Eighteenth Summer

By Kay Salter

Secrets, surprises and disappointments

all crowd the pages of Eighteenth Summer.

Sarahs dear friend, Nancy, must pick up the pieces of a shattered dream and go on with her life. With advice from Sarah she is able to do so.

Cousin Marnie must spend the summer tucked away in her grandmothers home. The only person she knows she can trust with her secret is Sarah, the cousin whose feelings she has delighted in hurting every summer.

A tall stranger singles Sarah out from a group of friends at the Fourth of July parade. During their brief encounter Sarah once more receives a proposal of marriage.

Sarah receives a letter from Ohio and rushes to read its contents. She is heartbroken to learn her friend of six years is in love. Words in the letter like, special and friend do nothing to mend her wounded heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481747035

Kay Salter

Kay Salter, a journalist and playwright, has written for the New York Times and Food & Wine, among other publications. She and her husband James, an author, live in Colorado and on Long Island. She is the co-writer of Life Is Meals: A Food Lover's Book of Days.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Gratitudes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

If you enjoyed Eighteenth Summer…

In Loving Memory

Jimmy Piner

Today, in Heaven, Jimmy Piner is entertaining all with salty tales and silly jokes.He put out to sea a last time leaving love and laughter in his wake.

Gratitudes

I wish to thank Amy and Dot for their tireless dedication to correcting errors before each book is published. It is such a luxury on my part to write what comes to mind without being burdened with piddly stuff like proper capitalization and punctuation.

My dear friend, Mary Beth, who has journeyed from her cottage in Beaufort, has followed Sarah Bowers through all her books. Her suggestions have added strength and quality to each manuscript.

Miss Emily Wilson graciously gave of her leisure time on Scallop Island to pose for the cover of Eighteenth Summer. How grand it is to sit on the end of a dock where time is not measured and watch as God mixes the paint for another of His spectacular sunsets.

Chapter 1

S arah Katherine Bowers, boomed the voice over the loud speaker. Sarah, dressed in a black cap and gown, stepped on the stage of Broughton High School and walked slowly toward Miss Harris, her senior homeroom teacher.

Congratulations, Sarah, she murmured, handing the girl her diploma. She continued across stage, down the steps and joined her classmates. Before turning and once more facing the stage, she glanced quickly over the audience, searching for her family. Several rows back she saw her sister, Amy, waving and blowing kisses. Beside Amy sat James and Peggy Bowers, proudly watching their older daughter. Her brother, Joshua, at twelve years, seemed self-conscious over his little sister’s behavior. Her Raleigh grandparents, George and Sylvia Bowers, smiled broadly, and sitting beside them were her mother’s parents, Jewel and Tom Mitchell. They arrived that afternoon from Beaufort, NC, bringing with them her friend, Nancy Russert.

After the ceremony, all were anxious to leave the stifling heat of the crowded auditorium. Why don’t we go to the Sir Walter Restaurant and have a nice, cool lunch, suggested James. I know Sarah’s melting under her black cap and gown.

It’s one of the few restaurants that is air conditioned, added Peggy, her blonde curls damp. After taking pictures of Sarah with each family member, they drove the short distance to the Sir Walter Raleigh Hotel. I’ll ride with Granny Jewel and Papa Tom, offered Sarah. I know he’s not used to big city traffic, and might get lost.

"Me get lost? her grandfather said, pretending to be indignant. I’ve never been lost in my life. Why, during the Great War, when I was in Germany…."

Thomas, we don’t have time for one of your war stories, interrupted Granny Jewel. I’m anxious to feel some of this air conditioning we’ve been hearing about.

It’s just a fad, Jewel, said George Bowers. People weren’t meant to be cool in summer. Sweating is good for you. It cleanses the pores.

Nevertheless, sniffed Jewel Mitchell, I’m curious to know how warm air can be made cool. I understand cold air can be warmed by a fire in the fireplace, but how is it possible to change hot air to cold?

Each was surprised and pleased by the cool, dry air as they stepped through the revolving door. A hostess wearing a black dress with long sleeves seated the family in the stately dining room. The tables were covered with heavy damask cloths and matching napkins. Waiters wore black slacks and white jackets. Paintings in ornate gold frames graced every wall.

While each ordered from the menu, Sarah turned to Nancy. How does it feel to be a high school graduate?

Nancy, her dark curls framing a pale face, brown eyes and turned up nose, looked determined. Sarah, it’s a stepping stone, nothing more. I think of my high school diploma as a ticket to the outside world. I had to finish high school in order to go to Julliard. Her expression brightened. Can you imagine what it will be like to live in New York City?

Oh, Nancy, my happiest memories are of summers spent with my grandparents on the coast.

