A Candle in the Dark

By Lisa Engle Escobar

Born in the American South, Lisa Engle Escobar gave up the relative comfort of family, friends and home to follow her love's dictates to exotic places around the world, including the tropical paradise of Belize, where she found a new "home" and fell in love once again, not only with the region and its people, but with her young son, Christian, who shares his story as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Engle Escobar
• Release date: Jan 9, 2010

Book preview

A Candle

In the Dark

by

Lisa Engle Escobar

With a contribution from

Christian Escobar

* * * * *

A Candle in the Dark

Copyright 2004, 2010, Lisa Engle Escobar

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form without permission in writing from the author. Excerpts may be quoted for reviews.

Smashwords Edition - January 2010

Editors: Shannon K. Downey, Suzanne Hawley

Cover design: Shrinidi Iyengar

Interior design: Paul McNeese, OPA Author Services

Photography: Catherine M. Servant, John Paul Toor

Published by Malaga Press

16132 Malaga Lane, Suite F

Huntington Beach, California 92647-3991

All inquiries should be made to Malaga Press.

E-mail: [e-mail]

* * * * *

Dedication

To my son, Christian

In Miguel's memory

* * * * *

Introduction

~ A Remembrance ~

MY FIRST HOME-the place of my earliest memories-is an historic, colonial-style structure located in the friendly, colorful town of Madison, Georgia. Dating from pre-Civil War days, it has been lovingly restored and turned into a quaint Bed and Breakfast.

The Madison that I know today is built on a legend. During the Civil War, at a moment of panic for the South-Atlanta had just been razed, burned to the ground-a detachment of General Sherman's army had moved dangerously close to our small town. Miraculously, though, Senator Joshua Hill went out as an ambassador, reminding Sherman's local commander of a gentleman's agreement that Hill and Sherman had made some time previously to spare the town of Madison from any harm. Because of Senator Hill's intervention, many lovely Victorian and Antebellum structures are still standing today-untouched by the ravages of war. Ours was one of them.

The rooms of our house on Old Post Road were vast-and chilly in the winter, especially Mom and Dad's bedroom. Even space heaters added to the house's antiquated gas-heating system failed to keep us warm. Often on Sunday evenings in wintertime, we'd bundle up with sweaters, hats and, if necessary, coats and scarves. Sipping hot chocolate, we'd sit bunched together watching The Wonderful World of Disney while eating chocolate donuts.

Besides Mom, Dad, and the four of us sisters, the cavernous house was home to two flying bats. One practically owned the upstairs high-ceilinged master bedroom and the adjoining hallway while the other kept us on the lookout everywhere else. They patrolled at will, always unexpected; and their flights became our greatest frights as little girls.

Outside was a rich lawn, always spring-green and dotted with trees and gardenia bushes that filled the air with a sweet, complex scent. Mother used to place a single, paper-white flower in each of our rooms from time to time, adding a distinctly feminine fragrance to the whole house. At the end of our driveway we girls got to write our names in the freshly poured cement. Not our initials, but full names-Terri Engle, Laura Engle, Lisa Engle, and Sandi Engle. The year was 1965. I was five years old.

Daddy worked at a cordage mill and Mama was a kindergarten teacher. Kindergarten classes were held inside our big home, and I got to go there for the better part of two years. I was supposed to call my own mother Miss Barbara, but calling Mama by her first name was hard to do, given that respect for my parents was as primary a lesson as finger painting or learning our ABC's.

~

IN 1966, WHEN I WAS SIX, we moved to a new house on Park Lane. Although moving can often be hard on a small child, all the familiar sights and comforts remained intact. There were, however, a few major differences.

Our house on Park Lane was a five bedroom, split-level home. It was painted a crisp white, with charcoal-gray shutters-and best of all-it was brand new!

In many respects it was an improvement over the historic relic on Old Post Road. There was new carpeting, new fixtures, and everything was in working order. We especially welcomed the less-than-frigid winters provided by the updated, twentieth-century heating system.

Mother moved her kindergarten to a different location, which was quite nearby. I was glad everything was still in Madison, especially her kindergarten and our old home.

~

MAMA AND DADDY WORKED HARD while we were growing up, especially Daddy.

As a boy, Daddy made his first money cutting grass for neighbors at fifty cents an hour. He also earned some side money from his parents, though it didn't come easily. At intervals throughout the year, two to three tons of furnace coal were dropped off in the back alley of his home. Single-handedly, Dad would shovel it into a wheelbarrow and dump it into a shoot that led to the basement.

