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i $13.99FPT ($19.99 IN CANADA) 
The ritual is the same every December: twelve handmade paper ornaments and a 
small plastic Christmas tree. 
Twelve days for Sarah to 
remember her long-ago love. Twelve chances 
jor Sarah to sing her song once more... 
Sarahs Song 
Every year Sarah Lindeman celebrates Christmas in a special way. It is her time 
to remember where she came from and what she is today-and how a special song 
gave her another chance at love. 
But this year the ritual is different. This year a desperate young woman is 
listening-a nurse who lingers by the door as Sarah hangs the first yellowed 
decoration on her tiny tree. Sarah feels the hurt in this woman's soul and 
reaches out to her. Her hope is that she can do something to help both of them. 
And so the older woman sings. Each day she hangs a paper ornament on her tree 
and relives a chapter of her story, drawing her new friend into the hallways of 
yesterday and a love that rose and fell, only to bloom again stronger than 
0904(CONTINUED ON BACK FLAP) 
ii 
iii 
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vi 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by 
any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval 
systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer 
who may quote brief passages in a review. 
The words to "Sarah's Song" are copyrighted by Karen Kingsbury and used by 
permission. 
Scriptures are taken from the HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL 
VERSIONŽ. Copyright Š1973,1978,1984 by International Bible Society. Used 
by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. 
Warner Faith Time Warner Book Group 
1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 Visit our Web site at 
www.twbookmark.com 
The Warner Faith name and logo are registered trademarks of Warner Books. 
Book design by Fearn Cutler de Vicq 
Printed in the United States of America 
First Warner Books printing: September 2004 
10 987654321 
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data 
Kingsbury, Karen. 
Sarah's song / Karen Kingsbury. 
p. cm. - (The red gloves series) ISBN 0-446-53235-5 
1. Older women-Fiction. 2. Nursing students-Fiction. 3. Female 
friendship-Fiction. 4. Nursing home patients-Fiction. 5. Reminiscing in old 
age-Fiction. I. Title. PS3561.I4873S27 2004 813'.54-dc222004006484 
vii To Donald, my prince charming-you know the words to my song and sing it with 
me whenever I forget. 
To Kelsey, my only daughter-your heart is laced together with mine; I feel it 
even when I'm a world away. 
To Tyler, my music lover-you dream of Broadway and sing the soundtrack in the 
fairy tale that is our life. 
To Sean, my tender boy-look over your shoulder at how far you've come, and try 
to imagine the rainbows ahead. 
To Josh, my gentle giant-your strength is surpassed only by your ability to 
love. How glad I am that God gave you to us. 
To EJ, my wide-eyed wonder-you are becoming every thing we knew you could be; 
the sunbeam of your life keeps me warm on the coldest days. 
To Austin, my miracle boy-your every heartbeat is testi mony to God's grace and 
mercy. I see your fist raised to the sky after a soccer goal, and I can only 
think that somewhere in heaven the angels are doing the same thing. 
And to God Almighty, who has-for now-blessed me with these. 
viii 
ix 'ong 
(Sarah's d%i 
It's not too late for faith to find us. 
Not too late for right to win. 
Not too late, let love remind us. 
Not too late to try again. 
In my life the straight and narrow had a face, and 
it was yours. I took crooked paths around you, shut you out, 
and locked the doors. Long I wandered tired and aimless, seeking all the 
world might hold. There you waited, true and blameless, soul of 
goodness, heart of gold. 
Nothing lasting came of those days, months of bitter freezing rain. 
I was blinded, couldn't see you, choosing sorrow, livingpain. 
x 
xi Then one day I looked behind me, at the way life 
could've been. Suddenly I had to find you, had to see your face 
again. 
Somewhere in my mind I see a place for me and you. 
A place where faith might find a future, give us both a life brand new. 
Together in God's mighty grip is where we both belong. 
Find me, know me, teach your heart the words to Sarahs Song. 
It's not too late for faith to find us. 
Not too late for right to win. 
Not too late for love to bind us. 
Not too late to try again. 
xii 
1 
Ś-.^The ritual was sacred, drawn out for twelve days, the same every Christmas. 
Sarah Lindeman looked out the smudged window of her cramped room at Greer 
Retirement Village, and already she could hear the music, feel her tired, old 
vocal chords coming together to sing again. The way they came together every 
thirteenth of December. 
The box was opened, its contents spread across the worn bedspread. Twelve 
envelopes, yellowed and faded by the years, the way all of life was faded now. 
All except the memory of that single year, the year when heaven cracked open and 
spilled Stardust and miracles into the life of a young woman who had given up 
hope. 
2 
She was that girl, and the year was 1941. 
Patched together, the events of that time created a journey, a story she 
remembered still, every teardrop and smile, every exchange of words, every bit 
of laughter. Every impossible twist and turn down the alleys of a yesterday even 
time couldn't touch. 
Sarah had broken the story into twelve parts, created twelve paper ornaments, 
each with a single word or words to remind her. Over the years it became the 
ritual it was today. Twelve ornaments, one each for the twelve days of 
Christmas, a chance each December to drift back through the decades, back to 
1941, and remember it all again. 
And there was the song, of course, playing in the background, standing like an 
anthem for all they'd known, all she missed now that he was gone. The notes, the 
melody, the haunting refrains pulled from the story of their lives. Always she 
would sing the song. She would hum it at first, and then as the days of December 
wore on, the words would come. They would come as they had at the beginning, 
born of despair, desperate for a second chance. 
All of it, every word, every note, for Sam. 
Sarah turned around, leaned hard into her aluminum walker, and shuffled to the 
bed. Distant voices filled the hallway outside her room, staff assistants 
talking to the 
J 
3 
elderly residents the way young people did these days, loud and condescending; 
someone going on about the cooking staff and its bland version of lasagna. 
And somewhere above it all the piped-in refrains of "Silent Night." 
Sarah eased herself down next to the envelopes. The bed seemed lower all the 
time. Her hips hurt worse this year, and each breath came slower, with more 
effort. No doubt her time was short. Death wasn't far off. 
Not that Sarah minded. Dying, after all, would reunite her with Sam. 
Had it been thirteen years since his death? Thirteen years since she'd shared 
this Christmas ritual with the man who had made it possible? Back then they'd 
gone through the twelve days together-taking out the ornaments, finding their 
way through the days and months and years back to 1941, remembering their story. 

Singing the song. 
She was eighty-six now, and if Sam had lived he'd be ninety-one. Instead, cancer 
had taken him-not slowly over a course of years, but in six months. That May he 
was traveling with her to Los Angeles to see the kids, to welcome the birth of a 
great-granddaughter. A sluggish few weeks, a bad blood test, and he was gone 
before Thanksgiving. 
4 
At first Sarah lived alone in the old house where they'd raised their two 
children and entertained grandchildren. The house was as much a part of the 
glorious past as anything else because it was walking distance to the park, the 
place where it had all come together. 
But more years passed and she grew tired, too tired to dress in the morning or 
take a walk or shop for groceries. Heart failure, the doctor told her. Nothing 
imminent, just a slow and steady decline that would worsen over time. 
After her diagnosis, the kids had taken a week off work and tried to talk her 
into moving to LA. Sarah was gracious, glad for their concern, but only one 
place could possibly serve as her final home, the place where she would live out 
her days. 
The facility was built across from the park the summer after Sam died. Greer 
Retirement Village. Assisted living, they called it. An oversized bedroom with 
space enough for a recliner and television. Also a kitchenette with a sink, a 
microwave, and small refrigerator. The staff organized bingo on Tuesdays, Bible 
study on Wednesdays, low-impact aerobics on Thursdays, and old movies on 
Fridays. Meals were served on china and linen twice a day in the dining room, 
and on weekends they had live entertainment in the form of Mr. Johnson, the 
assistant manager who also played the piano. 
5 
Most of all, each room had emergency buttons near the bed and in the bathroom, 
and staff assistants who came by to remind residents about their medication- how 
much and when to take it. 
And so, after a few days' discussion, the kids had come around and reserved 
Sarah a place at the village. A room on the first floor overlooking the park and 
the bench. The very same bench where Sarah had written the song in the first 
place. 
"I'll never leave," she told the kids before they returned to LA. "This-" She 
waved toward the window and the park and the bench beyond. "-is where I'll feel 
your father every day." She hesitated. "I'll come see you; don't worry." 
They understood, both Harry who was fifty-five that year, and Sharon, 
fifty-three. And at first Sarah kept her promise, heading for California two 
weeks each summer and two weeks in January. But her heart failure progressed, 
and three years back the doctor ordered her to stop flying. Sarah was moved to 
the third floor, to a wing that was more nursing home than assisted living. 
But she kept her view of the park bench. 
And she kept the ritual, the twelve days of Christmas. 
Sarah rested her weathered fingers on the first envelope and a thrill worked its 
way through her. The story 
6 
always did that to her, always moved her heart a few inches closer to her throat 
and made her mouth dry. No matter how many decades had passed, the memory of 
that year made her feel young and in love and awed by the miracle they'd shared. 

She dusted her fingertips over the old envelopes one at a time, the numbers 
scrawled across the fronts reminding her, filling her spirit, readying her soul 
for the remembering that was to come. If this was the last time, the last 
Christmas, then she'd need a little help. 
Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her face toward the window. "Dear God . . ." 
The words were a scratchy whisper. "Make the days come to life again, every 
moment. Please." 
The quiet prayer hung in the room for a moment, and then slowly a thought began 
to form. If this was the last time she was going to remember, the last time she 
would sing her song, then someone had to hear it. Not just hear it but feel 
it-feel it in the fabric of their heart the way Sarah did. 
God had promised her that much, hadn't He? 
A stranger needing encouragement, a doctor or a nurse, one of the staff 
assistants. Someone at Greer Retirement Village who would be changed by "Sarah's 
Song," the way she had been changed by it so long ago. 
7 
She cleared her throat and struggled to her feet again. The walker seemed 
lighter, her bones filled with an energy that came every December. When she 
reached the window, with a clear view of the park bench, she finished her 
prayer. 
"Send someone, God. Someone who needs hope." She could feel her eyes dancing 
despite the cataracts that clouded them. "Someone who could learn the song." 
When she finished praying, a certainty filled her and made her long for 
tomorrow, the first of the twelve days. Something different was going to happen 
this time; she could feel it in her soul. 
Now all she had to do was wait. 
8 
9 
Ś;/Ł. December 13 dawned bright and sunny, unseasonably warm according to the 
morning 
-nurse. Sarah didn't mind. Temperatures in South Carolina could change in an 
afternoon, and snow wasn't out of the question. Even for the week ahead. Snow 
had been a part of their first December; it was bound to come sometime in the 
next twelve days. 
Beth Baldwin was in charge that morning. Beth was a young caregiver who never 
spoke more than the essentials. Good morning. How are you? Nice December we're 
having. That sort of thing. Beth was married, or at least Sarah suspected as 
much since Beth wore a wedding ring. She was a pretty girl, a gentle caregiver, 
but her eyes were 
10 
wild and restless. They reminded Sarah of something she couldn't quite take hold 
of. 
"Beth, dear, do you know what day it is?" Sarah leaned forward so Beth could 
ease her into her red Christmas sweater. 
The young woman blew a wisp of dark hair off her forehead. Her voice was 
pleasant, but she didn't make eye contact. "Monday, December 13." 
A soft chuckle came from Sarah's throat. "No, dear. I don't mean the date, I 
mean the day." Sarah waited until she had Beth's attention. 
"The day?" Beth straightened, one hand on her hip. "I give up; what's special 
about today?" 
"Why, it's the First Day of Christmas!" 
Beth cocked her head. "You mean like the song? The partridge in a pear tree and 
all that Twelve Days of Christmas stuff?" 
"Yes." Sarah tugged on the sides of her sweater, and when it lay smooth around 
her scant frame, she eased back against the pillow. "Today's the first day." 
"Hmmm." Beth took hold of the water pitcher sitting on Sarah's bedside table. "I 
thought those were the twelve days after Christmas." 
"Only in the history books, dear. My twelve days begin today." 
11 
"Oh." Beth stopped. "Okay. That's nice I guess." With purposeful steps, she went 
to the sink, rinsed the pitcher, filled it, and returned it to its place. "I 
guess that means one thing." She stopped and gave Sarah a lopsided smile. 
"Twelve shopping days until Christmas." 
Sarah pursed her lips, the prayer from last night playing over in her mind. Beth 
wasn't the one; she wouldn't hold a conversation, never mind listen to a story 
that stretched over twelve days. 
"You know the routine." Beth headed for the door with a glance over her 
shoulder. "Press the call button if you need anything." 
"Thank you, Beth. I'll be okay for a few-" 
She was gone. Sarah stared at the closed door and gave a gentle shrug of her 
shoulders. Just as well. If Beth wasn't the one she'd prayed for, better to be 
alone for the first day of the ritual. She'd been waiting for this moment since 
the leaves began turning orange back in October. 
The envelopes lay fanned out on her nightstand in numerical order, the small 
plastic tree set up a few inches away, pressed against the wall. Sarah shifted 
to that side of the bed and let her legs hang over the side until her woolly 
socks rested on the cold linoleum floor. 
The first envelope called out to her, begging to be 
12 
opened. She lifted the flap, removed the paper ornament, and studied the word 
scrawled across both sides. 
Tomorrow. 
That's what she had wanted that cold January day, wasn't it? Everything about 
tomorrow. Today, what she had in the moment, was never enough. Not Greer or her 
parents or their faith. Not even Sam. Everything she'd done back then was 
focused on tomorrow, that far-off day when she could go after everything country 
music had to offer. Everything a young woman with her looks and voice and 
determination deserved. Everything her small town of Greer couldn't offer. Every 
moment of it. 
Tomorrow. 
Sarah studied the word, the faded ink, and bit by bit the piped-in music, the 
conversations in the hall, the aches and pains of nearly nine decades, all grew 
dim. She closed her eyes, and in a rush she felt herself going back, pulled into 
a time that still existed, a time that had never really ended at all. She 
blinked her eyes open, and she was no longer perched on the edge of her bed at 
Greer Retirement Village. 
She was twenty-three, in her parents' farmhouse across the street from the high 
school. Her mother was canning in the kitchen and the smell of warm apples and 
cinnamon filled the air. It was Christmas Eve 1940, and 
13 
Sam Lindeman was over. The way Sam always had been back then. 
Sarah fingered the paper ornament in her hand and blinked. She felt the 
weathered skin above her eyebrows bunch up and she pulled herself from the 
memory. She couldn't start in 1940. No, she had to go back to her girlhood days, 
when she dreamed day and night of catching Sam's attention, dating him, and one 
day marrying him. 
S am was five years older than her, the brother of Sarahs best friend, Mary. 
Though the Lindemans sometimes vacationed with Sarahs family, Sam never noticed 
Sarah in the early years. His age stood like an ocean, the span of time too far 
to consider bridging. But sometime after her twelfth birthday, despite their age 
difference, Sarah fell hard for him. 
"He's so cute," she would tell Mary whenever the two were visiting. Back then, 
they spent hours listening to records in Mary's room, pretending they were 
famous singers. 
"Nah," Mary would wrinkle her nose and turn up the music. "He's just my bossy 
brother." 
Sam played football for Greer High and Sarah used to dream of aging four years 
overnight, waking one morning, 
14 iKgren Kjjngsbury 
showing up at the high school, and being Sam Lindeman's girl. They would 
graduate high school and head for some foreign land-Spain, maybe, or the South 
of France or the Bahamas. One of the places her teachers were always talking 
about. 
In the dream, Sam would lead tourists on daring excursions and she would gain 
fame and fortune singing- not in a church choir the way her mother wanted her to 
sing, but in fancy dance halls and nightclubs, decked in beautiful gowns, with 
Sam sitting in the front row smiling at her. 
The dream never panned out. Every morning Sarah woke up still twelve years old, 
and the next year Sam graduated from high school and went off to college without 
so much as a good-bye to his kid sister's little friend. 
Years passed, and Sarah kept singing. By the time she turned seventeen everyone 
in Greer knew about her gift. 
She'd been born with a voice that could silence a room; a voice her mama said 
would make angels cry with envy. Sarah proved it again and again, every Sunday 
when the church choir featured her as a soloist. Each week Sarah smiled and sang 
her heart out. But she hated singing in a choir robe. She kept a small calendar 
beneath her bed where she counted down the days until she could finish high 
15 
school and take her singing somewhere exciting-Nashville or New York or Chicago. 
Anywhere but Greer. 
One summer Sam returned home for an entire month. Four years had passed since 
Sam left for college, and he no longer figured into Sarah's dreams. Sarah would 
never forget the first time she saw him that July day. That morning at the 
Lindeman house, she was on her way up the stairs to find Mary when she heard a 
man's voice call to her from the dining room. 
She turned and there he was. Sam Lindeman, twenty-two years old, taller, more 
filled out and more handsome than she had remembered. Sarahs breath caught in 
her throat and she froze near the bottom of the stairs. Visions of Spain and 
France and the Bahamas flashed in her mind. 
"Sarah, look at you." He crossed the parlor to the place where she stood. His 
voice fell a notch and his eyes seemed to find her for the first time. "What 
happened to the little girl down the street?" 
"Uh . . ." Heat rushed into Sarah's cheeks and she remembered to smile. "I grew 
up." She batted her eyelashes, willing herself to exhale. 
"I guess so." He leaned against the wall, watching her. "You must be, what, 
seventeen now?" 