Summers aren’t as boring as the cold, bleak winters. If I didn’t have my piano, I’d be utterly miserable. Nancy folded and refolded her napkin. Sarah, she said quietly, I know I’m not a prodigy, or some kind of musical genius, but I can compensate by playing a composition perfectly. I have achieved that by dedication and hard work.

Have you applied to Julliard?

Yes, I’ve done all the paperwork, and auditioned before a committee in Charlotte, NC.

That would scare me out of ten year’s growth.

Not if you’re disciplined, and ready, replied Nancy, primly.

How do you think you did?

I never missed a note, and my timing was perfect.

The waiter made his way to their table, arms laden with a tray of delicious looking food. I’d like to propose a toast, announced James Bowers, holding a glass of iced tea. He turned to his older daughter. Congratulations, Sarah. You are a high school graduate. I know it sounds trite to say, but it seems like yesterday you were in pigtails roller skating on the front walk. The first little boy brave enough to come courting, got a smack on the head with your majorette baton, and I hope you’ll keep that baton handy until you finish college.

Sarah grinned at her father. That was the only use I ever got from my baton. I never made the team in high school.

After the laughter, the father’s expression grew solemn. Sarah, your mother and I have always felt God blessed us when you came into our lives. We’re proud of you, and love you very much.

When father sat, Sarah stood slowly. I don’t want the food to get cold, but I want to say I feel God blessed me by giving me such wonderful parents, and grandparents. I have grown up surrounded by love, and I hope as an adult, I will prove worthy of your devotion.

Me, too! piped Amy. My mashed ‘taters are getting cold.

At home, Sarah turned to her parents. I don’t want to wait until the end of the week to go to Beaufort. If it’s all right with you, I’ll go home with Papa Tom and Granny Jewel. Nancy and I can sit in the back seat and get caught up on all the news since last summer.

I want to go with Papa Tom, declared Joshua when he saw his sister’s suitcases in the front hall. It’s not fair for her to go and not me.

Joshua, said his mother at breakfast, I’m going to need you to go with Amy and me at the end of the week. If something happens to the car, I’ll feel better having a man along.

Pleased by his mother’s words, Joshua sat straighter, wearing a smug expression. Sarah wouldn’t be much help in an emergency.

After several tries, Papa Tom successfully closed the trunk lid. She won’t hold another thing, ladies. If there are any more suitcases, you’ll have to sit on them.

Phew, breathed Sarah, leaning her head back on the seat. I hate saying goodbye. I won’t see Daddy until the Fourth of July, because he’s so busy at Bower’s Chemical Company. Even then he can only get away for a few days.

Soon, the city of Raleigh was far behind. Sarah, watching the fields of corn and tobacco race by, felt herself relax. Cool, country air poured in the open windows. In the front seat, her grandparents were singing along with a melody on the car radio. Granny Jewel turned and looked at the two young women in the back seat. Sarah, do you remember last summer we talked about giving Joshua your little room behind the kitchen?

I do remember. You said I could have the front room across the hall from your bedroom.

Granny Jewel turned, almost facing the back seat. Well, dear, she said enthusiastically, Mr. Fuller, with Mackie’s help, painted your little room behind the kitchen a medium blue that reminds you of an autumn sky. I stored your flowered bedspread and curtain in the attic in a cardboard box. I knew pink flowers wouldn’t be suitable for a boy. When the plaster had been repaired in what is now your room, your grandfather, Mr. Fuller, Mackie and I decided on a creamy beige for the walls, with white for the wood trim and mantle.

Gosh, interrupted Sarah. "How were you able to get four people to decide on the same color?"

That was easy, honey, spoke Papa Tom. Mr. Fuller, his son Mackie and I were discussing the color. I wanted dark green with white trim. Mr. Fuller chose a light gray, and Mackie insisted on a bright yellow. Your grandmother heard us arguing, took the paint chart and pointed her dainty finger at a color chip that looks like mud at low tide. This is the color, she declared. Mr. Fuller, you may begin painting any time."

Sarah leaned forward, patting her grandfather’s shoulder. With such high ceilings and big windows, dark green walls would have been very dramatic. How do you like the new color?

Well, Princess, it’s not exactly the color of mud, more like a sandy beach.

Sarah, Granny Jewel continued, we hung new shades, and sheer white panels which reach the floor. Ramie polished the brass bed, and it is dazzling in the morning sunlight.

I know I’ll love it, Granny Jewel, especially since you planned it.

Sarah turned to her friend. Nancy, catch me up on all the news. How is Leland? Is he still doing portraits?

