Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “But what about the people?” Sara asked. “Are they nice?”

  “They are people from the cities, mostly. They come for a holiday, just like we did. There are plenty of hotels, and the air is so fresh. Many claim it cures them of their ailments.”

  But the people? Sara wondered again. Instead, the friend talked of the fine hotel she had stayed in, the Sinclair or something like that, and the attentive staff. Sara still didn’t know anything about those who dwelled there. Nothing but the letters written by Mr. Haskins. He had sent one final telegram via the telegraph office, telling her what he looked like so she would recognize him. He was tall with dark hair and no mustache. He would have on a tweed coat and hat. And he would be carrying a gift tied with a blue ribbon.

  The idea of a gift intrigued Sara. What could he be giving her?

  “Most likely it will be your ring,” Mrs. Whitaker had said with a laugh.

  “It can’t be! Not so soon! We don’t even know each other. He couldn’t possibly be ready to propose when I step off the train.”

  Mrs. Whitaker just shrugged, the smile still painted on her face. “You never know. A man like that might very well be eager to settle down. I’ve given him plenty of cause to consider it, after all.”

  But it also gave Sara cause for concern. Would he like the dress from Mrs. Whitaker, even if it were old-fashioned for the time? Would he like her face? Her hair? Mrs. Whitaker spent tireless hours trying to comb the snarls out of her hair and tying it up in thin strips of cloth to form curls. A few curls came forth the following morning but soon fell out, leaving Sara with stringy hair once more. Mrs. Whitaker then tried to force it into a bun, but again it fell out when the breeze took hold of it. Sara felt her hair now, wishing something could be done to make it presentable. But it was too late. Mr. Haskins would have to be satisfied with the way she looked. And what did it matter anyway? He had already stated that the inside of a person mattered much more than appearances.

  Sara listened to the click-clack of the train wheels along the metal track. They were in the countryside now. The vivid colors of autumn greeted her at every turn. Between that and watching fellow passengers walk back and forth to other cars, there was plenty to look at and ponder. Opposite her, a young woman about her age sat engaged with a book. Again Sara wished she knew how to read. It bothered her more than her unruly hair or her meager wardrobe.

  “Did it take you long to learn to read?” she finally asked the girl.

  She looked up. “I’ve been reading since I was seven.”

  “Seven! How can you do such things when you’re so young?”

  “I went to school.”

  Sara had never gone to school. Mama had taught her some, but she was gone most days, working. She’d often claimed that all Sara needed to learn would come from living day by day. Sara did know a little counting by making change for Mrs. Whitaker at the bakery. She knew the words bread, cake, and cookies from the signs posted on the wall.

  “Don’t you know how to read?” the girl asked.

  Sara shook her head. “I didn’t go to school. My mama worked.”

  The girl thought about it and then, to Sara’s surprise, came and sat beside her. She took out a piece of paper and a fountain pen and began drawing letters. “I’ll teach you. I want to be a teacher. That’s why I’m going to Boston. I’m Lydia, by the way.”

  “Sara.” She tried to still her eagerness in having Lydia show her the letters of the alphabet by concentrating on the lesson. “If you sound out the letters, you can put them together to make words. All you need to do is learn the sounds of the letters, and the rest will come.”

  Before the train had pulled into the next station, Sara had mastered the vowels and even some of the consonants. Lydia praised her ability and said she was a quick learner.

  “I hope Mr. Haskins will provide me a tutor,” Sara said.

  “Is he your relative?”

  “Oh, no. I am going to New Hampshire to be his bride.”

  Lydia sat back, startled. “You’re going to be his bride?”

  “I’m answering an ad he put in the paper. I’m on my way to the town of Bethlehem.”

  Lydia stared as if unable to comprehend the idea. “I don’t believe he asked you to be his bride. Most men in the North expect a woman to at least know proper etiquette and reading and writing. He must be very understanding.”

  Sara felt uncomfortable. Mr. Haskins didn’t know all her limitations. Would he be angry with her when he found out?

  “But we are getting a good start here,” Lydia added with a smile.

  When Lydia bid her good-bye at the depot in Boston, a brief sadness gripped Sara’s heart once more. But God was good. He’d sent kind people to help her. And it confirmed His hand on this new path in her life, even if she didn’t know the proper etiquette of a fine Northern lady.

  Once the train left Boston, Sara watched the scenery change as they headed north. Tall pine trees dotted the landscape. Churches with pointed steeples and white framed houses tucked away in small villages met her curious gaze. There were even covered bridges over rivers. She must tell Mrs. Whitaker all about it as soon as she arrived. That is, if Mr. Haskins would help her craft a letter. Or maybe the maid he had in residence would help. Surely he had a maid or another woman at the house. It would not be proper for her to be alone in the home with him until they were married.

  After a few hours, Sara caught sight of something materializing on the horizon. The dark ridge became more defined as the train proceeded. The ridges colored red, gold, and orange grew taller and more rugged. Mountains came into view, one after the other, majestic in appearance. Sara sucked in her breath at the sight. To witness this beauty went beyond description. How blessed she was for the opportunity. She was grateful to Mrs. Whitaker who arranged it all and to Mr. Haskins who placed the ad.

