Ep 27.) Glimmer on the Prairie

1. relationships
2. second-chance love
3. small-town drama
4. emotional storytelling
5. love stories
6. family legacy
7. romantic drama
8. pottery romance
9. Clayhollow
10. Clara Wren
11. Miles Tarrow
12. Lila Sterling
13. Midnight’s Shadow
14. artisan romance
15. community bonds

Shadows Before Midnight
Step into the moonlit forests of New England romance with Lila Sterling’s tales of love, legacy, and supernatural intrigue. From the pines of Maine to the hearths of small-town artisans, each story weaves passion and mystery under the stars.
© 2025 Lila Sterling. All rights reserved. Recorded under the moonlit pines of New England, September 17, 2025.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Glimmer on the Prairie by Leelah Stirling, Chapter one, The
home Coming. The golden shimmer of the Prairie stretched across Willowfield, Kansas.
As Leela Bennett stepped off the greyhound bus onto the
dusty road on a warm September afternoon in nineteen ninety nine,
at thirty two. She hadn't returned to the windswept town

(00:22):
since her mother passing four years ago, leaving behind the
wooden homestead. She'd inherited a letter from the Willowfield Heritage
Board had summoned her the homestead, her family's legacy faced
demolition due to a proposed highway expansion. With developer Tom
Carver eyeing the land, Leela planned to assess it, signed
the papers, and returned to her quiet life as a

(00:44):
historian in Saint Louis. But the site of the homestead,
its porch sagging, its fields overrun with wild flowers, stirred
a longing she'd bear it. She walked the gravel path
to the homestead, the air thick with sage and sun
warmed earth, the scent grounding her inside The room smelled
of old cedar and lavender. The furniture draped with quilts

(01:04):
from her mother's time, a faded photograph of her mother
on the porch. Her smile radiant brought a lump to
Leela's throat. She left Willowfield to escape the grief of
those final months, but the homestead's quiet whispered of roots
she couldn't sever. A knock startled her. She opened the
door to find a man, lean and sun bronzed, his
dark hair tousled by the wind, Wearing a denim shirt.

(01:27):
His brown eyes held a steady warmth. Leela Bennett, he asked,
his voice smooth like the plains. I'm Jace Holloway. Your
mother hired me to tend the fields before she passed.
I've kept them up since. Leela's breath caught Jase. You
were just a kid riding the fence line, she remembered him,
a wiry sixteen year old fixing posts, his laughter blending

(01:50):
with the breeze. Now at twenty six, he stood before her,
a man shaped by the prairie. I stayed, he said, simply.
The land needed some one chapter two, The Wilting Homestead.
Leela stepped on to the porch with Jase. The shimmer
of the prairie reflecting off the homestead's weathered boards. The
porch creaked, its posts leaning from years of wind, and

(02:13):
the fields were a tangle of weeds. It's worse than
I thought, she said, her voice tight. The Heritage Board's
deadline loomed two months to repair or lose the property,
and Tom Carver's highway plans threatened to erase her family's history.
Jace pointed to a patch of cleared wheat near the barn.
I've been stabilizing the soil, but the drought keeps drying

(02:34):
it out. We'd need lumber, irrigation, and hands. His hands
rough from years of farming, gestured with quiet confidence. I'm selling.
Leela said, the words heavy. I can't afford this. Her
historian's salary covered her Saint Louis apartment, but the homestead's
restoration would cost thousands. She didn't have yet, the thought

(02:55):
of losing it gnawed at her, her mother's sanctuary, her
childhood refuge. Jace's jaw tightened. Your mother loved this place.
She'd fight for it. His words strung a reminder of
her absence. She turned away, gazing at the prairie, its
grasses swaying in the wind. I don't know how, she admitted.
He stepped closer, his presence warm against the heat. I

