by Liz Johnson
He leaned his head out his open window, laughing. “Not worried about your breaking in. Frostbite, however, is a distinct possibility. Get in, will you?”
Mayor Hayden angled away. “Unlike Rowan, I had the sense to drive downtown. But thanks for the offer, Eddie.”
Rowan waved goodbye to the mayor and plopped in the passenger seat. “Thanks. I don’t usually mind the cold, but this is something else.”
“You left the water dripping in all the faucets back at the library, didn’t you?”
She leaned into the warmth of the vehicle’s heater. “Yes. And I opened the cupboard doors under every sink.”
“Good girl. Going back to the library now?”
“Yep.”
Eddie pulled away from the curb. “Your mom will be happy I ran into you. She’s been more than a little worried about you. I think she’s convinced you’ll freeze to death up in that apartment.”
“The furnace is working just fine now.”
He turned off of Main Street and started toward the library. “She’s also pretty positive that king did a bit of a number on you. He’s left, hasn’t he?”
“He has. But he didn’t do a number on me. Whatever that means.” Unless it meant he’d completely captured her heart and carried it home with him. In which case, that’s exactly what he’d done.
But she couldn’t possibly blame Jonah for leaving. He wouldn’t be the man she’d grown to admire and respect and maybe even love—was it possible to fall in love so entirely so quickly?—if he’d stayed here when his country could be in chaos. Jonah might have made self-deprecating comments about running away from his responsibilities, but she saw past that. He was steadfast and loyal, committed to his calling even when it scared him.
Even when it demanded sacrifice.
He was a good man. A very good man.
And yes, yes it absolutely was possible to fall in love so entirely so quickly. Two weeks, that was all it’d taken.
The library came into view up ahead. “Well, I’m glad I can give your mom a good report then,” Eddie said. “And I’m glad I ran into you for my own sake, as well. There’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He pulled next to the curb in front of the house, shifted into Park, but kept the Jeep running.
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded. Rubbed his whiskered chin, then charged ahead. “Rowan, I’d like to buy the house for you.”
“T-the house?”
Another nod. “Yes, the house. This house.” He pointed out the windshield. “I’ve already talked to Mayor Hayden about it.”
The mayor’s words earlier came tumbling back in. Come to think of it, he’d had a knowing sort of smile on his face when he’d said he was sure the house would be well-loved by its new owner. “I . . . I don’t understand.”
“It’s a darn shame for you to have to think about finding a new place to live when the library moves. You love this house. And I’ll tell you, the city’s willing to sell it for a steal. I know it needs a lot of repairs, but I’d love to help. I’m pretty handy, if I do say so myself. Ask your mom. And if you’re uncomfortable accepting the house as a gift, we could work out some kind of rent.”
She looked at her stepfather—really looked at him. At the kindness in his gray eyes and the hope resting in his creased grin. “You don’t have to do this. It’s too much. Way too much.”
“When it comes to love, nothing is too much.”
“Eddie—”
“I love you, Rowan. And it makes me happy to do something nice for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Of overwhelming gratitude, but also something more. “I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but caring toward me for years and I’ve kept my distance and I don’t know why. I guess I was stubborn or—”
“Oh, Rowan.” He took off his seatbelt so he could reach over the console to drape his arm around her. “You weren’t stubborn. You were hurting. You’ve been through a lot of loss in your life and me marrying your mom probably felt like a whole new loss, whether you realized it or not.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s water under the bridge.”
“I’m really glad you came into Mom’s life. And mine.”
He gave her another squeeze and leaned back. “Now, shall we talk about what you’d like to fix up first in the house? If it were me, I’d start with wall paint. It’s a little thing, but it’ll make the whole place feel fresh and new.”
“I might still be in too much shock to even think about that.” She gazed at the cottage—at its clapboard siding and the railing up the front steps that leaned just slightly to the side and the lights of the Christmas tree Jonah had put up looking out the window.
Happy and unhappy. Jonah’s words from a week and a day ago, trickled in. She missed him. So very much. And much as she was trying to foster a good attitude about the library’s move, it was hard to picture the coming year. Hard to think about each week stretching into the next, managing a library that might no longer feel like, well, hers. As if too much and too little change was happening all at once.
And yet, sitting here with Eddie . . . she felt a peace. A happiness. Even when she’d held her stepfather at arm’s length, he’d still reached for her. Patiently, lovingly, reeling her in.
“I can’t believe it. I was just telling myself this morning that I could find a way to keep Grandma’s legacy alive even without the house. But now . . . ”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“About what?”
“What you told me in the attic. What you said about your Grandma’s last words . . . are you sure she meant the library when she talked about guarding her legacy?”
Rowan glanced over. “Of course. What else would she have been talking about?”
“Why, you, of course. You’re her legacy, Rowan. You’re her granddaughter. Mind you, I didn’t know the woman, but I have to think that you and your future were far more important to her than the future of this house, special though it may be.”
Rowan stared straight ahead, the cottage blurring in front of her. Could Eddie be right? She closed her eyes as Grandma’s words sang through her soul now.
