football back and forth and a group of women stood in a shaded corner talking. Something serious, it appeared from the way they kept their heads together, with occasional glances at the crowd around them. I recognized Barbara Watson and Margaret Lindhof, two members of the Civic Improvement Committee. I wondered if they'd planned this event.

A girl who looked to be about twelve stopped by and asked if she could take my now-empty tray and bowl. I handed them over, rescued my tea from the cup holder and told Bessie I wanted to get a closer look at the band. She smiled, said, "Have fun," and turned back to her ice cream scoop.

I picked my way through folding chairs and blankets spread on the ground, keeping an eye out for Cody Weiss and his mother's "patriotic folding chair." I saw several likely candidates and steered clear of all of them, which put me beside a large oak tree in the corner, far enough away from the bandstand that I could hear snatches of conversation nearby.

The band came to a dramatic pause and a woman's voice, low and urgent, reached me clearly. "We have to do something, we can't let this happen again. It wasn't that hard to cover up a century ago, but this is 2004--if word gets out, we'll be crucified in the media. No one will want to come to Lewis Landing for anything!"

The grand finale drowned out any reply, the song ended and I looked around for a place to set my glass so I could applaud. To find myself looking Margaret Lindhof in the eye. Without realizing it, I had maneuvered myself into the corner where the intense conversation involving Margaret and Barbara Watson had been taking place. Barbara was no longer in sight, but the other women in the group stood looking at Margaret as if awaiting an answer to something. One by one they noticed the direction of her gaze and turned to stare at me. Theirs was the conversation I'd just heard a piece of, and they all knew it. None of them smiled, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The band launched into "The Stars and Stripes Forever," and I decided it was time to get out of Dodge. I wished for just a moment that I had driven to the park, so escape would be easier. I broke eye contact and searched frantically for someone I knew in the crowd around me. I spotted Randy Watson, the owner of the hardware store, and called out a friendly greeting. He responded with a wave and a smile. Resisting the impulse to see how my charade was received by my audience, I dropped the remains of my tea into the nearest trash can and headed for the street, my steps automatically keeping time to the piccolos in Sousa's most famous composition.

I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, and half a block from the park I heard footsteps behind me. I wanted to turn and look, but felt both nervous and foolish at the same time. Anybody could be leaving the park, walking down this hill behind me. It didn't have to have anything to do with me. I turned into an alley in the middle of the block, trying hard to look natural, as if I lived in one of the two garages that crowded the edge of the narrow graveled lane. The notion struck me as funny, and I had to stifle a possibly hysterical laugh.

I ducked around the end of one of the garages, hoping nobody was home in the houses backing on the alley, and peered back toward the street. A moment later, Cody Weiss strode by, jaunty and arrogant as ever, his eyes aimed forward down the street. Had he seen me leave the park, or was he on some errand of his own? If he'd been following me, I couldn't imagine he hadn't seen me step into the alley.

As Cody disappeared from view, a female voice called his name. Someone had followed him. I hugged the wall of the garage and held my breath. In another moment the slender figure of Gail Heim, Civic Improver and newspaper editor, hurried past. "Cody, wait! We need to talk."

He must have stopped when she first called to him, because she didn't go much farther before she started talking in a low voice. I looked behind me, thinking I could follow the alley back up the hill and take a different street home, but the alley ended abruptly at a retaining wall in the middle of the block. A building of some kind sat atop the wall, surrounded by a privacy fence. I'd have to go out the way I came in. I was debating the wisdom of walking back to the corner of the alley when I realized the voices were coming closer, moving back up the hill, Gail's still low and urgent, Cody's angry and louder.

"You can't do this, Cody. You'll destroy this town, ruin everything we've worked for these last ten years."

"And who says that's a bad thing? I don't like all this pansy 'equality' nonsense. Next thing, you'll be telling me the gays have rights, too, that I'm supposed to put up with them in my church and my neighborhood. I don't want these people here, and I intend to see that they don't stay around. If things are getting ugly, well, that's not my fault. Your 'committee' shouldn't have encouraged them to come in the first place."

"Cody, there are laws--"

"Yeah, well, I don't believe in all that liberal nonsense. Not in my town."

"It's not your town!"

"You're right, it's not. But I intend to fix that. Now leave me alone, I've got things to do."

I was so intent on this conversation that I didn't hear the door of the house open behind me, but the small dog who came out saw me immediately. He let out a shower of staccato barks and rushed toward me. The woman who had let him out opened her screen door wider and said, "Hey, you! What are you doing there?"

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