(03:18):
can help. I've got skills carpentry, some irrigation from local jobs.
We could start small. See if Willowfield backs us. His
office surprised her, stirring memories of summer days, his easy
grin as they raced through the fields. She nodded, reluctant,
but drawn to the idea. Let's try, she said, her
voice softening. By afternoon, they hauled lumber to the porch,

(03:40):
Jace's steady hands gidding hers the work felt like a
rhythm from her past, and his quiet strength began to
thaw her resolve. Chapter three, The town's whisper, Willowfield rallied
around Liela the next day, its residence, bringing supplies lumber
from the carpenter, seeds from the grocer. Old miss Missus Carter,
the baker, handed her a basket of cornbread. Your mother

(04:03):
kept our stories alive, she said, her eyes kind. We'll
fight for it. The towns support warmed Leela, a contrast
to her solitary life in Saint Louis. She organized a
community meeting at the town hall, hopping to rally more
help against Tom Carver's plans. The hall hummed with voices,
the scent of dust and baked goods filling the air.

(04:23):
Leela stood her hands trembling. The homestead is Willowfield's history.
She said, we can save it together. The crowd nodded,
but Tom strode in his suit, crisp his smile smooth.
Progress needs sacrifice, he said. A highway will bring jobs.
This homestead is a relic. His words drew murmurs, and
Leela's heart sank. Afterward, Jace found her on the prairie,

(04:45):
the sun sinking low. It's light a golden veil. You
were brave, he said, his tone warm. Why do you leave, Leela?
No word, just gone. His question pierced her. Mom was fadding,
she said, her voice breaking. I couldn't watch her go.
I thought you moved on too, I wrote, Jace said,
his eyes darkening every month from the fields. Did you

(05:06):
get them? She shook her head, a chill running through her.
Had her sister Claya hidden them out of spite? The
revelation left her reeling, the past crashing into the present.
Chapter four, the first spark in the homestead, Leela soorted
tools for the repairs. The clank of metal, a steady beat.
Jace worked beside her, stacking lumber, his focus intense. You've

(05:29):
still got her grit, he said, nodding at her grip
on a hammer. She smiled faintly, the compliment easing her tension.
She taught me well, she said, her voice soft. Their
hands brushed as they moved lumber, and a spark flared
through her warm and unexpected. She pulled back, focusing on
the work, but Jace's presence lingered, a pull she couldn't ignore.

(05:50):
They planned a harvest fare on the prairie, using the
homestead as a backdrop to raise funds. Jay strung lights
along the path, their glow mirroring the sunset's shimmer. As
they tested the lights, their shoulders touched, and Leela's pulse quickened.
We're not kids anymore, she said, stepping away. Jace's smile
was gentle. No, but some sparks don't fade. His words

(06:10):
hung between them, a promise of something more. The prairie
glowed that night, with townsfolk bidding on seeds and donatting,
but Tom's shadow loomed. My offers still open, he said,
his voice cold. Leela's determination hardened, she'd fight for the
homestead and maybe her heart. Chapter five, The Harvest Fare's Glow.

(06:31):
The prairie shimmered with lantern light that evening, the golden
glow cutting through the dusk. As Willowfield gathered for the
Harvest Fair. To save the homestead, Leela Bennett arranged a
table with her historical notes, records of prairie settlers, and
wildflower law, while Jace Holloway hung his hand carved wooden frames,
each etched with wheat patterns. The crowd buzzed with energy,

(06:52):
the scent of corn bread and sun dried grass mingling.
As bids climbed for local crafts and donations flowed into
fun repairs. Leela's heart lifted with each contribution, the funds
inching toward the restoration costs, but Tom Carver's highway deadline,
now six weeks away, kept her on edge. Jace moved

(07:13):
through the crowd, serving lemonade, his denim shirt rolled up,
revealing tanned arms. His brown eyes met us across the prairie,
a quiet smile sparking warmth she tried to suppress. They'd
been working side by side for days, hauling lumber, planning events,
and his steady presence chipped at her defenses. She turned
to a bidder, an old farmer who admired a note.

