By late afternoon, Tom couldn’t wait to gather his supplies and return home to peace and a quiet house. The parade, with all its fancy coaches decorated in ribbons, flowers, and banners, had long since passed. The visitors had begun to disperse to their respective hotels and guesthouses. Tom began taking down his easel, and as he did, he looked at the painting that had begun so cheerfully with the colors of yellow and gold. Now he wanted to add a stark contrast to it…like blue. Life was full of contrast, after all. Bright and dull. Light and dark. Answers and questions.
“So, I hear you were introduced to Annabelle.” Lawrence had returned, appearing fresh and lively as if the day had just begun. Tom, on the other hand, felt just the opposite—weary and confused. “Here’s the money Annabelle promised you. And she said you would be going on an outing soon. Great news, my friend.”
“She mentioned it, but we have not yet arranged anything specific.” He knew his stiff voice didn’t sound confident or jovial, but he couldn’t help how he felt.
Lawrence gave him a strange look. “She’s perfect, isn’t she? Intelligent, poised, artistic in her own way… Do you know she’s also a concert pianist?”
“She is a very pleasant woman, and yes, very beautiful, but I don’t know if…”
“How can you know anything right now? You’ve only just met. Go on a few outings. Get to know each other. I’m sure you will find her enchanting.”
“I believe she will do her best to enchant me.”
Lawrence frowned. “So you’re already intent on putting up a wall? I don’t understand.”
Tom blew out a sigh. “I should have told you this earlier, Lawrence. Someone is coming here to meet me. I was encouraged by a couple to place an ad for a bride in a city paper, and a woman has responded.”
Lawrence stared, his mouth gaping and his eyes wide. “You placed an ad for a bride?”
“Many men have done it—like those settling out West who advertised for wives who wanted to make new lives. And yes, a woman answered my ad. I should be receiving her letter any day now, telling me her travel plans. I already sent the money for her train fare.”
“I see.” Lawrence swiped the painting that Annabelle had purchased. “I wish you had told me about this earlier, Tom. I might have spared Loretta’s cousin embarrassment.”
Tom sensed animosity rising as he looked at his friend. “I should have said something to you. I was thinking about the parade today, and…” He paused. “Look, I don’t know what will happen with this. I only invited her here so we’d have a chance to meet and find out if marriage is suitable for us. It’s a time for us to get to know each other…just as Annabelle suggested the two of us do. There is no commitment.”
“Then if there’s no commitment, you can certainly enjoy Annabelle’s companionship for an outing, can’t you?”
Tom hesitated. “I’m not sure. I did agree to one, but…”
“Good. Glad you did.” Lawrence tucked the painting under his arm and issued a swift farewell.
Tom wiped his hand across his face, sensing more than ever the dark tones of black and blue rather than the gold and yellow he’d painted. He rather felt like he had painted himself into a corner, inviting two women into his life like this. What should I do now? Even then, his conscience answered him: Keep to his commitments and pray that God would show him what to do.
Chapter Four
The following morning, Tom yearned for solitude after all the festivities. The events had wearied him both emotionally and spiritually, and it didn’t help that sleep evaded him. He’d risen from his bed in the middle of the night to study the letter that described Sara Elisabeth McGee of New York City. Then his thoughts drifted to the alluring Miss Annabelle Loving, imagining her gloved hands holding one of his portraits and a coy smile on her face. He thought about that face and considered what shades of paint he would need to create the subtle tones, the rosy hue of her cheeks, the sparkle of green to her eyes. Then his hand tightened around the letter from Sara, who would soon tell him her arrival day. Two women plagued his mind and left him restless.
A knock came on the door with a sound more like thunder to his ears. Who would be calling this early? When he opened the door, Lawrence stood there wearing a broad smile. He waved the morning edition of the White Mountain Echo like a banner before Tom’s eyes. “It’s a sign, I tell you. And you can say nothing against it.”
“Sign?” he repeated. The only sign he was having right now was the beginnings of a massive headache.
“Come and see what I mean, Tom. It’s right here in bold print, for all of Bethlehem to take notice.”
Tom took the paper and scanned the front page. There were drawings of the decorated coaches on display in the parade along with various descriptions. And then a caption met his stunned gaze: AREA PAINTER CAPTURES A BUYER AND A HEART. The article went on to describe his work and how the wealthy socialite Annabelle Loving had enjoyed buying a painting. “What is this?”
“It’s your answer,” Lawrence said with a joyful lilt to his voice.
“Who would write such a thing?” Tom supposed it would have been easy for a reporter to view them from a side street and take note of their conversation. Maybe Annabelle had been coaxed into giving a tasty tidbit for printing in the newspaper. Or maybe she sought out the reporter herself, looking for publicity.
“See how it advertises your work, by showing that you’ve captured the admiration of a fine lady visiting the area? My dear man, you will have customers knocking down your door for the next week. You’d better arrange your paintings and be ready to make a good deal of money. Fame and fortune is calling.”
If fame and fortune provided the peace he sought, Tom would gladly sell every painting he had. But he saw no such thing coming from an article like this. Only further questions and confusion.
