by Dorothy Love
“I don’t care about that. I’ve already got everything I could hope for. There’s only one thing missing.” He drew her close, and her heart kicked inside her chest. She could barely breathe. Here at last was everything she’d ever wanted, right in front of her.
“While I was away I realized I’d loved you from the first day we met,” he said. “But I had nothing to offer you then.”
“Your heart is more than enough.”
“You’ll marry me then?”
“Yes, Griff. I will.”
He clasped her hands, a serious expression in his eyes. “Then there’s something else I need to clear up. About Rosaleen—”
Of course she wondered about the connection between them, but why spoil this moment of perfect happiness? “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me. I won’t begin a marriage with questions and secrets between us.”
“All right.” She drew her shawl tightly about her shoulders and leaned against the rail fence.
“We met in a gaming parlor in New Orleans shortly after the war. She was the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen. Smart as a whip too. She beat me three straight hands of triple draw before her luck ran out and she left the game. When I left that night, she was standing in the street, crying. Told me she had no place to sleep, nothing to eat. Said she was heading over to Madame Rochard’s sporting house to earn a few dollars. I felt sorry for her, a beautiful young girl, down on her luck and desperate enough to—” He shook his head. “I gave her twenty dollars and told her to stay away from cards and forget about working for the madam.”
“Were you . . . did you love her, Griff?” Painful as it was, she had to know.
“For a time. She was beautiful, flirtatious, exotic looking—the qualities that appeal to a young man. Every man in New Orleans who ever met her was smitten. I suppose that was part of the attraction too, that she had chosen me. I was proud to squire her about to the theater and dinners. But—”
“But she didn’t give up cards.”
“No, and she wasn’t exactly a stranger at the madam’s place either.”
Shock and revulsion moved through her. She prayed Rosaleen had no connection to Sophie Robillard Caldwell.
“One morning as I was leaving my hotel, I saw Rosaleen in the company of a man I knew from the poker tables. He was three times her age and richer than Croesus. Turns out they’d known each other for a while and were running their own little moneymaking scheme. Her tears were all an act, a play for sympathy.”
“She wasn’t really desperate for money?”
“Not by a long shot.” He rubbed the small scar on his upper lip. “Like a fool, I tried to convince the old goat to stay away from her and got a punch in the face for my trouble. A month or so later she admitted to her trickery with old Croesus, said he’d left her high and dry, her sister was sick, and she needed a loan. I named an exorbitant interest rate to discourage her, but she called my bluff and signed a promissory note, and I gave her the cash.”
He shook his head and reached up to scratch Majestic’s ear. “Over the years the interest compounded into a considerable sum. Then last spring, funds from my bank in London were delayed and I ran a little short of cash myself. I went to New Orleans to collect what she owed me, but Rosaleen was long gone. So I hired Pinkerton’s to find her.”
“And you found her here, at the Verandah.”
“Yes. In the end I forgave the debt, but I’m finished rescuing that woman from her own bad choices. Rosaleen wouldn’t know the truth if it rose up and bit her. She’s told so many stories, I doubt if she remembers which are true and which aren’t.” He brushed a twig from her shoulder and smiled into her eyes.
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I hope you haven’t changed your mind about me.”
“For trying to help someone you thought was in trouble? Never.” She looped her arm through his. Relief, joy, and gratitude welled up inside her. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Griff kissed her soundly. Carrie wound her arms around him and kissed him back, tears leaking from her eyes.
Griff looked dazed, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Imagine me, of all people, about to become an old married man.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Carrie darling, isn’t life amazing?”
THIRTY-FIVE
Amazing, Carrie decided as she stirred batter for a cake, didn’t begin to describe the turn her life had taken. The two months since Griff’s proposal had passed in a blur.
First she’d taken her blue satin dress to Jeanne Pruitt to have a lace overlay attached and wired Ada Caldwell the news: “Marrying Griff. Need wedding hat.” Then she finalized the sale of the land to Wat Stevens and deeded the rest of the farm to James Henry, under Mary’s trusteeship until he came of age. Giving up her longtime home was bittersweet, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was what Henry would have wanted. The Bell farm, though diminished in size, would go on.
