Ep.21) Dawn Over the Harbor

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):
Dawn Over the Harbor, Part one's by Leela Stirling, Chapter one,
The Keeper's Call. The salty tang of the Atlantic hit
Clara Bennett as she stepped off the ferry onto Havenport's
weather dock on a chilly September morning in nineteen ninety
five at thirty two. She hadn't returned to the main

(00:21):
coastal village since her father's death five years ago, leaving
behind the lighthouse he'd tended. A letter from the Havenport
Council had summoned her the Bennett Lighthouse. Her family's legacy
faced demolition due to coastal erosion, with developer Paul Kendrick
eyeing the land for a luxury Marina. Clara planned to
assess it, signed the papers, and returned to her quiet

(00:43):
life as a maritime historian in Portland. But the sight
of the White Tower, its lantern dark, its base crumbling,
stirred a ache she'd bur it. She climbed the rocky
path to the Keeper's cottage, its gray shingles pealing, the
windows fogged with salt. Inside the the air smelled of
damp wood and old coffee, the furniture untouched since her

(01:03):
father's time. A faded photograph of him at the lantern room.
His smile broad brought tears to her eyes. Clara had
left Havenport to escape the loneliness of his final years,
but the lighthouse's silence called her back, a whisper of
duty she couldn't ignore. A knock jolted her. She opened
the door to find a man tall and broad shouldered,

(01:24):
his dark hair tousled by the wind. Wearing a worn jacket.
His gray eyes held a steady gaze Clara Bennett. He asked,
his voice rough like the sea. I'm Jack Morrow. Your
father hired me to maintain the lighthouse before he passed.
I've been keeping it up since. Clara's breath caught Jack.
You were just a kid when I left. She remembered him,

(01:45):
a lanky teenager helping her father polish the lens, his
laughter echoing off the rocks. Now at twenty eight, he
stood before her, a man shaped by the coast. I stayed,
he said, simply the lighthouse needed someone. Chapter two, The
Crumbling Light. Clara stepped outside with Jack, the wind tugging

(02:06):
at her coat as they surveyed the Bennett Lighthouse. The
tower leaned slightly, its base eroded by relentless tides, and
the lantern room's glass was cracked. It's worse than I thought,
she said, her voice tight. The council's deadline loomed two
months to repair or demolish, and Paul Kendrick's Marina plans
threatened to erase her family's history. Jack pointed to a

(02:28):
pile of driftwood near the cottage. I've been reinforcing the foundation,
but the storms keep tearing it down. We need concrete,
new glass, and a crew. His hands, calloused from years
of work, gestured with quiet confidence. I'm selling. Clara said
the words bitter. I can't afford this. Her historian's salary

(02:49):
barely covered her Portland rent, and the lighthouse's repairs would
cost thousands. She didn't have. Yet, the thought of losing
it gnawed at her, her father's pride, her childhood refuge.
Jack's jaw tightened. Your father loved this place. He'd fight
for it, His words strung a reminder of her absence.
She turned away, gazing at the harbor, its waters glinting

(03:11):
under the morning sun. I don't know how, she admitted.
He stepped closer, his presence warm against the cold. I
can help I've got skills carpentry, some engineering from the
coast guard. We could start small. See if the town
backs us. His office surprised her, stirring memories of their
shared summers, his easy grin. As they raced along the cliffs.

(03:32):
She nodded, reluctant, but drawn to the IDEA. Let's try,
she said, her voice softening. By afternoon, they hauled driftwood
to the base. Jack's steady hands, gidding hers the work
felt familiar, a rhythm from her past, and his quiet
strength began to thaw her resolve. Chapter three, The harbour's

(03:53):
heart havenport rallied around Clara the next day, its residence,
bringing supplies, nails from the fishermen, taps from the general store.
Old missus Tate, the postmistress handed her a basket of
clam chowder. Your father kept us safe with that light,
she said, her eyes kind. We'll fight for it. The
village's support warmed Clara, a contrast to her solitary life

(04:13):
in Portland. She organized a community meeting at the town hall,
hopping to rally more help against Paul Kendrick's plans. The
hall buzzed with voices, the scent of salt water and wood,
smoke filling the air. Clara stood her hands, trembling. The
lighthouse is Havenport's history, she said, we can save it together.
The crowd nodded, but Paul strode in his suit, crisp

(04:35):
his smile smooth. Progress needs sacrifice, he said, A marina
will bring jobs. This lighthouse is a relic. His words
drew murmurs, and Clara's heart sank. Afterward, Jack found her
on the cliffs, the harbor spread below, its waves crashing softly.
You were brave, he said, his tone warm. Why do
you leave, Clara? No word, just gone. His question pierced her.

