Remembered

by Tamera Alexander

  Brennan. I had a feeling things would work out favorably for you.”

  As the man pumped Jack’s hand, Jack eyed him, confused. “There must be some mistake, sir. I’m just stopping by to check on my bid. To see if you’ve heard anything back yet.”

  “Your bid has been accepted, Mr. Brennan. The land is yours.” Clayton stopped abruptly. His mouth fell open. “I thought my secretary sent word to you.”

  “No, sir.” Jack glanced at her vacant desk. “I received a note at the hotel saying you wanted to see me.” Then it hit him. “I haven’t had my interview with the owner yet.”

  A smile crept over Mr. Clayton’s face. “Actually, Mr. Brennan, you have.” He waved Jack into his office. “We need to talk.” Clayton closed the door and sat down behind his desk.

  Jack claimed the chair on the opposite side. “Are you telling me I had my interview with the owner and didn’t know it?”

  “What I’m saying, Mr. Brennan, is that the owner had a conversation with you in recent weeks and has approved your offer.” Clayton leaned forward. “There’s not much more I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

  Jack scoured his memory for conversations he’d had in the past few weeks, trying to pinpoint people he had spoken with who could be the owner of the property. He’d met every vendor in Willow Springs during that time, plus people in town, at church, guests at the hotel. Not to mention people in nearly every mining town in the area. There was no way to narrow it down.

  “Mr. Brennan, I’d encourage you to simply accept your good fortune and move on. Don’t try to piece it together. Put your efforts toward getting that cabin built before winter.”

  Jack let it sink in. He could hardly believe it. After so many years he was finally going to build his own home on his own land, and it would be exactly as he’d dreamed in younger years. Thoughts of Mary and Aaron rose in his memory. Well, not exactly as he’d dreamed.

  He stood and stretched out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton.

  When would you like the money?”

  “No time like the present, Mr. Brennan. As soon as you return, we can sign the papers and make if official.”

  Jack smiled, already at the door. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

  ————

  That evening, Jack took the hotel stairs by twos up to the third floor. He reached the landing, heart pounding, and headed toward Véronique’s door. Everything was right with the world. He’d signed the contract with Mr. Clayton and paid the money. The land was his. He’d visited the mercantile earlier that afternoon and ordered the tools he needed to get started on his cabin. He’d start cutting trees and preparing the logs as soon as possible.

  And he already had a neighbor to help him. As Jack had suspected that day while at the Jennings’s home, their land shared a property line with his. Once Larson Jennings learned that Jack had put a bid down, he had offered to help him build. Jack couldn’t think of better neighbors.

  He also couldn’t stop thinking of Véronique, and couldn’t wait to tell her about the land.

  Throughout the day his thoughts had returned to her. He hoped her visit with Miss Maudie went well. When she’d told him she was headed out there, he’d sensed she was nervous about it. But he knew both of those women and was certain they would get along grandly, as his grandmother used to say.

  He knocked on her door. And knocked again.

  A shuffling noise sounded from within, and the door slowly opened. “I just stopped by to—” He stepped closer. “Vernie, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and started crying. Or crying again, from the looks of things. “J’ai trouvé une lettre.” The words tumbled out. “C’est de ma maman. Elle l’a écrit avant qu’elle est morte et—”

  “Slow down, honey.” He cradled the side of her face and wiped her tears. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry.”

  Véronique took a deep breath and let it out. “I found a letter . . . from my maman. She wrote it before she died.” She shuddered as her eyes slipped closed. “It wasn’t my papa, Jack. It was her,” she whispered. “It was her decision. Not his.”

  Emotion tightened Jack’s throat as the possibility of what she was saying took hold. He pulled her to him. She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed close. The dampness of her tears soaked through his shirt.

  He kissed the crown of her head and smoothed her hair. “What does the letter say?”

  She walked to the bed and returned with the letter in her hand.

  Jack took it from her, then smiled softly. “Vernie, I can’t read this. Are you able to read it to me?”