Perhaps it was knowing she would always have a place to live that had softened Mary’s attitude toward Griff. Upon learning of the impending wedding, she insisted on hosting it at the farm, then set about cleaning and polishing with an energy Carrie hadn’t known she possessed. Now the windows in the parlor, draped with freshly washed and ironed curtains, sparkled. The wooden floor gleamed. Joe and Caleb had pounded the rugs till they looked almost new.
Best of all, folks in Hickory Ridge were gradually coming to accept Griff. Perhaps the fact that he bought a piece of land, linking his future with theirs, had changed their minds. Perhaps they finally appreciated his role in effecting Mr. Webster’s return to the school. Last week, even Jasper Pruitt had allowed that maybe Rutledge was all right, despite his past.
Carrie had changed too. Slowly but surely, God had given her the grace she’d prayed for, turning her old feelings of resentment and resignation into gratitude and joy, gradually molding her into the woman he wanted her to be. She would always feel a certain amount of guilt that she and Henry had never patched up their last disagreement. She would always regret that he’d died not knowing how hard she tried to do the right thing. But God’s forgiveness was larger than her own doubts. She could honestly say she was at peace with the world.
A shout drew her attention. Through the window she watched Joe and Caleb playing in the warm May sunshine and smiled at their unbridled enthusiasm. How deeply she loved them now.
A wagon jostled up the road. Carrie set down her mixing bowl and went outside.
“Nate?”
He stopped the wagon and jumped down. “Hello, Carrie.”
She couldn’t help feeling a bit uncomfortable. She had seen him only in passing since their last meeting at the bookshop, and the memory of that encounter still lingered. “What brings you out here?”
“Package came for you on last night’s train. I was at the station to pick up a shipment of books, and I couldn’t help noticing it’s from Ada Caldwell. I figured it might be important.”
“My hat.” She took the package and ran her fingers over it. “And not a moment too soon either. I was beginning to worry that it might not get here in time. Thank you, Nate. It was thoughtful of you to bring it all this way.”
He shrugged. “I was coming this way anyhow. Don’t know if you’ve heard—Wat Stevens has put up the money for a new preacher out at the church.”
Carrie smiled. “I suppose Mrs. Stevens finally wore him down.”
“I reckon so. Anyway, the new reverend will be here a week from Sunday, and I’m cleaning up the church a little bit. It’s been vacant a long while.”
“Too long.” She toyed with the string on her package. “How are you, Nate? How are things at the shop?”
“Mostly sorted out. Your visit that day was a pure blessing to me. It made me realize I can’t keep thinking about the mistakes I made and pining for what might have been.” He smiled down at her. “I just received a copy of Melville’s new book about his trip to the Holy Land. The first volume anywa
y. I’ll set it aside for you if you like.”
“I’d love that.”
A long silence fell between them. Finally, Nate said, “Reckon I ought to get going.”
“Well, thank you again.”
“Good luck to you, Carrie girl. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”
“Oh, Nate, you deserve happiness too. I only wish Rosaleen—”
“Me too.” He climbed onto the wagon and picked up the reins.
“Will I see you tomorrow? You’re invited, you know.”
He hesitated. “I appreciate it, but . . . I don’t think so. I’m pretty busy at the shop. I hope you understand.”
He turned the wagon and drove away. She took the box inside and lifted the lid. Ada’s letter rested on top of the hat.
Dearest Carrie,
Wyatt and I couldn’t be more pleased with your wonderful news. I only wish we could come to Hickory Ridge for the wedding, but I have some exciting news of my own. A new baby is on the way, due in October. Wyatt is beside himself with wanting another son, and though she won’t say so, I think Sophie is glad too.