At age seventeen, he and a buddy worked on a vegetable truck. This moneymaking operation saw the two teenagers energetically jumping off the truck at the head of each block of houses. Practically running door-to-door, they went about selling corn, beans, squash, tomatoes, watermelons and other fresh produce while the farmer-driving the truck-leisurely filled each order along the way.

During the summer following his graduation from high school, Dad worked at a downtown theater, first as an usher, then a doorman. Later, he was put in charge of the popcorn and candy department. In this job he got to wear a tall white chef's hat, which he loved. He could also sneak into the back of the theater to watch the movie once it started, and, perhaps best of all, he was permitted to eat all the popcorn he could hold!

While still in his first year of college, Dad landed a job working at Louisville's nicest department store, Stewart's. Not only did he package dishes; he enjoyed meeting lots of girls, but not one special enough to be our mom! That would come later.

Throughout the following summer, Dad worked at a soft drink company. He inspected bottles as they came through the line, and loaded and unloaded trucks with cases of soda.

As a college sophomore, Daddy became a part-time copy boy for the Louisville Courier Journal. His job consisted of tearing typewritten pages of news off the Teletype machines and delivering these stories to the staff of news copywriters.

Word was out that the paper's sports editor needed a sports writer. Dad approached the editor and asked for the position. He was given one chance, one game, to prove himself before he officially became the sports writer for this thriving newspaper. Dad rose to the challenge, proving that he had what it took to manage the demands of a regular column. A few months later, he made the enormous leap from part-time copy boy to a full-fledged staff writer. It was there that Dad was discovered for having a gift in writing.

As part of his job he reported on his college basketball team. He interviewed coaches before and after games, and enjoyed special seating at every game. He became a pro at writing actual play-by-play game accounts. Because Dad had always been-and still is -an avid sports fan, his work at the Courier Journal has remained his favorite job.

After he finished college, Dad was promoted to the newspaper's Accounting Department.

He stayed closely connected with friends of his alma mater, Bellarmine College, and with the girls he knew from neighboring Ursuline College. The Ursuline girls would often invite guys and grads from Bellarmine College over for parties. Guys traditionally brought beer and mixes for drinks while the girls prepared snacks and food galore.

On one of these occasions, the party turned into a piano playing and group singing session prompted by a certain young Ursuline freshmen named Barbara. A talented pianist, she could play all types of music and had memorized numbers of songs not even up for count.

That night she played love song medleys from the 50's era, and earlier: Stardust, Always, Unforgettable, and many more. My dad, Bob, was impressed.

Between songs he asked Barbara if he could fix her a drink. She graciously accepted. Dad returned with a bourbon and beer boilermaker. It was the most distasteful drink Barbara ever had! Still, she gave the appearance of appreciating his kind gesture. She was finding she liked him. He liked her, too.

By the end of the evening, as snow began to fall outside, Dad asked to drive her home. They left the party together.

~

WHEN THEY FIRST MET, EACH WAS INVOLVED, seeing someone else. For a while they continued dating their respective partners, keeping their feelings for each other hidden. But three months later, as the New Year approached, they decided independently to open up about their feelings and admitted-each to the other-that they cared for one another more than the people they were dating. Once having leaped this initial hurdle, they broke their New Year's Eve dates to go out together.

Knowing their holy obligation to attend Mass on New Year's Day, they headed for service at 5:00 A.M. By going to Mass early they wouldn't have to wake up to be there hours later! After spending nearly a dozen evenings together, neither wanted their happy times to end.

Only six months after my parents met, Dad joined the armed forces. He enlisted in the Navy, and the military wasted no time in sending him overseas. Mom missed him so much while he was away, and just three days after he returned from his first tour in the Mediterranean, they were married. Dad went on to spend the remainder of his two year commitment back in the Mediterranean, working in the Air Intelligence Department.

As soon as Dad completed his two years of service, we girls began to arrive almost immediately-and at close intervals-Terri first, then Laura in less than a year's time, followed by me fifteen months later, and finally by Sandi, two years after that. It would have been hard to do all that procreative work any faster!