(07:33):
Reminds me of your mother's tailies, he said, his voice gruff.
You've got her spirit. Before Leela could reply, Tom approached,
his tailored suit stark against the townsfolk's casual clothes. The
air stilled as he spoke, Miss Bennett, he said, gesturing
to the fair, a charming effort, But my highway could
preserve the homestead as a rest stop. Sell now and

(07:55):
you'd profit. Leela's stomach tightened. This isn't a stop. Its
Willowfield's heart. Her voice carried, and nods rippled through the crowd.
Tom's smile thinned heart doesn't pay debts. My office stands
for now. He walked off, leaving a chill. Jay stepped
beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. He's worried, he said, quietly,

(08:16):
you're turning the town. His touch sent a flicker through her,
stirring memories of their youth. She stepped back, focusing on
the bids, but his presence glowed like a light she
couldn't dim. By night's end, the fare raised nearly half
the needed funds, and as they packed up, Jace's hands
steadied a frame, his warmth lingering. Chapter six, The Prairie Truth.

(08:39):
The Prairie stretched under twilight sky, its shimmer softening the horizon.
Leela sat on the homestead's porch, the harvest fair's success
tempered by Tom's offer and the sting of Jace's lost letters.
Had her sister Claya really hidden them out of rivaly?
The thought burned, and she needed answers. The crunch of
boots announced Jace, his breath visible in the cool air.

(09:00):
Knew you'd be here, he said, sitting beside her, leaving
a careful space. The wind's low hum filled the silence,
and the scent of dry grass clung to him, grounding her.
Why didn't you come after me, Leela asked her voice.
Raw letters are one thing, Jace, but you could have
found me in Saint Louis. He looked at the horizon,

(09:20):
his jaw tight. I tried once after a harvest. Claire
said you'd moved on, that you didn't want Willowfield. I
didn't want to drag you back. His voice carried regret.
Leela's heart sank Claya, always jealous of her, bond with
Jace had sabotaged them. She lied, She whispered the betrayal sharp.
I waited for you, Jace for months. I thought you'd

(09:43):
forgotten me. His eyes met hers pained I'm sorry. I
thought letting you go was best. You were meant for
more than this town. He reached for her hand, his
touch tentative, warm from the day's work. She didn't pull away,
the contact stirring memories of prairie races. I wanted you,
not Saint Louis, she said, her voice brake, I wrote too.
Jace said every letter was for you. His honesty cracked

(10:04):
her walls, and she felt the pull of their past
like a tide drawing her in, but fear held her back.
She couldn't risk her heart again. She stood the prairie
blurring in her eyes and walked back inside, the weight
of truth glowing within her. Chapter seven, The Farmer's Rhythm.
The homestead hummed with purpose as Leela and Jace prepared

(10:26):
for the next repair phase. Hauling lumber to reinforce the porch,
they mixed paint and nailed boards. The rhythm of their
work a steady beat against the prairie wind. Leela's hands
guided the brush, the task grounding her, while Jace braced
the posts, his focus intense. Their efforts felt like a dance,
each move complimenting the other, but the air crackled with

(10:47):
unspoken tension as they said aboard. A gust nearly knocked
Leela off balance. Jace caught her, his arms strong around
her waist. Careful, he said, his voice husky, their faces
inches apart. Her pulse raced, and she teased, still clumsy,
breaking the moment, her cheeks flushed. You're steady, Jase said,

(11:07):
his smile soft. The words hit her, stirring memories of
late afternoons helping her mother, dreaming with Jase by her side.
She turned to the work, focusing on the paint, but
her heart pounded. They labored late, the porch taking shape
under the homestead's warm lights. Jace shared tailies of his
farming days, dusty fields, lonely nights, and Leela listened, drawn
to his perseverance. Why do you stay, she asked, pausing

(11:30):
her brush for the homestead. He said, for your mother
and for you, even if I didn't know it. Then
his honesty warmed her, fraying the walls she'd built, but
fear lingered she couldn't fall again, not with the homestead's
fate and her heart at stake. As they cleaned up,
their hands brushed, and Leela felt a spark she couldn't extinguish.