"Yes." She was breathing again, but her racing heart threatened to give her 
away. "I'll be a senior in the fall." 
16 
"You're beautiful. I almost didn't recognize you." 
"Gosh," Sarah lowered her chin, suddenly shy. "Thanks. I mean ... I guess we 
both grew up, huh?" 
"Yeah." He was quiet for a moment, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. 
"Can I ask you something, little Sarah all grown up?" 
She giggled and felt some of her confidence return. Ask. 
"I'm taking my sister out for burgers tonight." His smile was as true as time, 
and her knees grew weak again. "Wanna come?" 
Sarah didn't have to think about her answer. "Yes" was out of her mouth almost 
as soon as he finished asking. Her parents wouldn't mind; not if Mary was going 
along. Besides, Sarah chided herself, Sam wasn't interested in her. He was only 
being nice, probably wanting to catch up on the past four years. 
That night they bowled before dinner and Sam entertained them with hilarious 
stories about his roommates back at college. Later, halfway through the meal, 
conversation turned to Sam's plans after college. Travel, Sarah expected him to 
say. Exploration and adventure and daring, the sort of life that long ago she 
had dreamed they'd share together. 
Instead, he set his burger down and leaned forward. 
L 
17 
"I'm getting my teaching certificate and coming back home." His eyes held a new 
sort of knowing as they found hers. "I'll marry a local girl, raise a family; 
and teach in Greer. Be the principal one day." He shifted his attention back to 
his sister. "That's all I've ever wanted. Sooner the better." Once more he 
looked at her. "How about you, Sarah? What are you doing after high school?" 
Sarah's head was still spinning from his answer. "I'm leaving Greer, getting a 
recording contract." 
"Really?" His expression held a hint of amusement. "Someone told me you could 
sing." 
"She's amazing." Mary ate a French fry and nodded hard. "One day everyone will 
know Sarah." 
"That's the plan." Sarah tried to find an appropriate laugh to help keep the 
conversation light, but none was available. Instead she excused herself. 
Alone in the restroom she stared at the chipped mirror, her eyes wide. Marrying 
a local girl right out of college was one thing, but Sam Lindeman living and 
teaching in Greer? Forever in a town where the closest thing to entertainment 
was Al's Drive-In or family night at the library? 
She shuddered and fear took a stab at her composure. 
As a girl she'd dreamed of following Sam to the ends of the earth, and now that 
he was home, now that he'd fi-
18 
nally noticed her, those feelings were coming to life again. But she never 
imagined the dream would take her no farther than the Greer city limit sign. 
A mix of emotions competed for control inside her. She was in trouble. Not 
because of the way Sam had looked at her when he talked about his future, but 
because of the way her heart leapt within her when he did. 
19 
yef Sarah ran her thumb over the first ornaf ment and pressed her other hand 
into the small "** of her back. The first day of the Christmas ritual was always 
the longest. 
Two years passed before she saw Sam Lindeman again. 
This time it was August, and Sam found her working at The Mixer, a diner with 
cheap food, a jukebox, and more teenagers than tables. Sarah was delivering a 
platter of cheese pizza to a group of baseball players when Sam walked through 
the door. A booth full of girls looked his way and began whispering and 
giggling, trying to get his attention. 
He ignored them, and from his spot near the door he 
20 
searched until he found her. "Hi." The word was silent, mouthed as he held up 
one hand and gave her a brief wave. 
She served the food, wiped her hands, and met him near the door. "Sam!" Without 
thinking, she stood on her toes and hugged him. "You're back." 
"I did it, Sarah." He grinned. "You're looking at Jackson Elementary's new 
fourth-grade teacher." 
A warning bell sounded on the panel of Sarah's heart, but she spoke too fast to 
heed it. "That's great, Sam!" She felt her eyebrows raise, and she clasped her 
hands, happy for him. "Mary didn't tell me you'd be home this soon." 
His smile softened. "I thought you'd be gone. Off to find that recording 
contract." 
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." 
21 
"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?" 
22 
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 
23 
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 
24 
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. 
This 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? 
25 
With 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." 
26 
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 goodbye, 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. 
27 
f 
Sarah 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 
28 
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 
29 
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." 
30 
"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 
orna-
31 
ment, 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. 
32 
33 
. /y The 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. 
34 
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. 
Ahead of her, the two-lane road curved first right 
35 
then left, and she saw her turn-off. The low-income neighborhood where they 
lived spread out for eight blocks, the houses small and old and boxy. But for 
the paint and a few differences in the trim, it was hard to tell one from 
another. 
She wasn't a praying woman, but if she were, this would've been a good time to 
ask for help. She'd dropped out of college to marry Bobby Baldwin, and in seven 
years, the man had learned nothing about her. What she was about to do that 
night was sure to catch him off guard. She parked, grabbed her purse, and headed 
inside. 
"Hello?" The screen door slammed behind her and she dropped her bag on the 
kitchen table. She turned and faced the sofa where Bobby and Brianna were 
watching television. Beth dropped to her knees and sat back on her heels. 
"Where's my Brianna bug?" 
"Mommy!" Their little daughter bounced off Bobby's lap and ran across the room, 
honey-blonde ponytail flying behind her. "Guess what?" 
"What?" Beth tried to sound excited. She nuzzled her face against Briannas and 
kissed the tip of her nose. 
"I made you a Cwis'mas present at school! And it was the bestest one in the 
whole class." 
Beth smiled. "Do I get it now?" 
36 
"No," Brianna gave a hard shake of her head, her eyes serious. "Only on Cwis'mas 
morning." 
"Okay." She looked over her daughters shoulders at Bobby. "Tell you what, 
sweetie. You and Daddy can finish watching TV later." 
Bobby cast her a curious look, but Beth ignored it. She stood and led Brianna 
down the hallway toward her bedroom. "How 'bout you go color a picture for 
Daddy, alright?" 
Brianna gave a small gasp. Her eyes lit up, glowing with enthusiasm and 
innocence. "Okay, Mommy! Then I'll have a present for Daddy, too!" 
"Yes, honey." Beth scooped her daughter up, held her for a minute, and walked 
her down the hall. "That would be very nice." 
When Brianna was in her room, Beth headed back to Bobby. She could feel his eyes 
on her the moment she came into view, but she didn't look at him until she was 
seated at the other end of the sofa. 
"Something wrong?" Only his eyes were directed at her; his body, his face were 
still locked on the TV. He still had the television remote in his hand. 
Beth studied him, the tufts of brown hair sticking out of his old Braves 
baseball cap, the blue flannel shirt he'd 
37 
worn every winter for the past five years. "Turn off the TV, Bobby." She crossed 
her arms. "We need to talk." 
He clicked the remote and the television went dark. Then he shifted his body in 
her direction. "Okay." His crooked smile was still cute. It reminded her of the 
reasons she'd fallen for him in the first place. "What's up?" 
Amazement washed over her. Look at him, she thought. He doesn't have a clue 
what's coming. She drew a deep breath and let the words come. "I'm leaving you, 
Bobby. Brianna and I are moving in with my mother." 
Bobby waited a few seconds, then chuckled. "What's this? Some sort of Christmas 
joke?" 
"No." Beth didn't blink. "I'm already packed." 
The laughter in Bobby's eyes faded and his lower jaw fell open. "You're 
serious?" 
"Yes." 
A frustrated anger filled his face. "Don't be crazy, Beth. We haven't fought in 
a month and now you're walking out on me? At Christmastime?" He let his head 
fall back and forced out a mouthful of air. "Whatever's eating you, don't blame 
it on me, okay?" His eyes met hers. "Maybe you had a bad day. So ... take a nap 
or a walk around the block. But don't threaten to leave, Beth. That isn't going 
to make things better." 
38 
Calm, Beth told herself. Stay calm. She had expected his reaction. Her voice was 
gentle, quieter than his. "Nothing's eating me, and I didn't have a bad day." 
She ran her tongue along her lower lip, searching for the words. "Look, Bobby, 
I've made up my mind. This-" She looked across the room and waved her hand at 
their cramped kitchen and then at him. "The way we live . . . you and me, none 
of it's the way it was supposed to turn out." 
"Oh, I get it." Fire flashed in Bobby's eyes. He was a gentle man; Beth had only 
seen him angry a few times. Once, when she'd talked about wanting more from 
life, he'd thrown his guitar through the bedroom wall. She hoped this wouldn't 
be one of those nights. "There's someone else, right?" 
She sighed and it came from the basement of her heart. "No. This isn't about 
anyone but me. I..." she lifted her shoulders. "I can't do this anymore." 
He gave her a sarcastic nod. "Nice, Beth." He huffed. "What happened to the 
whole faith thing, living for God and doing things His way?" Bobby stood up and 
glared at her. "I thought marriages made in heaven didn't die. Weren't those 
your words?" 
"Yes." She was ready for this, too. "I was young. We 
39 
were both raised in the church, but so what? When's the last time you took us to 
a Sunday service? For that matter, when's the last time you took me anywhere?" 
"I don't need this, Beth." He gestured toward the hallway. "Brianna will hear 
you." 
Beth didn't care. She stood up and kicked the sofa, her eyes boring into his. 
"Every night it's the same thing. You sit here watching that stupid television, 
and then you fall asleep before your head hits the pillow. We don't laugh or 
talk or dance or date." She was louder than she meant to be. "I had dreams when 
I met you." A sound that was more cry than laugh came from her. "Now look at me. 
I can't take one more day of it, Bobby. Not one." 
His mouth opened and for a moment it looked like he might shout at her. But then 
he gritted his teeth and looked away. 
"You promised me more than this." She hesitated, and her voice lost some of its 
edge. "See. You can't deny it. What we have is meaningless-an existence, nothing 
more." 
This time when he looked at her, the fight was gone. "Is that really how you see 
us?" 
She sucked at the inside of her lip. "Yes." Her sniff 
40 %l(aren Kingsbury 
punctuated the word. "I'm not in love with you, Bobby. I can't... I can't make 
myself feel something that isn't there. I need time. Me and Brianna will be at 
my mother's until I decide what to do next." 
A slow disgusted shock colored his features. "Twelve days before Christmas, 
Beth? Couldn't you wait a few weeks? Give me a chance to make things right?" 
"No!" She barely let him finish his sentence. Anxiety grabbed hold of her and 
shook hard. "I don't want to try again. It's not in you, Bobby. We've had this 
talk a dozen times. Things seem better for a week or two, but then they're right 
back the way they were." She spread her hands out. "This .. . this life we live 
is enough for you. Pretending for my sake won't turn things around. It never has 
before." 
"Fine." Something hard as steel filled his eyes and he took a step back. "If you 
don't love me, I won't ask you to change your mind. But consider our daughter. 
Leaving now, a few weeks before Christmas? How do you think she'll feel about 
that?" He paused. "Wait two weeks for Brianna and then go." His lips were 
pinched as he spat out the last part. "I won't try to stop you." 
Beth stood frozen in place, her mouth open. 
What had he said? That he wouldn't try to stop her if she left after Christmas? 
That's what she wanted, wasn't it? It's what she'd wanted for two years. She'd 
expected to 
41 
feel new and alive if Bobby released her, as if she'd been given a second lease 
on life. So, why didn't she feel better about it? 
Instead her heart was heavy, and an emptiness made it hard for her to breathe. 
She sat back down on the edge of the sofa. "Stay through Christmas?" 
"Not for me." His look was harder than before. "For Brianna." 
Beth swallowed. If she was going to leave, better to go now, right? Wasn't that 
what she'd decided when she made the plan? That way the holidays might take the 
edge off any sorrow Brianna would feel-sort of a softening of the blow. 
But now, with the facts on the table, Bobby's argument made sense. 
Staying home would at least give Brianna a happy Christmas, even if her parents 
were separating. They could keep the truth from her until the end of the month 
so that whatever pain Brianna felt, it wouldn't darken Christmas, too. 
"Beth?" Bobby shifted his weight and flexed the muscles in his jaw. 
"Okay." She looked at the ceiling. "I'll stay until the end of the month, but 
then we're gone." 
42 
"And until then?" Bobby looked away. His tone was so cold it made her shiver 
from across the room. 
"Look. . ." She thought about fighting with him, then changed her mind. Her 
lungs emptied slowly, emphasizing her sadness. "I don't hate you. I just 
don't... I don't love you like I used to, Bobby. But Brianna doesn't have to 
know that." She hesitated. She hadn't counted on having to share a house with 
him even after he knew her feelings. "I think we need to be civil. Otherwise I 
can leave tonight." 
"Civil?" His eyes found hers once more and this time, despite his obvious effort 
at indifference, the pain shone through. "Telling me two weeks before Christmas 
that you're walking out, Beth? Is that civil?" 
They went another two rounds of her reasons and his explanations and promises, 
but it got them nowhere. In the end they agreed to keep their distance and focus 
their attention on their daughter. On giving Brianna a wonderful Christmas 
despite what the New Year would bring. 
Beth kept to herself that evening. Sometime after nine o'clock she crept into 
Brianna's room and laid down on the floor. Sleep didn't find her at first. 
Instead a slideshow of pictures played in her mind. Bobby and her on their first 
date; Bobby and her playing in the snow; Bobby and her teaching Brianna how to 
walk. The suc
ks'-2
43 
cession of images was relentless, and all of it played out to the same piece of 
music. The haunting simple tune from earlier that morning, the one the old lady 
had written. 
Sarah's song. 
44 
45 
Now that the twelve days were underway, Sarah found the transition from present 
to past an easy one. The words High Hopes were scrawled across the ornament in 
the second envelope, and when Sarah was certain the young caregiver wasn't 
coming, she allowed the memory to move ahead. 
She arrived in Nashville that cold January evening with more high hopes than 
money, but that didn't matter. Her expectations would be met; she was sure of 
it. She would take her songs to the first music company she could find, sing a 
few of her favorites, and let the executives explain the steps to getting a 
contract. 
46 
Money wouldn't have to be much up front. Just enough to make a living, nothing 
more. But touring was important. Anyone in the industry knew touring was the way 
to find a following and get a song on the charts. The recording company would 
have to send her on a tour; she would insist. 
Sarah took a hotel that first night and reviewed her plan. She had enough money 
to last a month or so, but it wouldn't take that long. Two weeks and she'd be on 
her way, connected with a label and moving forward with her singing career. 
Her mother and father had prayed for her before she left. That first night, 
alone in a dark hotel room in a strange new city, the words to her parents' 
prayer came rushing back. 
You know Sarah's heart, God, and the future You have for her. Keep her safe and 
let her find the place, the purpose, and the plans You've laid out for her. 
Sarah repeated the prayer several times, adding her own requests. As she did, a 
thought came to her. This was the first time she'd gone to sleep without her 
parents nearby, and yet she felt at home, comfortable. Unafraid. 
Not once that first night did Sam Lindeman even cross her mind. 
When morning came she set out to find her record 
47 
deal, but by dusk she'd found just one thing. A reality check. Getting a label 
to back her might be harder than she'd thought. 
The first week blurred into the second. She visited agents and production houses 
and the executive offices of recording studios. Once in a while someone would 
look her up and down and raise a curious eyebrow. Then they'd pass her off to a 
talent scout or an agent or someone on the other side of town. 
"Come back when you get a demo, kid," they'd tell her. 
By the end of the first month, Sarah's high hopes had dwindled to one: survival. 
She moved her things to a seedy hotel in what was obviously the worst part of 
town. Talking to God didn't seem to help, so Sarah stopped praying. It was one 
more break with the routine of her past, and it felt good, more independent. 
Whatever happened next would be her doing-good or bad. 
Not the result of God. 
Sarah was sure her parents would be shocked with her new attitude, so she didn't 
tell them. 
"You're praying, right, Sarah?" her mother would ask. 
"Of course, Mama," she lied. "All the time." 
"Us, too. God will show you the way, honey. Just keep looking." 
48 
"I will, Mama." 
Her father's question was the same each time. "Finding any work?" 
"Still looking, Daddy, but don't worry. Any day now." 
Sarah spoke with her parents once or twice a week, and always the phone calls 
ended the same. Yes, she had enough money; yes, she was fine; yes, her big break 
was just around the corner. 
Never did they mention Sam, and Sarah didn't ask. She didn't want to know. She'd 
walked away from Sam and the church-girl life that had all but smothered her. 
She was a new person, and though she wasn't always honest with her parents, she 
truly believed what she said about her future. 
Her break into the music industry was coming. Any day and she'd be on her way. 
Six weeks after arriving in Nashville, Sarah had been to every industry location 
in Nashville twice. She would take a cab to the general area and canvas every 
address in a ten-block radius. The answer was always the same-she needed 
experience. 
By then she had reduced her expenses to one meal a day-a buffet three blocks 
from her hotel. The food was bland and greasy and one dish tasted suspiciously 
like another, but she could eat as much as she wanted, and the 
49 
meal kept her going. Late that week, she spread what was left of her money 
across her hotel bed and realized how dire her situation had become. 
She was down to eleven dollars. 
If she didn't find work the next morning, she would have to leave the hotel, and 
then what? Call her parents and tell them she'd failed? Ask for money and risk 
having them see her dreams as sheer foolery? 
Sarah gritted her teeth and stared at her file of songs perched on top of the 
cheap dresser. No, she wouldn't let that happen; she wouldn't fail. The dirty 
walls of her lousy room closed in a little more each day, but they would have to 
crush her before she'd give up. She'd get a job tomorrow and she'd do it without 
anyone's help. 