(04:58):
Dad was fadding, she said, her voice breaking. I couldn't
watch him die. I thought you moved on two, I wrote,
Jack said, his eyes darkening every month from the coast guard.
Did you get them? She shook her head, a chill
running through her. Had her brother Tom hidden them out
of spite? The revelation left her reeling the past crashing

(05:18):
into the present. Chapter four, the first spark in the cottage,
Clara sorted tools for the lighthouse repairs, the clatter of
metal a steady beat. Jack worked beside her, sanding driftwood beams,
his focus intents. You've still got his hands, he said,
nodding at her grip on a hammer. She smiled faintly,
the compliment easing her tension. He taught me well, she said,

(05:42):
her voice soft. Their hands brushed as they stacked beams,
and a spark jolted through her warm and unexpected. She
pulled back, focusing on the work, but Jack's presence lingered,
a pull she couldn't ignore. They planned a fundraise at
the harbor, using the lighthouse as a backdrop to raise funds.
Jack rigged lanterns along the par their glow mirroring the
sea's shimmer. As they tested the lights, their shoulders touched,

(06:04):
and Clara's pulse quickened. We're not kids anymore, she said,
stepping away. Jack's smile was gentle. No, but some things
don't change. His words hung between them, a promise of
something more. The harbor glowed that night, with townsfolk bidding
on crafts and donating, but Paul's shadow loomed. My offers
still open, he said, his voice cold. Clara's determination hardened.

(06:28):
She'd fight for the lighthouse and maybe her heart. Chapter five,
The fundraisers glow. The harbor glowed with lanterns that evening,
their light reflecting off the water. As Havenport gathered for
the fundraiser to save the Bennett Lighthouse, Clara Bennett arranged
a table with maritime sketches she'd drawn their ink, capturing
the coast's rugged beauty, while Jack Morrow hung his handcrafted

(06:51):
driftwood frames, each carved with wave patterns. The crowd buzzed
with energy, the scent of grilled fish and salt air
mingling as bids climbed for local crafts. Clara's heart lifted
with each dollar raised, the funds inching toward the repairs,
but Paul Kendrick's marina deadline, now six weeks away, kept

(07:12):
her on edge. Jack moved through the crowd, serving clam chowder,
his jacket sleeves rolled up, revealing sun bronzed arms. His
gray eyes met us across the harbor, a quiet smile,
sparking warmth she tried to suppress. They'd been working side
by side for days, reinforcing the foundation, planning events, and
his steady presence chipped at her defenses. She turned to

(07:33):
a bidder, an older fisherman who admired a sketch, reminds
me of your father's watch, he said, his voice gruff.
You've got his eye. Before Clara could reply, Paul approached,
his tailored coats stark against the villagers weathered clothes. The
air stilled as he spoke, Miss Bennett, he said, gesturing
to the fundraiser. Impressive effort, but my Marina could preserve

(07:55):
the lighthouse as a tourist. Draw sell now and you'd profit.
Clara's stomach tightened. This isn't a prop. It's Havenport's heart.
Her voice carried, and nods rippled through the crowd. Paul's
smile thinned heart doesn't pay bills. My offer stands for now.
He walked off, leaving a chill. Jack stepped beside her,

(08:15):
his shoulder brushing hers. He's worried, he said, quietly. 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 beacon she
couldn't dim. By night's end, the fundraiser raised nearly half
the needed funds, and as they packed up, Jack's hands

(08:37):
steadied a frame, his warmth lingering. Chapter six, The Cliff's
Eyed Truth The cliffs above Havenport stretched under twilight sky,
their shadows stretching toward the sea. Clara sat on a rock.
The fundraiser's success tempered by Paul's offer and the sting
of Jack's lost letters. Had her brother Tom really hidden
them out of rivaly? The thought burned, and she needed answers.