He stays busy. All mothers want him to do their children’s portraits, and he photographs almost every wedding. I know he’ll be busy now, because June is such a popular month for weddings. Nancy glanced at her friend. Do you remember our portraits on display in the window? Well, all his clients hope their picture will be in the window.

What became of our pictures?

Nancy’s eyes grew big, her hands across her chest. Sarah knew from this dramatic gesture earth-shaking information was forth coming. Sarah, she whispered, do you remember the wall behind the desk as you first walk in? He hung one of his mother’s oil paintings there when the studio first opened.

Yes, I remember.

Nancy lowered her voice and leaned closer . "He has all your pictures in a group. The one of you staring at the camera through a stand of sea oats, he enlarged. It hangs in the center. The other poses hang around it. My favorite is you standing in ankle deep water, listening to the ocean through a conch shell."

He did lovely pictures of you at the piano. Where are they hanging?

Nancy snorted. My pictures are nowhere in sight. Of course, I haven’t checked the walls of the bathroom.

Nancy! That’s a terrible thing to say!

Not only that, Nancy continued, "every time he sees me, he asks about you. He doesn’t say, ‘Hi, Nancy, how are you today?’ Oh, no! The first thing he says is, ‘Have you heard from Sarah? Is she going to spend this summer in Beaufort?’ So, one day, during Easter, I said, ‘I don’t know how Sarah is doing, Leland, but I’m doing just fine, and I plan to be in Beaufort all summer, just like every summer. Thanks for asking.’"

Sarah stifled a giggle. What did he say?

He turned, and walked away. Nancy slowly shook her head. He’s a strange one.

I agree. There’s only one Leland.

Oh, something strange happened last Sunday.

What was that?

I decided to walk to church since it was such a pretty day. I passed the house where your cousin Marnie stays summers and saw a car in the driveway with Greenville tags. Before I could continue, someone called my name. I looked up and saw her sitting in the window. She was holding the curtain so all I could see was her face. When is Sarah coming down? she asked, never saying ‘hello’, or How are you, Nancy?"

What did you tell her? asked Sarah, filled with dread.

I told her you were coming soon after graduation. She said, ‘Tell Sarah I have to see her.’ So, I told you.

I hope she’ll soon be going home. If she stays, my summer will be ruined. How could she think I’d speak to her after last summer! I can’t stand her, Sarah hissed.

For the next ten miles, the girls lapsed into silence. The breeze pouring in the windows grew steadily warmer, giving the promise of a hot summer day.

When they reached Kinston, Papa Tom said, Let’s stop for a cold drink.

That’s a good idea, honey. Let’s find a drug store with the penguin saying, ‘It’s kool inside.’ I’m beginning to like this air conditioning.

While they were enjoying a tall glass of ice cold Coca-Cola, Sarah stared through the large window at her grandparents’ automobile. It would soon be a year old and still looked as it did the first day she saw it in the showroom of Paul Motor Co. on Front Street in Beaufort.

Papa Tom, are you glad you bought that beautiful car? Do you regret not buying a plain, practical one?

Let me answer that, spoke Granny Jewel. He spends every Saturday sweeping out imaginary dirt….

Let me interrupt, said the grandfather, Do not refer to that fine machine as an ‘it.’ Please say, ‘she.’

Yes, dear, said Granny Jewel patiently. Anyway, he sweeps and dusts the inside, then washes the outside. Does he use plain old soap and water like we do? Heavens, no! He has a bottle of special soap from the hardware store, guaranteed to preserve ‘her’ shiny red paint. He has a special brush and another kind of soap to wash ‘her’ white-walled tires. The wooden parts on the doors and trunk are rubbed down with a special polish used on the wooden decks of fancy yachts.

Does your car have a name, Mr. Mitchell? All boats have names, and your car should have one, too, instructed Nancy.

If ‘she’ wasn’t made of wood, metal and rubber, I would be jealous, said Granny Jewel, stirring her drink with a paper straw. There are times when I can think of many names I’d like to call ‘her.’

Nancy sipped her drink daintily and declared, We must think of a name for that glamorous creature. Who wants to go first?

No one spoke for a few minutes. OK, then I will. Nancy stared at the car gleaming in the sunlight. I think her name should be, ‘Spirit,’ because she lifts her owner’s spirits when he goes driving.

That’s very poetic, Nancy. Papa Tom looked around the table. Are there any other suggestions?

‘Strumpet’ comes to mind, said Granny Jewel wryly.

Oh, my, Mrs. Mitchell, breathed Nancy her eyes like saucers. Isn’t that a little harsh?

When a husband’s head is turned by a gorgeous younger woman, that name fits perfectly, returned Granny Jewel, glancing at the driver of the car.