  A whistle sounded, and the train began to slow. Sara clung to her shabby carpetbag.

  “Bethlehem!” the conductor called out in a hearty voice.

  It didn’t dawn on her until she stood to her feet how tired and achy she felt. And hungry, too. The bread Mrs. Whitaker had given her did not last. But she put those things aside to bask in the moment. She was here at last!

  “I hope my carriage is waiting,” she overheard a woman comment. “The last time I came here, there was no carriage to take me to the hotel.”

  “I’m sure there will be,” said another.

  Everyone leaving the train appeared to be clothed in their finest and wearing large hats. Sara looked at the women dressed in fancy frocks overlaid by long wool coats. They all looked alike: well-to-do folk from Boston and elsewhere.

  Sara felt a blast of cold air enter the train as she inched her way toward the exit. She took out her shabby coat. She didn’t know it would be so cold here for October. Once she put the coat on, she immediately felt out of place, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Sara stepped onto the platform. Carriages littered the area. Drivers assisted passengers and their baggage. She looked up and down. The busyness of the depot surprised her. She expected such activity in a city like Boston or New York, but not here in some village in distant New Hampshire. She felt lost in this sea of people calling for assistance and finding their carriages, intermixed with bags and trunks.

  Suddenly her gaze fell on two men in the distance. One held what she thought was a gift, though she couldn’t be certain. She waited for a smile. A word of greeting. A hand extended to welcome her and escort her to a place where she might recover.

  Instead there came an expression of greeting she never expected….

  Chapter Six

  After weeks of anticipation and glancing at the calendar, the day of Sara’s arrival dawned bright and sunny. It was a glorious day indeed to receive the answer to the ad Tom had placed. It seemed so long ago when he took up Edward’s suggestion to place an ad in the newspaper. To Tom, it felt like a year had passed. But in his time of waiting, the communications between him and Sara
had gone well. He’d received several engaging letters from the beautiful and talented woman, so much so that he couldn’t wait to be introduced. He only hoped a woman of the city would like living here in this mountainous region. It would be different for her. He hoped the strangeness wouldn’t prove too much. He would do his best to alleviate her discomfort.

  A few days ago, his sister Claire had arrived from Springfield, Massachusetts. She had received his letter and was all too happy to help prepare for the new arrival. But, as he expected, she also questioned his judgment.

  “I hope you know what you are doing, Tom,” she said, carrying her bag while Tom handled her trunk.

  “That’s why you’re here. To help me figure everything out.”

  The smile Claire gave sealed her willingness. At the house, she pointed out things to him that needed to be done, especially to prepare the room he had reserved for Sara.

  “You can’t expect a fine lady from the city to live in here,” she’d complained, surveying the decorations. “You must buy a new coverlet for the bed and proper bed curtains. A wardrobe for her trousseau would be nice, and she will need a table with a large mirror and cushioned seat.”

  Tom had obliged, making whatever purchases were necessary to turn the guest room into a place suitable for a new bride-to-be.

  “Of course, once you’re married, this room will turn into a guest room again,” Claire added with a knowing gleam in her eye. “And then we will redecorate your room from a horrid place of a bachelor to one more suited as a marriage chamber.”

  For some reason, her comment had made Tom uncomfortable. Perhaps if he didn’t feel so awkward… Of course the woman who was coming was presumably his future bride. But an uncertainty prevailed whether they would end up at the altar. Especially with the memory of Annabelle Loving’s kiss fresh on his mind. And now his friend’s words reverberated in Tom’s thoughts: How can you lead on two women like this?

  Tom adjusted the collar of his shirt and smoothed his hair. He pushed the reservations aside to bask in this new day. He held to great expectations for this meeting. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? If so, then there would be no more questions about two women tugging at his heart. The matter would be settled.

  He heard the rustling of a skirt. Claire passed by in the hall, carrying a huge vase. He peered out to see that she had filled it with asters and goldenrod.

  “A lady must have flowers,” her voice echoed down the hall. “Dear brother, there is so much for you to learn. You’ve been a bachelor for far too long.”

  “And when do you plan on finding a suitor, Claire?” he asked. He saw her glance back, her face turning rosy.

  “Never mind about that.”

  “Ah, so there is someone? Tell me.”

  “I had been seeing the son of a prominent lawyer.” She stepped back to view the vase she’d placed on the bureau and then fiddled with the bouquet, positioning it this way and that. “But he wanted to go further in our relationship. I would rather take my time and not go headlong into things.”

  “That’s why you’re here, too,” Tom volunteered. “I also want to take time to prepare for what lies ahead.”

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do. After all, you’re the one who advertised for a bride. I assume you will marry her and go on with your lives.”