Thank you for your letter about Rosaleen Dupree. Wyatt and I have decided not to say anything to Sophie until we’re sure. Wyatt has begun discreet inquiries, and we will certainly let you and Griff know if there is any news. In the meantime, I don’t wish this situation to mar the happiness you so richly deserve.
When I remember you as I first knew you back in seventy-one, so bottled up and burdened by grief, so resigned to a life without love, to know now that you have at last found your match reminds me again of God’s infinite wisdom, mercy, and love. Be happy, Carrie dear. Wyatt and I look forward to another visit to Hickory Ridge once our new little Caldwell is safely delivered. Perhaps we’ll visit next year when, who knows, you might be awaiting a child of your own.
Your Ada
Carrie lifted the hat from its paper nest, a typical Ada Wentworth confection of lace, feathers, and ribbon, perfect for a wedding. She tried it on before her mirror, smiling at the memory of the first hat Ada had made for her. Who could have predicted back then that Ada would one day make her wedding hat too?
A feeling of quiet peace stole into her heart. Even amidst sorrow and loss, God had blessed her beyond all imagining. And tomorrow, she would become Griff Rutledge’s wife.
“Carrie? Are you ready?” Mary stuck her head into the room. “Mr. Rutledge is here with the Pattersons. Deborah is beside herself, waiting to see you. And Mr. Rutledge’s brother is here too.”
Carrie smiled. Yesterday evening she and Griff had met Philip’s train, and the three of them had enjoyed dinner at the inn. Though Philip Rutledge lacked his elder brother’s confident charm, Carrie liked him at once.
“Come in,” she told Mary. “Can you help me with these buttons?”
Mary swept in wearing the dark blue lace frock she’d worn for her wedding to Henry. Thanks to Jeanne Pruitt’s skillful remodeling, it fit again, and now Mary looked much as she had before so much travail overtook them. Her fingers worked the tiny buttons on Carrie’s dress. “There. You look like a princess.”
“I feel like one.” Carrie twirled around and picked up her hat. “People say God moves in mysterious ways without really thinking about what that means, but I am proof of the truth of that.” She pinned her hat into place and fluffed out the ribbon. “I never thought that coming back here when my heart really wasn’t in it would lead me to the love of my life.”
Mary’s gaze held Carrie’s. “God has changed us both.”
Two sets of feet thundered along the hallway, then Caleb and Joe burst into the room. Caleb stopped short and stared at his aunt. “Aunt Carrie, is that you? Holy smokes, you’re beautiful.”
Carrie grinned. “Try not to act so surprised.”
Joe looked up at her, his little face scrubbed and shining. “I’m not surprised. I always knew you’re prettier’n a speckled pup.”
Carrie and Mary laughed.
“When are we going to eat that cake?” Joe asked. “I’m so hungry I’m about to faint dead away.”
“It won’t be long now.” Carrie dropped a kiss on his head. “You and Caleb go tell Mr. Rutledge I’ll be right down.”
After they left, Mary took a small package from her pocket and handed it to Carrie. “I want you to have these.”
Carrie unwrapped the ruby earbobs and felt a stab of guilt. Should she have told Mary the truth about their value? But what purpose would it serve to disillusion her?
“I know they aren’t valuable,” Mary said quietly.
“But how—”
“After you brought them back from Mr. Gilman’s, I noticed a small scratch on the clasp of the necklace. I tried buffing it out, and more of the gold leaf came off. That was when I realized they were only imitations.”
“But they’re still important to you.”
“Yes.” Mary waved one hand. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to wear them. But I wanted to give you something, and they’re all I have to give.”
“Of course I want to wear them. They’re beautiful.” Leaning toward the mirror, Carrie fastened them in place and watched them catch the light. “Thank you, Mary. Maybe one day my daughter will wear them.”
Mary nodded toward the door. “You’d better get down there. Don’t keep Mr. Rutledge waiting.”
