Ep.12) Echoes of the Glade

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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):
Echoes of the Glade by Leela Sterling, Chapter one, the
Bookbinder's Return. The train rolled into Gladehaven as twilight draped
the town in shades of violet and gold. Leelah Sterling
stepped onto the platform, her coat catching the crisp breeze,
heavy with the scent of leather and ink. At thirty,
she hadn't returned in eight years, not since she'd left

(00:22):
for Chicago to chase a career in publishing. A lawyer's
letter had drawn her back. Sterling's book Bandurry. Her mother's
workshop was sinking under unpaid debts, and a developer, Victor Crane,
aimed to turn it into a chain bookstore. Leela planned
to assess the bindery, sell it, and returned to her
city life, but the sight of the workshop's ivy covered facade,

(00:43):
glowing under the fadding sun, stirred a pang of memory.
This was where her mother, Norah, had taught her to
bind books, her hands, gidding Leela's to stitch pages, crafting
stories into art. Leela pushed open the bindery's door, the
bell jingling softly. Inside shelves held hand bound books, journals, novels, poetry,
collections in leather covers dyed indigo, crimson, and sage. The

(01:06):
air hummed with the faint creak of a press, but
dust coated the tools, and a window was cracked. Leela
traced a finger over Crimson, journal memories flooding back, Norah's
warm smile, the rhythm of stitching, the scent of fresh leather.
Now with Nora gone, the bindery felt like a fadding echo.
Leela sterling. A voice called low and steady, like the
turn of a page. She turned to see a man

(01:28):
at a work bench stitching a leather cover. His dark
hair was flecked with dust, and his flannel shirt was
smudged with ink. Her breath caught Owen Veil, her first love,
who'd vanished from her life at twenty two. Without a word, Owen,
she said, her voice tight, what are you doing here?
Chapter two, The Unbound Past. Owen set the needle down,

(01:51):
his hazel eyes meeting hers, calm but shadowed. Your mother
kept me on as manager after you left, he said,
wiping ink from his hands. I've been keeping the bindery running.
Leela's jaw tightened. Running you left, Owen, you don't get
to claim this place. Eight years ago, they'd spent summers
binding books, dreaming of a future under glade Haven's starry skis.

(02:14):
His sudden disappearance had broken her, sending her to Chicago
to rebuild. Seeing him here in her mother's bindery felt
like a fresh tear in her heart. The bindery struggling,
Owen said, stepping closer, worn press, unpaid suppliers, and Victor
Crane's circling. I'm trying to hold it together. I'm here
to sell. Leela snapped, but the words rang hollow. The

(02:37):
bindery's debts were dire taxes, repair costs, and the town
council had given her two months to settle them or
lose the property. Victor's bookstore loomed, threatening glade Haven's charm.
Owen gestured to a creaking press. This needs fixing to
keep production going. I can help, if you'll let me.
She wanted to refuse, but the binderies stay was grim

(03:01):
and Owen knew its presses and tools like his own hands. Fine,
she said, her voice cold. Fix what you can, but
this changes nothing. He nodded, grabbing tools and began working.
The clank of metal filled the silence as Leela sorted leather.
Her eyes drifting to his steady hands. His presence was
a spark she couldn't ignore, stirring memories she'd buried. By evening,

(03:24):
the press hummed smoothly, and Owen's gaze softened. Why do
you come back, Leela? He asked for mom, she said,
avoiding his eyes. This bindery was her everything. Chapter three,
The town's pages Bladhaven rallied around Lela. The next day,
Missus Harrow, the florist, brought dyed threads. Her smile warm.

(03:45):
Nora would be proud, she said. The librarian donated paper,
and locals visited. Drawn by the bindery's inky warmth, Leela
started a book binding workshop for kids, Hopping to build support.
The bindery hummed with chatter and the rhythm of stitching,
but Victor Crane's shadow loom. At a town meeting, the
developer stood his voice, slick. Gladehaven needs progress, bookstores, cafes, tourists.

(04:07):
Sterling's bindery is a relic. Leela stood, her heart racing.
This bindery is our heart, not your chain's store. The
crowd cheered, but Victor's smile was sharp, promising a fight. Afterward,
Owen found her outside the bindery. The street lights casting
a soft glow. You were fierce, he said, his tone warm.
Leela shrugged her guard up. Why do you leave Owen?