(08:59):
The crunch of boots announced Jack, his breath visible in
the cool air. Knew you'd be here, he said, sitting
beside her, leaving a careful space. The oceans raw filled
the silence, and the scent of pine clung to him,
grounding her. Why didn't you come after me, Clara asked,
her voice roar. Letters are one thing, Jack, but you

(09:19):
could have found me in Portland. He looked at the horizon,
his jaw tight. I tried once after basic training. Tom said,
you moved on that you didn't want haven Port. I
didn't want to drag you back. His voice carried regret.
Clara's heart sank. Tom, always jealous of her bond with Jack,
had sabotaged them. He lied, She whispered, the betrayal sharp.

(09:43):
I waited for you, Jack for months. I thought you'd
forgotten me. His eyes met hers, pained. I'm sorry, I thought,
letting you go as best you were meant for more
than this village. He reached for her hand, his touch tentative,
warm from the day's work. She didn't pull away, the
contact stirring memories of cliff sided race. I wanted you,
not Portland, she said, her voice breaking. I wrote too,

(10:04):
Jack said, every letter was for you. His honesty cracked
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 cliffs
blurring in her eyes and walked back to the cottage,
the weight of truth glowing within her. Chapter seven, The

(10:24):
Keeper's Rhythm. The cottage hummed with purpose as Clara and
Jack prepared for the next repair phase. Hauling concrete bags
to the lighthouse base. They mixed and poured the rhythm
of their work a steady beat against the coastal wind.
Clara's hands guided the trowel, the task grounding her, while
Jack braced the beams, his focus intense. Their efforts felt

(10:45):
like a dance, each move complimenting the other, but the
air crackled with unspoken tension as they smoothed concrete. A
gust nearly knocked Clara off balance. Jack caught her, his
arms strong around her waist. Careful, he said, his voice husky,
Their faces inches apart, her pulse raised, and she teased,

(11:05):
still clumsy, breaking the moment, her cheeks flushed. Your steady,
Jack said, his smile soft. The words hit her, stirring
memories of late nights helping her father, dreaming with Jack
by her side. She turned to the work, focusing on
the concrete, but her heart pounded. They labored late, the
foundation taking shape under the cottage's warm lights. Jack shared
tailies of his coast guard days, stormy patrols, lonely nights,

(11:29):
and Clara listened, drawn to his resilience. Why do you stay,
she asked, pausing her trowel for the lighthouse. He said,
for your father 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 lighthouse's fate and her heart at stake. As

(11:49):
they cleaned up, their hands brushed, and Clara felt a
spark she couldn't extinguish. Chapter eight, The villagers stand. The
next morning, Havenport buzzed with resales. Clara and Jack organized
an open house at the lighthouse, inviting the village to
see its value. Fishermen demonstrated not tying, kids explored the
lantern room, and Missus Tate brought lobster rolls. The community's

(12:12):
support was a warm glow, but Paul's smear campaign cast
a shadow. Fliers claimed the lighthouse was unsafe. Clara's anger flared,
but Jack'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 villagers marveling at
the repairs and Clara's sketches. A petition to declare the

(12:36):
lighthouse a historic sight gained signatures and the mayor promised
to push it through. Paul arrived, his presence a cold draft.
This is sentimental, he said, his tone sharp. My Marina
will bring progress. Your delaying the inevitable. Clara stood tall.
This lighthouse is our future, not your profit. The crowd cheered,

(12:56):
and Jack's proud's smile warmed her. As the day ended,
they stood in the lantern room adjusting a window. Their
hands met, and for a moment Clara didn't pull away.
The air felt charged, their faces close, but a child's
laugh broke the spell. Clara stepped back, her heart racing.
The festival was weeks away, their last chance to save
the lighthouse and maybe their love. Chapter nine, The donne

(13:19):
Haven Festival. The Donnehn Festival transformed the coastal town into
a shimmering oasis, its sandy lanes lined with lanterns that
danced like fireflies against the nineteen ninety five autumn night.
Carver's Glassworks stood as the festival's centerpiece, its doors, wide
open racks gleaming with Lana Carver's creations, sea green vases,