When we were still very small girls, Mama and Daddy gave us large burlap sacks to take to the cotton field across the road from where we lived. With these bags, we would stow away our picked cotton. At the end of the day, the kindly farmer would weigh our sacks and pay us several cents a pound for all the cotton we had gathered. On some days we might have cried over a bee sting or mosquito bites. But we had real money in our hands, so on balance we were four happy sisters, indeed.

Just after my eleventh birthday, I began babysitting an adorable six-month-old baby girl named Beth. My pay soared from seventy-five cents to a dollar an hour, sometimes a dollar and a half! I must have done a good job as my reputation soon spread. By age twelve, I was taking care of small children three or four evenings a week. During the summertime, I actually went along on vacations with families I worked for. I got to visit wonderful coastlines like Jekyll Island and St. Simon's. Babysitting at beach resorts hardly felt like work! And best of all, Mom gave me the freedom to spend or save the money I made.

Some time around our thirteenth birthdays, each of us girls found ourselves working at the Peach Shed-a huge, open, wooden warehouse located a couple miles from home. Alongside a rutted road, it featured a storeroom that reeked with the stench of rotten peaches that we could smell long before we could see the building.

Our job was to grade peaches, pulling them off rolling graders and tossing them onto belts according to condition. It wasn't long before all of us Engle girls were sweating our summers away at Madison's long-established Peach Shed. When the machines broke down, as they often did, we'd have peach fights throwing the mushy ones at each other and carrying that distinctive odor home with us.

Throughout our high school years, each of us had played musical instruments in the band. During concert season (spring) we competed in band festivals and during marching season (fall and winter) three of us sisters were flag twirlers in the color guard. I was sure to miss the fun we shared in band and the color guard section with all the school pep rallies, summer trips and half time performances at football games.

Throughout high school, our home had been the meeting place for friends, fun parties and more than enough guys whose mishaps-like throwing a football through the wall-we blamed on our dog, Dandy. We all loved Dandy, so he never got the heat. Once a stray in our neighborhood, he became our very own family dog.

I remember the time when we three older sisters went to a Prom with three brothers. They were star football players, and we were in high heaven!

Those were the good old days.

~

THERE WAS A CERTAIN POPLAR TREE outside my bedroom window that I had planted as a young girl. Legend has it that I first planted the young tree upside-down, roots facing the sky. As time went on though, this tree came to signify our growing years, as it grew with us four Engle girls-year after year-until one day, a decade had passed. The tree stood straight and tall, towering higher than my second story window.

In the same way, we had all grown and changed. We were all raised now, or so it seemed.

By 1977, I had reached my senior year of high school. Dad was still working at the cordage mill and Mom had completed twelve years of teaching kindergarten. Things were a bit calmer on the home front. Terri, who was then nineteen, and Laura, eighteen, had finished high school and moved on to their respective colleges. Laura had chosen Georgia Southern in Statesboro, and Terri was attending Georgia College in Milledgeville. Now only Sandi and I were left at home.

In the summer of that year, I was hired for my first real job at a brand new McDonalds that had just sprouted off Interstate 20. Sandi applied shortly thereafter. Together we became known as the best drive-thru window team in the area. There was still some fun left in us.

But things were different for us now. The pace had slowed. There was more time for reflection, and one striking fact came into focus. I could see that my parents were still in love-even after all these years-and after all that we girls had demanded of them. I knew, too, that they loved us and cared about our lives.

As for me, now seventeen, a time for difficult decisions was fast approaching.

~

YEARS EARLIER, IN 1954, DAD HAD GRADUATED in the very first graduating class of Bellarmine College. Quite naturally, he felt we should go there, too. But Terri, Laura, and Sandi had set their sights on other schools. I was the only Engle girl open to the idea. Here I was at life's biggest juncture-imagining what life would be like in a city five hundred miles away...

One thing, and one thing only, was certain. Soon I would be leaving all that was, behind... including that small, spectacular Georgia town born out of grace, elegance and charm.

Yes, here I was-a high school senior-suddenly realizing that the future was catching up with me . . . my future was up to me . . . my future was TOMORROW.

* * * * *

Chapter One

~ Just a Girl ~

TOMORROW WAS THE BIG DAY. For a moment I wondered if tomorrow would ever come.

Tonight, enthusiastic students of Morgan County High School would gather to share their school spirit with the townspeople. A bonfire celebration marked by the upbeat sounds of our small but much loved marching band was about to take place. It was the opening of homecoming festivities, and I was one of twelve nominees for homecoming queen.