(04:30):
No note? Nothing? His face tightened. My dad was in
troubled debts, bad choices. I went to work warehouses in
Cleveland to bail him out. I wrote to you, Leela
every week. I never got any letters, she said, her
voice breaking. Had her sister Mara hidden them out of jealousy.
The revelation hit hard, and she turned away, the bindery's

(04:50):
lights blurring in her eyes. Chapter four, The first stitch
in the bindery, Leela stitched a journal, its indigo leather
smooth under her fingers. Owen watched his hands idle. You've
still got it, he said, a smile in his voice.
She pressed the pages, the thread taut. Mom taught me well.
Their eyes met, and the years seemed to soften, but
the bindery's debts pressed harder, and Victor's offer loomed. Leela

(05:14):
planned a fundraiser at the community center, hopping to rally
more support. Owen helped, repairing presses and crafting wooden display shelves.
Their work felt like a shared rhythm, each moves sparking
memories as they set up for the fundraiser. Their hands brushed,
and Leela's pulse quickened. We're not kids anymore, she said,
stepping back. Owen nodded, but his gaze held a spark.

(05:35):
The center glowed that night, with locals bidding on books,
but Victor's presence cast a chill. My offer's fair, he said.
Leela's resolve hardened. She'd fight for the bindery and maybe
her heart. Chapter five, The fundraiser's spark. The Gladehaven Community
Center glowed with warmth, its rafters strung with fairy lights
that cast a soft sheen over the polished oak floors.

(05:58):
Leelah Sterling arranged hand bound books on display tables, Indigo journals,
crimson novels, sage poetry collections, each cover work of art
stitched with her mother's precision. Owen Veil's hand carved wooden
shelves etched with delicate leaf patterns framed her creations, their
collaboration a testament to their shared past. The fundraiser to

(06:19):
save Sterling's Bookbenduri buzzed with townsfolk, their voices blending with
the strum of a local guitarist as bids climbed higher.
Leela's heart lifted with each sail, the funds edging closer
to clearing the bindery's debts, but the tax deadline, now
just weeks away, kept her tethered to reality. Owen wove

(06:40):
through the crowd, offering cups of mulled cider. His flannel
shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing ink streaked forearms. His hazel
eyes caught us across the room, a quiet smile sparking
a warmth she tried to quell. They'd been working together
for days, stitching pages, sanding shelves, and his steady presence
was eroding her resolve to keep him at arm's length.
He turned to a bidder, an elderly woman who admired

(07:02):
a sage journal. It's like Norah's work, the woman said,
her voice soft. You've got her, touch Leela. Before Leela
could respond, Victor Crane entered his tailored suits, stark against
the crowd's wool and denim. The room hushed slightly as
he approached. His smile calculated Miss Sterling, he said, gesturing

(07:22):
to the books. Impressive turnout. But my company can buy
the bindery outright, preserve it as a cultural exhibit in
our bookstore. You'd walk away, debt free with profit. Leela's
stomach churned. This bindery isn't a display case. It's Gladehaven's heart,
Her voice carried, and murmurs of support rippled through the crowd.

(07:43):
Victor's eyes narrowed, but his smile held. Heart doesn't pay taxes.
My office stands for now. He glided away, leaving a
chill in the air. Owen appeared at Leela's side, his
shoulder brushing hers. He's nervous, he said, quietly. You're winning
them over. His voice steadied her, but their brief touch
sent a spark through her, stirring memories of starlet nights.

(08:05):
She stepped back, focusing on the bids, but his presence
lingered like a warm press. By night's end, the fundraiser
had raised nearly half the needed funds. As they packed up,
Owen helped stack shelves, his hands. Careful, you're doing it, Leelah,
he said. Norah would be proud. Her throat tightened, the
past and present binding together. Chapter six, The Starlet Confession.

(08:27):
The stars glittered over Gladehaven, their light dancing on the river.
Outside Sterling's book Banduri, Leela sat on a riverside bench.
The fundraiser's success tempered by Victor's offer and the sting
of Owen's lost letters. Had her sister Mara really hidden
them out of jealousy? The thought burned, and she needed answers.
The bindery's door creaked, and Owen stepped out, his breath
visible in the cool night air. Knew you'd be here,

(08:50):
he said, sitting beside her, leaving a careful distance. The
river's murmur filled the silence, and the scent of leather
clung to him, grounding her. Why didn't you try harder,
Leela asked, her voice roar. Letters are one thing, Owen,
but you could have called found me. He looked at
the stars, his jaw tight. I tried, Leela once, when

(09:12):
I was back for a week. Mara said you'd moved on,
that you were thriving in Chicago. I didn't want to
pull you back. His voice was heavy with regret. Leela's
heart sank. Mara, always envious of her bond with Owen,
had sabotaged them. She lied. Leelah whispered the betrayal sharp.
I waited for you, Owen for months. I thought you'd

(09:32):
forgotten me. His eyes met hers pained. I'm sorry. I
thought letting you go was right. You were meant for
more than glade Haven. He reached for her hand, his
touch tentative, warm from stitching leather. She didn't pull away,
the contact stirring memories of their hands entwined by the
bindery's press. I wanted you, not Chicago, she said, her