(11:50):
Chapter eight, The Towns Stand. The next morning, Willowfield buzzed
with resolve. Leela and Jace organized an open house at
the homestead in vice the town to see it's worth.
Farmers demonstrated seed planting, kids explored the loft, and Missus
Carter brought cornbread. The community's support was a warm glow,
but Tom's smear campaign cast a shadow. Fliers claimed the

(12:13):
homestead was unstable. Leela's anger flared, but Jace's calm presence
steadied her. We'll prove them wrong, he said, his hand
brushing hers as they set up displays. The open house
drew a crowd, with townsfolk marveling at the repairs and
Leela's notes. A petition to declare the homestead a historic
sight gained signatures, and the mayor promised to push it through.

(12:37):
Tom arrived, his presence a cold draft. This is sentimental,
he said, his tone sharp. My highway will bring progress.
Your delaying the inevitable, Leela stood tall. This homestead is
our future, not your profit. The crowd cheered, and Jase's
proud smile warmed her. As the day ended, they stood
by the porch, adjusting a post. Their hands met, and

(12:58):
for a moment Leela didn't all away. The air felt charged,
their faces close, but a child's laugh broke the spell.
Leela stepped back, her heart racing. The festival was weeks away,
their last chance to save the homestead and maybe their love.
Chapter nine, The Prairie Festival. The Willowfield Prairie Festival transformed

(13:19):
the town into a vibrant haven, its fields aglow with lanterns,
the scent of corn bread and wildflowers mingling in the
crisp October air of nineteen ninety nine. The Bennett Homestead
stood as the festival's centerpiece, its wooden walls reinforced and
porch restored, a symbol of Willowfield's resolve. Leela Bennett arranged

(13:40):
a table with her historical notes, chronicles of prairie life,
and settler tailies, while Jace Holloway hung his hand carved
wooden chairs, each etched with wheat designs. The crowd buzzed
with energy, the sound of banjo's and laughter carrying over
the plains. As bids climbed for local crafts and donations
poured in to complete the repairs, Leela's hearts swell with

(14:00):
each contribution, the fund surpassing the goal. With Tom Carver's
highway deadline now just days away, Leela adjusted a note,
its ink capturing the prairies sweep, her fingers lingering on
the page. Jace moved beside her, his denim shirt dusted
with sawdust, his brown eyes bright with pride. This is it,

(14:21):
he said, his voice warm. You brought Willowfield together. His
words kindled a spark in her, but the final council
vote loomed a shadow over their victory. Tom approached, his
tailored suit stark against the townsfolk's casual attire. The air
stilled as he spoke, Miss Bennett, he said, gesturing to
the festival, a noble display. But my highway could make

(14:43):
this homestead a rest stop landmark. Sell now and you'd profit.
Leela's resolve hardened. This homestead isn't a landmark. Its Willowfield's soul.
Her voice rang out and the crowd murmured support. Jay
stepped closer, his presence steady. She's right, he said, this
town chooses its legacy over your profit. Tom's smile thinned,

(15:05):
and he walked off, his footsteps fadding into the festival's hum.
As dusk fell, the mayor took the stage by the homestead,
her voice clear over the banjo's. Thanks to your generosity,
the Bennett Homestead has raised enough to complete its repairs,
and the council has voted to protect it as a
historic site. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Leela's eyes
strung with relief. Jace's hand found hers, his touch a

(15:28):
quiet promise. They joined the festival's dance, their steps close
under the lanterns, the music weaving their past and present
into a single radiant moment. Chapter ten, The letters revealed
the festival's triumph lingered in Leela's mind as she climbed
the homestead's attic stairs the next evening, a lantern casting
shadows on the wooden beams. Jace's confession about the letters