Since my nomination, secret ceremonies replayed over and over in my mind. I thought of treasured trophies of past family pageantries, especially mine. Like gold stars, they were prominently displayed on our burnished and refined, Southern oak mantel. I recalled rapturous moments delighting in the recognition that these marble and silver-plated statuettes had brought. I knew still there must be more to life than my small structured hands had held. But whatever that was, my heart had barely begun its search.

Somehow as high school days had worn on, I had grown less bubbly. I'd begun to feel rather subdued. It was as though a sense of resignation gave true recognition that home and friendships were about to turn a corner. One day, and one day soon, they would be changed forever.

I was aware of the inevitable-that high school days were nearing their end. All week long, nostalgic memories had washed over me as I headed into the excitement of one last homecoming. It would be more special this year than any other.

Mama and Daddy were proud, very proud, and in a more spirited way, so were my three sisters. So much so, they coaxed me into a spontaneous, comical rehearsal of a princess walk. Unwilling to face my lofty wave alone, I persuaded Daddy for this exaggerated show. I knew precisely how to set the stage.

I began by saying what any good Southern daughter would say, Daddy, I am honored to have you as my escort. You are the most charming and wonderful man in the state of Georgia!

That got him out of his lounger and onto his feet.

Daddy was a first-rate runner with trophies that outshone mine on the mantel of glory. He ran with an air of stateliness, and was as graceful as a gazelle when he crossed the finish line in a race. But somehow at the bottom of stairs, his shoelaces seemed to be tied together. All of his former glory flew right out the window!

No, Daddy, I demonstrated. Step forward with your right foot, and then with your left. Here, you be me and I'll be you. Pick up the hem of your gown, like so. Step down, daintily now. Gee, maybe homecoming attendant would be a better choice for you!

Everyone laughed. Daddy flashed his Jimmy Carter smile, stomped my socked foot, and twirled around in his 'pretty dress.' Mama and my sisters were practically rolling on the floor with laughter. It was almost impossible to avoid falling prey to the comic genius of Dad's unintended clumsiness. We practiced our pre-princess walk until we had gotten a few serious practices in. By midnight I was satisfied with our performance.

Before my three sisters headed to bed that night, they each gave me a hug and wished me luck. The oldest, Terri, promised to make me laugh whether I won or lost. She was just home from college. Laura, also home from college, gave me an extra big hug for good measure. Sandi, the youngest, was the last of sisters standing there. Her natural sweetness emanated as she smiled and told me what a beautiful princess I was going to be. I was left with Mama and Daddy looking down on me lovingly.

Well, Mama spoke first, tomorrow's the big day! Our little miss might be the homecoming queen.

No, Mama, I don't think so. But it's an honor to be in the court.

Sure is, said Daddy.

I gave them each a hug and bid them sweet dreams, like always, before hurrying upstairs. At the top of the stairway, I turned around and said in a somewhat crackling voice, I love you, Mama. I love you, Daddy. To me it was important that I tell them separately.

And we love you, Lisa, they said with the kind of perfect unison that only years of togetherness can bring.

In our home, the lines of communication were always open. Life and love flowed through the same channel. Although I loved my parents dearly, for some reason these words were becoming harder to say. It was easier to share a warm hug or a brisk kiss than it was to express my love for them. To allow my parents to know me-the woman I was growing into-felt so uncharacteristic for a still very young girl. Could it be maturity that was responsible for the subtle change in the atmosphere between us? Around them, I was still the same little girl I had always been. No, maturity wasn't the reason.

I turned a corner before reaching my bedroom. The curtains were open, just as I had left them. I glanced out the window and noticed the poplar tree-the one that, as a small child, I had planted. There it stood, bathed in a soft, moonlit glow. Not a leaf was stirring. It was as though time were standing still.

~

THE FOLLOWING DAYBREAK, soft radiance from the morning sun peeking through my window's semi-sheer curtains half-awakened me. Because I had already washed my blonde silken hair twice, shaved my legs, polished my nails and showered the rest of me from head to toe the night before, I was free to luxuriate in a few extra minutes of beauty sleep.

My body was not fooled. I lay in anticipation of the parade, the dance, the football game, the crowning of the queen . . . and all that would happen in the night to come.

Seemingly in a dream-like state, a short-lived image fluttered through my mind. An ethereal sense of tranquility passed over me. It was almost as though I were being held in a man's arms. I envisioned the one I longed to be held by, but it was an intimacy all too unlikely to come true. Surely, I must have been dreaming for the day's arrival had dawned all too soon.