Lawrence made his way to the couch in the parlor, where he promptly sat down. He took off his hat and waved it in the air. “If I were you, I’d tell this other woman, the one who answered your ad, that you’re seeing someone else right now. Wire a telegram at once. She can come another time—although I doubt there will be a need.”
“Lawrence, we’ve already discussed this….”
“And you’re a fool, Tom. Here you have the attention of a fine and attractive woman. You have the admiration of all of Bethlehem for your work. Now you want to close the door on this opportunity.”
“I only want to know what’s best for my future and the future of whoever it is I marry. I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“Your future…,” he mocked with a laugh.
“Yes, my future. Even Mr. Astor said it was a necessary step in my life. And he knows business.”
“Marriage is business?”
“Marriage is a partnership, isn’t it? Helping one another. Loretta helps you in your business….”
Lawrence opened his mouth to respond, paused, and then asked instead, “Why are you so compelled to accept whichever woman answers some newspaper ad?”
“I’m not accepting her. I’m meeting her. I have no reason not to see this opportunity through. Besides, I only just met Annabelle. She may find she had no interest in me or I in her. How then can I close the door on this?”
Lawrence began to fidget with his hat, and the man’s face reddened.
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Lawrence. I’m sure Miss Loving is a fine woman. But I know nothing about her. We only just met.”
“So you intend to woo two women at the same time.”
Now Tom began feeling warm. “I did agree to be Miss Loving’s escort. I did not agree to become her match for life. And until God seeds the word in my heart, I will continue seeking and asking. But I can’t go back on my word to this woman from New York. She is expecting to come, and I won’t disappoint her.”
“But you can’t lead Annabelle on either, you know. That would disappoint her, too.”
“I…” Tom paused. “Would you care for some tea and biscuits?” he asked, hop
ing to change the subject. Anything to rid him of this perplexing discussion.
Lawrence relaxed and put his hat beside him on the sofa and agreed. At least Tom had managed to douse the flame of questioning. But how many in this circle would he either end up disappointing or making glad? Lawrence. Annabelle. Sara McGee. Himself. God, why can’t things be simple? I was a simple artist painting simple scenery. Now my heart’s canvas is smeared with confusion. Reds. Blacks. Or rather black and blue, like welts on the flesh. How he had the urge to paint what was in his heart right now. He would submit to that urge as soon as he fed Lawrence and bid him good day. This would not be a painting that depicted the natural landscape either, but a painting of his soul at this moment in time.
“You haven’t answered my question about seeing two women at once,” Lawrence continued when Tom arrived with tea accompanied by a plate of biscuits with honey and jam in small glass bowls.
“Lawrence, let me see where this leads. You should be grateful at least that I have a couple of ladies to consider. Only a short time ago you were mourning my bachelorhood. Perhaps God is showing that this lies in His hands and is not something of our own making.” Tom flavored his tea with milk and sugar. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Not about something this important. I have to be certain.”
“Tom, by the time you make up your mind, it will be too late. And the only thing you will be married to is your dried-out palette.” He stood to his feet. “I’m sorry; I have to fit a customer with a suit. I will leave you the paper, and maybe you will reconsider.”
Tom looked at the cup of tea on the table near where Lawrence had occupied the couch. Marriage was too important to treat so frivolously. But he saw no harm, either, in seeing each woman for who she was and recognizing her heart. Or in following his own heart in the matter, unmoved by the will of his friend.
He drank his tea. Perhaps another impartial voice was needed in this situation, one who could help him in this decision. Someone he trusted and who looked out for his welfare when he was younger. He strode to his desk where the writing implements awaited. In no time he had written a letter pleading for help. If he knew the receiver well, she would have no qualms in giving him her opinion and lending a sisterly hand.
My dear Claire,
I hope this letter finds you well. The summer here in Bethlehem has been busy and, as usual, I missed seeing you at the Coaching Parade again this year. I hope you will soon make plans to visit, as I know how much you enjoy the fall colors.
And with that I make a humble request. Your younger brother seeks an older and wiser sister’s advice concerning marriage. Yes, I have two prospects, if you can believe such a thing possible….
He went on to describe both Annabelle and Sara, though he had little to offer Claire. But surely it was enough to pique her interest. Perhaps she would even jump on the next train when she received the letter. Claire had never lacked for wanting to be involved in his life. And, like Lawrence, she often asked in her letters when he planned to settle down.
Tom sealed the envelope and put it out for the letter carrier. On the street, the workers were busy cleaning up after the weekend of merriment. Many of the guests remained in Bethlehem and would likely stay for the upcoming fall season, having found a place of refuge and quiet beauty here in the town nestled beside the grandeur of the White Mountains. He decided on a brief walk, allowing the sights of it all to refresh him.
“Why, you’re the painter!” exclaimed a young couple on the street. The gentleman waved the newspaper before him. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. I specialize in landscapes.”
In a matter of moments, he had a buyer who was eager to come by the house later in the afternoon to see his paintings. Perhaps there was something to be said after all in having an article written about him and Annabelle Loving.