Carrie descended the staircase. In the parlor Griff stood next to Daniel Patterson, looking up at her with such devotion in his dark eyes that her throat closed up. Deborah, her eyes bright with tears, smiled as Carrie walked toward her groom. Mary followed Carrie down the stairs and stood next to Deborah. Joe and Caleb crowded in next to Philip.
Daniel opened his Bible and motioned to Griff. “Take ahold of her hand, sir.”
Griff smiled and clasped both her hands in his warm grip, sending his strength and his love flowing into her.
“Griffin Rutledge, do you take this woman, Caroline Louise Bell Daly, to be your wedded wife? To love her all the days of your life?”
“You bet I do.” Griff’s eyes never left her face.
The preacher grinned. “Caroline Louise Bell Daly, do you take Griffin Rutledge to be your wedded husband? To love him all the days of your life?”
Carrie nodded. “I do.”
Griff let go of her hands and took a ring from his pocket. “My darling Caroline, this ring has been in my family for generations. I give it to you as a token of my faith and devotion.”
The gold glittered, the sapphire and diamonds sparkled in the spring sunlight streaming through the parlor window. Griff slipped it onto her finger.
The preacher began a prayer, but Carrie’s heart was already full to overflowing with love and praise for the Father who had given her beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning. Who had poured out upon them all the full measure of his grace.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again, heartfelt thanks to my publisher, Allen Arnold, whose passion for story inspires me every time I sit down to write. Thank you to my editor, Natalie Hanemann, for asking the right questions and to Becky Monds and Anne Christian Buchanan for taking such care with my revisions. I appreciate you more than I can say. To Eric Mullet and Katie Bond and the entire marketing and publicity staff, it’s plain old fun working with you on this series. Your creativity, good humor, and energy are unmatched. Thank you.
To my agent, Natasha Kern, and to my posse of wonderful authors who encourage me and make me laugh: Leanna, Sandra, Rosslyn, Cathy, Julie, Tammy, Margaret, and Colleen—love you all.
And as always, love and thanks to my family. I couldn’t do what I do without your love and support.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for visiting Hickory Ridge again. I hope you enjoyed renewing your acquaintance with Ada and Wyatt Caldwell, whose story is told in the first Hickory Ridge novel, Beyond All Measure. And I hope Carrie’s search for true love and abiding grace leaves you inspired and entertained.
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Much of my reader mail comes from people wanting to know which parts of my novels are fact and which are fiction. The town of Hickory Ridge, while firmly rooted in a real location in the southern Appalachians, is the product of my imagination, as are all of my characters. But the economic conditions portrayed in Beauty for Ashes are all too real. The panic of 1873, which was caused in large part by unbridled expansion of the railways, resulted in a prolonged economic depression that was keenly felt across the South.
The disposition of Henry’s body, as insensitive and horrifying as it seems, is a reflection of actual conditions in Chicago toward the end of the nineteenth century. The details regarding Southern blockade runners during the Civil War are true as well.
Some years ago I spent a lot of time in and around Charleston, South Carolina, researching a novel for young readers and fell hopelessly in love with the Carolina low country. Creating the character of Charlestonian Griff Rutledge provided an excuse to revisit all of the things I love about that very special place. I hope that reading this novel has given you a sense of its beauty and the pull it exerts upon everyone who is lucky enough to spend time there.
One of the best things about being an author is receiving mail from readers. I love hearing from you either through my website, www.Dorothylovebooks.com, or by snail mail to Thomas Nelson, P.O. Box 141000, Nashville, TN, 37214, Attention: Author Mail. Or join me and my friends on Facebook for the latest news, announcements, and fun.
You’re cordially invited back to Hickory Ridge next year when Sophie Robillard, the beautiful little orphan you first met in Beyond All Measure, returns to Hickory Ridge as a young woman set upon making a name for herself in the newspaper world, and discovers some surprising secrets about her past.
Until then, may His face shine upon you and give you peace.
Dorothy
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. How does the title of the novel, Beauty for Ashes, relate to Carrie and Griff? To Deborah? To Mary?
