A Persevering Heart

by Lisa Prysock

  “I’m sure I would’ve. I’d love to hear more about her. I’m sorry for your recent loss.” She kept wrapping, looking up at him as he talked, and noticing the look of fondness in his sky blue eyes as he appeared to try to recall memories of his grandmother.

  “Thank you,” Brad replied, “but it’d probably bore you.”

  “No really, I love history. I’m fascinated with stuff like that. I’m always asking my grandmother for stories of how she survived the Great Depression,” Trisha encouraged.

  He cleared his throat and began to share a few more details. “All right, but I don’t know much. I remember Grandma said she was the younger daughter of a Duke from England. Lady Callie Rose Halston, before she became a Fielding. She met my grandfather, Jacob Brody Fielding, visiting New York with her family on a shopping excursion. Everyone called him Jake, but to me, he was always Grandpa. His family spent a few weeks each summer in Manhattan at some posh hotel. Grandma used to say she fell in love with him somewhere between the hat department and the perfume counter at one of those fancy retail stores back in the day.”

  Trisha chuckled. “Such a sweet story. Did she tell you anything else about how they met?” she asked, pausing from wrapping to lean on the counter. She was completely drawn into his story.

  “No, but I know they eventually married and lived here in Atlanta in the Victorian I’m remodeling,” he answered. “They raised their two children there, my Aunt Tamara and my father, Benjamin.”

  “Aw, a boy and a girl. That’s perfect. What did your grandfather do? He must have been quite a catch to capture the heart of your grandmother and bring her to America permanently.”

  He nodded. “Grandpa was an attorney and later became a judge. He also invested in steel and iron. During World War II, he made a fortune because of his investments.”

  “Is that where the necklaces came from?” she inquired, still leaning on the counter. “Gifts from your grandfather?”

  “The ruby one was from my grandfather, but the emerald necklace was from her father, the Duke, as I recall. I never met him, but my understanding is we still have Halston relatives in England.” He wrapped another bowl in tissue paper and placed it in the box.

  “How fascinating! I’d love to see your Victorian sometime. I love old-fashioned houses with turrets and great big front porches,” she commented, returning to the chore of packing. “And I sincerely hope you recover those necklaces. Such a rich family heritage...”

  He nodded, his brows furrowing. “So do I,” he agreed. “I can’t tell you how shocked I was after visiting the bank yesterday to find the safe deposit box empty except for some photographs of the family. It was incredibly disturbing.”

  “So that’s what the key on the chain to the antique watch was for, the safe deposit box?” she asked as more of his story began to make sense.

  “Yes, and it’s odd, whoever stole the watch and borrowed the key, took the risk of returning the items.” He sighed, shaking his head.

  The truth was glaringly clear, so she decided to speak her mind. “I hate to say it, but it seems fairly obvious that only someone who knew about the safe deposit box and the necklaces, perhaps a family member, or a close friend, is behind this.”

  Brad placed the last bowl in the box. “You hit the nail on the head, and that’s exactly why I concluded almost immediately it wasn’t you, and it’s unlikely it was anyone at the B & B. I just have to figure out which of my family members or close friends would do something like this.”

  “Did the bank have any surveillance video?” Trisha asked, hopeful.

  He shook his head again. “Miss Pepper asked that, too. No, for some odd reason, the video surveillance system wasn’t working that day.”

  “Does the bank remember who came in to access the box? I mean, did they check their signature record or ask for identification?” Questions rolled through Trisha’s mind faster than the beat to the song playing on the stereo in the background.

  He nodded. “They only know it was a woman who presented ID allegedly belonging to my sister, Briar. The employee doesn’t remember much about the woman’s appearance other than everything seemed to check out okay or they wouldn’t have allowed her access, but the signature didn’t look like my sister’s handwriting if you ask me.”

  “Did anyone else have access to the safe deposit box?” It certainly seemed like one mystery after another to her.

