Eyes on the Prize

  Eyes on the Prize

  ISBN-13: 978-0-8249-4787-3

  Published by Guideposts

  16 East 34th Street

  New York, New York 10016

  www.guideposts.com

  Copyright © 2009 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Distributed by Ideals Publications, a division of Guideposts

  2636 Elm Hill Pike, Suite 120

  Nashville, Tennessee 37214

  Guideposts, Ideals and Tales from Grace Chapel Inn are registered trademarks of Guideposts.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Jeffers, Sunni.

  Eyes on the prize / Sunni Jeffers.

  p. cm.—(Tales from Grace Chapel Inn)

  ISBN 978-0-8249-4787-3

  1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Bed and breakfast accommodations–Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Country life—Pennsylvania–Fiction. 5. Pennsylvania—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series.

  PS3610.E36E97 2009

  813′.6–dc22

  2008044039

  Cover art by Deborah Chabrian

  Design by Marisa Jackson

  Typeset by Nancy Tardi

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  GRACE CHAPEL INN

  A place where one can be refreshed and encouraged, a place of hope and healing, a place where God is at home.

  Acknowledgments

  For my wonderful children Laura and John. You grow more beautiful every day. You fill my heart with joy and make me so proud.

  For my very special son-in-law Gary and daughter-in-law Ruth. I am so blessed to claim you.

  For my very special granddaughters Madelaine, Kathryn, Mckenna and Shannon. My cup runneth over.

  My dearest Jim. You made it all possible. I love running this race of life by your side.

  —Sunni Jeffers

  Chapter One

  Jane Howard’s feet hit the hard-packed dirt on Fairy Lane in rhythm with the country-western song on her Mp3 player. The headset cord swung in unison with her ponytail as she jogged.

  At nine o’clock on Friday morning, Fairy Lane was deserted. She’d cooked an early breakfast for the guests at Grace Chapel Inn, the bed-and-breakfast she operated with her sisters, so she had the rest of her morning free to indulge her love of the outdoors. After a week of unseasonably cold, wet weather, the air was dry and clear. A slight breeze blew softly against her skin.

  Jane loved the tree-lined lane and Fairy Pond at the end of it. She soaked up the surrounding scenery. This mid-September day, the hint of gold on the tips of the leaves foretold the brilliance that would burst forth in the coming weeks. Jane was happy that she’d moved back to her childhood home in Southeastern Pennsylvania, where each season brought dramatic changes to the landscape, but she particularly relished the fall. She couldn’t wait to cart her paints and easel to the pond to capture the variety of maple, ash, elm and poplar leaves, with all their nuances of red and purple, yellow and gold. She could visit for weeks to come, and the scene would change constantly, from a place of soft, peaceful repose to one of a bold, wild riot of color.

  Ahead, Jane fancied she saw fairies skipping and darting about upon the pond as shimmers of sunbeams danced across the wavy ripples scalloping the water. She snapped a mental photograph, filing it away in her mind in order to visualize it on some cold, stormy winter day for a painting. Jane could create pictures of Fairy Pond for the rest of her life and never run out of new scenes. In this one, fairies would inhabit the center of each sunbeam.

  Something moved along the water’s edge. Its reflection skimmed along the pond’s surface, bobbing as it advanced steadily toward her around the edge of the pond. Curious, Jane focused on the moving reflection that grew larger as she drew nearer.

  A figure emerged, jogging toward her from the deep shadows of the trees. She got an impression of long, powerful legs. She knew all the local joggers. She did not recognize this stride or the tall, slender female who displayed it.

  As they drew closer, Jane was certain she didn’t know the woman. Could it be a tourist or someone visiting from out of town? Jane smiled and raised her hand in a greeting, but she didn’t slow her pace. There was room on the path to pass.

  Suddenly, the woman stopped. She removed her headphones and sunglasses and squinted.

  “Jane? Jane Howard?” she called loudly enough to override the music from Jane’s headset.

  Jane stopped, slipping off the device. “Yes.” She stared at the woman, but did not recognize her. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  The woman laughed. “A long, long time ago. I’m sure I’ve changed, but you haven’t aged a bit. I’m Carrie Blankenship, er, Gleason, from Franklin High School. We used to run cross-country together.”

  In her lime green and pink spandex top and shorts, Carrie Gleason looked like a model for an energy drink ad. She looked young. She hadn’t been a brunette when Jane knew her, so her hair must have been dyed. That might cover some gray, but she was a year older than Jane, not ten years younger, as she appeared to be. “I didn’t recognize you. You look terrific,” Jane said, smiling and holding out her hand in a friendly gesture. Carrie shook hands with her. Theirs had never been a close relationship. In fact, they’d been competitors. Jane had never beaten Carrie in a race, and Carrie had gloated over her victories, or at least it had seemed that way to Jane.

  “So do you. Do you still live here?” Carrie asked.

  “I moved back home a while ago, after my father passed away. My sisters and I run a bed-and-breakfast in our family home.”

  “Grace Chapel Inn. I ran past it on the way up here. It’s lovely. So you’re still running. Do you work out every day?”