  She looked at the letter, then at him. “Oui. Do you have time?”

  Jack stepped close and tipped her chin. He kissed her forehead, aware of how she moved toward him. “I have as long as you’d like, Vernie.”

  She sat down on the bed and indicated for him to take the chair by the desk. Rethinking the situation, he walked back to the bedroom door and drew it fully open, then claimed the chair beside her.

  She massaged her forehead and briefly squinted. “I may need to stop, on occasion.”

  He covered her hand, wishing he could do or say something to take away her pain. “Take your time.”

  “‘My dearest Véronique, I have always lacked courage, and I fear that even now I fail to possess the quality of strength to speak these words to you before—” ’ Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “‘Before I depart. If it lends the least comfort, and if it aids you in finding mercy to forgive me, please know that what I did—” ’ Vernie pressed her lips together. “‘I did with the conviction that it was best for you, however misplaced my intentions.

  “‘Your father is a good man, and if one weakness were to be assigned to him, it would be in his believing that I possessed a strength I never did.” ’

  Jack watched her face as she read. From what she’d told him about her mother, he could picture a woman, an older version of the one before him, sitting at an ornate desk, penning this letter.

  “‘When I was by your father’s side, I was the woman I always wanted to be. Not the woman I truly am.” ’ Véronique paused. “‘Your father and I dreamed of having a different life, far away from Paris and the conflicts here, in a place where greater opportunity would abound for our family, and for you. Your father paved the way for that dream, and my deepest regret will always be not taking you and leaving with him when he left.

  “‘But I convinced him that it would be best if he went ahead and prepared a place for us, and then we would join him. Looking back on that decision now . . . and on myself with the clarity of passing years, I realize it was fear that bartered that negotiation. Fear of uncertainty, fear of taking a step into the unknown when what I had here was firm and safe and familiar. Which leads me to the purpose of this letter.” ’

  Véronique’s eyes skimmed across the page, and her tears renewed. Jack bowed his head and prayed for her, for her mother, though she was gone, and for her father—wherever he was. Jack hadn’t realized it until then, but as his feelings for Véronique had deepened, so had his resentment toward Pierre Gustave Girard.

  Now he felt a kinship with the man—they’d both lost a wife and child.

  The stationery crinkled in her hand. “‘Lord Marchand is acting on my wishes, and I have invoked his unwavering integrity to see to your safety and well-being, and to the arrangements for your journey to the Americas. Even now fear grips me as I think of sending you down a path I lacked the fortitude and courage to take. But even more, I fear what you will think of me when you discover the truth.” ’ The last word came out in a rough whisper, and Jack sensed Véronique’s anger. And her mother’s regret.

  “‘Your father did send for us, my darling, many years ago. In my response to him I—” ’ Véronique read on silently, shaking her head, and then continued. “‘I planted a thought that I knew his loneliness would nurture. I told him that while I loved him still, I had moved on with my life, for your sake—for both our s
akes—and that we had found a home, and a solace, with Lord Marchand.” ’

  After a long moment, she continued. “‘Know that I will be with you on that ship. I will be with you as you travel. And if I am able, and if God is willing, you will feel my continued love and presence.” ’

  She lowered the page. “I have felt it, Jack. In this very room.”

  He listened as she told him about the scent of white roses that had blanketed the room the morning he’d picked her up at the hotel three weeks ago. He was sorry he’d interrupted that moment, but noted that her attention had returned to the letter, so he saved his apology for later.

  “‘It strikes me as odd when I think of it now, but this time I am the one leaving first to prepare a home for us. I’ll be waiting for you, Véronique. I’ll be waiting for you both.” ’ She lowered her hand to her lap, looking spent and defeated. “And she signs the letter as my father signed all of his, “‘My deepest love always, until we are joined again.” ’

  What could he say in light of this? Jack gently slipped the letter from her hand and stared at the words. Gradually he looked back at her. “Is there any question in your mind that she loved you?”