Suddenly aware I had been drifting for some time, I scrambled out of bed making it as usual. Presentable on the surface, but with the sheet and blanket still crumpled underneath, I wished for this day that Mama wouldn't notice my untidy bed and unkempt room as she had every other day. Couldn't just for today a homecoming nominee escape such monotonous chores?

~

EXCITEMENT AND LAUGHTER filled the hallways at school. Even though the humdrum routine of lectures and exams took precedence as usual inside the classrooms, outside, students' spirits were high. This was the day we had long awaited.

By the end of sixth period I sat glued, riveted to the clock right up to the last few minutes of the school day. If only I could manage to bear the weight of my discontentment until the final bell sounded!

When the bell finally did ring, I looked up to see Sandi waiting for me.

Let's get out of here, she said continuing, I felt like this day would never end.

Me, too. Gotta stop at my locker first.

You excited about tonight? Sandi asked.

I guess so. I know I'm not going to win, though.

Hey, you might be surprised, Lisa. A lot of people like you.

Oh, no, not me. I think I know who's going to be crowned.

Who?

Connie Sheppard. With a body like hers, she's got it in the bag.

So, you think this is a beauty contest?

All the guys will vote for her, and the girls' votes will be divided up among the others.

Hmmm, guess you've got a point there.

Sandi wandered down the hallway while I stopped at my locker.

What are you wearing for the parade? she asked.

My black dress, you know, the one with flowers embroidered around the top.

What about shoes?

High-top suede boots.

Why are you wearing black, Lisa? You're skinny enough as it is!

I'm not skinny. I wish I were your size, why, I could wear practically anything. You're perfect. At five-feet four, a couple more inches-you could be a model! You've got the world at your feet, Sandi, and you don't even know it. Just look at your figure, and those slender legs!

Is that why everyone calls me 'bird legs'?

That's not what they're meaning.

And, you've got the darlingest boyfriend in the world!

Is 'darlingest' a word, Lisa?

Well, you know what I mean. Tracy is so masculine, and what a ball player! Do you know how lucky you are?

Yeah, sometimes, I guess.

You and Tracy have something special. I feel terrible for saying this, but sometimes I feel so . . . so envious. I just wonder if it will ever happen to me.

Tears came to my eyes though I tried to hold them back. My own jealousy had stopped me in my tracks. Sandi stood still a few minutes, waiting for me.

No, no, Lisa. It's going to happen, really. I just found someone sooner, that's all. It will happen-in time-I promise. You wait and see.

Thanks for saying that. I guess you're right . . . maybe someday. Come on! Let's hurry home. I don't have much time to get ready. I'll do the makeup. I need your help in fixing my hair. The parade starts pretty soon! As I wiped away the tears, we hugged. Sandi and I jogged towards our ride. We soon found ourselves home.

~

ALONE, I STOOD STARING INTO THE MIRROR, contemplating my transformation. I thought about my life, where I had come from and where I would be going. Here I was, about to step off into a world of unknowns. Where would I live? What new faces would I be looking into? Homecoming was a sure sign that graduation was near. Just this morning I had promised myself that I wouldn't dwell on that. Didn't I have enough work in front of me?

The mission was to glow, emitting gleam, perhaps a touch of glitter, but never gaudy. I carefully adorned my eyes with touches of beige. Then the eyeliner, oh yes, the ever-challenging eyeliner. It must be perfect the first time for if not, the telltale smudge would surely remain. With the stillness of a surgeon, I painted the right lid with a slight curve upward. Holding my breath, I did the same to the left. Yes, the patient would live! Ah, the rest was a breeze. Swirl on the mascara. Not too much blush. Line those lips. A little lipstick-perfection!

Though I wasn't the radiant model adorning the glossy pages of fashion magazines, I had managed to bring a bit of beauty into some of my natural features-large, hazel-green eyes, wide, full lips and high cheekbones. There was but one feature I treasured most ~ my long, golden blonde hair. Tonight the look was straight and glossy with just enough wave to soften my face. Feeling a sense of satisfaction at the reflection staring back at me, I hurried out the door. The parade was about to begin.

~

FROM THE MOMENT I ARRIVED at the parking lot, waving hands beckoned me aboard. I sat high atop a raised stage with three other homecoming nominees.