(09:54):
voice breaking. The admission hung between them, fragile as a
loose thread. I wrote every week, Leela Owens said, said
every letter was for you. His honesty cracked her defenses,
and she felt the pull of their past, like a
needle finding its stitch, but fear held her back. She
couldn't risk her heart again. She stood the stars blurring
in her eyes and walked back to the bindery, the
weight of truth and trust stitching her thoughts. Chapter seven,

(10:18):
The Press's Rhythm. The bindery hummed with activity as Leela
and Owen prepared for the glade Haven Fair, their best
chance to save Sterling's book Banduri. They crafted a leather
bound anthology for the fair's centerpiece, a thick volume, dyed
indigo embossed with river motifs. Leela's hands guided the needle.
The press's rhythm steady while Owen carved wooden shelves, his

(10:39):
focus intense. Their work felt like a dance, each move
complimenting the other, but the air crackled with unspoken tension.
As they stitched the anthology, a smear of ink landed
on Leela's cheek. She laughed, brushing it off, but Owen
reached out, wiping it gently with his thumb. Careful, he said,
his voice husky. Their faces inches apart, Her pulse raised,

(11:02):
and she teased, still messy. Breaking the moment, her cheeks flushed.
You're perfect, Owen said, his smile soft. The words hit her,
stirring memories of late nights binding books together, Dreaming of
a shared future. She turned to the press, focusing on
the leather, but her heart pounded. They worked late, the
anthology taking shape under the bindery's warm lights. Owen shared

(11:23):
stories of his time in Cleveland, grueling warehouse shifts, lonely nights,
and Leelah listened, drawn to his vulnerability. Why do you
come back, she asked, pausing her work for the bindery.
He said, for Norah, and for you. Even if I
didn't admit it. Then his honesty warmed her, fraying the
walls she'd built, but fear lingered she couldn't fall again,

(11:44):
not with the Bindery's fate and her heart at stake.
As they embossed the anthology, their hands brushed, and Leelah
felt a spark she couldn't ignore Chapter eight The towns stand.
The next morning, Gladehaven buzzed with purpose. Leela and Owen
all organized an open house at the bindery, inviting the
town to see its value. Artizan's demonstrated bookbinding, kids stitch journals,

(12:07):
and Missus Harrow brought pastries. The community's support was palpable,
but Victor Crane's smear campaign cast a shadow. Fliers claimed
the bindery's press was outdated, a safety risk. Leela's anger flared,
but Owen's calm presence steadied her. We'll show them, he said,
his hand brushing hers as they set up displays. The

(12:28):
open house drew a crowd, with townsfolk marveling at Leela's
books and Owen's shelves. A petition to declare the bindery
a historic site gained signatures, and the mayor promised to
present it to the council. Victor arrived, his presence a
cold draft. This is charming, he said, his tone patronizing,
But my bookstore will bring progress. You're fighting a lost cause.

(12:52):
Leelah stood tall. This bindery is our future, not your profit.
The crowd cheered, and Owen's proud smile warmed her. As
the day ended, they stood in the bindery adjusting a
book display. Their hands met, and for a moment, Leela
didn't pull away. The air felt charged, their faces close,
but a child's laugh broke the spell. Leela stepped back,
her heart racing. The fare was days away, their last

(13:14):
chance to save the bindery and maybe their love. Chapter nine,
The glade Haven Fair. The Gladehaven Fair transformed the town
into a vibrant tapestry, its meadows alive with colorful booths,
the scent of warm pastries and cider mingling in the
crisp air, and the hummer fiddles echoing under Starlit Sky.
Sterling's book binderry stood as the fair centerpiece, its doors

(13:36):
flung open, shelves gleaming with Leela Sterling's creations, Indigo journals,
crimson novels, sage poetry collections, each cover a testament to
her mother's legacy. Owen Vale's hand carved wooden shelves etched
with leaf patterns framed her work, their collaboration. A beacon
of Hope townsfolk and visitors from neighboring towns crowded the bindery,

(14:00):
bidding on books and donating to save it from Victor
Crane's chain bookstore plans. Leela's hearts swelled with each sale,
the funds nearing the amount needed to clear the bindery's debts.
With the tax deadline just days away, Leela adjusted a
crimson journal, its leather catching the lantern light, her fingers
lingering on the smooth cover. Owen moved beside her, his

(14:23):
flannel shirt dusted with ink, his hazel eyes bright with pride.
This place is alive again, he said, his voice warm.
You did this, Leela. His words kindled a spark in her,
but the pressure of the deadline kept her grounded. Victor
Crane appeared at the bindery's entrance, his tailored suit stark
against the fair's rustic charm. He approached, his smile sharp,