  “I try to. It keeps me in shape and gets me out of the house,” Jane said. “I don’t do the full course that we ran for cross-country training.”

  “Ahhh,” Carrie said, drawing out her syllable, as if she understood something deeper than Jane’s brief reply. “You must enter the Harvest 10K Run I’m setting up,” she said. “That’s why I’m here—to map it out. I’m part of a group that organizes charity races. We’re working with the Children’s Diabetes Foundation to raise money to increase awareness of the disease.”

  “Really? You’re going to hold a 10K here in Acorn Hill?”

  “Yes. We ordinarily plan these events well in advance, but our usual event fell through. I recommended our old course, from high school training days, but that wasn’t long enough, so I’ve expanded it to include the north end of town. Then I thought I’d better make sure the roads and trails are still usable.” She smiled. Even with a sweatband around her forehead and no makeup, Carrie was quite attractive, Jane thought. She was tanned and obviously in top shape. She must work out at a gym, Jane decided. Probably had a trainer.

  “Not much has changed around here,” Jane said.

  “Which makes it perfect for our run. The course isn’t difficult, but it has some hills, and it’s out in the country, which is good. I imagine it’d be a piece of cake for you.” She reached into the small zippered pack at her waist. “Here’s my card. It has the race Web site address with all the details. You can sign up online. Maybe y
ou could drum up some interest here in town. I’ll have posters and flyers up here next week.” She handed the card to Jane.

  “Thanks. I’ll look it up,” Jane said.

  “Great. Well, gotta run,” Carrie said, flashing a grin at Jane that showed off her perfectly aligned white teeth. Carrie waved and took off down the path, passing Jane at the start of a flat-out run.

  Jane glanced at the card. Carrie Blankenship, Events Planner, it announced in bold, raised blue letters. It listed the address, phone and a Web site for a consulting company. Jane slipped the card into her waist pack. She felt dowdy in her gray T-shirt and black running shorts.

  “Show off,” Jane muttered under her breath, after Carrie was out of earshot. “I could run like that if I wanted to.” But not for long and not very far, Jane’s unbidden thoughts added.

  Louise Howard Smith glanced at her watch. Six-forty. Cynthia had said she would leave Boston at noon, so she should arrive at any minute. Her visit was a surprise, spur-of-the-moment trip, and Louise couldn’t wait to see her only daughter.

  “Traffic is always heavy on Friday afternoon, with everyone trying to get out of the city,” Jane said from behind her at the butcher-block counter, where she was snipping chives to garnish the latkes.

  “I’m not worried,” Louise responded. Cynthia was a good driver and levelheaded. It had been three months since Cynthia had a break from her job as editor at a children’s publishing house, and a weekend wasn’t much time to catch up on their lives. They spoke on the phone frequently, but that couldn’t replace talking face-to-face. “She said she’d be here for dinner. Especially when she heard you’re cooking beef brisket and potato latkes.”

  “I know that’s one of her favorite meals,” Jane said. “And it won’t be ready for at least a half hour. I figured she might get here by seven.”

  “I hear a car pulling into the driveway now, and all our guests have already checked in,” Alice Howard, the middle sister, said. She was setting the kitchen table for the four of them. She came over to peer out the window. “That’s her car. She’s here,” Alice said.

  Jane rinsed her hands and wiped them on her apron.

  Cynthia was Alice and Jane’s only niece. Neither of them had children of their own and they doted on her. They loved her almost as much as her mother did, but they hung back, so that Louise could hug her first.

  Louise opened the door and stepped out on the back porch. It was starting to get dark, but she could see Cynthia coming toward her in the light from the porch. She looked wonderful. Grinning broadly, Louise went down the steps and got caught up in Cynthia’s enthusiastic hug.

  “Hello, sweetheart, I’m so glad you decided to come,” Louise said.

  “Me too, Mother. I needed a break and where better to get one?” Cynthia picked up the bag she’d set down on the sidewalk. Louise reached for the smaller satchel.

  “You’d better let me get that. It’s heavy,” Cynthia warned.

  Louise started to lift it. It felt like it contained bricks. “Goodness. What’s in here?”

  “Work. What else?” Cynthia picked it up. “Now I’m balanced,” she said. “I brought about a dozen submissions with me. I can’t keep up with them unless I read on the weekends, but I promise I won’t spend all the time reading.”

  “I should hope not. You came to get a break.”

  “Just being here, breathing the fresh country air and spending time with you is better than any other vacation. And I have an appointment in Philadelphia at noon Monday, so I can stay for church and Sunday dinner.”

  “That’s wonderful, darling.” Louise beamed.

  Cynthia set down her bags inside the kitchen and stood tall. She smiled at her mother. They were eye to eye in height. Louise wondered if Cynthia had lost a little weight. She worked too hard.

  “You look splendid, Mother.” She cocked her head. “You look tan. I hope you haven’t been out in the sun without sunblock. You have rather sensitive skin.”

  “I know better than that,” Louise said, pleased that Cynthia noticed her tan and was concerned for her well-being.

  “Of course you do.” She inhaled deeply. “Smells like heaven in here.”