That night before she fell asleep she stared at the mirror. Her long blonde hair 
and church dresses made her look sixteen, not twenty-three. Maybe the industry 
officials would take her seriously if she changed her look. Tucked in her bag of 
personal items was a pair of scissors and a small sewing kit. 
With a building excitement, she grabbed them both, returned to the mirror and 
began cutting. Fifteen minutes later she'd given herself an entirely new look. 
Her short bob wasn't the most professional she'd seen, but it took care of the 
girl-next-door look. Next she grabbed 
50 
her most colorful church dress, laid it out on the bathroom counter and began 
cutting the skirt. When she was done, she hemmed it, slipped it on, and grinned. 
The dress had once fallen almost to her ankles, loose and modest around her hips 
and waist. Now it came to just above her knees. With the extra material, Sarah 
quickly fashioned a belt, fastened it around her waist, and undid the top 
buttons on the dress. She studied the mirror once more. 
This time she made a slight gasp, her eyes wide. She looked like a different 
person. Her figure was stunning, something even she hadn't realized. And with 
her new haircut she could hardly wait for morning. 
The next day she walked into Trailway Records, the first office she'd been to 
when she arrived nearly two months earlier. A young man was working the phones 
and when she came through the door and removed her coat, he did a double take 
and spilled his coffee. He smiled at her and held up a single finger, silently 
asking her to stay. 
Sarah nodded and took a nearby chair. She held her portfolio of songs close to 
her chest and crossed her legs the way she'd seen showgirls cross them in the 
movies. Making sure the young man had a clear view of her curvy calves. 
51 
In two minutes he was off the phone and on his feet. "Hi." He walked around his 
desk and smiled. "Can I help your 
"Yes." Sarah stood and gave him a look she'd been working on all morning. "I'm a 
singer." She flashed him a slow smile. "I need a job." 
"I see." The man was nodding before she had the words out. "I think we can help 
you." He introduced himself as Mr. Hamilton, and in a hurry he called to a man 
in a nearby office. Before Sarah could grasp what was happening, she was 
standing on a small stage in front of four men. One of them was at the piano, 
the music to her songs spread out before him. 
"Okay, Sarah," one of the men said. "Let's hear what you've got." 
She sang three pieces, but after the first they no longer seemed to be 
listening. The three men brought their heads together and whispered. Sarah felt 
a thrill work its way through her body. They were talking over the details of 
her contract. Once in a while one of them waved at her to keep singing. Sarah 
was so happy she could barely remember the words. 
When they were finished talking, Mr. Hamilton approached her and motioned for 
her to stop. 
"So . . ." She was breathless. This was it, the moment 
52 
she'd been waiting for. They would present her with a contract and she'd be on 
her way. "Am I in?" 
"Well," Mr. Hamilton smiled big. "Our office girl left yesterday." His tone 
suggested this was the best possible news. "We'd like to bring you in, train you 
on the phones, the filing, that sort of thing." 
Blood rushed to Sarah's face and she felt faint. "Phones?" She blinked hard. 
"What about. . . what about my songs? My contract?" 
"Uh ..." Mr. Hamilton hesitated, then turned and looked at the three men waiting 
at the back of the room. When he met Sarah's eyes again his smile faded some. 
"We might be able to get you some studio work, singing backgrounds, demos, that 
sort of thing." A nervous laugh slipped. "Yeah, the uh . . . the contract, why, 
that comes later on. Down the road." 
He explained the pay. Fifty dollars a week plus bonus money if they needed her 
for studio work. 
Sarah wanted to spit at the man. How dare he give her a job answering phones and 
filing paperwork? But she stopped herself. This was the first job she'd been 
offered, and the manager at the hotel wanted his money. He'd made her a deal-a 
hundred dollars a month if she cleaned her own room. The job would leave her 
enough spending money to eat and eventually buy a new dress or two. 
53 
She thought about the alternative-calling home and asking for train money. 
"Fine." She lifted her chin, too proud to smile. "When do I start?" 
The men looked at each other again and Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat. "Right 
now if you're ready." 
Sarah was, and by the end of the day she had the office system memorized. Before 
she left for the evening, Mr. Hamilton approached her. The others were already 
gone, and something more suggestive shone in the man's eyes. 
"Want a ride?" He reached out and brushed his finger against her chin. "Maybe we 
could, you know, talk about that studio work you're wanting." 
A chill passed over Sarah. She slipped her coat on and shook her head. "I'll 
take a cab, thank you. And it's not studio work I'm wanting, Mr. Hamilton." She 
snatched her packet of songs from the desk and glared at him. "It's a contract." 

That night she checked the mirror again and admired her new look. If she had to 
answer a thousand phone calls on the way up, at least she had a job in 
Nashville. A job she'd gotten on her very own, without handouts or connections 
or any praying on her part. It was hers, fair and square, and despite the 
circumstances Sarah was bursting at the seams. 
54 
She had come to Nashville seeking a career in the music industry, and now she 
was on her way. 
"It's just like I dreamed, Mama," Sarah didn't mention the phone work or filing 
when she reported home that night. "I'll be singing in Nashville." 
"Baby, be careful." Her mother's tone was always reserved, anxious about the 
entire situation. "I'm still praying." 
Her father was more upbeat. "You let us know when you'll be onstage, now. We'll 
come and see you sing, all right?" 
"It should be sometime soon, Daddy. I'll let you know." Sarah bit her lip. The 
lie felt bitter on her tongue, but then, it wasn't a total lie. She would be on 
a stage singing sometime soon. The people at Trailway Records were bound to see 
the light, and then the offers would come. A contract, a tour, a traveling band. 
All of it would happen, especially now that she was in with a studio. 
The weeks blended into months and Sarah found herself fielding more passes from 
Mr. Hamilton than phone calls or files. But every now and then he made good on 
his word and allowed her some studio work. Backgrounds for a small piece, or 
harmony on a demo tape. 
55 
Each time she stood before the microphone Sarah felt the same way. One step 
closer to her dream. All she needed was a break, one single break. And at the 
end of her third month with Trailway Records, Sarah found it. 
56 
57 
' ŚThe second day of Sarah's Christmas ritual 
blended into the third, and the ornament read 
Excitement. Even now that was the only word 
that could've described the feeling Sarah had the day 
Mitch Mullins walked into Trailway Studios. 
Mitch was a country music star, an overnight phenomenon, a man on his way to 
becoming an icon. He'd broken onto the scene two years earlier and already he 
had six number one songs. His dark looks and smooth voice made him a heartthrob, 
and for a nation looking for purpose, Mitch's soulful lyrics kept the industry 
hungry for more. 
Sarah was aware of him. She loved his music, and she'd heard enough chatter 
working at Trailway Records to know his wild reputation. Mitch was the kind of 
man 
58 
her parents had warned her against. Not that it mattered. Nashville was a big 
town and Sarah never expected to meet him. 
But that month he was between contracts, looking for a new label when he came 
into the office for a meeting with the higher-ups. Electricity filled the air 
when Mitch and his agent arrived, though Sarah didn't talk with him. She was in 
the studio all day working on a demo. 
Halfway through the day Sarah was trying to bring life to a worn-out song when 
Mitch walked through the studio doors, spotted her, and froze. Sarah's breath 
caught in her throat. He was even more striking in person. She felt her face 
flush under his gaze, but she kept her attention on the producer and his 
directions for the song. 
When the music ended, a break was called and Mitch meandered his way toward her. 

"Hello." An easy grin tugged at his mouth. His eyes made a lazy trip down the 
length of her and back up again. He was only a few feet away now and he held out 
his hand. "My name's Mitch." 
"Hi." Sarah took hold of his fingers and the sensation sliced its way through 
her. She swallowed, searching for her voice. "I'm Sarah." 
"Well, Sarah ..." Mitch released her hand and took another step closer. A 
presence surrounded him, some-
ss
59 
thing powerful, stronger than anything Sarah had felt. "Since when does Trailway 
Records hire angels?" 
She smiled and her cheeks grew hot again. This was Mitch Mullins talking to her, 
complimenting her. For a moment she broke eye contact and looked at the ground, 
not sure what to say. She reminded herself not to take the moment too seriously. 
If the stories about Mitch were true, he probably reacted this way to most 
women. 
"I was in the office talking with the guys when I heard you." His tone was 
softer, genuine. "I had to see where that voice came from." He took her hand 
again and guided her along the edge of the stage and down three steps. "You're 
absolutely stunning, Sarah. Everything about you." 
"Thank you." Sarah hoped her palms weren't sweaty. Calm down, she told herself. 
He says the same thing to all the girls. She scanned the back of the studio for 
the director. The break wouldn't last much longer, even if she was talking to 
Mitch Mullins. 
"Sarah, look at me." 
Her eyes found his again. "Yes?" 
"Let me take you away from here." He caught her other hand and eased his thumbs 
over the tops of her knuckles. "Sing backup for me on my tour, and when we get 
back to Nashville I'll make you the biggest star this town's ever seen." 
60 
The floor felt suddenly liquid; Sarah had to brace her knees to keep from 
falling. Mitch Mullins wanted her to sing backup for him, tour with him? He 
wanted her to make it big, and he'd only known her for five minutes? "I ... I 
don't know what to say." 
Mitch chuckled and squeezed her fingers. Then, as if it was the most natural 
thing in all the world, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Say yes, Sarah. 
You'll never regret it for a minute." 
That evening Mitch had a driver bring Sarah to his Nashville estate, where his 
staff served them steamed fish and wild rice. They drank sweet tea from crystal 
goblets and Sarah tried to convince herself she wasn't dreaming. When they 
finished eating, he explained the situation. His backup singer had quit the week 
before to be with her family. His tour would start the following Monday- a 
ten-week bus trip through the south. 
"Hamilton tells me you write your own songs." Mitch had dropped the slick 
one-liners from earlier that afternoon. Outside the studio atmosphere, he didn't 
seem like the country's fastest-rising star. He was genuine and likeable, a man 
oozing charm and utter confidence. 
"Yes." She made a face and took a sip of tea. "I'm surprised he remembers." 
"He said they were good." 
61 
Sarah's heart skipped a beat. "Really?" 
"Yes." Mitch tossed his napkin on his plate and slid back from the table. He was 
across from her and his gaze never wavered. "I'm serious about the offer, Sarah. 
Sing for me on the tour and we'll get those songs on the air before summertime." 

He stood and made his way around the table. With a familiar ease, he reached for 
her hand, waited until she was on her feet, then directed her into a sitting 
room. Before they reached the sofa, he stopped and turned to her. "Sarah," he 
gave a gentle pull and she was inches from him before she knew what had 
happened. "You're beautiful." 
For a single instant, Sarah remembered Sam telling her that. She refused the 
thought. Mitch was so close she could feel his breath, smell the hint of his 
intoxicating cologne. "Thank you, Mitch." 
Without waiting another moment, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, and 
suddenly there was no turning back. She quit her job the next day and gave 
herself to Mitch Mullins, heart and mind, body and soul. 
"I've made it; I got my break," she told her parents. "I'm touring with Mitch 
Mullins." 
Her father had doubts from the beginning. "He has a wild reputation, Sarah." 
62 
"Dad." She'd practiced her response, perfected the lie. "He likes my voice; 
nothing more." 
From the time she hit the road with Mitch, warnings screamed at her. Girls were 
crazy for him, throwing themselves at the stage and bursting into tears if he 
reached out and touched their fingertips. At each show, dozens of girls would 
toss him gifts-flowers or teddy bears or slips of paper bearing phone numbers 
and unmentionable promises. Sarah figured since she and Mitch were an item, he'd 
toss the numbers as soon as the show was over. Instead she walked into his 
dressing room one night and caught him with a phone in one hand, a slip of paper 
in the other. When she asked him about it, he shrugged. "A man's gotta have 
friends, baby." 
But Mitch's escapades were beyond shady, even if Sarah didn't want to ask 
questions. Mitch would disappear after a show and return by cab the next morning 
just as the bus was ready to pull out. Other times he'd leave with a group of 
girls after a show, stay out until three or four in the morning, and still have 
the nerve to show up at her hotel door-shirt unbuttoned, lipstick on his 
cheek-looking for her affection. 
Sarah wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. No matter how many girls he 
toyed with, she was the one he 
63 
kept coming back to, the one he was in love with. Besides, what more could she 
ask for? She was singing backup for Mitch Mullins, performing for a packed house 
night after night, the way she'd always dreamed. Mitch was going to make her 
into a star, even though he hadn't talked much about it since they'd gone on 
tour. 
"Mitch," she told him every few shows, "I haven't played my songs for you yet. 
Don't you want to hear them?" 
"Yeah, sure, baby." He'd lean in and kiss her long enough to take her breath 
away. "Maybe at the next stop, okay?" 
But at the next stop he'd say the same thing. Next time, baby . . . we'll look 
at your songs next time. 
The routine was identical in nearly every city. After the shows, Mitch would 
spend the night with her. And in those moments she could barely remember what 
city she was in, let alone her parents' warning or the girl she used to be. 
Every now and then she thought about her forgotten faith and the promises she'd 
made as a young girl- promises to stay pure and set apart, to wait for her 
wedding day. But the longer she stayed on the road with Mitch Mullins the more 
distant that girl and those promises became. 
64 
A shudder passed over Sarah and gradually she pulled herself from the memory. 
The early days were the hardest to relive, but they were part of the story, part 
of the ritual all the same. Not because Sarah missed those days, but because 
without them there would we been no story at all. 
That night she lay down on the pillow and struggled to get comfortable. Her 
breathing was shallow and stubborn, more so than before, and her tired heart 
beat slower than usual. When sleep finally found her, it wasn't with dreams of 
Mitch Mullins and the three ornaments already on the tree. It was with silent 
prayers and bits of her song, and a single thought she couldn't quite shake. 
If God was going to let someone be changed by her story, her song, then where 
was her caregiver, Beth? The young woman had to be the right one, so why hadn't 
she come to hear the story} 
The more Sarah thought about Beth, the more she became certain of something. 
Three days earlier, she had seen a look in Beth's eyes, something she couldn't 
quite identify. But now, now Sarah knew where she'd seen the look before, and 
that could only mean one thing. Beth 
64 
65 
was in trouble. Maybe with a child or a parent. Maybe with a spouse, but she was 
in trouble. 
Because the look in her eyes was a rebellious defiance -the same type of look 
Sarah herself had carried back in 1941. 
66 
67 
I Bobby Baldwin couldn't sleep. 
Beth was on the sofa, probably snoring under a mound of blankets the way she'd 
slept most nights since her announcement. At first Bobby hadn't minded. He was 
mad at Beth, frustrated with her. How dare she make a decision that would so 
swiftly and totally end their family? 
But that night Bobby felt sick to his stomach and his heart ached. Now that he'd 
had time to think about the situation, he knew the score. Beth was serious. She 
was going to leave him after Christmas and nothing was going to stop her. 
Because of that, lately he walked around in a state of shock and 
desperation-frantic to find a way to turn back the clock. 
68 
He might be upset with Beth; he might not like her demands or the way she made 
him feel inadequate as a husband. But he loved her; with all his heart he loved 
her. He couldn't imagine living without her and Brianna- not for a week, let 
alone a few months or a year. Maybe forever. 
The prospect of giving up his family was more than he could take, worse than 
he'd ever imagined. Even now-late at night with an early work shift in a few 
hours-the idea of losing them sat on his chest like a cement truck. 
Beth was going to take his Brianna away and he could do nothing to change her 
mind. Sweet Brianna, who adored climbing into bed between the two of them. 
Brianna, who clamored about in the kitchen every Saturday while he made her 
Mickey Mouse pancakes. Brianna with her Eskimo kisses and Hold-me-forever-Daddy 
hugs. 
How would he survive without her? Without either of them? 
Brianna would be asleep now, dreaming about Christmas, sprawled out beneath her 
fairy princess bedspread. He slipped his feet out from under the covers, grabbed 
a crumpled sweatshirt from the floor, and threw it on. The house was chilly, 
more so than usual. He shiv
69 
ered once and snuck out the bedroom door. Without stopping, he passed a sleeping 
Beth and tiptoed into Brianna's room. 
For a moment he stood there, silent, barely breathing. The moonlight splashed 
through her window and across her face. She was so pretty, such a delight. 
"Hi, Brianna." He walked to her bed, his voice softer than a whisper. He eased 
himself onto the edge of her mattress and stared at her. "Daddy loves you, 
honey." 
Sitting there, looking at his only child, Bobby felt a lump rise in his throat. 
How many days like this did he have left? Times when Brianna would be sleeping 
under his roof? Life was bound to play out predictably from here, wasn't it? 
Divorce had a sameness about it, a brokenness that repeated itself no matter how 
many people chose it. 
Beth would leave and at first he'd see Brianna often- several times a week at 
least. But life would get busy, and eventually Beth would grow tired of 
Spartanburg the way single people tire of small towns. She would move away, 
maybe back to Atlanta where her sisters lived, and then what? 
Bobby closed his eyes and remembered something he hadn't thought of in years. 
He'd been traveling late one August, going to 
70 
California to visit his mother before she died. Beth and Brianna had stayed 
home, since the visit would take place at a hospital and Brianna had only been a 
baby at the time. 
His layover was in St. Louis, and once the gate attendant started the boarding 
call, Bobby noticed a man and a little boy fifteen feet away. The man was 
standing, and the child-maybe seven years old-was holding onto his legs, 
clinging to him as though he never wanted to let go. 
That's when Bobby noticed the woman. 