(14:46):
miss sterling, he said, Eyeing the books a fine effort,
but my bookstore will bring jobs progress. Sell now, and
I'll feature your work in our display. Leela's resolve hardened.
This bindery is glade Haven's soul, not your showcase. Her
voice rang out, and the crowd murmured support. Owen stepped closer,
his presence steady. She's right, he said, this town chooses

(15:09):
its heart over your profit. Victor's eyes narrowed, but he
left without a word, his footsteps fadding into the fair's
hum As dusk fell, the mayor took the stage, her
voice clear, thanks to your generosity Stirling's book, Banduri has
raised enough to clear its debts, and our petition has
made it a historic sight. The crowd irrupted in cheers,
and Leela's eyes strung with relief. Owen's hand found hers,

(15:33):
his touch a quiet promise. They joined the fair's dance,
their steps close under the lanterns, the music weaving their
past and present into a single vibrant moment. Chapter ten,
The Letters Unearthed, the Fair's triumph lingered in Leela's mind
as she climbed the bindery's attic stairs. The next evening,
a lantern casting shadows on the dusty beams. Owen's confession

(15:55):
about the letters he'd sent hidden by her sister Mara
had left her restlessness. Reading proof, dust swirled in the
lantern's light. As she sifted through her mother Norah's belongings
in a leather box tucked behind old paper stacks, she
found them A bundle of envelopes, edges worn, addressed to
her in Owen's steady handwriting. Her heart pounded as she

(16:16):
opened one, the paper crinkling Leela, I'm sorry I left.
Dad's debts were crushing, but you're my light. 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 eight years of pain. Mara's betrayal
cut deep, but Owen's truth was a warm thread, rekindling

(16:38):
her trust. She found him by the river. The waters
rush a soft backdrop to the night I found them,
she said, holding up the letters, her voice trembling. Owen'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.

(16:59):
She had him a letter and he read it silently,
his jaw clenching. Mara 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. Owen reached for
her hand, his touch warm and steady. I'm here now, Leelah.

(17:20):
I'm not leaving again. She didn't pull away, letting his
words stitch her doubts, her heart binding toward forgiveness. Chapter eleven,
The Heart's Binding. The bindery hummed with quiet energy as
Leela and Owen crafted books for a community exhibition. The
press's rhythm a steady heartbeat. Their hands moved in sink,
stitching leather and pressing pages, the air thick with the

(17:42):
scent of ink and wax. Leela's fingers brushed Owen as
they adjusted a journal, and a spark shot through her
warm and undeniable. I was so angry, she admitted, pausing
her work. But I missed you Owen. Every day. He
set a needle down, his hazel eyes soft but intense.
I missed you too. Every night in Cleveland. I saw

(18:03):
you in the books I bound. He stepped closer, the
space between them shrinking. I love you, Leelah. I never stopped.
Her breath caught the weight of eight years, fadding under
his gaze. She wanted to guard her heart, but his
truth threaded through her doubts. They walked to the river bank,
the oak trees branches swaying in the breeze under their canopy.
Leela kissed him, her lips meeting his with a warmth

(18:25):
that felt like home. His arms wrapped around her, steady
and sure, and the rivers rush echoed their pulse. I
love you too, She whispered, the words, a binding vow.
They sat by the water, planning the Bindery's future workshops, fairs,
a hub for glade Haven's artisans. Owen's hands stayed in hers,
a promise of partnership. For the first time, Leela saw

(18:48):
not just the Bindery's survival, but a life with him.
Stitched and strong. Chapter twelve, The glades echo. Weeks later,
Sterling's book Benduri thrived as glade Haven's heart. Its shelves
alive with Leela's creations, indigo journals, Crimson novels, sage poetry
collections displayed on Owen's carved shelves. The bindery buzzed with workshops,

(19:10):
children stitching journals, locals crafting gifts. The town council had
cemented its status as a historic site save from Victor
Crane's plans, and visitors flocked from neighboring towns to see
the reborn space. Leela stood in the bindery watching a
girl bind her first notebook, her smile mirroring Norah's. The
sight warmed her. Her mother's legacy was alive. Owen joined her,

(19:35):
his flannel shirt dusted with ink, his smile soft. It's beautiful,
isn't it, he said, his arm brushing hers. She leaned
into him, nodding better than I dreamed. They walked to
a riverside oak, its branches heavy with starlight. Together they
bound a joint journal on a portable press, their hands,
getting the leather into a piece embossed with river hues.
Each stitch felt like a promise, their love bound in

(19:57):
every page. As the moon rose, casting a silver glow
over the bindery, Leela turned to Owen, What now, she asked,
her voice soft. He took her hand, his smile warm.
We keep binding together. Gladehaven embraced them, not just a town,
but a vow of forever, their love, an echo that
held it all together.