  “Briar and I are the only ones with a key and the only ones who are authorized to access the box,” he explained. “She certainly had no reason to steal my key. She had one of her own. My grandmother rather favored us, I guess. She left certain things for each family member, but I’m the oldest grandchild, so that’s why most of the estate went to me, and she loved Briar dearly and wanted her to be able to enjoy wearing those necklaces from time to time.”

  She sighed, running a hand through her ponytail, thinking over all of the details he’d shared. “I know this is a dumb question, but have you been able to contact Briar to see if she might have any idea who is behind this?”

  “Of course, I’ve tried, but she hasn’t replied to any of my texts or returned my calls yet. I’m sure she’s just busy.” He moved the box they’d filled with dishes to the kitchen table for her and then asked, “Do you have any pots and pans to pack?”

  “Pots and pans?” She retrieved her sauce pan, another for boiling water, a cookie sheet, and her ten bread pans. “Just these.”

  “That’s all?” he asked, looking surprised. “About ten loaf pans, a cookie sheet, and two sauce pans? You’ve already packed the rest?”

  “No, these are the only pans I have. It’s kind of another story...” She couldn’t help but laugh at her pan situation with him as he chuckled. Then she added, “The only thing I can do is bake banana bread for some reason. One of these days I shall remedy my deficiency, when I have a good enough reason to do so...” Her voice faded away as she figured she wouldn’t need to learn to cook until she had a husband and family. No need to divulge that.

  “And who is this creature?” he asked as her white furry cat jumped up on to the kitchen table to sniff the boxes they’d packed.

  “Oh, that’s Norman.” She saw Brad attempt to pet him. “I wouldn’t...”

  Norman hissed and batted a paw at her visitor’s outstretched hand, scratching him before leaping to a spot beneath the table, and then scampering away.

  “Ouch!” Brad pulled his hand back as he watched Norman escape from the kitchen and dinette area.

  Too late! Norman had nabbed him. “I’m so sorry!” She reached for Brad’s hand and turned it over at once to inspect the damage. “He doesn’t seem to like men. He’s such a grouchy cat, but he doesn’t let anyone pet him except me, until he gets to know you.”

  “I see this.” Brad chuckled.

  “Let me doctor you up. I’ll get a bandage and some peroxide.” She was already walking down the hall toward the medicine cabinet in her bathroom when she heard him respond.

  “Oh, no need, it’s nothing, really,” he called after her, brushing off the incident.

  In a flash, she returned, having retrieved the items needed. Then she pulled him to the kitchen sink while he tried to protest. “Let’s wash this first.”

  “Really, it’s just a little scratch. Hardly noticeable,” he argued as she turned on the faucet and shoved his hand into the streaming water.

  “And a pretty good one, too.” She sighed, raising her voice a little to be sure the cat could hear her. “Norman, you naughty boy!”

  A minute later, she’d washed and patted the scratch dry, applied the peroxide, and then a small bandage. “There, you’ll be as good as new in a day or two.”

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble, but I appreciate it.” Brad observed the white fluffy cat as he leapt onto the sofa and proceeded to curl up in a cute furry ball as if he hadn’t caused a bit of trouble. “I’d best work on my approach with Norman. Take it slow and get to know him first.”<
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  She chuckled. “That usually works.” She wanted to add, it works with women too, but she bit her tongue instead, glad the conversation turned to him confirming Monday, and then he had to get home to the B & B.

  She finished packing up the kitchen after he left, wondering about the handsome man who’d been so kind to her. More than anything, she hoped one day she’d become married to a wonderful man who deeply loved and cherished her. Then she’d have a family, with five children to be exact; though it was doubtful anyone as successful and good looking as Bradley Fielding would fall in love with her.

  Chapter 3

  “By perseverance the snail reached the ark.”—Charles Spurgeon.

  TRISHA PICKED UP THE truck on Monday at four o’clock after Miss Pepper allowed her to leave work early. She had everything packed and ready to go, as much as possible. This time, she wore a pair of her favorite bell bottom jeans, a hot pink t-shirt from her trip to Paris with the Eiffel Tower pictured on it, and a pair of brand new, white, Sketcher tennis shoes. They were the kind with a little bounce in every step and plenty of support. She wore her hair in a fashionable messy bun with a matching hot pink scrunchy to help hold everything in place.