“I’m leaving a legacy behind. A beautiful legacy full of promise and potential. Just see that you take care of it, okay? Make sure my legacy blossoms and thrives.”
She could hear Grandma’s low, raspy voice. Could see the love that had filled every line in her face as she’d given Rowan one final smile.
You were talking about me, weren’t you?
Grandma had called her beautiful. She’d seen promise and potential in her.
And she’d wanted her to blossom and thrive.
“You all right, Rowan?”
“I think maybe I had it all wrong.” She opened her eyes and turned to her stepfather. “Did you know it was never really my dream to be a librarian? I used to want to travel and write and see new places and . . . gosh, I love Tinsel and I enjoy my job and for Pete’s sake, you just offered to buy me a house.”
“But?” Eddie prodded her gently.
“But Grandma wanted me to blossom and thrive.”
He shrugged. “Then I reckon that’s what you should do.”
“I’m not sure I know what that looks like.” She couldn’t help a laugh. “Jonah would tell me to read a book. He said stories are powerful because we often find ourselves inside them when we didn’t even know we were looking.”
Eddie grinned. “Well, good thing you’ve got a whole library full of books at your disposal.”
Chapter 11
“Excuse me, Your Majesty, but isn’t it about time you change? You’re expected on the balcony in less than ten minutes.” Brick’s anxious voice carried across the room.
Jonah looked up from the pile of papers on the mahogany desk he’d moved into the palace library. Had managed the thing entirely on his own, angling it out the massive doors of Father’s old office, pushing it down the corridor, its legs catching on rugs and scraping over marble. He
’d had to rearrange all the furniture in the library to make it work.
But if he were to recite his top accomplishments so far as the king of Concordia, claiming the library for his office would make the list.
Though what he was about to do this Christmas morning would be an even bolder step.
It’d been one week since the confrontation with Geordie. A hectic and, in some ways, hard week. But in all the busyness, he’d found the peace and purpose he’d been looking for all along. He’d prayed. He’d taken that good, long look in the mirror.
He was ready.
“Actually, I don’t need to change. I’ll be appearing on the balcony in what I’m already wearing.” Tan trousers, a light gray collared shirt with a navy blue sweater over top. For a royal to appear on the balcony without a suit jacket or tie of some kind was next to unheard of.
But Jonah needed to be comfortable this day. He needed to be able to speak from his heart and that would be much easier to do if he wasn’t overly trussed up.
Brick hadn’t moved from the library doorway. He stood stiff and discomfited. Might do him some good to shed his formal trappings, too. But it’d been like this for days. The poor man had seemed to hold his breath ever since Jonah’s return, as if worried he was about to lose his position.
In a way, he had.
Hamish strode past Brick now, holding tight to the silk pillow that cradled Jonah’s crown. “Can’t go out without this, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, thank you, Ham.” Jonah had promoted Hamish to his Advisory Council the very day he’d wrested his position back from Geordie. Though Brick still served on the council, Hamish had clearly stepped into the lead role.
“You can come in, you know,” he called to Brick. “No need to tarry in the doorway.”
“I wasn’t sure . . . that is, I’ve been uncertain—”
“I’ve no intention of asking you to resign your position, Brick. You have years—decades—of experience and wisdom.” And in truth, Jonah had no doubt the man’s actions of the past few weeks had come from a place of care and concern for the country. To his credit, he seemed deeply remorseful now. “I hope we may start fresh.”
Brick made it a couple paces into the room before pausing, folding his hands together in front of him as if to keep from fidgeting.
“You may speak freely,” Jonah prompted. “Even if it’s to question my choice of attire.”
Hamish snorted as he set the silk cushion on Jonah’s desk and lifted the crown.
“I have no qualms about your clothing, Your Majesty.”
“Then what is it you want to say?” He took the crown Hamish held out. Gold, lined with a row of rubies and another of emeralds. He shouldn’t be surprised by its weight, and yet, like always, it took him off guard for a flicker of a moment. But without hesitation, he raised it to his head.
“Well, it’s just . . . you see . . . in the past I’ve always consulted with a speechwriter. Only this time . . . ”
Jonah caught a glimpse of his reflection in the gilded mirror on the wall opposite him. He straightened the crown so the ruby crest was at the front. Lowered his arms. For once, perhaps, the thing didn’t appear at all out of place on his head.
And Jonah, he looked . . . he looked like the king he was.
He let out a breath and turned to Brick. “You’re concerned because you haven’t seen a copy of my speech. I do apologize for that, but I was still writing it until late last night.” ‘Til long after returning from the Christmas Eve service in the cathedral. He’d eventually fallen asleep in this very room. “I gave it a final polish over my morning coffee.”
Hamish smiled. “Nothing like waiting until the last minute.”
“I wasn’t procrastinating, my good man. I’ve been working on this for days.”
“Don’t I know it.” Hamish stood in front of Jonah, giving him a once over. “And I do believe you’re ready.”
“I believe so, as well,” Brick added.
Jonah looked past his friend to where Brick watched him with what almost looked like admiration. “Thank you. It means much to me to hear you say so.” Brick gave a slight bow and retreated. Jonah looked back to Hamish. “And it means even more coming from you.”