Sitting a few feet back, her expression hard, was a woman whose arms were 
crossed. The man dropped to one knee and spoke to the little boy, but the woman 
checked her watch and shifted her position. 
Finally a gate attendant approached them, and the man stood. He nodded as the 
attendant relayed something Bobby couldn't make out. Then the man pulled the boy 
into one final hug, held on for several seconds, and bid him good-bye. The boy 
straightened himself and that's when Bobby got a clear view of him. 
The child was crying, sobbing. His next words were loud enough for Bobby to 
hear. "I don't want to go, Dad." 
The man hugged the boy once more, a desperate sort of hug. The two exchanged 
words and nods and one last 
71 
embrace. Then the man stepped away and the boy-trying to be stoic-went with the 
gate attendant toward the jetway. Every few steps he craned his neck around and 
gave the man a little wave, and the man-his expression strong-made an attempt to 
smile back. 
Not until the boy turned the corner and disappeared did the man break. He turned 
around, took a few slow steps past the woman, and hung his head against the 
wall. For a long while-through most of the boarding call- the man stayed there, 
his shoulders shaking as he cried for the boy. 
Bobby watched the entire scene, watched how the woman left the man alone, how 
she looked pained for him, but indignant. She shared none of the man's 
brokenness. What, Bobby wondered, would have explained such a scene? A man 
saying good-bye to his son? A woman sitting nearby disinterested? 
And then it hit him. 
The situation was obvious; it was the end of summer, after all. The boy's 
parents obviously lived in separate cities-possibly separate states. After a 
summer with his father, the boy must have been returning home-wherever home 
was-to be with his mother. 
The disinterested woman was probably the new wife. 
All of it made sense. And for weeks the image stayed 
72 Karen Kings bury 
with him-the broken man leaning on an airport wall, weeping, his head buried in 
the crook of his arm. 
A portrait of divorce. 
It was the same picture any time children were involved. Oh, sure, at first 
divorce promised freedom, an answer to every trouble marriage had a way of 
bringing. But divorce was a lie, a con-artist that moved into a family and stole 
the little moments, robbing every member blind. It was a hand grenade that 
shattered lives and destroyed dreams, taking no prisoners along the way. 
At least that's the way Bobby remembered thinking about it at the time. 
He never shared the image with Beth, never felt the need to share it. They were 
happy, right? Why talk about divorce? They'd promised each other forever, and 
forever was what Bobby expected. They went to church and prayed with Brianna 
before bedtime. And if their schedules and budgets didn't allow time for date 
nights or yellow roses, well then, at least they had Sunday mornings together. 
Nothing had changed there, but over time Bobby forgot about the scene at the 
airport and divorce began to seem somehow more understandable. Not for him and 
Beth, maybe, but for some of the guys on the maintenance crew at work, guys with 
issues in their marriages. Not seri-
73 
ous issues of abuse or unfaithfulness, but bickering and boredom and a spouse 
hardly worth going home to. 
For them divorce meant the chance for new love, someone more exciting, more 
sympathetic. For years, despite everything he knew to be true, that's the way 
Bobby had viewed it. 
Until now. 
The nausea within him grew worse and he gave a hard shake of his head. Was Beth 
crazy? Couldn't she look ahead and see where leaving would get them? It was her 
fault, after all. She wanted to leave. 
He studied Brianna, her little-girl lips and the soft way her chest rose and 
fell with each breath. It didn't matter if it was Beth's fault. Either way, a 
divorce would touch them all, change them from what they'd been to another 
statistic. 
If Beth left with Brianna, one day he'd be the man in the airport, telling his 
daughter good-bye at summer's end, waiting until the following Christmas or 
maybe an entire year before seeing her again. Only he wouldn't fall against the 
airport wall in tears, he'd collapse right there at the jetway. Unable to 
breathe or move or exist with his daughter leaving him. 
The ache in his heart grew stronger and Bobby hunched forward, one hand on 
Brianna's pillow. 
74 
How had they let it fall apart? He and Beth had been perfect for each other, 
hadn't they? In love and excited about a lifetime together? Wasn't that them? So 
what had gone wrong? Had Beth found someone else, someone with a better job, 
more money, and security? 
Bobby exhaled and the sound of it rattled his soul. Whatever the reason, this 
whole mess was her fault. He hadn't done anything but put in his forty hours a 
week and show up each night at home. He didn't drink or gamble or hang out with 
die guys. He'd never once been interested in another woman, so what was her 
problem? 
"God . . . what happened?" His words were barely audible. "Why isn't this enough 
for Beth?" 
He heard nothing in response, no booming voice telling him how he might change 
Beth's mind. But a strong sense came over him, a sense that made him long for a 
look at their wedding pictures, the place where their lives had come together. 
He kissed Brianna on the cheek, and crept out the door, down the hall to the TV 
room. 
Quietly, so he wouldn't wake Beth, he scanned the top bookshelf until he saw the 
brown leather-like cover. Their wedding album. He reached for the book and 
pulled it out. A layer of dust came down with it. He carried the album to their 
bedroom, sat at the end of the bed, and stared at the cover. 
75 
In golden letters the front read, "Robert and Elizabeth, forever." Their wedding 
date was centered beneath. 
What was it they'd promised that summer, when the photographer presented them 
with the book? That they'd look at the pictures every year on their anniversary, 
wasn't that it? That they'd take an evening and remember the events and people 
who brought them together, so that their love would never have a chance to fade, 
right? 
But two years later, Brianna came along and somehow the promise was forgotten. 
Bobby ran his fingers over the dusty cover and figured it had been four years 
since either of them had even thought of the wedding pictures, let alone taken 
the time to look at it. 
Still, he wasn't sure why he suddenly wanted to see them now, in the middle of 
the night. If Beth wasn't interested in staying, a bunch of photographs wouldn't 
do them much good. 
He opened the first page and for a moment he couldn't breathe. 
Beth looked beautiful. She was facing him, the two of them looking like the 
definition of love. She was beyond beautiful, and not just her face and hair and 
the dress she wore. But her expression, caught in his embrace, unaware 
76 Karen Kingsbury 
of the camera. Hunger and longing filled their eyes, and a passion that went 
beyond physical desire. 
But even that wasn't what made him struggle for the next breath. Instead it was 
the words scrawled at the bottom of the page, a Bible verse he'd used in his 
vows. 
"Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up 
for her." 
Since Beth's announcement that she was leaving, Bobby had insisted the trouble 
was her fault. Her fault for being unhappy, her fault for being self-centered, 
her fault for even thinking of taking Brianna away from him. 
But here, now, those excuses were leaking from his airtight understanding like 
air from an untied balloon. 
Sure, he went to work each day and came home every night. His job had kept them 
fed and clothed, but what had he done to keep their marriage alive? Slowly, he 
shut the book, too sad and tired to turn another page. 
The book tucked up against his chest, he fell asleep, and for the first time 
that week it wasn't with condemning thoughts of Beth and her selfishness. 
Rather, it was of his own. 
He'd been wrong to let their marriage die. Tomorrow morning he would stop 
pointing fingers at Beth and start finding ways to love her, the way he'd long 
since stopped 
76 
77 
loving her. He had no idea how-in a few weeks' time- he could find a way to make 
things right again, but he had to try. 
Most of all, he had to find a way to lay down his life for the only girl he'd 
ever loved. 
Beth's first thought the next morning was that she must have been dreaming. 
She'd dreamed that Bobby had been creeping around the TV room while she was 
sleeping, and that he'd taken their wedding album down from the top shelf. It 
wasn't until she was fully awake that she realized she hadn't been dreaming at 
all. Where the book had been was now only an empty space. 
She sat up and squinted, puzzled. What would he want with their wedding album, 
and why now? No answer came, and she turned her head one way and then the other, 
trying to stretch out the kinks in her neck. The Christmas season was proving to 
be unbearable. She was anxious and frustrated and sick of sleeping on the sofa. 
She and Bobby had barely spoken to each other, and Brianna was getting 
suspicious. Later that morning, as she was eating Corn Flakes, she dropped her 
spoon into the bowl and turned to Beth. 
"How come you don't like Daddy anymore?" 
78 
Beth set down her coffee and stared at Brianna. What had Bobby said? Something 
to poison their daughter's mind about who the bad parent was? Something to 
soften the blow in the battle that was about to be their lives? She leaned in, 
already angry. "Did Daddy tell you that?" 
"No." Brianna gave an angry pout. "You keep sleeping in the TV room without 
Daddy and that means you don't like him." 
Guilt hit Beth hard. Brianna was waiting for an answer, but Beth had none to 
give. How had Brianna found out about the sofa, and when had she grown so 
perceptive? "Well, honey . . ." She tapped her ringers on the table and tried to 
smile. "That's because Mommy isn't feeling good. It's almost Christmas and I 
don't want poor Daddy to get sick." 
The excuse sounded ridiculous even to Beth. Brianna only rolled her eyes. "If 
you liked him you'd sleep in your own room, Mommy. You sleep with me when I'm 
sick, remember?" 
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, and nothing felt quite right 
between them even after Beth dropped her off at day care. 
Beth leaned hard into the seat of her car as she headed 
79 
for work. Suddenly she remembered the old woman at the retirement home. Sarah 
Lindeman, the woman with the beautiful voice and that melody, the one Beth 
hadn't been able to get out of her head. Great. She gritted her teeth as she 
parked her car in the back lot of Greer Retirement Village. How many more people 
would she let down before Christmas? 
Beth locked her door and headed across the parking lot. What had the woman said? 
If Beth listened to the story, then she'd tell her the secret of love? Yes, that 
was it. The secret of love. 
Fine. Today she'd go see the old woman. Her own life might be falling apart, but 
that didn't mean she had the right to ignore a sweet old dear like Sarah 
Lindeman. The woman was probably suffering from dementia, among other ailments, 
but that didn't matter. She had something important to say and the woman didn't 
get many visitors. Beth might be the only person who would listen. 
Crazy or not, the old woman deserved at least that much. 
That morning she made sure Sarah was on her list of residents, and after she 
helped the old woman finish breakfast and wash up, Beth took a spot at the end 
of the bed. She looked intently at her. "You think I've forgotten." 
80 Karen Kjjigsbury 
Sarah angled her head, unblinking. "Yes. I guess so." She shifted her attention 
to the crooked plastic Christmas tree perched on her bedside table. "Today's the 
sixth day." 
"I know." Beth folded her hands on her lap. "I'm sorry. Things . . . well, 
things haven't been good at home." She hesitated. "Is it too late, Sarah? Could 
you catch me up so I could hear the story?" 
"Yes." Sarah sat a little straighter in her bed. Her smile said she wasn't mad 
about Beth's absence these past few days. "Yes, that would be very nice." 
Beth stood, closed the door, and pulled a chair up to the bed. "What have I 
missed, Sarah?" 
The old woman looked at Beth again and cleared her throat. Then she began. She 
talked about her love for Sam Lindeman, but her greater love for a career in 
Nashville. She shared about her decision to leave Sam and Greer and everything 
familiar in order to follow her dream of finding a recording contract. Then she 
shared about her job at Trailway Records and meeting Mitch Mullins. 
"Mitch Mullins?" Beth narrowed her eyes. "I've heard of him." 
"Yes." Sarah's expression changed, and something sad haunted her eyes. "He was 
quite well known in his day. By the fans . . . and the women." She paused and 
looked 
81 
out the window. When she spoke again, she was a million miles away. "I toured 
with him. He was going to make me famous." A sad laugh died on her lips. "I 
thought. . . I thought he loved me." 
Beth waited, studying the woman spread out on the hospital bed before her. For 
the first time, she tried to picture her not as the old woman in Room n, but as 
she was back in her day. No doubt a beautiful girl with a voice and a figure 
that stopped even celebrities in their tracks. 
When Sarah didn't speak, Beth leaned forward. "Sarah?" 
"Yes?" She cast a sideways glance at Beth. 
"What happened? Did you and Mitch stay together?" 
Sarah made a sad, tired sort of sound. "No, dear. That's the story behind the 
fourth and fifth ornaments." She pointed a bony finger at the little tree. "Four 
is Rebellious and five is Exposed." Her head moved up and down in a slow, 
trancelike manner. "Yes, indeed. I was rebellious. I knew what I was doing but I 
did it anyway." 
She explained how the touring life grew crazier with each week. Always she would 
ask Mitch what was going on with the other girls, and he'd say the same thing. 
They needed his time, his attention. Hanging out with the fans was part of the 
act, part of making it big. 
Si 
82 
Was he sleeping with them, Sarah wanted to know. His answer was the same every 
time-definitely not. She was the only one he was interested in, the only one he 
cared about. And one day soon he would listen to her songs and make her a star. 
One day very soon. Meanwhile, he paid her less than she'd been making at 
Trailway Records, always with promise of raises and bonuses. Any day, he'd tell 
her, just a few stops down the road. 
The extra money never came, but things definitely got wilder, Mitch's nights 
away more frequent. One night he sent one of his band members to her room when 
he was out with his groupies. 
"It was past midnight and there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there 
was Mitch's drummer. 'Mitch says you're up for a good time tonight, Sarah,' he 
told me. 'Whad'ya say?'" 
Beth leaned closer, sucked in by the story. "No!" 
"Yes." Sarah pursed her lips, as if talking about the memory left a terrible 
taste in her mouth. 
"Wow." Beth tried not to look surprised. Sarah had said her story took place in 
1941, a time when the American life was supposed to be wholesome and innocent. 
Beth had no idea such craziness went on so many decades back. 
83 
Sarah stared out the window again and finished the story. 
When she realized Mitch's intentions, that she should offer them the same favors 
she'd been offering Mitch, she felt dirty and cheap and ugly. 
"Like a rotting bag of leftovers," Sarah frowned. "Sitting too long on the 
curb." 
Two nights later, Mitch took his own room instead of sharing hers. Suspicious, 
Sarah waited until the early hours of the morning, donned a bathrobe, and strode 
down the hall to his door. After ten minutes of incessant knocking, Mitch 
answered. He had a towel around his waist. Over his shoulder, in the hotel room, 
Sarah saw a young blonde in his bed, the sheet pulled up to her neck. 
"The lie was out," Sarah turned her attention back to Beth. She pointed to the 
tree again. "See, there. The fifth ornament says Exposed because Mitch Mullins 
was never going to lie to me again." 
Beth sat back in her chair, captured by the story. "So what happened?" 
"What happened?" Sarah looked startled, as if the answer was obvious. "With 
Mitch, you mean?" 
"Yes. Did you let him have it there in the hallway?" Beth willed her words to 
come more slowly. Sarah wasn't 
84 
in a rush. If she'd planned twelve days to tell her story, the answers weren't 
bound to come in as many minutes. 
Sarah said nothing in response. Instead she reached a shaky hand to the table by 
the bed and picked up an envelope with the number six on it. "That's today's 
story. The part that changed everything." 
"Oh." Beth looked at the clock over Sarah's bed and winced. Her boss would never 
understand her spending so much time in one room. She started to stand, started 
to tell Sarah she'd have to catch up the next day. But something made her stay 
seated, riveted to her chair. 
With slow, careful fingers, Sarah opened the envelope flap and pulled out the 
ornament. Like the others, it held just one word. A word Beth hadn't thought 
about for years, but one that obviously held special meaning for Sarah. 
The word was Dance. 
85 
Sarah could feel herself getting sicker, slipping away a little more each day. 
But her heart hadn't been so full in a long, long time. Not even a visit from 
her children or grandchildren had brought her the purpose she felt sharing her 
story with Beth Baldwin. The woman had an edge, a sadness Sarah recognized. 
Something she'd said when she first arrived, about having trouble at home, 
explained some of it. But there was something else, something deeper. 
And it still reminded Sarah of herself, the way she'd been the summer of 1941. 
Sarah wasn't sure how, but God was going to do something amazing for Beth 
Baldwin, something that could only happen as Beth listened to the story, as she 
heard the song. 
86 ťI(aren IQngsbury 
It was Day Six, the day that represented the turning point, the moment when 
things changed for Sarah. With Beth sitting nearby listening, Sarah connected 
once more with a series of events that were over six decades old. 
The epiphany took place the day after she found Mitch Mullins in a room with 
another girl. As shallow as his stories about groupies had been, Sarah had 
always believed him, always wanted to believe him. But after catching him in the 
act that night, she went back to her room and never fell asleep. 
For the first time since leaving Greer, she missed Sam Lindeman, missed him with 
every fiber of her being. Strong, handsome, dependable Sam, a man who had loved 
her enough to let her follow her dreams. But now, after giving her virtue to a 
man who had cheated on her and lied to her from the beginning, Sarah was sure of 
something else. 
Sam would never be interested in her. 
She wasn't the same girl she'd been when she left home, and no matter how much 
she missed Sam, she wouldn't mess with his heart by calling him now. Instead she 
sat on her hotel bed and wept. What had 
87 
she been thinking, taking up with a man like Mitch Mullins? So what if the whole 
world adored him; his nature had been obvious from the beginning. 
Since when does Trailway Records hire angels? 
Indeed. Mitch was master of the come-on lines; he'd had her following him around 
like a puppy dog after just one dinner. 
Sarah paused and looked at Beth. "At that moment, the lights in my conscience 
came on again." She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "After weeks of living in 
darkness, I was suddenly able to see the horrifying mistakes I'd made-all of 
them spread out like a train wreck." 
One by one her bad choices screamed at her that night. She'd turned her back on 
everything her parents had taught her, everything that had ever mattered to her. 
She had given up on God and His plans for her life, and her promise to remain 
pure until marriage was gone. Her virtue was forever lost. 
