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Authors: Catherine Lanigan
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most. She’d seen past his anger at that instant, and she felt as if she had helped him, even if it had been in a very slight, tenuous way. “I hope he does. He needs us.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
S ARAH TOOK B EAU out for his morning constitutional down Maple Avenue, where they both enjoyed the last of the spring tulips. Sarah noticed the spikes of peonies shooting up through the ground. The walk took an extra-long time, as Sarah allowed Beau to sniff all he wanted.
Sarah hadn’t been able to get Luke Bosworth out of her mind. She’d never met anyone so tortured. Her heart went out to him because he seemed to be clueless as to how to react to those around him. He was deeply within himself, yet when he spoke about Jenny, he allowed everyone in session access to his innermost fears. Sarah was drawn to his tenderness and depth of compassion. He was an enigma of anger and gentleness. She was already looking forward to the next meeting, when she would hopefully see Luke again and learn more about him.
She was almost embarrassed to be asking for any help at all from Margot, when Luke clearly needed all her guidance and then some. Sarah guessed, from his worn work boots and his jeans and faded shirt, that he hadn’t bought any new clothes for himself since his wife died. She remembered him making an offhand comment about medical bills and she could well understand his situation.
Her mother and father had purchased expensive but excellent health insurance a decade ago when Sarah had left for college. Sarah thought it was ridiculous, but Ann Marie had insisted, saying they weren’t interested in trips to foreign countries or expensive jewelry or things anymore. They wanted to provide Sarah with the education she needed to pursue her dreams, and they wanted to cover themselves in case of disaster. They did precisely that. Ann Marie left only a few thousand dollars in medical bills, and in addition, her mother had prepaid her own funeral and cremation. Sarah had none of the financial problems that she was now realizing a great many people were forced to deal with along with loss and grief.
Sarah hadn’t realized that she and Beau had been walking for nearly an hour. When they walked past Mrs. Beabots’s house, Sarah could hear her television was turned up, and she could smell the apples, cinnamon and butter that told her Mrs. Beabots had been baking...again.
As Sarah came up the sidewalk to her house, she noticed someone was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on her front porch.
As she approached, the person stood up.
“Miss Milse!” Sarah said with a smile.
The woman, in her mid-sixties, stood nearly six feet tall and was over two hundred pounds of pure-bred German muscle. She wore a very dated, cotton floral house dress with a blindingly white, ruffled apron. The short sleeves revealed upper arms the size of Virginia hams that looked as if she could rip up each floorboard for cleaning and easily pound them back into place.
Her steel-gray hair was pulled so tightly on her scalp and twisted into such a severe topknot that Sarah worried the woman would get a headache.
“I come to clean,” Miss Milse announced in her accented, guttural voice as Sarah mounted the porch steps.
When Sarah was a little girl, Miss Milse had been both babysitter and housekeeper for the Jensen family. Sarah knew the woman’s ways as well as she knew those of her mother and aunt Emily. Miss Milse could have been a gem for any branch of the United States Armed Forces, which she’d often told Ann Marie that she had longed to do. Miss Milse had wanted to travel the world and earn the nursing degree she dreamed of. But when she had been young, she’d been forced by circumstances to remain in Indian Lake to care for her widowed mother until she died of complications from Multiple Sclerosis.
Odd, Sarah thought. I know so much about her, but I still don’t know her first name. I guess she will always be Miss Milse.
Because Miss Milse was a
CHAPTER SEVEN
S ARAH TOOK B EAU out for his morning constitutional down Maple Avenue, where they both enjoyed the last of the spring tulips. Sarah noticed the spikes of peonies shooting up through the ground. The walk took an extra-long time, as Sarah allowed Beau to sniff all he wanted.
Sarah hadn’t been able to get Luke Bosworth out of her mind. She’d never met anyone so tortured. Her heart went out to him because he seemed to be clueless as to how to react to those around him. He was deeply within himself, yet when he spoke about Jenny, he allowed everyone in session access to his innermost fears. Sarah was drawn to his tenderness and depth of compassion. He was an enigma of anger and gentleness. She was already looking forward to the next meeting, when she would hopefully see Luke again and learn more about him.
She was almost embarrassed to be asking for any help at all from Margot, when Luke clearly needed all her guidance and then some. Sarah guessed, from his worn work boots and his jeans and faded shirt, that he hadn’t bought any new clothes for himself since his wife died. She remembered him making an offhand comment about medical bills and she could well understand his situation.
Her mother and father had purchased expensive but excellent health insurance a decade ago when Sarah had left for college. Sarah thought it was ridiculous, but Ann Marie had insisted, saying they weren’t interested in trips to foreign countries or expensive jewelry or things anymore. They wanted to provide Sarah with the education she needed to pursue her dreams, and they wanted to cover themselves in case of disaster. They did precisely that. Ann Marie left only a few thousand dollars in medical bills, and in addition, her mother had prepaid her own funeral and cremation. Sarah had none of the financial problems that she was now realizing a great many people were forced to deal with along with loss and grief.
Sarah hadn’t realized that she and Beau had been walking for nearly an hour. When they walked past Mrs. Beabots’s house, Sarah could hear her television was turned up, and she could smell the apples, cinnamon and butter that told her Mrs. Beabots had been baking...again.
As Sarah came up the sidewalk to her house, she noticed someone was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on her front porch.
As she approached, the person stood up.
“Miss Milse!” Sarah said with a smile.
The woman, in her mid-sixties, stood nearly six feet tall and was over two hundred pounds of pure-bred German muscle. She wore a very dated, cotton floral house dress with a blindingly white, ruffled apron. The short sleeves revealed upper arms the size of Virginia hams that looked as if she could rip up each floorboard for cleaning and easily pound them back into place.
Her steel-gray hair was pulled so tightly on her scalp and twisted into such a severe topknot that Sarah worried the woman would get a headache.
“I come to clean,” Miss Milse announced in her accented, guttural voice as Sarah mounted the porch steps.
When Sarah was a little girl, Miss Milse had been both babysitter and housekeeper for the Jensen family. Sarah knew the woman’s ways as well as she knew those of her mother and aunt Emily. Miss Milse could have been a gem for any branch of the United States Armed Forces, which she’d often told Ann Marie that she had longed to do. Miss Milse had wanted to travel the world and earn the nursing degree she dreamed of. But when she had been young, she’d been forced by circumstances to remain in Indian Lake to care for her widowed mother until she died of complications from Multiple Sclerosis.
Odd, Sarah thought. I know so much about her, but I still don’t know her first name. I guess she will always be Miss Milse.
Because Miss Milse was a
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