“I’ve never doubted you, Jonah. Not for a moment.”
Jonah couldn’t help a smirk. “I don’t know about that. I think you might’ve doubted me a time or two back in Tinsel. I seem to remember a few intense conversations.”
Hamish chuckled then tempered. “Have you . . . talked to her?”
“I’ve wanted to. Rather desperately at times.” At most times. All the time, really. “But between reclaiming the throne and preparing for today, not to mention finally convincing King Nester to renegotiate . . . well, I haven’t exactly had much free time.”
Hadn’t stopped him from laying awake at night thinking about Rowan, though. Wishing things could be different. Some might say if he truly loved her, he’d give up his position in Concordia and move his entire life to the States.
But deep down, he knew—he knew—he was supposed to be here. He felt it as truly and undeniably as, well, Rowan felt that her place was in Tinsel. At her grandmother’s library.
God had called him to a hard thing. Now, Jonah simply prayed God would help him carry it out. This new vision. This honor and legacy.
If he could trust God to do that—to be with him in this calling—then he could also trust God with his heart and all the emotion still residing there. Love, longing, and, yes, hurt.
“Is there any word from Geordie?” he asked Brick.
“He’s still in Spain. With friends.”
“He’ll come around in time.” It’s what Jonah was praying, anyway. Would keep praying. When Jonah had been lost, God had found him. He could find Geordie, too. Jonah wouldn’t give up on him.
“Will I sound a little too much like Brick if I tell you we’re down to two minutes?”
Jonah shook his head to clear his thoughts and paced to his desk. He lifted the pages containing his speech. “I need one moment alone, Ham.”
Hamish turned to leave, but stopped. He returned to Jonah and without warning, gripped his arms and squeezed. It was Hamish’s version of an embrace, Jonah knew. He knew, too, what it conveyed. Friendship. Support. Loyalty.
“Thank you,” Jonah whispered.
Hamish—inexpressive, unrevealing Hamish—blinked back tears. “Good luck, Your Majesty.”
He left the room and then it was just Jonah, standing in the middle of the library. Wearing his crown. Waiting, on Christmas morning, to give what might be the most defining speech of his reign.
“Emmanuel. God with us.” He breathed the hallowed words. A prayer. Both thanksgiving and a request.
It was time.
His footsteps echoed over the marble floor as he walked down the hallway and toward the room where a line of palace staff waited to usher him onto the balcony. He could hear the hum of the crowd outside, perhaps a few cheers. It would be his first public appearance since the abdication. Since his return.
The next moments passed in a blur as a trumpeter announced his arrival and the glass doors opened. He made himself breathe through the applause, the noise, finally, the quieting. He pulled his glasses from his pocket and looked down to the papers in his hand.
And then he began to speak. Christmas greetings and words of warmth and gratitude toward Geordie and the other leaders who had made his time away possible. Thankfully, the palace’s internal tension of the past weeks had stayed just that—internal.
He gave an update on the situation with Harthingland, his successful meeting with King Nester. Perhaps keeping their countries in a cooperative state would always require Jonah’s humble willingness to reach out and cross borders both literal and figurative. So be it.
Finally, he came to the most important piece of his address. The part he’d added last night after the service at the cathedral. When all his years of struggling to view himself as a leader had finally faded awa
y as God blessed him with a Christmas gift: clarity.
“About a month ago, The Concordia Times called me a king without a vision.” The crowd’s attention became a tense silence. He could feel it, even from up here. “I greatly respect The Times. I believe in the power of a free press. And frankly, I’m grateful for that editorial. Because it woke me up. It filled me with a boundless need to once and for all figure out who I am as a leader, as your king, as a man. Would you like to know what I discovered?”
He looked out over the crowd of people, bundled in heavy coats and with red-tinged faces tipped toward him. Somewhere on the palace lawn, a dog barked. A light snow floated from wispy clouds under a white, winter sun. From the middle of the crowd, a man yelled out. “I’d like to know.”
Jonah grinned as the wind whipped the pages in his hand. He didn’t have to look at his scribbled words to remember this part. It’d embedded itself in his mind and heart. “I discovered that who I am . . . is a reader. A complete and total bookworm.”
One chuckle rang out. Another, followed by a smattering of uncertain laughter.
“I’m serious. I love to read. My father used to say I shouldn’t hide inside books, but I don’t think I do hide. I learn from them. I’m inspired by the great stories of yore. Words on paper matter to me.”
He let his gaze roam the faces of the gathered citizens. “My father also used to say, ‘When the king speaks, the people listen.’ But I think it should be the other way around. ‘When the people speak, the king listens.’ This is what I’m asking of you today. I’d like for you to write to me. I want to hear your opinions, your concerns, your suggestions. Starting on January 1, a new page will go live on the palace website where you may write as long a letter to me as you like. Or if you prefer pen and paper, I will make sure every postal center in the country is stocked with official postage-free envelopes, which you may use to mail your letters.
“My pledge to you is that I will read every single word written to me. Whether it’s hundreds of letters or thousands or hundreds of thousands. It will take time, of course. I may not be able to read every letter immediately. I will, in fact, still have other state business to conduct.”
