Karen’s brows took a steady climb northward. “Wow. That is pretty special, Julia. People live lifetimes without finding what you’ve found.”
The sweetness of Karen’s confession warmed Julia from head to foot. “It’s worth all of this crazy distance and missing him, because I’d rather know he’s somewhere in the world loving me, even if it’s not in Pleasant Gap right now, than not have his love at all.”
A shadow passed over Karen’s expression, then she leaned forward again, the intensity of her gaze straightening Julia’s spine in preparation for Karen’s next comment. A challenge. Something unexpected. “Have you ever considered leaving Pleasant Gap? You’re financially independent. You’ve sold the bakery. You’ll finish your degree soon. I mean, you’re in a perfect position for an adventure.”
Heat drained from Julia’s face, and she stopped rocking Rose’s carrier. “An adventure? What do you mean?”
“You have big dreams and it sounds as if you have someone to share those dreams with. Maybe getting away from Pleasant Gap for a while would be a good thing for you. New places. New people.”
“Are you saying move to England?”
“I’m not specifying a place, but it’s definitely worth considering.” Karen grinned. “If you and Henry end up making a long-term commitment to each other, it’s a possibility for you, isn’t it?”
“Well, I think he’ll probably move here. So Rose can be near my family.”
“Sounds to me like you’re taking good care of Rose all by yourself.”
Julia sat up a little straighter. “I wouldn’t want Rose to miss experiencing the loving atmosphere I grew up in, though. My family is crazy sometimes, but they’ve been a wonderful example to me.”
“You do have an exceptionally close family.” Karen braided her fingers in front of her, allowing the silence to settle into the discussion. “There’s a lot of love. Big enough to reach England, I think.” She tilted her head, her attention searching, asking questions Julia didn’t want to contemplate. “Are you afraid to leave?”
Julia’s stomach clenched in a fight-or-flight response. Leave? Actually move away? “Why would I leave? Everything I love is here.”
“The things you love most will always be with you, Julia.” She sat up, palms raised. “I’m not trying to force any decision. But if you and Henry are making future plans—”
“We are.”
“It’s not a bad idea to consider possibilities. If he can’t leave England for some reason—a job or family demands—maybe it’s a prime opportunity for you to spread those wings of yours. You could probably open a bed-and-breakfast just about anywhere in the world. I doubt you could find another Henry.”
Julia reached for the chain around her neck, ignoring the sudden pulse of curiosity. “We’ll sort that out when we have to, but for now we’re just trying to make it to June.”
“Of course. I know you have a good head on your shoulders. And he has to if he was smart enough to fall for you.” Karen patted Julia’s knee. “But don’t forget how strong you are. Your family and faith have given you so much to share with the world. Who knows what you might discover if you stretch your horizon.”
∞ ∞ ∞
“Henry, what has gotten into you?”
Henry looked up from his plate as his mother bustled into the dining room, her dark eyes narrowed into warning slits. What did she know? Surely she couldn’t know he’d removed his grandmother’s sapphire ring from the safety deposit box to have on hand for Julia. After all, Father left it to him. Had she learned about his job interview at Visionary Studios? She’d never liked the Crawfords and having one of her sons work for their company wouldn’t bode well.
“Mother, it’s ten in the morning.” Elliott slapped his newspaper against the table and pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Do you really need to start the day with such a tone?”
His mother ignored her youngest son’s question and fixed all of her annoyance in Henry’s general direction, complete with flaring nostrils. “I don’t know what happened to you in America, but you’ll not go back. Ever. Again.”
Henry kept quiet, which generally proved the best course of action when his mother began spouting that kind of rubbish. As his father used to say, “Answering rubbish with reason is like feeding rubies to goats. A waste of rubies and the goats never appreciate the value.”
“Well, explain yourself.”
“I’m not certain what I need to explain.” Henry looked to Elliott, who’d gone back to his newspaper as if their mother’s voice didn’t carry through the house like a clanging cymbal.
“How can you feign such ignorance?” Her pitch broke. “Clarice Montague phoned me to tell me how delighted she was that you offered to join the church orchestra.” His mother folded her arms across her chest, one dark brow raised in accusation. “The church orchestra!”
Henry laughed. Of all the things to send his mum round the bend, she chose this one?
“This is no laughing matter. As you well know, Henry, I’ve not attended St. Mark’s in six months. Not since they brought on that new pastor who preaches the most atrocious things. We agreed to attend Blackburn Hills instead.”
“You decided to attend Blackburn Hills, Mother. I enjoy St. Mark’s and its new pastor.”
She collapsed into a chair. “The man talks about bringing street people into the church. The actual sanctuary! Possibly sitting near us.” She tapped the table. “And he prays in the most sacrilegious way—”
“He prays as if he knows to whom he speaks.” His mother’s eyes widened at his rare contradiction. Good. Perhaps he’d made an impression.
“You realize the Gettys are in the orchestra at St. Mark’s?”