But worst of all, she'd walked away from Sam. 
Sarah stared at the tiny blue-bonnet wallpaper. The smell of the hotel's musty 
carpets filled her senses as she 
88 Karen Kmgsbury 
choked back quiet, desperate sobs. All of life was a dance, the steps measured 
out to the music of the days. But since she'd arrived in Nashville, she'd 
checked herself at the door and let an imposter take over. 
Now, though . . . now it was her turn again. Time to find her way back to all 
she'd once been. 
Mitch Mullins had no plans of making her into a star, no plans of hearing her 
songs or giving her a pay raise. He was using her, the way her parents had 
warned he would. 
That night she packed her things, and the next morning, long before Mitch and 
his band members were awake, she took a cab to the train station and spent 
nearly all of her remaining money on a train back to Greer. Over the hours, the 
clickity-clack of the train became music, and her heart pounded out a rhythm she 
could live with, one she could dance to. 
The next day, when she arrived home, she had one place to visit before taking a 
cab to her parents' house. 
Greer Community Church. 
"Wait for me, please." She gave the cab driver an extra quarter and ran lightly 
across the church lawn. It was Thursday, in the middle of the afternoon, but she 

89 
was sure the doors to the sanctuary would be open. They were always open at 
Greer Community. 
Once inside, she took slow steps toward the front and slid into the second row. 
She was the only one in the building, but she felt surrounded by love and peace 
and acceptance, the way she hadn't felt since meeting Mitch Mullins. 
"God . . ." She closed her eyes. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry. I was wrong about 
everything. I walked away from You, from all I know to be good and true and 
right." A single tear slid down her cheek and she dabbed at it with the back of 
her hand. "But if You'll have me, I'm back, Jesus." She sniffed, and the sound 
of it echoed across the empty room. "I'm back for good. I promise." 
ŚM 
Sarah exhaled, the sixth part of the story told. 
She looked at the young woman sitting across from her and saw that she'd been 
right earlier. The story was touching something in Beth's soul, because the 
woman was crying. Not loud or with dramatics. But tears had formed two trails on 
both sides of her face and there was something broken in her expression. 
90 
Sarah reached her hand out to the woman and patted her arm. "Are you okay?" 
"Yes." Beth snatched a tissue from the bedside table and wiped it beneath her 
nose. "That moment at the church ... it sounds ... it sounds very freeing." 
Sarah smiled. "It was." She inhaled until her lungs were full. "It's time for me 
to move to the window." 
"To the window?" Beth made a strange face. "You've been walking to the window by 
yourself?" 
"Once in a while." She felt her smile creep a little higher. "But today I could 
use your help, if you don't mind." 
"Not at all." Beth tossed her tissue in a nearby trash can and stood, easing 
Sarah up until she was on her feet and positioned over her aluminum walker. "Why 
the window, Sarah?" 
Sarah focused on the path in front of her and shook her head. When she reached 
the windowsill, she turned to Beth and held up a single finger. "That will 
come." 
She stared out the window at the park until her eyes found the bench-the park 
bench that meant the world to her. And with all the energy she had left, she 
began to hum the melody, the notes that would always fill her heart and soul. 
The notes to Sarah's Song. 
91 
Throughout the humming, Beth remained at her side, quiet, respectful. When she'd 
hummed the last line, Sarah pulled her eyes from the park bench and nodded at 
Beth. "That's all. I can go back now." 
Beth helped her, and when Sarah was too tired to swing her legs up onto the bed, 
Beth lifted them. Once the old woman was settled back beneath the covers, Beth 
hesitated and then gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "The music is 
beautiful, haunting." She glanced at the window and then back. "But why no 
words, Sarah? Didn't the song have words?" 
"Indeed." Sarah yawned and squeezed Beth's hand. "I'm tired, dear. I think I'll 
take a nap." 
Beth nodded, but she wouldn't let the idea go. "What about the words?" 
"Later." Sarah could feel her eyes beginning to close. The familiar peace 
surrounded her again-a peace that defied all understanding. God was doing 
something here, something in young Beth's heart. And that was knowledge enough 
for Sarah. 
She was almost asleep when Beth asked her question one final time. "When, Sarah 
. . . when will the words come? 
Slowly Sarah opened her eyes. "Day Nine." 
There. She let her eyes close again. That would 
92 
bring Beth back for sure. Not because she wouldn't survive without knowing the 
words to the song. But because God had placed a special truth deep inside 
Sarah's heart: A miracle was underway, a miracle for Beth Baldwin. 
And God would bring her back if He had to move heaven and earth to do it. 
93 
It was Tuesday, December 21, and the good 
weather had finally given out. 
That morning Beth woke to a six-inch blanket of snow spread across Spartanburg, 
and she mumbled under her breath as she headed for the shower. White Christmases 
were overrated. The city would take a week to dig out from beneath the snow, and 
until then the commute to Greer would be unbearable. Snow would turn to ice, 
leaving the roads slick and dangerous. Beth was scheduled to work every day that 
week, and the snow meant she'd have to get up an hour earlier each morning. Her 
shower was quick, and as soon as she was dressed she hurried into Brianna's 
room. "Get up, sleepyhead. Time to eat." 
94 Karen Kingsbury 
Brianna moaned. 
"Come on, honey. We gotta eat if we're going to be on time." 
Brianna rolled over in her bed. "No! Don't wanna eat!" 
"Mommy's not giving you a choice." Beth yanked the covers from her daughter and 
waited, arms crossed. "Get out of bed." 
"Do I have to, Mommy?" Brianna's tone was more whine than words. 
"Yes. One . . . two . . . three . . ." 
Brianna spilled out of bed and stopped short of scowling at Beth. "Help me get 
dressed." 
Beth hesitated, then went to the closet and sorted through the clothes. Her 
daughter's accusations regarding Bobby had dropped off, but she was grumpy or 
pensive most of the time. Earlier that week, Bobby had asked about it. "Did you 
say something to Brianna-something about us separating?" 
"No." Beth's answer was short, the way she felt most of the time toward her 
husband. "Did you?" 
"Of course not." He scowled at her. "We agreed." Right. 
"So why's she asking about us, telling me I don't like you all of a sudden?" 
95 
Beth shrugged. "She's telling me the same thing. Maybe she feels it." 
"Feels it?" 
"Yes. That her parents don't love each other anymore." 
"Listen ..." Anger flashed in Bobby's eyes as he pointed a finger at Beth. "I 
never said I didn't love you. Those were your words." Then, as if he somehow 
caught himself, his expression eased and his voice grew calmer. "I'm sorry. I 
didn't mean to yell. All I'm saying, Beth, is I still love you. For whatever 
that's worth." 
The conversation had stayed with her because it seemed so unlike Bobby. Sure, he 
had tried initially to change her mind about leaving. But when things didn't go 
his way, he was usually quick on the defensive. That time, though, he had backed 
off, even told her he was sorry and he loved her. Not just once, but several 
times after their initial confrontation, he'd pulled her aside in an effort to 
talk to her or apologize. Beth tried not to look too deeply into it. Probably 
last-minute remorse over their failed marriage, or maybe the Christmas season 
getting to him. 
Either way, their conversation had done nothing to ease Brianna's mood. The 
carefree child with bright eyes and bouncing pigtails had disappeared, and in 
her place was a little girl both moody and melancholy. 
PS 
96 
Beth kept the morning routine at a fast pace, and managed to get Brianna in the 
car eight minutes earlier than usual. Sure enough, the commute was stop and go, 
with an occasional car sliding off the road and others spinning into oncoming 
traffic. The speed was slow, so none of the mishaps was serious, and Beth pulled 
up in front of Brianna's day care just a few minutes later than usual. 
Dana Goode-one of Beth's friends from high school-ran the day care from her 
house. Beth felt good leaving Brianna with her, and sometimes, if she was early, 
she and Dana would talk about the old days, high school and dating and how Bobby 
was always the only one for Beth. 
"Everyone always said it," Dana would say as she punished a piece of gum, "Bobby 
Baldwin only had eyes for you, Beth. As far back as time he only had eyes for 
you." 
Beth had still not told Dana about her decision to leave; she was sure the idea 
wouldn't go over well. 
Just as well she had no time to talk that morning. She led Brianna up the walk, 
careful not to slip in the snow, and shouldered her way into the house. She was 
about to kiss Brianna good-bye when she looked up and saw Dana standing there, 
both eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead. 
97 
Beth went ahead with her kiss and patted Briannas back. "Go on, honey, the kids 
are waiting for you." 
Brianna looked from her mother to Dana and back again. "Bye." She shuffled off, 
a blank look on her face. 
The moment she was out of earshot, Dana leaned in and hissed at Beth. "You and 
Bobby are splitting up? What, Beth, are you crazy?" 
Beth refused to react. She put her hands on her hips and gave a slight roll of 
her eyes. "Who told you?" 
"Who do you think?" She huffed hard and paced two steps away, then two steps 
back. "Bobby called, asked me to pray for you guys." 
"He what?" Beth was amused at the idea. Bobby hadn't talked about prayer in 
years, other than an occasional dinner when he remembered to pray over the meal. 
They went to church once in a rare while, but that was the extent of it. "Now I 
know you're making it up. Come on, who told you? Really . . ." 
Dana stopped, her mouth open. "I can't believe you, Beth. What's happened?" She 
straightened, the shock wearing off. "Wasn't that you driving me to church every 
Sunday during our college years? Weren't you the one telling me to trust God, 
that someone right would come along if I put God first?" 
98 r 
Kgren Kingsbury 
Beth's gaze fell. "That was a long time ago." She looked up. "For all of us." 
"Meaning?" 
"Meaning Bobby and I haven't prayed together in years. Don't tell me he asked 
you to pray for our marriage." 
"Well." Another huff. "That's exactly what he did. Now listen, Beth. It's my job 
as a friend to tell you this." Dana was a fast talker; she paused only long 
enough to snatch another breath. "No one will ever love you the way Bobby loves 
you. He might've slipped lately, forgotten what was important, but that doesn't 
change the facts." 
"Slipped?" Beth looked at her watch and gave a chuckle that sounded more 
sarcastic than humorous. "I haven't seen a yellow rose in three years, Dana. 
When Bobby and I were dating, he brought me yellow roses every week. Yellow 
roses and homemade key lime pie- the only thing he knew how to cook." 
"So you grew up. So what?" 
"So?" Beth tossed her hands up. "So now I'm old hat, and you know what?" She 
lowered her voice so Brianna wouldn't hear her in the next room. "I'm sick of 
it. Sick of coming home each afternoon to a husband parked in front of the 
television. Sick of competing with Sports 
99 
Center for my husband's attention. If he had to choose between me and the TV 
remote, he'd take the remote. Hands down." She tossed her hair over her 
shoulder, fuming. "I'm sick of not mattering, Dana, sick of wishing he'd bring 
me roses or look at me the way he used to. I don't love him anymore. I don't." 
She straightened her sweater, grabbing at her composure. "I'm getting out before 
I forget how living feels." 
A mix of emotions worked their way into Dana's expression. Shock became horror, 
and that became hurt and disappointment. Finally she shook her head. "Love's 
about more than yellow roses and key lime pie." 
"Yeah." Beth took a few backward steps toward the door. "It's about more than 
the sports channel, too." 
She was out the door and halfway to work before she realized how terrible she'd 
acted. Dana was only trying to help, trying to influence Beth not to leave. 
But what about Bobby? What right did he have calling her friend and asking for 
prayer? He might as well have come right out and asked her to intervene. 
Beth tightened her grip on the steering wheel. 
It didn't matter; the ordeal would be over soon enough, as soon as Christmas was 
behind them. Bobby could say whatever he wanted, he could ask people to pray and 
tell her he still loved her. The truth was he 
100 r 
Karen Kjjigsbury 
wanted her to leave as badly as she wanted to go. Otherwise he would've spent 
more time with her, talked to her more often. Turned off the television once in 
a while. 
No, it was over, and nothing would change the fact now. 
She pulled into the parking lot of the Greer Retirement Village and headed to 
the third floor. That's when she remembered. It was Day Nine. She'd missed days 
seven and eight because they were her days off. But Day Nine was the big day, 
wasn't it? The day the sweet old woman would add words to her ritual? 
For a moment she considered working the opposite side of the floor. The 
drawn-out story couldn't possibly help her, so why was she listening to it? Then 
it dawned on her: Because this was Christmas, and even if her entire life was 
falling apart, spending time with Sarah Lindeman was the least she could do-her 
way of giving something back to a lonely old lady. 
She entered Sarah's room and found the woman sitting up, smiling at her. "You 
came." 
"Yes." Beth stepped inside, not sure what she was feeling. "I want to hear the 
words to the song." 
Last time she was here, listening to the story, the details had made her cry. 
But now-in light of the events 
too 
101 
that morning-she didn't feel a bit tenderhearted. She wanted to put in a 
mindless eight hours and move one day closer to December 26. For a beat, she 
considered turning around, but then she changed her mind. She returned Sarah's 
smile and set about finding fresh clothes for the woman. Over the next hour she 
prepared Sarah's bath and made sure she got her meal down. 
When they were finished, Beth took her place in the familiar chair. "I've missed 
a few days." 
"You weren't at work." Sarah shot her a thoughtful look. "Home with your family, 
no doubt." 
"Yes." Beth couldn't force a smile. Enough about her family. She leaned forward 
in her seat. "Okay, catch me up." 
"You have to promise something." 
Promise something? Beth bit her lip. She barely knew the old woman. "What?" 
"Promise you'll be here for the last three days." 
Beth calculated the dates in her head. The twelfth day would take place on 
Friday, her last day of work before Christmas. She nodded at Sarah. "I promise." 
But the words felt hollow, even to her. She was about to walk away from her 
husband, after all. If she couldn't keep the most important promise she'd ever 
made, how could she expect to keep this one? 
102 
Still, Sarah seemed satisfied. She pulled herself up some and settled into a 
stack of pillows propped against the headboard. "You remember where we were?" 
"The dance." Beth felt herself relax. Her time with Sarah did that to her. Now 
that she was back again, the story drew her, made her anxious for the next 
piece. And not only the next piece, but also for the special meaning Sarah had 
spoken about. Because in the midst of this crazy, hectic, hurtful Christmas 
season, between divorce plans and arguing with Bobby, Beth had an almost 
desperate need to understand the bigger picture. 
It was possible Sarah knew what she was talking about, right? If she did, then 
in just a few days Beth might actually learn something she'd wanted to know for 
the past several years. 
The secret of love. 
L 
103 
Sarah tucked the covers in tight around her waist. Her heart glowed at the 
return of Beth Baldwin. The miracle was coming; Sarah could feel it. 
"Yes, dear. That's where we were. The dance." "You were at the church when we 
finished Day Six." 
"Right. After stopping at the church I went straight home, to my parents' 
house." Sarah smiled, and her eyes grew watery. "My parents were great people; 
such love for God and me." 
Sarah didn't comment on the irony, but it was there. In less than a week, Beth 
also was going back to her par
104 Karen Kingsbury 
ents' house; Sarah had heard one of the nurses talking about it. She found her 
place in time. 
"It was summer by then." Her eyes found the window, the place where she looked 
when her memories were the strongest. "Late July. The summer of forty-one. 
Sarah's parents were at the doorstep the moment they saw her pull up. Without a 
single question, they took her in their arms and welcomed her inside. For the 
next hour-sparing them any of the shocking details-she told them how she had 
trusted Mitch Mullins, how he'd led her to believe he was interested in her 
music, and how he'd betrayed her in the end. 
"I thought he loved me, Daddy." She lifted her eyes to her father, glad she 
hadn't told him how serious her mistakes had been. He was a kind, gentle man. 
The detailed truth would be more than he could handle. 
"And now?" Sarah's mother was quiet, probably afraid of her answer. "How do you 
feel about him now?" 
Sarah shook her head. "I never knew him. I made . . ." She hung her head. "I 
made a fool of myself." 
"No, you didn't." Her father was on his feet, his arms outstretched. "You're 
here, aren't you? You had the sense 
105 
to come home, to know that we were waiting for you." He gave her a hug. "Nothing 
foolish about that." 
"Thanks, Daddy." Sarah held her breath. She'd been dying to ask the question 
since the night she found out about Mitch, but now the moment had come. "Have 
you heard from Sam?" 
Her parents exchanged a look, and then her father sat back down in his chair, 
his elbows planted on his knees. "Sam left, sweetheart. Took a job somewhere up 
north. New York, maybe, or New Jersey." 
Sarah's mouth went dry. What? Sam left? He took a job and didn't tell her 
parents whether it was in New York or New Jersey? Her head began to spin and she 
sat in the nearest chair, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hand in 
order to concentrate. "What. . . sort of job?" 
"He's a principal, honey." Sarah's mother gave her a sad smile. "The last time 
we saw him, he said something about getting on with his life." She dropped her 
chin, her gaze gentle but unwavering. "I think he was referring to you, dear." 
Sarah was drowning. As if she had a steel cable around her waist and no matter 
how hard she kicked and swam she couldn't get to the surface, couldn't grab 
another mouthful of air. "Where ..." She gave a few 
106 
short exhales and rubbed her fingers into her brow. "Where did he apply? Do you 
know?" 
"To tell you the truth, honey, I don't think he wanted us to know. His parents 
moved away a few years ago- you know that. And when he came by the house his 
visit had a sense of finality to it." He looked at Sarah's mother. "Wouldn't you 
say so?" 