  “You’re just in time,” Jane said, stepping forward for a hug. “I’ll let you wash up and we’ll be ready to eat soon.”

  “I’ll wash up down here and take my things upstairs later, after I’ve had some nourishment.” She removed her jacket and hung it on a hook next to three other jackets.

  “In that case, I’ll start putting things on the table. You dish and I’ll carry,” Alice told Jane.

  “I’ll get our drinks. Milk or juice, Cynthia?”

  “Do you have any buttermilk?”

  “Oh no, not you too,” Jane said, looking horrified. “It must be genetic.”

  “If that’s the case, I’m glad it skipped me,” Alice said. “Me too,” Jane added.

  “You just don’t know what’s good,” Louise told her sisters.

  “It’s an acquired taste. Not everyone has such a discriminating palate,” Cynthia said, raising her eyebrows.

  Jane nearly choked. Then she started laughing. “You look just like your mother when you do that.”

  Cynthia grinned. “I do a good impression, don’t I?” She sashayed over to the table and sat down, picking up her knife and fork and holding them up. “I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

  Louise set a glass of buttermilk in front of her daughter. She wondered when Cynthia had started drinking the creamy, slightly sour drink. Louise loved a glass now and then, and sometimes drank it just to get a rise out of her sisters. That wasn’t the only thing she used the rich milk for, but that was her secret. She smiled to herself as she took a seat next to Cynthia at the round oak table.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday morning, Alice came through the swinging door from the dining room to the kitchen, carrying a tray of dirty plates and bowls, which she set in the sink.

  “The Burtons are almost finished. Mr. Burton would like another serving of the baked egg dish.”

  Jane opened the warming oven and set a pan of scones inside. “I just took a fresh casserole out of the oven,” she told Alice. “It’s in the chafing dish. Do they want more scones?”

  “I’ll ask when I refill their coffee,” Louise said. She picked up the pot and headed toward the dining room.

  “What can I do?” Cynthia asked. “Put me to work. I can’t believe I slept in so late. Mother should have woken me when she got up.” She had just come downstairs from Louise’s third-floor room.

  “Everything’s under control,” Jane said. “Have a cup of coffee and you can have some breakfast, if you’d like.”

  Cynthia took a cup out of the cupboard. “Have you all eaten?” she asked as she poured a cup.

  “Not yet. We’ll eat when the guests are finished. Remember, we have a full house this weekend.”

  “I’ll wait for the rest of you. Again, I do hope I’m not putting you out.”

  “That’ll never happen,” Alice shot over her shoulder as she carried a plate of hot egg casserole to the dining room.

  “You always have a place here, no matter how many guests we have. The only problem with a full house is that you have to share a room with your mother,” Jane said. “I just wish you could stay longer than the weekend. You need a nice long break and we’d love your company.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Jane. I wish I could stay too. I’ll be down for Thanksgiving, though, and I already put in for the whole week.”

  “That’s wonderful! Does your mother know?”

  “I told her last night. Let me start washing the dishes.” Cynthia pushed up the sleeves of her rugby shirt and stepped up to the sink. She turned on the hot water and began rinsing off some of the guests’ plates. “Did you go jogging this morning?”

  “No, I’ll go this afternoon.”

  “Mind if I come with you? I’m trying to stay in shape. I was doing really well, but we’ve had thre
e book launches this month, and the hors d’oeuvres and canapés were fabulous. We had a chocolate fondue fountain at the last one. I nearly drowned myself in dark chocolate.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. Cynthia, like her mother, was slender. She’d never carried an ounce of excess weight. “Something must be working. You should come down next month. They’re doing a 10K race for charity.”

  “In Acorn Hill?”

  “So I understand. I have a Web site address for the event, but I haven’t looked it up.”

  “Are you going to run it?”

  “I’m thinking about it. I need to do some training. My daily jogs are much shorter than that and a whole lot slower than I used to run.”

  “But you’re so faithful with your exercise. You’ll sail right through it.”

  “Maybe if I could wear my in-line skates, but I doubt they’d allow them.”

  Cynthia laughed. “I can see you now, gliding circles around the other runners. What fun! You’ll have to get sponsors. Put me down. I’ll be your first.”

  “So now you’re caught up on all the exciting details of my life, my editing and never-ending proposal reading,” said Cynthia, setting her napkin beside her fork. She leaned back. “That was delicious, Aunt Jane.”

  “I know your life is more than work,” Louise said. “Last night you were telling me that your singles group at church attended the symphony.”

  “Well yes, I guess I do get out now and then. I even went bowling last weekend.”

  “Bowling and jogging—you have been busy,” Jane said.

  “Oh, and I discovered a new author. I’m very excited about his work.” Cynthia gave them a dreamy smile. “Adrian and I have really hit it off,” she said.

  “Really?” Jane said, perking up.

  “You’d love him, Mother. He plays the piano quite well. I first met him at a recital that I attended with his mother. She is in my Bible study.” Cynthia laughed. “Adrian is nineteen and a child prodigy, although I suppose he’s really an adult now. His fantasy stories are magical. He has quite a future ahead of him and he loves mint-chocolate-chip ice cream.