(15:51):
he'd sent hidden by her sister Clayer, had left her restless,
needing proof. The attics window framed the shimmering prairie below,
and Leelah sifted through her mother's old trunk. In a corner,
tucked behind quilts, she found them. A bundle of envelopes,
edges worn, addressed to her in Jace's bold handwriting. Her
heart pounded as she opened one, the paper crinkling, Leela,

(16:14):
I'm sorry I didn't follow the Prairie called, but you're
my anchor. I love you always will. Please write back.
Each letter echoed the same love, regret, hope. Tears blurred
her vision as she read the words, melting four years
of pain. Claire's jealousy cut deep, but Jace's truth was
a steady glow, rekindling her trust. She found him in

(16:34):
the barn, repairing a fence, its light casting soft shadows.
I found them, she said, holding up the letters, her
voice trembling. Jace's eyes widened and he stepped closer, his
breath catching. What did they say? He asked, his voice low,
That you loved me, She said, her throat tight, that
you never forgot. She handed him a letter and he

(16:56):
read it silently, his jaw clenching. Told me you moved on,
he said, I thought I was doing right by letting
you go. She lied. Leelah whispered, I waited for you.
The admission hung between them, heavy with lost years. Jace
reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady. I'm
here now, Leelah. I'm not leaving again. She didn't pull away,

(17:18):
letting his words guide her doubts, her heart lighting toward forgiveness.
Chapter eleven, The Prairie's Light. The homestead hummed with quiet
energy as Leela and Jase prepared for the homestead's reopening,
Hauling seed packets to the fields. The hands moved in
sink brushing as they planted, the rhythm, a steady beat
against the prairie wind. Leela's fingers grazed Jase as they

(17:41):
set a packet, and a spark shot through her Warm
and undeniable. I was so lost, she admitted, pausing her trowel.
But I missed you, Jace. Every day. He set a
tool down, his brown eyes soft but intense. I missed
you too. Every night in these fields, I saw you
in the shimmer. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking.

(18:02):
I love you, Leela. I never stopped. Her breath, caught
the weight of four years fadding under his gaze. She
wanted to guard her heart, but his truth burned through
her doubts, they walked to the fields. The prairie spread
below like a golden canvas under its vast sky. Leela
kissed him, her lips meeting his with a warmth that
felt like home. His arms wrapped around her, steady and sure,

(18:24):
and the wind swept, the planes echoing their pulse. I
love you too, she whispered. The words are light binding them.
They sat on the porch, planning the homestead's future, historical tour,
seed markets, a hub for Willowfield's spirit. Jace's hands stayed
in hers, a vow of partnership. For the first time,
Leela saw not just the homestead's survival, but a life

(18:46):
with him, radiant and strong. Chapter twelve, The Glimmer's Promise.
Weeks later, the Bennett Homestead thrived with new life, its
fields blooming with wild flowers and wheat, a testament to
willowfields enduring spirit. The wooden walls stood firm, the porch
alive with story telling, and townsfolk gathered regularly, sharing tailies

(19:06):
under its roof. The council had secured its status as
a historic site, safe from Tom's plans, and visitors flocked
to the restored homestead. Leela stood by the fields, watching
a child plant a seed, her smile mirroring her mother.
The sight warmed her. Her mother's legacy was alive. Jace
joined her, his denim shirt dusted with soil, his smile soft.

(19:29):
It's beautiful, isn't it, he said, his arm brushing hers.
She leaned into him, nodding better than I dreamed. They
walked to the fields, the prairie spread below like a
golden sea. Together, they lit a lantern at the edge,
the hands gidding the flame that danced with the wind.
Each flicker felt like a promise, their love glowing in
every gust. As the sunset broke, casting an orange hue

(19:51):
over Willowfield, Leela turned to Jase, What now, she asked,
her voice soft. He took her hand, his smile warm.
We keep growing together. Willowfield embraced them, not just a town,
but a vow of forever, their love, a glimmer that
held it all together.