"Yes." She bit her lower lip and gave a sad shake of her head. "I'm sorry, 
Sarah. I somehow guessed you'd come looking for him one day." 
Sarah didn't have to finish the thought. The truth hung out there in the open 
for all three of them to gawk at. She'd waited too long for Sam Lindeman. He'd 
given years of his life to courting Sarah, and now he'd moved away, given up. 
The way he should've given up a long time ago. 
In the next few days, Sarah tried everything to find him. She called the 
principal at his previous school, but the man was adamant. "We don't discuss 
former employees," he told her. "The files of our teachers-past and present-are 
highly confidential." 
Sarah had another idea. She called the operator in the town where his parents 
had moved and asked for their number. After nearly a minute of checking, the 
operator came back on the line and apologized. "Apparently 
107 
they've moved. There's no one in that town by the name Lindeman-listed or 
unlisted." 
At the end of the week, she had to admit her situation. Sam was gone, and there 
wasn't a thing she could do about it. 
Sarah broke her stare at the window, peered at Beth Baldwin, and nodded her chin 
toward the little Christmas tree. "That's why the seventh ornament says Gone." 
She kept her eyes on the tree. "And number eight, see it there?" 
Beth slid to the edge of the padded chair and looked on the backside of the 
tree. ''Longing? Is that the one?" 
"It is." Sarah relaxed her neck and allowed herself a view of the window once 
more. She would've liked to tell the whole story perched along her walker, 
staring down at the bench. But this would have to do, this knowing that the 
bench was there, just outside the window. 
She drew a full breath and continued. 
When her efforts turned up nothing, she had to admit the truth. Sam was gone. 
With every hour that passed, 
joy 
108 
Sarah longed for him, and became more certain that he had been exactly right for 
her, the man she'd always wanted. She'd left him to chase paper dreams and lost 
more than her high hopes along the way. Yes, Sam was gone, but she could no more 
stop longing for him than she could stop the sun from rising. 
Not that Sarah expected much to come of her feelings. 
Sam deserved someone whole and pure; he was too good for a girl like her. She 
was yesterday's news, dead broke without a plan in the world, her singing career 
over almost as soon as it had started. 
For the next month she held that opinion, certain that though God had forgiven 
her, it must've been a struggle for Him to do so. And Sam-if she ever saw him 
again-couldn't possibly see her the same as before. Not if he knew the truth. 
But something changed at the end of that month." Sarah's voice sounded distant, 
dreamy, even. "People kept seeing me and asking about Sam, and finally one 
Sunday I took the situation to God." 
Beth's eyes were wide; she looked like she wouldn't have moved from her chair 
for anything in the world. "And?" 
109 
Sarah smiled, slow and full. "He gave me my song." 
"And that's Number Nine?" 
"Yes, dear." She pointed at the four envelopes remaining. "Could you hand me the 
one with the nine, Beth. Please?" 
The envelopes looked ancient, cracked and faded. Beth took Number Nine and 
handed it to her. "I'm dying to know what happened." 
"The most amazing thing, really." Sarah paused. "Sit back, Beth. You won't want 
to miss it. Not the story ... or the part that comes afterwards. Remember, I 
told you?" 
Beth grinned, and her eyes didn't look as pained as before. "The secret to 
love?" 
"Exactly." Sarah pointed her finger in the air to make her point. "The secret to 
love." 
Sarah took the ornament from the envelope and said the word out loud. "The word 
is Opportunity." She placed it on the tree. "Let me explain." 
The more time passed that summer, the more Sarah had longed for Sam. All she 
needed was a way to find him, to let him know she was thinking about him. An 
opportunity. 
"And so I did the only thing I could think to do." She angled her head, her eyes 
on the window once more. "I wrote a song." 
iop 
110 
"The one you've been humming?" "That very one." 
Every day Sarah would walk to Greer Park and sit on the bench at the edge of the 
grassy field, allowing God to mold the words and lyrics to her song. That fall, 
sitting on the bench, she finally finished it. And then she begged God for a 
miracle, for His help in finding Sam. Even if only for a few minutes, so he 
could hear her song. 
Another month went by. Then, one Monday morning in late September, Mr. Hamilton, 
her boss from Trailway Records, called. Someone had fallen for her voice. Not a 
Mitch Mullins. This time the person interested was the head of the company. The 
president of Trailway Records. 
Sarah couldn't believe it, not even as she waited for Mr. Hamilton's 
explanation. While working in Nashville, she'd never met the president of the 
recording company, and now-now that she'd given up her dream and crawled home 
with her tail between her legs-now her voice had caught the attention of someone 
at the top of the industry. 
"We'd like to bring you back out, Sarah." Mr. Hamilton's voice was brimming with 
excitement. "You 
111 
can sing some of your other songs, and maybe something new. Would that be a 
problem?" 
Sarah was thrilled, but not at the idea of living in Nashville. "I can come out, 
but I won't stay. My home is here in Greer." 
"That's fine. We'll only need you for a week or so." 
She thought of something. "I'm . . . I'm not sure I have the money to get 
there." 
Mr. Hamilton gave a soft laugh. "Sarah, we'll pay for the train ticket, your 
meals, and your hotel. You'll be staying in the Trailway Records suite at the 
big hotel just down the street from our offices." 
Sarah had to stifle a scream. She was getting her break after all! And without 
compromising anything! Her excitement was dimmed only by the fact that Sam would 
never know. He had prayed for her, wished her well, and let her go. But now he 
wouldn't be a part of whatever God was about to do. And she knew it was God, as 
surely as she knew what day it was. She'd given all of it-her life, her singing, 
her heart-back to God. And now, in all His mercy, He was giving her the chance 
to sing her own songs on her own terms, living at her own address. 
She accepted the offer to come, and that afternoon 
in 
112 Kgren IQngsbury 
she promised her parents that this time was different, legitimate. Among the 
musical pieces she slipped into her satchel before she left for Nashville was 
"Sarah's Song." She wasn't a bit surprised, when she sang for the president of 
Trailway Records later that week, that it was "Sarah's Song" he fell in love 
with. 
Six weeks later it debuted in the number one spot on the country charts, and 
suddenly Sarah had the answer to her prayer. The opportunity she'd needed all 
along. The words she wanted to tell Sam were out there for all the country to 
hear. Absolutely everywhere. 
Sarah stopped and looked at Beth. "It's time for the words. The first verse and 
the chorus." 
Nothing more needed to be said. 
Beth helped Sarah to the window, and there, for the first time since starting 
the simple ritual, Sarah opened her mouth and sang the words to her song-the one 
she'd written for Sam Lindeman back when she'd thought all hope of finding him 
was gone forever. Despite the years, her voice was sweet and clear, and the 
words were marked by feelings that had never dimmed. 
113 
It's not too late for faith to find us. Not too late for right to win. Not too 
late, let love remind us. Not too late to try again. 
The tune changed, and Sarah stared at the park bench, willing him to be there 
beside her one more time-one more day when they could sit together and marvel at 
the miracle of 1941. 
She uttered a quick sigh; it was time for the first verse-the only one she 
wanted to sing that day. From the corner of her eyes, she glanced at Beth. The 
woman wasn't only listening, she was hanging on every word. Sarah kept singing, 
but she closed her eyes so nothing would interfere with the memory. 
In my life the straight and narrow had a face, and it was yours. 
I took crooked paths around you, shut you out, and locked the doors. 
Long I wandered tired and aimless, seeking all the world might hold. 
There you waited, true and blameless, soul of goodness, heart of gold. 
114 
They were both silent, and Beth swallowed hard. Sobs built within her, sobs she 
couldn't explain. What was it about the story that touched her so? And how come 
whenever Sarah spoke, the story seemed to be about Beth and Bobby instead? Not 
the details maybe, but the heartache behind them. 
Or maybe it was the song. The words played again in Beth's mind. It's not too 
late for faith to find us. Not too late for right to win. Not too late, let love 
remind us. Not too late to try again. 
Wasn't that what Bobby had been trying to tell her ever since her decision to 
leave? 
Beth choked back the sobs and cleared her throat. 
"I'm tired." Sarah made a backwards shuffling motion. "Help me, Beth, will you?" 

When Sarah was in bed again, when she'd caught her breath, Beth searched the old 
woman's tired eyes. "Sam must've heard the song eventually. Right, Sarah?" 
"Now, now." Sarahs eyelids lowered, as if she might fall asleep in the midst of 
her sentence. "You said you'd come tomorrow." 
"I'll be here." Beth took her chair again. 
"The answers are coming, Beth. I promise you." 
"When, though? Which day?" 
"Some will come tomorrow." 
115 
Beth didn't push beyond that. She refilled Sarah's water pitcher, tucked the 
blanket in around her again, and bid her good-bye. The story of Sarah and Sam 
couldn't be rushed, and maybe that was the richness of it. 
Beautiful stories took longer to tell. 
For a moment, as she hurried into the hall and off to the next resident's room, 
Beth let that thought simmer in her heart. If beautiful stories took longer, 
then why was she in such a rush to leave Bobby, to move Brianna away from her 
father and give up on their marriage? 
The thought was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it came. The reasons were all 
too obvious. A story like theirs wouldn't get better over time; it would get 
worse. Unbearably worse, right? 
But somehow, even with all the justifications she could muster, her decision to 
leave felt weak and wrought with poor excuses. 
Several times over the next few hours Beth caught herself remembering the early 
days with Bobby, the silly little somethings only the two of them understood, 
the rich rainy Sunday afternoons before Brianna was born, the quiet intimacy 
that had lasted long after they left the bedroom. 
Why had they let time barge its way between them? And how could they rewind the 
clock now that they'd 
us 
I 
116 
reached this point? She'd already made up her mind, hadn't she? Willing things 
to be better wouldn't make that happen between them. Beth mulled that over and 
wondered: What would it take to find their way back to a marriage marked by love 
and laughter? 
By the time she drove home late that afternoon, one line of "Sarah's Song" had 
etched itself firmly in her mind. She had hummed it and sung it to herself a 
hundred times that day, and every time the first four words caught in her throat 
and made her feel like crying. 
It's not too late. . . 
They were words that screamed of hope and forgiveness and new life. But the 
sound of them on her own tongue made her heart heavy with sorrow because Beth 
was pretty sure about one thing. 
Precious words like those would never apply to her. 
116 
J 
117 
Panic shot through Sarah, and she couldn't catch her breath. 
She struggled to sit up, to wedge a pillow beneath her, but she couldn't do 
either. Instead, she sucked in with all her might. For her efforts, a single 
raspy bit of air toyed with her lungs, hardly enough to bring relief to her 
screaming body. 
"Help me!" The words hung on the edge of her tongue, not loud enough for even 
Sarah to hear. She was dying; that had to be what was happening. Dying before 
she had a chance to finish her story, before she had the chance to tell Beth how 
everything had come together. 
Before she'd gotten to the secret of love. 
118 r 
Karen Kmgsbury 
God, no! Don't let me die now. Not yet. She winced at the pain in her chest and 
made another desperate attempt at a breath. This one brought in less air than 
the last and she could feel herself waning away, feel her heart slowing within 
her. 
Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, a way to pull herself 
higher on the pillows. If only she could sit, she could catch her breath, and 
she chided herself for not taking the doctor's suggestion earlier that month. 
"It would help if you'd sleep sitting up, Sarah. People at the end stages of 
heart failure find it much more comfortable." 
"Doctor," Sarah had smiled at him. "I can't sleep sitting up. You know that." 
She reached her hands over her head and wrapped her fingers around the top of 
the headboard. Pull, Sarah. Come on, pull. She strained until every muscle in 
her arms ached, but her efforts did nothing to lift her torso, nothing to 
relieve the pressure in her chest. 
Just yesterday she could sit up on her own, so that meant something was wrong. 
Something that might send her home to heaven before lunchtime if she didn't find 
a way to get the staffs attention. 
Suddenly she remembered the bell. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it 
before? Her eyes darted to the 
119 
wall beside her bed and there it was, bright red, screaming for her to notice 
it. 
She started to lift her hand, but her body demanded another breath. Squinting, 
closing her eyes from the effort, Sarah sucked in everything she could, but 
still her body cried for more. Her eyes opened and she stared at the buzzer. 
Now! She had to press it now or it would be too late. 
With all her remaining energy, she raised her hand up and jabbed her finger into 
the button. A buzzer sounded, and Sarah let her hand fall back to the bed, limp 
and trembling. 
God, help me. I can't go home yet; that would ruin everything. 
She concentrated on using as little air as possible, but just as she heard fast 
steps outside her door she felt herself slipping. Farther and farther away she 
fell, black spots dancing before her eyes, connecting, blocking out the faces of 
the people entering her room. 
ŤT T 1ť
Help . . . 
"Oh, dear! Someone get an ambulance," Sarah heard. But the sound was so faint 
she wasn't sure if she was dreaming. "We need oxygen in here, stat." 
Don't let me sleep, God. . . don't take me home. Not yet. Not... 
up 
120 
The thought faded from her consciousness and she was surrounded by a peaceful 
quiet and a darkness so heavy she couldn't think or move or even try to draw a 
breath. 
Just when the darkness began to frighten her, a warm glow appeared, soft and 
gentle and drawing her near. Her soul was filled with a longing, a desire to go 
after the light as if this was the thing she'd been born to do, the thing she'd 
waited for all her life. 
But something just as strong stopped her, made her turn and search the darkness 
for a way out. Sarah was no longer sure why, or what mattered so strongly on the 
other side. Only that she was desperate to go back. God. . . please. . . please. 

And in that instant her eyes opened and she could see a host of people working 
on her. Beth Baldwin was standing in the back of the room, her fingers over her 
mouth. One of the men held something over Sarahs mouth and she realized she was 
sitting up. She could take a breath now, and the terrible weak feeling was going 
away. She pushed the soft plastic piece away from her mouth, her eyes wide. 
"What..." She gasped, filling her throat with sweet air. "What happened?" 
"Ma'am, you need the oxygen mask." A paramedic slipped it back over her mouth, 
his eyes kind but firm. 
121 
Once she was breathing steadily again, he leaned closer. "I'll explain this as 
simply as I can, ma'am. Your congestive heart failure is getting worse. Last 
night while you slept, your lungs began filling with fluid. You almost drowned." 

Another medical technician stepped in beside him. "You'll need to stay propped 
up from now on." 
From now on . . . 
The words filtered through Sarah's mind and immediately she understood what was 
happening. This was the end her Doctor Cleary had told her about two years ago, 
when he first made the diagnosis of heart failure. 
"Eventually, your lungs will fill up with fluid," the doctor had said. "We'll 
move you to a permanently upright position, but after that the end could come 
quickly." 
Sarah hadn't been afraid. "How quickly?" 
"Days." He gave her a sad sort of knowing look. "Sometimes only a few days." 
Now here she was, three days left in her story, and the time had come. Dr. 
Cleary had explained it this way: Congestive heart failure was like lying down 
in a pool that was slowly filling with water. When the water began to cover a 
persons mouth and nose, the person with heart failure could sit up, but they 
wouldn't have the energy to 
122 
swim or stand. The water, meanwhile, would keep rising, and eventually it would 
drown the victim. Slowly, painfully, but as surely as one day followed the 
other. 
"We're going to transport you to the hospital, Sarah." The medic leaned in and 
smiled at her. Behind him someone else was moving a stretcher into the room. 
Sarah shook her head and pushed the oxygen mask away from her face. "No! My . . 
. doctor gave me permission ... to stay." She stared at them, tired from the 
effort of talking, and just short of angry. "I have a right... to stay; I know 
what's happening." 
A tension hung in the room as the staff members and medical team stopped and 
stared at her. Our of the corner of her eye Sarah saw Beth quickly leave the 
room. Sarah coughed twice and waved off the attempts to return the mask to her 
face. "I'm fine. I need to talk." She drew a few quick breaths and looked each 
of them in the eyes. "I'm dying; I know that. But I refuse to ... die in a 
hospital when this . . . this is my home." 
The medic took a step back and looked at his peers. 
Just then Beth burst back into the room with what looked like a patient chart. 
She took hold of the medic's arm, her voice passionate. "She's telling the 
truth." Beth held the chart up and read the notes written there. "Dr. Cleary 
listed her as a D.N.R. Do not resuscitate. She's 
121 
been given permission to die here, without a trip to the hospital as long as her 
symptoms are caused by heart failure." Beth looked up at the man. "They are, 
right?" 
"She's very sick, ma'am. We only want to give her the best possible care." 
Mr. Johnson, the manager on duty, stepped forward. "Let's honor her wishes. 
We'll keep her on oxygen. If there's anything else we can do, please let us 
know." 
A look of resignation crossed the medic's face. "She could be on intravenous 
fluids, but as long as she can sip from a straw, the IV isn't absolutely 
necessary." He lowered his voice. "Her lungs are very wet; to be honest, she may 
not have more than a few days." 
Sarah felt a sense of elation flash through her. She still had a few days! Just 
like Dr. Cleary had said! And at this point in her life, that was all that 
mattered, because a few more days was all she needed. 
God was giving her enough time to finish telling her story to Beth Baldwin. 
124 
125 
: The group of people standing near Sarah's bed talked for another few minutes 
but the decision had been made, they would follow the plan outlined in Sarah's 
chart. She could stay. 
Sarah wanted to shout for joy, but she was too tired. Instead she held out her 
hand to Beth and mouthed the words, "Thank you." 
The others left the room, but Beth stayed. She squeezed Sarahs hand, her eyes 
watery with tears. "Sarah, I'm . . . I'm sorry. I wish you weren't so sick." 