  A familiar glint of rebuttal rose in her eyes.

  “Just focus on that question, if you can, Véronique. And nothing else. Do you believe your mother loved you?”

  For the longest time she stared at him. Then she slowly nodded. “Oui, of that I am certain. But I am also certain of this . . . what she did was wrong. I would never keep my child from her loving father. Not even if I had to cross a thousand oceans.”

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - SEVEN

  I HAVE GOOD NEWS, Mademoiselle Girard.” Dr. Hadley leaned forward in his chair, holding up a piece of stationery in his hand.

  “At least I hope it is good news.”

  Véronique rose from her seat opposite the physician’s desk. “The surgeon in Boston has responded positively to Lilly’s case?”

  “He has agreed to perform the surgery on Lilly, yes, mademoiselle. But I would not necessarily call his response ‘positive.” ’ Gesturing, he invited her to be seated again. “I visited with the Carlsons last evening, and while I was there I told them—as we agreed—of a person who desires to speak with them about the procedure. I told them nothing more.”

  Véronique nodded. “Oui, thank you. This is welcome news, Doctor. I appreciate your coordination of these efforts and am aware of your depth of feeling for this family.”

  “You are most welcome, ma’am, but I did nothing that I wouldn’t do for any patient who placed himself under my care.” His expression grew apprehensive. “I’ve practiced medicine here in Willow Springs for nearly thirty years, and in the territory for much longer. I’ve healed many, and I’ve watched many go unhealed” —he looked away briefly—“despite my best efforts.”

  Watching him speak, Véronique thought of Miss Maudie. Several times on her visits to Casaroja in recent days, she’d overheard Miss Maudie saying that Doc Hadley’s prescribed bed rest was “just for spite.” Véronique realized Miss Maudie had been jesting and was convinced that any action taken by the man before her on behalf of a patient was for the person’s betterment.

  Thankfully the doctor would be accompanying her when she met with the Carlsons later that evening. She wished Jack could be there too, but he’d left that morning on supply runs to mining towns farther away. They’d visited four new towns in the past week and a half, and since discovering her mother’s letter, Véronique’s earnestness to find her father had deepened—just as her hope was fading that she ever would.

  “Dr. Hadley, I am certain you have served this community well. The people of Willow Springs should be grateful your abilities are available to them, as I know the Carlsons are.”

  His jaw tensed, and for an instant, Véronique thought she had spoken out of turn.

  His eyes misted. “It is I who am grateful to the people of this town, Mademoiselle Girard. They have trusted me to deliver their children, and their children’s children. I’ve doctored their ailments and have struggled, oftentimes in vain, to keep death at bay. While doing that, these people have taught me about life. I’ve seen the hand of God in their lives, many times. And I’ve discovered that He often moves in ways I didn’t anticipate.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I have always been honest with the people in my care, no matter the prognosis. And after much prayer on the matter, while I consider your offer most generous, ma’am, I still don’t believe it’s in Lilly’s best interest to undergo this surgery.”

  Véronique wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. But the resoluteness in his eyes told her that she had. He had expressed concern in their initial meeting, but surely not now—after the chirurgien had approved the procédure. “You would prefer to watch Lilly lose the ability to walk? To end up a cripple?”

  “I would prefer to see her walk the path that God has chosen for her life, Mademoiselle Girard. Whatever that is. Playing the role of rescuer can be thrilling, and believe me, I’ve attempted that once or twice in my life.” A gentle expression softened the frank remark. “However, I’ve discovered that rescue, the way we sometimes think of it, is not always part of God’s plan.”

  Véronique stood, suddenly feeling judged and yet not knowing why. “One thing I must know before we meet with Pastor and Mrs. Carlson. . . .Will you counsel them against Lilly’s having the surgery?”

  “I will lay out the facts the surgeon has presented. I believe that, as their doctor, it is my duty. But to counsel them one way or the other . . .” He shook his head. “They will seek God’s wisdom on that, Miss Girard. As well they should.”