  Climbing up into the truck, she settled into the seat and looked around. First, she needed lip gloss. What if Mr. Good Looking showed up early? She definitely wanted to look her best. Then, she adjusted the mirrors. The seat was bouncy, and she must’ve looked a little silly as she bounced around to get comfortable, testing it out. She grasped the enormous steering wheel to get the feel of it. Finding the lever to slide the seat forward wasn’t too hard.

  Seatbelt on, check. Plenty of gas, check. Where’s the turn signal? Ah ha, there you are. She prayed silently and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. Leaving the truck rental establishment, she promptly turned right, bouncing off the curb she accidentally ran over. Okay, so it was going to take some getting used to.

  Someone behind her immediately laid on the horn. Atlanta drivers could sometimes be unforgiving. She must’ve taken the turn too slowly. Whoever was upset with her driving would have to get over it. She wasn’t going to speed up and get into any other mishaps. They’d simply have to remain patient or find an alternate route.

  All she had to do was drive about five miles to her apartment and then find a way to park in the narrow drive. Or, she could attempt to park out front on the street alongside the curb, except for the fact she had yet to fully master parallel parking. She avoided it like the plague. As she sped along at a comfortable pace using only the neighborhood back streets, she grew more confident and reached over to turn on the radio.

  Music was her thing. She loved it. It kept her calm, happy, and focused. She could sing her heart out to the Lord. She loved that Mr. Fielding was a Christian hip hop artist who’d somehow attracted the mainstream secular radio stations and fans from all walks of life. Wait until he discovered how much she loved music. At least it was something they had in common right off the bat. Finding a Christian radio station, she began to relax a little.

  Stop thinking about this guy! He’ll be moving into his Victorian and then you’ll never see him again. Protect your heart!

  A few minutes later, miraculously, she managed to pull into the narrow driveway beside her apartment. As she brought the truck to a stop, she heard a thud and then the sound of something dragging or being pushed along on the ground. Uh-oh! What was that? Sitting up higher in the seat, she realized she’d wiped out two of the neighbor’s garbage cans, moving them ahead quite a few feet. How had she missed those?

  Ugh! Would she ever learn to drive a moving truck? It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she practiced very often. She had enough trouble driving her bright blue Hundai Elantra without mishaps. She put the truck in park, thankful it was an automatic, and cut the engine. Dropping the keys in her purse, Trisha climbed out of the monstrosity, and walked around it. Then she picked up the trash cans, setting them to rights. There wasn’t any room to put them exactly where they’d been before. Oh well, this would have to do.

  Sighing, she wiped her hands, looking around for any guests parked nearby. She didn’t see Mr. Good Looking’s shiny burgundy pick-up truck, glad Mr. Fielding had yet to arrive and hadn’t seen her minor mishap. If she hurried up and went inside, she might even get a start on bringing a few items downstairs. Plus, she wanted to order that pizza. She already had a case of root beer chilling in the fridge.

  “I THINK THAT’S A WRAP for today, guys.” Bradley, pleased with the last song they’d played, flipped the switch to turn off his keyboard.

  He glanced at his watch, trying to be careful of the time. It was four o’clock; time to head towards Miss Johnston’s apartment to help her move. It took an hour to go almost anywhere in Atlanta with traffic. It’d been a long day installing faucets throughout the house and then band practice. Plus, he had the feeling he was in for a late night. He’d almost asked Harry and Jack to help with moving his friend, but some part of him had decided he wanted to get to know Trisha without anyone else around.

  Harry placed his fancy new glow-in-the-dark drumsticks in the special case they’d arrived in. “Yeah, I promised my wife and daughter I’d be home early to see the progress on the new house. Then it’s Chinese takeout and a movie night.”

  Brad nodded. “Chinese sounds great! Sweet and sour chicken?”