Sarah held tight to Beth's fingers. The medic had removed the oxygen mask and 
placed two small air tubes into either side of her nose so she could talk. Her 
words came 
126 
slower than she would've liked, but at least they came. "Don't be ... sorry. I'm 
ready to go." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I have just. .. one 
thing left to do." 
Beth pulled up a chair and stroked Sarah's hand. Two small tears fell from her 
eyes and splashed across her cheeks. "Is it what I think?" 
"Yes." Sarah hesitated, waiting until she caught her breath. The waters were 
rising; she could feel them even now. "I must finish the story." 
"Finish it today, Sarah." Beth wiped at her cheek. "Please." 
"No." A feeling of peace and knowing settled over Sarah's soul. "Today is the 
tenth day ... I will tell you . . . only that part." 
Beth exhaled and fearful uncertainty colored her expression. "But what if. . ." 
Sarah shook her head. She could feel the light shining in her eyes. "God will 
give me three days." She pressed her hand against her heart. "I know it in 
here." She made a gentle motion toward the nightstand. "But I'll need . . . your 
help, Beth." 
Beth bit her lip, her expression determined. "I'm here, Sarah. Whatever you need 
I'm here." 
"Very well." Sarah relaxed against her pillows and found the window once more. 
"Let's get started." 
127 
Beth was filled with dread, and nothing Sarah said about being ready or having 
three more days did anything to relieve the feeling. In the days of December, 
she'd come to rely on Sarah in some way she couldn't quite define. In a world 
turned upside down, a world where divorce and defeat and discouragement reigned, 
"Sarah's Song" had given her hope again. 
And now Sarah was dying. 
Even the medics had said so; Sarah Lindeman was going to die, and then what? Who 
would remember her song or her story? And what if she didn't live long enough to 
finish it? 
The questions haunted her even as Sarah asked her to take the ornament from the 
tenth envelope. The frail piece of paper inside read Victory, and Beth found a 
place for it on the small tree. Bit by bit, the story began to spill from 
Sarah's lips in soft breathy bursts. As it did, Beth felt her anxiety grow dim, 
felt herself forget about the panic tliat had been welling up inside her since 
she'd arrived at work and saw the ambulance and fire truck parked outside. 
Sarah's words soothed her soul, allowed her to be carried back, back in time to 
the fall of 1941, to the next part of the story. 
Sarah explained how Trailway Records released 
128 Karen Kingsbury 
"Sarah's Song" as a single and placed it on a fast track. It came out in 
mid-November, and immediately hit number one on the country charts. Sarah was an 
overnight sensation. 
"You were a celebrity, Sarah!" Beth narrowed her eyes, surprised. One of the 
girls on staff had mentioned something about Sarah being a professional singer 
in her day, but a number one single? "No wonder Sam heard the song." 
"He didn't. . . hear it right away." Sarah inhaled through her nose and waited a 
moment. When she'd caught her breath, she picked up the story again. 
Offers poured in and dates were set for Sarah to cut her first album. Everywhere 
she went people congratulated her on her success, praising her voice and the 
impact the song was making in the lives of the listeners. But it wasn't enough 
for Sarah. 
"Victory would only come if Sam heard the song." She chuckled softly and it 
became a series of short coughs. "In the end, he didn't hear the song at all, 
but an interview. A radio interview." 
Sam Lindeman had been at home in his New Jersey apartment on Saturday morning, 
about to enjoy a two-week break from school, when he flipped on the radio. 
Instantly, he recognized the voice of the woman speak
129 
ing. It was Sarah; he would know her voice after a hundred years of missing her. 

He turned up the volume and heard what she had to say. 
Sarah's eyes drew distant. "The announcer asked me what had inspired 'Sarah's 
Song,' and I told him. I'd loved just one man in my life, and I'd lost him. I 
would do anything to have him back again, but it was too late. The announcer 
asked me his name and I told him. Sam. Sam Lindeman. Then I took it a step 
further. 'Sam,' I said over the air. 'If you're out there, I'm sorry for 
leaving. I love you; I always will.'" 
Sarah's words were slow with frequent stops but that didn't matter. Beth hung 
onto every line, imagining a young man sitting near the radio, hearing the woman 
he still loved declaring her feelings for him. 
When the interview was over, the station played "Sarah's Song." Sam allowed 
every word to work its way into his heart. His career gave him little time for 
listening to music, so that was the first time he'd heard it. But long before 
the song was over he knew what he had to do. 
That afternoon he called the school's superintendent and explained that 
something had come up; he wouldn't be able to finish out the semester because he 
had to get 
130 
home. The next day he packed his things and boarded a train back to South 
Carolina. 
"And that's the tenth part of the story." Sarah closed her eyes for a moment and 
then blinked them open. "I'm tired, Beth. Too tired to sing." 
Beth's throat felt thick, and she swallowed back her sorrow. "That's okay. You 
can sing the song tomorrow." 
Sarah nodded, but she was already asleep. 
That night after she tucked Brianna in, Beth found Bobby sitting in the TV room, 
the television off. "Hey." She sat down beside him and waited until he looked at 
her. "I'm sorry if I've been mean these past few weeks." 
The lines on his forehead softened. He eased his arm around her shoulders and 
pulled her close. They stayed that way a long while before he spoke. "I 
understand. Leaving isn't easy." 
She wanted to say something more, something about working things out or finding 
a way to fall in love again. But she couldn't. Leaving was still the right 
choice, wasn't it? The only way either of them would ever be happy again? 
After a while, they both stood and found their separate sleeping areas. 
131 
"Sarah's Song" rang in Beth's mind again that night, especially those four words 
that had stayed with her. It's not too late. . . It's not too late. . . 
f 
The next day, she could hardly wait to get to work and find out what happened 
next-what Sam had done once he arrived back in Greer with his things. 
Sarah's breathing was more labored that morning, but her spirits were high. This 
was the eleventh day of her ritual, which meant she was almost at the end. The 
prospect gave her an energy she hadn't had since the first day, and it made Beth 
certain that somehow Sarah was right. 
She would live long enough to finish the story. 
Not for herself, but for Beth. For whatever was happening in Beth's heart and 
soul and mind. And because only at the end would she hear the rest of "Sarah's 
Song" and learn the secret of love. 
The secret only Sarah could share. 
133 
I The eleventh ornament read Embrace, and again Beth hung it on the tree for 
Sarah. Only one envelope remained now. When the newest ornament was in its 
proper place, Sarah drew a slow breath and began. 
Sam arrived in Greer on Monday, December 22, and immediately took a cab to 
Sarah's house. Her parents were thrilled to see him, but they explained that 
Sarah wasn't there. She was writing again, something she liked to do at Greer 
Park, on the far bench near the big grassy field. 
Sam knew the place; he and Sarah had met there before. He hugged Sarah's parents 
and headed for the park. "Actually, I wasn't writing a song that day," Sarah 
smiled, her eyes suddenly watery. "I was writing in my 
133 Jil 
134 
journal, asking God about Sam. I looked up and-" Her mouth hung open, but she 
couldn't speak. The soft folds of her chin trembled and a tear made its way down 
her leathery cheek. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is my favorite part." 
She gazed out the window. "I looked up and there he was. Sam Lindeman, walking 
toward me. I thought... I thought I was seeing things until he walked right up 
and held out his hands." 
Sarah closed her eyes and a smile worked its way up her cheeks. More tears 
splashed onto her face, but the smile remained. "I can hear him now, see him. 
Standing there, arms outstretched. I went to him and the feel of his arms . . ." 
She opened her eyes and looked at Beth. "Has stayed with me a lifetime. I don't 
need the twelve days or the ornaments to feel his arms around me. I was born for 
that moment, and the memory of that embrace will stay until I draw my last 
breath." 
Beth swallowed hard and realized there were tears on her own cheeks. 
"I'll finish the story tomorrow." Sarah folded her hands, simple and demure. 
Reluctantly, Beth bent over and kissed Sarah on the forehead. "I'll be here." 
135 
That night, again, Beth's heart felt softer than before. She caught herself 
making conversation with Bobby, even laughing at something he said. But the 
morning couldn't come soon enough, and when it did, she hurried to Sarah's room, 
desperately hoping the woman was still alive. 
It was Christmas Eve, the twenty-fourth of December. The Twelfth Day of 
Christmas. Sarah was awake, gray and tired, but her eyes sparkled. "Are you 
ready for the rest of the story, Beth?" 
She dropped to the chair, and gave Sarah's hand a gentle squeeze. "Yes. Please 
... go ahead." 
"Today, the ornament comes last." 
"Okay." 
Sarah breathed in and coughed several times. Then- in a way that even her 
failing health couldn't stop-the story came. 
That day at the park, Sam held onto her for what felt like forever. When he 
pulled back he asked her nothing about the past or Nashville or what had 
happened to bring her home again. 
Instead he held out a ring and asked her to be his wife. 
"We sat on that park bench," Sarah stared out the window, "the rest of the 
afternoon. Kissing, talking . . . 
136 
amazed we'd found each other. Until he died we returned to that bench again and 
again and again." She closed her eyes and when she opened them, her lashes were 
damp. "I feel him there, with me, every time I see that old bench. Even now that 
he's been gone so many years." 
Beth nodded. If only Sarah could make it over to the window one more time. Maybe 
when the story was finished. 
Sarah went on, explaining how she and Sam told her parents about their 
engagement and how her mother pulled her aside. She paused, weary from the 
effort, but clearly determined to press on. 
"My mother gave me something that night. Look under my bed, Beth. Please." 
Beth hesitated, but only for a moment. She didn't want to look under the bed; 
she wanted the story. But Sarah's expression pleaded with her, and Beth nodded. 
She dropped to her knees and there, under the bed, was a small white box. 
"This?" She pulled it out and held it up for Sarah to see. 
"Yes." Sarah looked at the box as if it were a long lost friend. "Open it. I 
don't bring it out until the twelfth day." 
136 
J 
137 
Beth sat back in her chair and lifted the top from the box, her movements slow 
and reverent. Inside lay a pair of red gloves, worn and slightly faded. She 
looked up at Sarah, puzzled. "Your mother gave you gloves?" 
"Red gloves." Sarah's eyes sharpened, and a knowing look filled her expression. 
"I'm giving them to you, Beth. Put them on." 
Beth was overcome with a sense of awe. Sarah had obviously cherished the gloves 
for sixty years, but now . . . now she was giving them away. "Sarah, I can't 
take-" She stopped when she saw the certainty in Sarah's eyes. You really want 
me to have them?" 
"Yes." Sarah's eyes glistened. 
Beth hesitated, looking down at the gloves. With great care she slid them on, 
first one hand, then the other. 
Only then did she see the white stitching, the embroidery that made a pattern 
across the palms of both gloves. She was about to ask what it meant when she 
realized it wasn't a pattern at all, but words. 
Her eyes found Sarah. "There's ... a message here, isn't there?" 
"There is." Sarah was teary again. "Hold your hands up toward heaven. That's the 
only way to read it." 
Beth did as she was told, holding her outstretched 
138 
hands heavenward. As she did, the words sprang to life. The palm of the left red 
glove read, "Above all else..." And the palm of the right glove read, "guardyour 
heart." 
Above all else, guard your heart. 
Sarah smiled through her tears and made a small shrug with her tired shoulders. 
"There it is, Beth. The secret of love. Above all else, guard your heart. It's a 
Bible verse, Proverbs 4:23." 
Beth stared at the words and felt them penetrating her soul, probing about and 
challenging her in a way nothing ever had. "I ... I've never heard that before." 

"You see," Sarah sniffed and adjusted the oxygen tubes in her nose. "If I 
would've guarded my heart, Beth, I never would've given myself to Mitch Mullins. 
I would have realized Sam's worth long before I ever left Greer." 
Beth stared at the gloves for a long time. "Sarah . . . I can't take these. 
They're . . . they're too precious. Your children should have them." 
"No." Sarah's eyes shone. "God wants you to have them, dear. He told me you need 
that message this Christmas." 
The gloves were soft on her fingers, and Beth held them to her face. They 
smelled of old love and days gone by, and they were warm. Not so much against 
her cheeks 
139 
_A 
Sarah's Song 
as they were warm against her heart. "Thank you, Sarah. I'll treasure them." 
Eventually she let her hands fall to her lap and she looked at Sarah. "What 
happened then, with you and Sam?" 
"We didn't want to wait, so we got married." She looked toward the window again, 
lost once more to the past. 
The couple gathered their closest friends and family and the preacher from Greer 
Community married them on Christmas Eve at the park, right in front of the bench 
where Sarah had written the song, the place where Sam had found her when he 
returned to Greer. 
"You can open the last envelope now, Beth." 
The gloves remained as Beth reached for the envelope and pulled out the final 
ornament. The word read Still, and Beth felt the sting of tears as she placed it 
on the plastic tree. 
"We married on Christmas Eve." Sarah's eyes were dreamy, her smile that of a 
girl sixty years younger. "I wore a white dress and the red gloves. The ceremony 
was short, and halfway through it started to snow. Our preacher pronounced us 
husband and wife and then Sam turned to me and started to sing." She hesitated, 
still amazed. "He knew all the words." 
140 
And then, the way Sam had sung to her that magical Christmas Eve, Sarah began to 
sing. 
" 'It's not too late for faith to find us ... Not too late for right to win.'" 
The words came crisp, clear despite Sarah's struggle to breathe. " 'Not too 
late, let love remind us. Not too late to try again.' " 
Sarah closed her eyes, squeezing out two small streams of tears. "I took over 
from there, singing the entire song to him, all three verses. When I finished, 
the pastor said he had just one prayer for the two of us. That fifty years from 
then, we would still know the words to the song, still make time to sing it the 
way we were singing it that night." 
Still. 
The word on the twelfth ornament. Beth looked at the tree, at the words 
scattered amidst the branches. It was the greatest love story Beth had ever 
heard, but the best part of all was the lesson in the red gloves. Above all 
else, guard your heart. 
Sarah lifted her tired hands and pulled them across her cheeks. "I still love 
him, Beth." Their eyes met. "I still love him, and I still remember the song. 
Just the way the pastor prayed that Christmas Eve." Sarah settled back some, her 
eyes never leaving Beth's. "You know why I only remember the details of our 
story once a year?" 
140 
J 
141 
"No." The question had come up several times, but Beth had never voiced it. "How 
come?" 
"Because going back makes me miss him, and-" Her voice cracked, and for the 
first time since the story's beginning Sarah was overcome with emotion. Sobs 
shook her, stopping her from speaking and causing her shoulders to shake. The 
pain in the old woman's face was so gut-wrenching Beth considered calling for 
help. But then gradually, it began to ease. Her weathered hands came up and 
covered her face and the sounds of her soft cries filled the room. "God, how I 
miss him." 
Beth stared at her hands, at the red gloves and the message written across the 
palms. After a while, Sarah stopped crying. She sat a little straighter and 
exhaled long and slow. "I'll be going home soon; I'm ready now." She smiled 
through her tears. "Sam's been waiting a long time for me to join him." 
There were a hundred things Beth wanted to say, things she wanted to ask. What 
happened next, and how long before they had children. How did they keep their 
love alive and how-after more than six decades-did she still feel the same way 
about Sam Lindeman. 
But Sarah's eyes were closing. "I... I'm finished, Beth." 
"Sarah, wait..." Beth leaned forward and gave Sarah's arm a light shake. 
142 
Sarah opened her eyes. Her gaze was so direct, so sincere it took her breath 
away. "I believe you have something to do, Beth." She hesitated. "It's Christmas 
Eve. Do it now; before it's too late." 
Before Beth could respond, Sarah nodded and fell asleep. 
But that was okay, because Sarah was right. Beth had something to do, and 
nothing was going to stop her. Tucking her gloved hands into her pockets, she 
slipped downstairs and outside and crossed the street to the park. 
She found the bench instantly and the moment she sat down, she started to cry. 
Her tears came with an intensity similar to Sarah's, but for different reasons. 
She didn't miss a man long dead, but she'd very nearly missed the truth. If not 
for Sarah's story, her song, Beth would We walked out on the man God Himself had 
given her, a love she was suddenly desperate to fight for. 
The words embroidered across the palms of the red gloves shouted at her now. She 
didn't need to talk to Sarah about how she and Sam had kept their love alive. 
The secret was right there, plain as day. 
Above all else, guard your heart. 
143 
It was five o'clock when Beth finally got home that evening. 
The red gloves still on her hands, she took the bulky package from the back seat 
of her car and was halfway up the walkway when Bobby opened the door. "Beth, 
I..." He stopped, his mouth open, eyes wide. 
In her hands were four dozen yellow roses. 
The tears blurred her vision, and she blinked so she could see his reaction. She 
stopped walking, stood there in the glow of the Christmas Eve moon, and before 
he could say another word, she started to sing. 
"It's not too late for faith to find us. Not too late for right to win." Tears 
came but she sang anyway. Never mind the freezing night air or the fact that her 
voice was not smooth and rich like Sarah's. It was sincere. And the words came 
straight from her heart as she sang them to the man she still loved, the man she 
almost lost. 
"It's not too late, let love remind us. Not too late to try again." 
She began walking toward him, her eyes locked on his. "I'm sorry, Bobby." Before 
she reached the front porch she saw that he, too, was holding something. The 
smell hit her just as she realized what it was. 
A fresh-baked key lime pie. 
144 
"Merry Christmas, Beth." His eyes were red and wet as he led her into the house. 