(13:40):
amber bowls, safka ornaments, each piece reflecting the moonlight by
captured ocean waves. Theo Grayson's handcrafted driftwood racks etched with
dune swirls, showcased her work, their collaboration a symbol of resilience.
Townsfolk and visitors from nearby villages crowded the studio, bidding
on glassware and donating to save it from Marcus Hale's

(14:03):
resort development. Lana's heart swelled with each bid, the funds
surpassing the goal to clear the studio's debts. With the
tax deadline now met thanks to the community's outpouring, Lana
adjusted a sapphire ornament, its facets sparkling under the lanterns,
her fingers lingering on the smooth surface. THEO moved beside her,

(14:24):
his denim shirt rolled up, his hazel eyes filled with pride.
We did it, he said, his voice warm, the studios safe.
His words kindled a spark in her, the weight of
the fight lifting. Marcus Hale appeared at the studio's entrance.
His suit rumpled, his smile forced. Miss Carver, he said,
glancing at the racks. A clever save, But my resort

(14:48):
would have made dunne Haven thrive. This is a missed opportunity.
Lana's resolve held firm. The studio is Dunnehaven's true heart,
not your resort, her voice carried, and the crowd nodded
in support. THEO stepped forward, his presence solid, the town's chosen,
he said, move on. Marcus's face reddened, but he turned away,

(15:09):
his plans shattered. As the night peaked, the mayor announced
the studio's historic status, the crowd irrupting in cheers. Lena
and Theo shared a quiet moment by the racks, their
hands brushing, they danced under the lanterns, the music weaving
their past and present into a harmonious melody. Chapter ten,

(15:30):
The letters revealed the festival's joy lingered as Lena climbed
the studio's attic stairs. The next morning, a lantern illuminating
the dusty corners. Theo's confession about the letters, hidden by
her cousin Mara, had left her seeking closure amid Iris's
old tools, she found a box of envelopes, yellowed and

(15:50):
tied with string. Opening one, her heart raised, Lena, I'm
sorry for leaving. My sister's illness needed me, but you're
my anchor. I love you. Each letter mirrored the sentiment love, regret, hope.
Tears fell as she read Mara's jealousy, the thief of
their time, but Theo's words mended the fracture. She found

(16:11):
him on the beach, the waves crashing gently. I found them,
she said, the letters in hand. Theo's eyes softened and
he pulled her close. What did they say? He asked
that you loved me, she replied, her voice steady all along.
He read one, his expression tender Mara lied to protect me,
but it cost us. The truth freed them their embrace,

(16:33):
a promise renewed. Chapter eleven, The dunes glow. The studio
buzzed as Lena and Theo crafted a new collection for
a local market. The furnaces heat a comforting rhythm. Their
hands sinked, shaping glass with shared precision. The air filled
with the scent of silica and sea salt. Lena's fingers
brushed Theos during a vase pour, a spark igniting. I

(16:56):
was lost without you, she admitted, pausing. He set the
pipe down, his eyes intense. I was too, but we're
here now. He stepped closer, the space vanishing. I love you, Lana.
Her breath caught, the years dissolving. They walked to the dunes,
the sand cool under foot under the moon. Lena kissed him,
the waves echoing their passion. His arms enveloped her, their

(17:19):
love a steady flame. They planned the studio's future classes
coastal exhibits. A partnership sealed for the first time, Lena
envisioned a life with theio, glowing and unbreakable. Chapter twelve,
The Dune's Song. Months later, Carver's glass works thrived as
Dunnehaven's gem. Its racks filled with Lana's sea green vases

(17:41):
and amber bowls, drawing visitors from afar. The studio hummed
with workshops, teens shaping ornaments, locals crafting gifts. The Council's
historic designation protected it, and the community celebrated. Lena watched
a girl blow her first bubble, her smile like irises,
the legacy lived. THEO joined her, his smile soft, our song,

(18:03):
he said, his arm around her. They walked to the dunes,
crafting a joint piece, a vase with wave etchings. Each
breath of glass felt like a vow. There loved the
studio's true light. As the sun set, Lena turned to THEO. Forever,
she asked. He kissed her. The dunes singing their promise.
Dunnehaven embraced them their love a timeless melody