  “Yes, and the eggrolls, too.” Harry Colby, Eternity’s drummer, was building a two-story in a brand new neighborhood around the corner. He had acquired a five acre lot with plenty of room for his daughter to enjoy having a back yard.

  “I hope they’re making good progress,” Bradley added as he placed his violin in its case. He’d only had to use it for a few parts of the last song. Switching from keyboard to violin was no easy thing, but today, he’d made each transition smoothly.

  “The builder seems to be moving right on schedule. We like our apartment for now, but the wife is getting anxious. Every week she picks out something else. Last week it was the paint and carpet. Next week, it’s the fixtures and appliances. Our kitchen table looks like a hardware store right now with all the samples of this and that.”

  “Stainless steel for Prince Harry’s family?” Jack Mitchell, the bass guitarist asked. They all called Harry that since that’s all he’d ever gone by. Something to do with the British Royals or the late singer, Prince. Bradley wasn’t sure, but it suited Harry. Jack added, “I just finished putting all stainless steel appliances in my new condo. They’re nice. I like them.”

  “Yep, nothing but the best, or so Alicia tells me.” Harry shook his head as he walked around from behind his drums, enclosed by protective glass walls. “Then it’s on to finding furniture for our Mandy’s room. Alicia wants her to have a princess bed with a canopy and all white furniture. She’s only four. I don’t even think she’ll remember it.”

  Brad closed the three ring binder containing his copies of their sheet music. “I remember my sisters had white canopy beds for years.”

  “All four of them?” Jack asked as he placed his guitar in its case and then put it on the upright stand beside Brad’s guitar case.

  “Yep, all four of them. I think my dad made the beds out of pine, painted them white, and my mom sewed a canopy for each one. They had to be creative with six kids in the house.” Brad’s sisters had been fun to grow up with, and a pain at other times, but it was his dad who’d been the real challenge.

  “Remind me not to complain about the cost of raising a child around Blake Shelton, here.” Harry began putting on his jacket, preparing to leave.

  “Okay, Prince Harry,” Jack shot back with a chuckle, beating Brad to a proper reply.

  “Have a great weekend guys. See you next week.” Brad waved as his band members headed toward the hall leading to the front foyer. He’d learned to ignore them teasing him by calling him Blake Shelton.

  All in all, practicing in the room his grandmother had always called the music room had been working
out well, at least for now, until their official future music studio was finished. A baby grand piano still graced the area to one side of the fireplace. Eventually, the room he was turning into a music recording studio would be complete, but for now, Granny’s music room worked fine for practices. They weren’t ready to record a new album yet anyhow.

  Most of the house was under renovation, but the music room had remained untouched so far. He wasn’t sure he wanted to change much about it other than new flooring and removing the hideous red, blue, and green striped wallpaper his grandmother had loved so much. It matched the small sofa placed near the window seat with more matching cushions, all of it in the hideous red, blue, and green stripes. He supposed he’d eventually need some interior decorating help to remedy all of it. He was thinking paint and fabric in more soothing—or at least updated—tones. At one time it had probably looked great, but it was outdated, just like the plumbing, the electrical wiring, the HVAC system, the windows and doors, the fixtures, and just about everything else about the house he loved.

  As he turned off the lights and grabbed his cowboy hat, he thought about how blessed he was that his band had willingly relocated with him from Nashville. Harry Colby and Jack Mitchell were his two best friends in the whole world. Other than when they teased him by calling him Blake Shelton—because they said he looked like him—he didn’t have very many problems or disagreements with them. They were loyal, steadfast friends, with the same heart for spreading the gospel as he had.

  Prince Harry took the most hits for all of them. He was the only black hip hop artist among two other white guys, and sometimes fans would remark about the home boy performing hip hop with two white boys. For the most part, Harry took it all in stride. Once people heard their music, saw their videos and dance moves, they were usually immediately hooked and tremendously impressed. They’d never seen a white hip hop artist wearing cowboy regalia from Nashville, but somehow, it worked, and the crowds loved it.