A sweet, tart smell warmed the air, and suddenly Beth realized what she was 
seeing. There, on every available surface in the kitchen, were key lime pies. 
She stared at them, and slowly, in a way that would we made old Sarah proud, she 
set the flowers down and melted into her husband's embrace. 
"Don't ever let go, Beth." He whispered the words against her hair, trembling 
from desire and desperation and the decision they'd almost made to end it all. 
"Please, don't let go." 
Brianna came running into the kitchen, her eyes dancing. "Mommy, guess what? Me 
and Daddy baked you a hundred pies!" She joined the hug, her little arms tight 
around both of them. 
Beth smiled at their daughter, the feel of Bobbys embrace still warming her from 
the inside out. 
"Ten, to be exact." Bobby met her gaze and looked straight to the center of her 
heart. "I stopped trying, Beth. I'm sorry." He kissed her, ignoring Brianna's 
giggles. "I'll never stop again." 
For a moment, Beth looked down at the red gloves. Bobby did the same and he made 
a curious face. "Are those new?" 
145 
Beth lifted her hands and framed his face with the furry red wool. "Yes. They're 
from a good friend." 
"It's going to be the bestest Christmas." Brianna jumped up and down as she 
trailed away from them across the living room. "We have enough pie for a million 
weeks. Plus tomorrow is Christmas and . . ." 
Their daughter's happy voice faded as Beth kissed Bobby, long and slow and with 
a lifetime of feeling. The way she hadn't kissed him in years. 
"I guess . . ." He came up for air and grinned at her. "I guess this means 
you're not moving out." 
Beth worked her gloved fingers through his hair and buried her head into his 
shoulder. "Not now or ever." She thought about Sarah. "Wait till I tell you what 
happened." 
146 1 
147 
The image came out of nowhere. 
Sarah was sitting straight up in bed, struggling to breathe, when suddenly she 
saw it as clearly as if it were happening there in the room before her. Only 
there was a problem. Sarah's eyes were closed; she couldn't possibly be seeing 
people standing before her. 
The image was of Beth and a young man and a little girl, locked in an embrace 
not far from a Christmas tree. They were smiling and the look on their faces 
said much about the strength of their feelings for each other. 
The picture was so strong, she opened her eyes and looked about the room. God? 
She couldn't voice the words so she said them in her head. Is it true? Are 
things okay with Beth? Did the story change her? 
148 
The answer resonated deep within her, and she knew what had happened. God had 
granted her the miracle she'd asked for. He'd allowed her to live long enough to 
tell her story, to pass on the miracle of "Sarah's Song." And in the process, 
the love between her and Sam would continue even after they were both dead and 
forgotten. 
Sarah saw the image once more, Beth with her family, and she smiled. Then, in a 
sudden rush, she realized she could no longer draw a single breath. Again she 
tried, and again, until she realized what was happening. Her life was draining 
away, but she felt no urgency, no desire to press the panic button. 
It was time to go home, and what better day than Christmas Eve. 
The night of the greatest miracle of all. 
The service was small, attended by Sarah's children and several grandchildren. 
Beth stood at the back next to Bobby, and when it was over, she found her way to 
Sarah's daughter and introduced herself. "Here." She held out the red gloves. 
"Your mother gave me these because I needed them." 
The woman recognized the gloves immediately, and took them, clearly grateful. "I 
wondered what happened 
149 
to them. I found the tree and the ornaments, but not the gloves." 
"Yes." Beth nodded. "She thought I needed them, and I did." She glanced back at 
Bobby and shot him a sad smile over the small crowd. She looked at Sarah's 
daughter again and sniffed. "I don't need them; I understand the message now." 
She paused, her throat thick. "I thought you'd want to keep them in the family." 

The woman had Sarah's clear blue eyes. She hesitated for a moment. "Did she 
teach you the song?" Yes. 
A knowing look dawned in the woman's expression. "Then . . . you're the one." 
Beth lowered her brow, confused, and waited for the woman to explain herself. 
"Last year at this time, I spent Christmas with Mother. She told me God was 
going to give her one more year, one more time to go through the twelve days and 
remember the story she and Dad had shared." Sarah's daughter blinked back tears, 
her chin quivering. "I asked her why she thought that and she told me someone 
out there needed a miracle. She was sure that if only that person would listen 
to the story, the miracle would happen, and a life would be changed forever." 
Beth was too choked up to speak. She hugged Sarah's 
150 
daughter and took a final look at the white casket and the spray of roses that 
covered it. On the way home she stared out the window. How good was God to give 
Sarah a reason to live an extra year? To let the miracle be hers, a miracle she 
had needed more than she'd known? 
Suddenly an idea hit her. 
She turned to Bobby and grinned. "Hey, let's go home and make something." 
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a welcoming smile. "Make something?" 
A giggle slipped from her lips and she gave him a playful shove. "Not that, 
silly." She loved this, the way it felt to be with Bobby now. The two of them 
had found their way back to the beginning. She had shared Sarah's story with 
him, and taught him the song. What had happened between them in four short days 
was beyond explanation, and together they were determined to hold on forever to 
what they'd found. 
Bobby angled his head, his eyes on the road. "Okay, then what should we make?" 
"Well..." Beth bit her lip, and in the corner of her mind she could almost see 
Sarah smiling from heaven. "How about a dozen ornaments?" 
ISO 
151 the Red Gloves 
SERIES 
Śv-'-r.-;'/;; During the Christmas season of 2002, .."'' many of you journeyed 
with me through the Ś5. pages of my first Warner story, Gideon's Gift. In that 
book, I shared with you the miracle of a sick little girl and an angry homeless 
man, and the gift that changed both their lives forever. And in honor of 
Gideon's precious gift, at the back of that book I suggested several Red Gloves 
Projects for you and your friends and families. 
In the hundreds of letters you've written me since then, I've heard one theme 
resonate loudly: You love the idea of the red gloves. Red for Christmas, red for 
a heart full of love and hope and Christmas miracles. Red, the color of giving. 
152 cB^dk Qloves Series 
"i And because of that, I've decided to let the red gloves; 
of Gideons Gift play a cameo role in each of my Warner| 
Christmas stories. The Red Gloves Series, we're calling it, 
and each book will have a new list of Red Glove Projects. 
Last year I gave you Maggie's Miracle, the second book in 
the Red Gloves Series. The Red Gloves Projects in that 
book dealt with helping orphaned or foster children. 
As one of you told me last year, "I bought fifty copies of Gideon's Gift to give 
to everyone I know. My prayer is that we'd see red gloves all around us in the 
coming years, that they'd grace the hands of the homeless and widowed, the 
children without parents and parents without hope. So that red gloves would 
forever be the symbol of Christ's love at Christmas." 
Sarah's Song is the third in my series of Red Gloves books, and it has become 
especially dear to me. The reason is simple: It deals with an old woman whose 
message literally brings about a miracle. A Christmas miracle. 
There's something special about older people, people who've talked the talk and 
walked the walk. Take a trip through a retirement center some time, or visit a 
nursing hospital. What you'll see are frail, white-haired folks whose words 
don't come easily or quickly. 
But don't let that fool you. 
Every one of them, people in their seventies, eighties, 
153 
and nineties, has a story to tell. A tale of God's faithfulness, of love won and 
lost, or of a truth that took years to come to life. 
But here's the tragedy. 
Too often older people have no one to share their stories with. They sit in 
retirement homes playing their bingo and shuffling their way to their 
twice-daily meals, counting the days until heaven. And no one thinks to ask the 
questions. 
In Sarah's Song, Beth Baldwin hears Sarah singing and asks, "What song is it? 
What does it mean?" 
And because she asked, God cracked open heaven and gave Beth a miracle that 
changed her life. All she had to do was listen. 
In that light, I bring you this year's Red Gloves Projects. 
Red Gloves Projects 
if Take a trip to a retirement center. Most cities have these facilities now, 
and the residents are often well enough to realize their loneliness. Call the 
facility and set a date. Then gather your friends and family, and ask everyone 
to bring a pair of red gloves. Go as dinner is just ending, and fan out through 
the 
154 
dining room. Have each person in your group find a resident, introduce 
themselves, and ask a few questions. Why is Christmas special, for instance, or 
in all your life what year was most special to you? Ask God to teach you 
something in the course of the conversation. Then give your set of red gloves to 
that resident. 
H Go caroling. If you and your family, or you and your group of friends can't 
sing well, don't let that stop you. Older people make a very forgiving audience. 
Simply locate a nursing home or retirement center, contact the facility, and set 
up a date. Then put together a few Christmas carols, wear Santa hats, and bring 
a box of red gloves to pass out. The hardest part will be trying to make it 
through "Silent Night" with twenty teary-eyed seniors soaking in every word. A 
note of caution: Don't bring baked goods. Most people in assisted living can't 
have sugar. The red gloves and your song will be gift enough. 
H Adopt an older person. Contact your local nursing home or retirement center 
and ask if they have a resident who doesn't receive visits very often. Maybe 
never. Then make it a point to visit that person at least once a week throughout 
the Christmas season. Bring that person a pair of red gloves, and get to 
155 
know him or her. Your life just might be changed in the process. 
"ft Invite a lonely older person to dinner. This should be done with contacts 
through your church. Check if there are former members who are now residing in 
assisted living facilities. If they have no family in the area, offer to arrange 
a time when he or she can join you for dinner or a Christmas party. In the 
process, give that person a pair of red gloves and ask them to share their 
favorite story. It might be one you decide to keep in your family for decades to 
come. 
I pray this finds you and your family doing well this Christmas, determined to 
seek the riches our seniors can offer. In doing so, I pray you make time to mend 
broken relationships and let fall the walls that have come between you and those 
you love. In Jesus, God gave us the greatest gift of all that first Christmas 
Day. How much richer we-like Beth Baldwin-are when we seek all He has to offer 
us, even now. 
Please check out my Web site at www.KarenKingsbury.com for more information 
about the Red Gloves Projects that have happened since last year. And leave me a 
note in my guestbook. As always, I'd love to hear from you, and if you have a 
Red Gloves Project idea you'd like 
i$5 
156 
to share with me, please do. I'll add it to my website and perhaps suggest it in 
my Warner Christmas story next year. 
Until next time, may God's light and life be yours in the coming year. 
In His love, Karen Kingsbury 
Web site: www.KarenKingsbury.com E-mail: Karen@KarenKingsbury.com 
156 
Width1Width3Width6045 157 cThe TZgd Qloves Series 
Width1Width3Width6045Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945P.S. Did you figure out 
the hidden meaning in the words 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width6045on Sarah's Christmas 
ornaments? If not, take a look: 
Width1Width3Width6045Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945T omorrow 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 H igh 
hopes Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 E 
xcitement 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 R 
ebellious 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 E 
xposed Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 
D ance Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 
G one Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 L 
onging Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 
O pportunity Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945V ictory 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 E 
mbrace Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 
S till Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width6045Remember? The 
secret to love was in the red gloves. 
Width1Width3Width6045Width1Width3Width6045Above all else, guard your heart. The 
secret was in the Width1Width3Width6045Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945words 
on Sarah's tree, a s well. Now you know. 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945 157 
Width1Width3Width2100Width3Width3945
158 
159 Life-Changing Fiction by K(iren IQngsbury 
Gideon's Gift 
Maggies Miracle 
One Tuesday Morning 
Ocean's Apart 
Redemption 
Remember 
Return 
Rejoice 
Reunion 
Waiting for Morning A Moment of Weakness 
Halfway to Forever 
When Joy Came to Stay 
Where Yesterday Lives 
On Every Side 
A Time to Dance 
A Time to Embrace 
The Treasury of Miracles Series by Kgren Kingsbury 
A Treasury of Christmas Miracles 
A Treasury of Miracles for Women 
A Treasury of Miracles for Teens 
A Treasury of Miracles for Friends 
160 r 
Don't miss the other books in Kdren F^flgsburyS THE RED GLOVES SERIES 
Gideon 
Karen Kingsburv 
Five years ago, Earl Badgett lost his beloved wife and daughter -and his faith 
in everything good. Angry and heartbroken, he took to the streets, where he 
slept in alleys and scavenged food from garbage cans. Now he is in a slow, 
anguished slide toward ending his life forever. He doesn't want anyone reaching 
out to him; he doesn't need anyone-especially the pesky little girl who refuses 
to leave him in peace when he stops by the shelter for an occasional meal. But 
when Gideon Mercer gives old Earl a gift at the mission dinner, neither of them 
can imagine that the present she's found will lead him to a heart-wrenching 
reawakening. Or that someone's determination to return the favor will begin an 
unforgettable series of miracles that will reverberate throughout the rest of 
their lives. For that is the power of faith behind Gideon's Gift. 
161 
Maggie's Miracie 
Karen Kingsbury 
Once upon a time, high-powered New York attorney Megan Wright was "Maggie," a 
thirteen-year-old girl who believed in love. But no one has called her Maggie 
for years. And marriage to a man who could never return her feelings has left 
her resigned to a life without romance-or faith. When she is unexpectedly 
widowed, she must find a way to fill her young son's wishes. 
Casey Cummins lost his wife and baby in childbirth- and has struggled to put his 
memories to rest every hour since. When he signs up to be a mentor for the 
Healing Hearts program, Megan sees simply a kindhearted man whose humor and 
resourcefulness can help her son. She never suspects that Casey's caring and 
sensitivity will ignite a series of inexplicable and wonderful events that are 
about to answer this couples most heartfelt prayers. . . during a time they will 
always call Maggies Miracle. 
162 
163 IF I HAD YOU 
Deborah Bedford 
Nora CRABTREE HAD long since given up on her wayward daughter. So when Tess 
suddenly turned up pregnant, the last thing Nora wanted was to get involved 
again. But when the Crabtrees were suddenly forced to bring Tess's baby into 
their home, for Nora it became the chance to rewrite history and allow herself 
to love and cherish a young girl. 
* 
lESS CRABTREE GREW up wanting nothing more than her mothers unconditional love. 
Pregnant at an early age and hopelessly drawn to a hunger she could not control, 
she vanished, leaving behind a child she thought she didn't want. Now, years 
later, she realizes she's made a mistake-in more ways than one. And now, with a 
child caught between them, both Nora and Tess Crabtree must trust that God 
answers prayers- and His love conquers all. 
Two women. One struggle: To learn to love each other again. 
164 
165 NAZARETH'S SONG 
The Millwood Hollow Series Patricia Hickman 
For Reverend Jeb Nubey, returning to Nazareth has meant the smell of freshly 
baked bread in the mornings and the reverie of church picnics by the lake. But 
that peaceful landscape is threatened when an ambitious banker starts buying up 
large plots of land and buildings in order to control the commerce and politics 
of the quaint town. Adding fuel to the fire is Winona, the banker's attractive 
daughter, who's been making pointedly generous donations to the Reverend's 
humble Church in the Dell. Throw in a botched poultry deal and a stolen church 
bell, and all at once Reverend Jeb is up to his eyeballs in trouble. 
Also AVAILABLE is Fallen Angels, book one in The Millwood Hollow Series. Fallen 
Angels introduces the unlikely hero Jeb Nubey and the irrepressible trio of 
Welby children as they struggle together for survival during the Great 
Depression. 
166 
167 ever. Sarah knows the heartache that results from making bad choices. And 
she knows, too, how God can redeem any situation-her own life is proof of that. 
As Sarah sings, she prays her new friend will understand the true gift of 
love-and that to give it up without a fight means to give up on life itself. 
But will Sarah be able to convince this trou bled young woman before time runs 
out? Twelve days. Two lives. And one song-"Sarah's Song"- that just might bring 
about a miracle for everyone who hears it.1 
1 KAREN K1NGSBURY is the'; 
| bestselling author of more than I ? thirty books and one of Amer-!| ica's 
favorite inspirational is storytellers. Previously a staff writer for the Los 
Angeles Times and a People magazine contributor, she was chosen by the Women of 
Faith Fiction Club to write its first novel, A Time to Dance. Karen currently 
lives with her: 
husband and six children in the Pacific Northwest. 
jacket design by david uttley, udg/designworks jacket photograph Šby bob 
landry/getty images 
Visit our Web site at www.twbookmark.com 
PRINTED IN THE USA 
168 PRAISE FOR SARAH'S SONG 
Ś-3K . 
sill 
Śa 
"Carve one hour out of this busy holiday season and curl up 
by the fire with SARAH'S SONG. You'H be deeply touched, 
even moved to tears, by this simple, gentle story." 
-Liz Curtis higgs, 
bestselling author of Thorn in My Heart 
"Sure to touch the heart of the reader. 
Kingsbury has crafted another moving story of God's hope 
and restoration. This isn't to be missed!" 
-Tracie Peterson, 
bestselling author of Silent Star and Eyes of the Heart 
"Kingsbury can touch the heart like no other author. 
SARAH'S SONG made me treasure the gifts of love iťmy 
own life. This tender story is sure to be a Christmas 
favorite year after year." 
-Colleen coble, 
author of Without a Trace and Beyond a Doubt 
...AND FOR THE RED GLOVES SERIES 
"Karen never ceases to brilliantly move her readers with 
heartfelt stories-Maggie's Miracle is no exception." 
-Dr. Gary Smalley, 
founder, Smalley Relationship Center 
"Gideon's Gift may be a small book, 
but there is nothing little about its message of hope and the 
miraculous. Give yourself a gift. Read Gideon's Gift." 
-Robin lee Hatcher, 
award-winning author of Firstborn 
169 CO; 
z\