My mind is blank, said Sarah. All I can think of is what Clara is fixing right now for our lunch. We have the whole summer to find a name that fits.

Two hours later, Tom Mitchell turned onto Marsh Street. As they stopped in front of a charming Victorian cottage, the screen door opened, and Nancy’s mother, Mrs. Cora, stepped out. How was your trip? Was it hot in Raleigh? Did Sarah graduate with honors? Nancy did, you know.

Our trip was fine, Cora, and yes, it is hot in Raleigh, and Sarah graduated with honors. We’re very proud of both girls.

Remembering her manners, Nancy turned to her friend’s grandparents. Thank you for a lovely visit. It’s such a treat to go to the city. She turned to her mother. Did I get a letter from Julliard?

Not yet, honey, but it will probably come tomorrow.

Good luck, Nancy, said Sarah, hugging her friend. Call and let me know when you hear something.

Clara! called Sarah stepping in the wide, front hall of her grandparent’s stately Victorian home. Her sandals slapped against the wooden floor as she hurried toward the kitchen.

Whose lovely voice do I hear? It must be an angel calling my name. Clara appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, drying her hands on the hem of her apron. Lordy, child! I didn’t think it was possible for you to get any prettier, but you did! Come give old Clara a big hug.

Sarah rushed into the waiting arms of Clara Parks, the Mitchell’s cook and trusted friend. The girl was shocked to realize she was now taller than the woman she had loved and feared her whole life.

Where are my other two babies? You didn’t leave them in Raleigh, did you?

Sarah laughed. As a matter of fact, we did! I couldn’t wait another minute to get here, so I came with Papa Tom and Granny Jewel. Mama, Amy and Joshua will be coming in a few days.

Humph, snorted Clara, I’m surprised you could talk that boy into coming later. He ain’t happy unless his shoes are in the closet and he’s got a fishing pole in his hand.

Sarah smiled. Mama told him she’d feel safer if there was a man in the car when she drives down. You could see him struggling, but he couldn’t resist being considered a ‘man.’

I can see him now, chest all puffed out, firing orders at your mother and little sister.

Don’t worry, Mama will take him down a notch or two if he gets too bossy. Sarah looked at the dining room table. Clara, don’t tell me you made creamy, thick clam chowder with your special corn bread that has real corn.

I certainly did. After two whole days of eating up-state, I knew your grandparents would need some fresh seafood.

Clara, said Sarah hugging the older woman again. I have to help Papa Tom unload the car. I can’t let him lug my suitcases upstairs to my ‘new’ bedroom.

Oh, Child, said Clara, lowering her voice. You can’t imagine how your granny has fussed over that room. After Mr. Fuller finished painting, she got busy washing windows and hanging new curtains. Every few days she’d holler downstairs, ‘Clara, can you stop what you’re doin’ and come up here? I want your opinion on something.’ So, I’d go dragging up there, fussing about how was I supposed to cook meals from way upstairs? ‘Clara,’ she’d say, ‘it has to be a room befitting a young lady. Our Sarah isn’t a little girl anymore.’

Sarah realized the term, ‘young lady’ no longer angered her. Maybe I have finally outgrown hating the description.

The screen door slammed, interrupting Sarah’s thoughts. Granny Jewel appeared in the doorway. Come, Sarah. She said, putting her arm around her oldest grandchild. I’m anxious to see if you like your new room. Clara, you come, too. I never could have done it without your advice.

Clara, pleased at being included, followed, grumbling all the way. That husband of yours is going to be whining about his empty stomach.

Don’t worry, Clara. He won’t starve.

From the hall, Sarah saw a soft glow coming from the bedroom she would call her own. When she reached the doorway, the two older women stood back. At first, the girl was silent. Nothing in her imagination had prepared her for the beauty of the room. The high walls, now a soft caramel tan, seemed to glow in the early afternoon light. The plain overhead fixture had been replaced with one having tiny spheres of crystal which reflected light, throwing a pattern on the freshly painted walls. Wide molding around the tall windows gleamed white. Full, delicate curtains of white scrim billowed in the afternoon breeze. The ornate brass bed held a new, white spread with lace edging. Soft scatter rugs covered the polished hardwood floors.

Sarah turned, tears welling, I don’t deserve this. This should be Mama’s room.

It was your mother’s room when she was your age, now it’s yours. Your grandfather and I want you to feel as much at home here, as in Raleigh.

Oh, I do! I do! Beaufort will always be home to me.

I think it’s customary to tip the bell boy in a fine hotel, said Papa Tom, placing Sarah’s suitcases outside the door, and holding out his hand.

No decent hotel is hard up enough to hire a bell boy your age, informed