  Sitting in the Carlsons’ kitchen that evening, Véronique felt strangely at odds within herself, and in her purpose in coming. She’d seen Lilly at the hotel as she’d left earlier, and when she’d arrived had heard Hannah Carlson encouraging Bobby to play with a friend down the street. Perhaps it was the clandestine feel of the gathering that had her nerves unsettled.

  As Dr. Hadley began the conversation, her mind kept returning to something he’d said that morning in his office. “And after much prayer on the matter . . .” But she’d given the matter a great deal of prayer as well. She’d prayed for Lilly’s healing. She’d prayed for the chirurgien to say yes. She’d even prayed for Dr. Hadley’s involvement in the correspondence. So why this niggling sense of having taken a false step?

  She watched Patrick and Hannah’s faces as Dr. Hadley laid forth her proposition to cover the costs of the chirurgie. Hannah’s expression mirrored her surprise; her eyes welled up with tears. The pastor seemed to be battling his own emotions as well.

  Patrick took hold of his wife’s hand. “Mademoiselle Girard, your generosity is . . . overwhelming. On behalf of both of us, and Lilly, I extend our appreciation for your kindness. With the cost of the surgery, Hannah and I had given up on having a choice to make. We just figured God had made the choice for us.”

  “And we were working on coming to peace with it,” Hannah added quietly.

  Véronique inwardly flinched at Hannah’s comment. “You are most welcome, both of you. I am pleased to be able to extend the offer.”

  Patrick nestled Hannah’s hand between his. “Understanding what’s at stake, Miss Girard, we’ll need some time to discuss the situation with Lilly, and to consider what will be best for her.”

  “Oui, that is to be expected, of course.”

  Hannah reached over and gently squeezed Véronique’s arm. “Your friendship to our daughter has been a gift in itself, Véronique. And now this . . .” She shook her head. “It’s beyond belief. For the past few months Lilly has struggled, not only physically but with growing up as well, as I know she’s confided in you. Children can be cruel. They don’t mean to be, but their tendency to want to laugh can sometimes take a harsh turn.”

  Véronique recalled the day she saw the boys and girls making fun of Lilly behind her back. “Oui, it can be most painful. Both to Lilly, and to those who lov
e her.”

  Hannah nodded, her tears renewing.

  Dr. Hadley stood and reached for his hat. “The surgeon in Boston can perform the surgery on Lilly in October, but he needs your answer no later than the first week of July so preparations can be started. That’s three weeks from now. Will that give you enough time?”

  Patrick nodded. “Certainly.”

  “I’m not sure if you’ve had time to read through the materials I left with you last night.” Dr. Hadley gestured to a large envelope on the table. “It outlines what steps will be done—during the surgery and afterward, during the recuperation. It states in very clear terms what to expect, and what the risks are. If you have any questions about the contents or what we’ve discussed, you know you can call on me anytime.”

  They said their good-byes, and Véronique was nearly back to her hotel room when the source of her concern became clear. Not once had she considered that it might not be within God’s plan to heal Lilly.

  Even now, with the chirurgien having agreed to perform the procédure and with the money available, she couldn’t fathom that this orchestration of events wasn’t part of God’s plan. Everything had come together too perfectly.

  Walking up the stairs to her room, she realized why that possibility bothered her so much. And the realization was bittersweet. If God would allow these events to come together, enabling Lilly to have the chirurgie, and yet it still not be His desire—what did that mean for her own situation?

  Would God bring her halfway around the world on a search for someone He knew she would never find—only to lead her to someone she would never have found otherwise?

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - EIGHT

  THAT CANTANKEROUS MRS. HOCHSTETLER!” Véronique glared at the note left for her at the hotel’s front desk. “Does the woman not believe that I will pay her?” The mercantile owner’s note communicated nothing about whether her paints had arrived. Only that Véronique owed the remaining balance of her bill.