Mr. Davis, another friend, now came up. “How wonderful to see that you may have found yourself a lady friend, Tom. Both the wife and I were worried about you. Say hello to her for me.”
Tom bowed slightly and thanked him. A few minutes later he received yet another cheerful greeting and exclamation over the article. Overnight he’d become famous all over Bethlehem, and it wasn’t even because of his paintings, which he’d thought might one day make him famous. Rather, it was because of an article about a woman admiring his work.
Tom suddenly encountered the letter carrier, who greeted him. “Mr. Haskins, I was just on my way to your home. I have a letter for you right here.”
“Well, I’ll take it now, but stop by my house anyway. I have a letter going to my sister.” The carrier nodded, and Tom continued down the street only to stop short when he saw the return address. New York City.
He barely heard the words of Mr. Cousins, the butcher, hailing him from the doorway of his shop and telling him how he had struck gold by discovering such a fine lady. Tom only stared at the envelope. He nearly ripped it open in the middle of the boardwalk but thought better of it. Instead, he tucked it away in his pocket to read in the solitude of his home. He didn’t wish for any other curiosity seekers. This was for his eyes to read and for God’s spirit to guide him.
Tom arrived home and settled into a wicker chair on the front porch. His fingers trembled as he undid the envelope. It was as if he were already a nervous groom. He looked over the elegant handwriting, the same handwriting as the previous letter. He checked the signature. It was signed “Mrs. Whitaker.”
Who is Mrs. Whitaker? He settled himself to read the contents.
Dear Mr. Haskins,
I pray this letter finds you well. I am writing this on behalf of my dear friend, Sara McGee, who is looking forward to meeting you. She thanks you for the generous money and the train fare, which has been received. She asked me to tell you that she plans to arrive on Monday, October 6.
I know you will be pleased to have Sara as your wife. I’ve known her since she was little, and I can say many times what a sweet and caring young woman she is. Just the other day she found a lost child on the street and took him in until his mother was found. This caring heart will surely endear you to her. Sara has been through many difficulties, but it has not dulled her spirit or her love for the Lord. She is beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, and you will be pleased indeed that you have chosen her as your bride.
The note fluttered with the breeze until a sudden burst of wind tore it from Tom’s grasp. Startled, he flew out of the chair and nearly tumbled down the porch steps in his effort to retrieve it. He had until the sixth of October to get ready for her—just a few short weeks. His heart began to pound, glad he had time to put his home in order to prepare for her arrival. He was glad, too, that he’d sent the letter to Claire in the hopes she might offer her assistance. There was time for her to come, as well, and help set up house for his new guest.
Rereading the letter, he now couldn’t wait to meet Sara McGee in person. What a kind and devoted friend this Mrs. Whitaker was to speak on Sara’s behalf and vouch for her character. Sara’s love of life and others impressed him. And she loved the Lord like he did. Each sentence moved him, and he wondered if this could be the answer to his longing. The words described a woman that might indeed capture his heart, if she hadn’t already. All good and godly signs that sent his hope soaring.
Tom entered his home, no longer feeling like a painting of confusion in swirls of black, blue, or red. He sensed the colors of joy instead. Sunshine yellow. Aquamarine. Gold. The hues of a coming autumn when Sara would arrive at the Bethlehem depot. And he would be there with plenty of room in his heart to receive her.
Tom began mixing paints for his next project—a simple one, really. He sat on the front porch with the easel in place, ready to capture Main Street of Bethlehem on the verge of autumn. Next year he vowed to paint the Coaching Parade and some of the splendid coaches on display. He mixed shades of light orange and yellow to create the effect of a few trees already in autumn array. He was sure to sell this work as soon as it was
completed. In recent days he found his stock rapidly depleted since the news article had come out in the White Mountain Echo. He liked the business, but it also made him nervous to have only a few paintings in stock. He wanted to be ready for any eager buyer who crossed his path.
He picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint, creating careful and precise splotches to resemble leaves on the white canvas.
“And what are you painting today?” asked a high feminine voice.
The brush trembled, creating a sudden smear of color. Not again! He remembered the episode at Franconia Notch with the injured couple. He looked around the canvas to see a delicate face staring into his, only darkened by the shadow of a parasol.
“Miss Loving,” he blurted, looking to find a resting place for his dripping brush. “What a surprise.”
A smile encompassed her face. She wore a dress of a woven checked pattern in moss green that matched her eyes, with puffed sleeves, a tightly fitting bodice, and a gathered skirt. Her hand held a large wicker basket. “I hope you didn’t forget your invitation, Mr. Haskins. You promised to show me the sights of your quaint town here. I thought a picnic would be nice, too.” She gestured to the basket.
Tom looked at Annabelle, the basket, and then his painting.
“But I suppose you’re too busy for a visit.”
“No, no, not at all.” He had promised to be her escort, after all, even if painting beckoned to him at this moment. He must remain a man of his word. Besides, Annabelle had taken the time to prepare a lunch and primp for the outing. He could do no less than go. In fact, he felt honored that she thought enough of him to prepare a picnic.
“If you would first allow me to pack this up…” He carried the easel inside the house, nearly tripping over his feet.
Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 4