Or not. Henry closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer for strength. There were only a handful of people in Derbyshire whom his mother had not ostracized at some point in recent history due to some perceived offense or other. “Yes.”
“Their grandfather nearly destroyed my father’s business. You know that! And you would play with them in front of the entire church?”
“I would. The children are not the parents or grandparents.”
“Amen to that,” Elliott added from behind his newspaper.
Mother placed both of her palms on the table and pressed forward. “Does my reputation, my opinion matter so little to you? Is that how the likes of Andrew Crawford and Wesley Harrison influence you against me?”
“Mother, it’s church, not the Rose Ball.”
“You stay out of this,” she snapped at Elliott. “It’s not as though you even remember what a church looks like on the inside, as little as you frequent one.”
“Old.” Elliott turned a page in his paper but kept his face conveniently hidden. “Stained glass, as a rule.”
“Henry, you are not the sort to put yourself out in front of people like this.” She stood over him, studying him. “Are you unwell? Has someone forced you to do this?”
“I am quite capable of making my own decisions, Mother, and have been doing so for years.” Henry placed his serviette down and turned toward her. “And I’ve decided that I have talents I can share with the church.”
“No one in our family has ever played in the church orchestra. No one.”
“We can start with me.” He pushed away from the table, ready to end any further tirade with a great deal of distance. All the way, in fact, to Crandall House for a furniture delivery. His family heirlooms from his grandparents had been in hiding too long. Besides, moving sounded better and better with each passing second.
“Who is she?” His mother tapped the table again. “This girl. The one you met in America. She’s put you up to this, hasn’t she?”
He stared over at his mother, searching for some hint of logic to combat her lack thereof. “You think my girlfriend from America somehow put me up to playing in the church orchestra?”
“She’s your girlfriend, is she?”
“Julia.” He stood. “Her name is Julia
.”
He walked past his mother toward the door, her voice following him. “Your father would be appalled at you. Sitting beside the Gettys! They’re Irish, you know. Irish.”
“I doubt Father would be offended, Mother, since his grandparents were Irish.”
“And now you’re dating an American? One with a child? Weren’t the last two mistakes enough to last a lifetime, Henry? The town is still mumbling about the scandal you brought on our names, and here you are on the brink of another. I will not have it.”
“Wait until they all learn he’s purchased Crandall House,” Elliott added, taking a sip of his coffee as if his announcement hadn’t just ruined Henry’s life for the foreseeable future. How had Elliott found out? Matthew would never have told him.
“You’ve done what?”
Henry shot his younger brother a glare before turning back to his mother. “You know I’ve been meaning to buy my own place near town for some time.”
“Clearly you’re not ready for such a decision.” She patted her hair—as if it could possibly move from its dark, manicured, wave around her face—and took a seat at the table. “It’s on the wrong side of town and much too antiquated for you. A place like that will not complement your rising fame at all.”
“I believe this conversation is finished.”
His mother stepped in front of his exit. “You must end the contract at once.”
“I own the house, Mother. I have for three weeks.” And he would have moved sooner if some simple renovations hadn’t been necessary before occupancy.
“Shocking, I know,” Elliott placed down the paper and raised a dark brow. “Henry didn’t spend three months deliberating over a decision.”
“How did you know?”
Elliott picked a grape off the fruit plate in the center of the table and tossed it in his mouth. “Miriam Clarkson, the realtor who listed Crandall House.”
“The Clarkson you’re dating?”
“On again, off again. You understand.” A strawberry made its way into his brother’s mouth. “She said you made a deposit the day after you returned from the States. Impulsive.” Elliott toasted Henry with a second strawberry. “Very unlike you, brother. Nice to see there’s a bit of a rebel beneath the prefect. What’s next? An elopement?” He offered a mock shudder.
“Don’t encourage him, Elliott.” Mother waved him away. “This is a catastrophe. Why on earth would you purchase Crandall House? You are a single male. That house can easily hold an entire fam—” Her gaze zeroed in on him, and she blocked another attempted escape. “Haven’t you learned anything from your past? This only proves that you are not capable of making romantic decisions on your own. She’s only after your money. Just like the last one. Why else would a woman want you?”
Elliott winced in Henry’s periphery.
The accusation hit an old wound, almost buckling him into silence, but a memory confronted the past head-on—Julia’s smile when she’d told him she loved him. The way she asked his opinion, his thoughts. As though he was someone worth giving her heart to regardless of the ocean between them. And God thought he was worth even more than the admiration in Julia’s eyes. He loved Henry enough to redeem him. Yes, Henry was worth much more than he’d ever believed.
“I have no plans to—”
“We’ll finish the conversation later.” His mother looked down at her watch. “Lauren Townsend is here for brunch. And I shouldn’t need to remind you that I still have control over your allowance, Henry. Until the day I die.”
She rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her, the much too overwhelming scent of her perfume floating in her wake.
Henry shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, praying for patience and strength.
“You have bad luck, don’t you, Henry?” Elliott stood and stretched out his back.
“With no help from you.” Henry shook his head. “How is it that you can do all of the things she hates, yet she thinks you’re perfect?”
“Because, my dear brother, I never get caught.” He tossed a grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Cheers.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Henry brought the small orchestra to a moment of suspended silence as the final strains of the violins faded away. The red light to the right turned to green, and the entire orchestra relaxed. Another recording finished.
“Excellent work, everyone. Two more and we’re done for the day.”
His phone vibrated to life in the breast pocket of his jacket. He tugged it free and saw Julia’s name alight on the screen. But it must be…He checked the time on his watch. It had to be shortly before five o’clock in the morning in Virginia. What was wrong?
“Let’s take a ten-minute break everyone.” Henry raised his palm to the group. “Thank you.”
He rushed to the door of the recording studio and pressed the video chat button as he rounded the corner, out of hearing distance of the orchestra. Julia’s face came into view, her eyes tired and a bit puffy, and her hair in some sort of lopsided bun on her head. “Julia? Are you all right?”
“Yes, just a bit stuffy.” She rubbed a tissue against her red nose. “But…but I wanted to share something that couldn’t wait until tonight. Do you have a few minutes?”
“It’s not even five in the morning there.”
She nodded, the red rim around her eyes making them look even bluer. “Time is irrelevant when you have a newborn with a cold.”
“Did she not sleep again?”
“Barely.” Julia rubbed at her nose again. “Poor thing. She can’t hardly breathe without elevating her head, so I’ve been holding her most of the night. I actually fell asleep sitting up on the couch. I mean, all the way up. It was crazy.”
“I’m so sorry, dove. Can’t you ask your mother for help so you can get a few winks?”
She shook her head. “I have to learn to do this on my own, Henry.”
“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, especially since it sounds as if you’ve taken Rose’s cold.”
“I know, but I have to try.”
“Julia, promise me that if this continues for another night or two, you’ll ask your mother or sisters to help. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.”
She stared at him through the screen and sniffled, blinking those large, child-like eyes. “I promise.”
“You’re very brave, but you’re not invincible, especially when you have a sick baby.”
“Oh Henry, it’s been insane.” She brushed back loose strands of hair, shaking her head, her words becoming increasingly hyponasal. “Her sleep schedule is only part of it. The amount of snot and poop?” She shuddered. “So much snot and poop.”
Richard, a cellist, paused as he passed Henry in the hall, watching him with a horrified expression.
Henry offered him a tight smile.
Julia kept talking, oblivious in her sleep-deprived state to her somewhat delirious conversation. “I can’t imagine having to get up and go to work like this. Can you imagine?” She looked down at her shirt. “I don’t think I’ve changed my clothes for two days.”
“And you don’t think it’s time to phone your mother?”
She tugged at the collar of her T-shirt, staring at it. “Maybe so. It’s pretty sad that, for the past two days, my life has consisted of crawling in and out of bed in between bouts of baby diaper-and clothes-changes and eating a copious amount of chocolate that I can’t even taste.”
Henry caught sight of the orchestra reconvening in the recording room, only missing their director. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but didn’t you say you had something in particular you needed to share?”
She blinked as if his question triggered some sort of thought. “Oh, yes. I was awake with Rose and checked my email just now, and guess what?”
He grinned at her adorable confusion. “What?”
“The archivist from Glasgow finally emailed me back. He says he has information that I’d find in
teresting regarding Lucas and Millie.” She wiped her nose again. “And would be happy to put me in contact with an archivist in London who could share the information with me when I arrive in June.”
“That is excellent news.”
“What if they know what happened to Lucas?”
“That would be a good ending to our little mystery, wouldn’t it, dove?”
She grinned, the light in her eyes unleashing her pleasure. Even with the red nose and the unruly hair, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I love you, Henry.”
“And I love you, dove.”
On his way back into the studio, he paused at the recording booth threshold and leaned over to his assistant at the desk. “Becky, would you have time to do a bit of research on florists in Pleasant Gap, Virginia for me?”
Her blond head took on the slow tilt of someone examining a confusing piece of orchestration. “Pleasant Gap…Virginia? In the United States?”
He patted the doorframe, his grin broadening. “Yes, please. There’s a special someone there who could use a beautiful bouquet today.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
J ulia sat at her desk finishing the final project for her course—a business plan for starting her own bed-and-breakfast. Her mom, who’d helped her start the bakery, had given her some pointers for the B&B, and she’d sent the proposal to Henry too, just too share it with him. He’d come back with a few minor suggestions and a great many encouraging comments, as usual. She grinned and looked over at the newest bouquet he’d sent. Roses. To celebrate Rose’s three-month birthday. The flowers were only now beginning to bend with age, a few petals falling onto the desk top, but their pink hues clung to their initial vibrancy.
She rested her chin on her palm and looked out the window as afternoon light bathed the room in a quiet beauty. Just over three months ago she’d held her little Rose for the first time, and now, her life had finally begun to pulse with a rhythm. Motherhood, school, baking, occasionally substituting for the pianist at church—and managing a long-distance relationship.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 29