  “It’s not that simple, Claire. I want her to feel comfortable about the arrangement. And I suppose I want to feel comfortable, too. We need to get to know each other and see if this is God’s will. And she comes from the city. She won’t be used to life here and the way things are done. It’ll take some time. That’s why I asked you to come. I’m sure she’ll feel more comfortable with another woman here to help her adjust.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I don’t want you to rush into a wedding ceremony unless you’re certain the choice is correct.” Claire nodded in satisfaction at the bouquet and glanced around. “She should be pleased with what we’ve done in this room. It looks much more suited to a woman of means from the city.”

  Tom couldn’t help but agree. There was something to be said about a woman’s touch when it came to decorating a house. While he tried his best to keep up with it, Claire had done more in a week than he had done in years. The home sparkled from a thorough cleaning. It felt fresh with new sets of curtains, slipcovers for the chairs, and a tablecloth adorning the table. It was a place to call home. Sara couldn’t help but be impressed.

  He looked in the mirror, hoping he appeared as shiny and new as the home. Claire had pressed his shirt. Every hair on his head was in place. His face was freshly shaved. Even his fingernails were clean.

  “You haven’t much time,” Claire reminded him. “The train comes in less than a half hour. Do you have the gift?”

  He picked up the gaily wrapped present: a miniature painting he had done of Bethlehem’s own little mountain, Mount Agassiz. He thought Sara might like it as a reminder of this place, especially if things didn’t go as planned. He chastised himself for doubting this new venture. Perhaps she will cherish it as a token of her new life. Instead of the stone and brick of the city, she would see God’s majestic mountains. She couldn’t help but be refreshed in mind and heart once she saw this grand place.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Claire asked, following him downstairs. “I made pancakes. They are on the stove on a plate.”

  He went to the stove and grabbed a pancake, folded it over, and began eating it. “I’m sorry. Like you said, time is short.”

  “I’ll see you soon.” She gave an encouraging smile, one that lifted his confidence as he headed for the door. While he eagerly anticipated this day, a part of him also dreaded it. What if Sara disliked his looks? What if she thought him too tall? His hair too dark? Or if she didn’t like the birthmark on his cheek or the way his nose turned upward from his German descent? He pushed the thoughts aside. He had painted himself the best he could in his letters. Not that he described things well by the pen. He was a man of the brush, revealing what he saw through his paintings.

  Even with the eagerness of the day, his steps felt unsure. Looking at the gift he carried, Tom wondered if this was the right decision. But he had no choice now. He must go through with it, as he informed Lawrence many weeks ago. He had done all the planning and invited Claire here to help. Despite the unexpected attention of Annabelle Loving, he would proceed and see what unfolded.

  Suddenly, he found Lawrence hovering near the entrance to the train depot. He stopped, wondering what his friend was doing there. His jaw tightened. No doubt Lawrence was interested to meet the competition for his wife’s attractive cousin.

  “This is the day, isn’t it, Tom?” Lawrence announced.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “To lend support in case you don’t want to go through with this.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Come now. I’m sure you’re having doubts. I can see it in your face. If you wish, I will gladly go in your stead and tell this woman that things have changed. If you give me the money, I’ll even buy her train ticket back to New York. Though she might need overnight lodging at a guesthouse.”

  Tom stared and shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Lawrence. I have no reason to send her back. Besides, I’d have no peace in doing something like that, even if she’s not the right one for me.”

  Lawrence’s eyebrows rose. “What’s peace in one’s soul than doing what’s right? And it may well be the right thing to send her back before things are made worse.”

  Tom thought on this. Could things turn for the worse if he allowed her to step off the train and enter his home? Then he thought of Edward and Margaret. Their confidence. Their love. “No. I’m going through with this.”

  Lawrence said no more. Tom knew Lawrence thought him foolish. The things of God did not matter to his friend. Tom had tried at different times to share the gospel with Lawrence, but now was not the time for proselytizing. He had a woman to welcome into his life. A strange tw
itching in his stomach led to a steady ache. The pancake turned to stone inside. His hand rubbed the nagging sensation.

  “Nervous, my friend?”

  He shrugged and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. Even his palms were slippery. He hoped the gift wouldn’t be damaged.

  “So is Claire settled?” Lawrence now asked.

  “Yes, and I’m glad she’s here. She helped ready the house and the room where Sara will be staying. I know nothing about such things.” He inhaled a sharp breath, realizing his words sounded tremulous, like a bridegroom on his wedding day. “Were you nervous when you first met Loretta?”

  “We were friends for a time, if you remember. We both sang in the church choir. But yes, I do recall some nerves afoot when I first asked her to lunch at the café. I was afraid she would say no.”

  Tom wondered if that was his problem. He feared Sara would refuse him, a simple artist of the mountains. He considered his gift. Maybe he should have bought her a fine necklace instead. Or a lace handkerchief. “But she didn’t refuse you.”

  “No. In fact, she asked when we might see each other again.” He chuckled. “I said to myself, a woman as forward as that is the right woman for me. And she’s done well to train me in what I need to do. Finding a good woman is an excellent thing, indeed.”

  “That’s biblical, Lawrence.” Now I just need to know if that good woman is Sara McGee.

  “The train was early today,” Lawrence said suddenly, pointing to the travelers congregating on the platform and walking around the station.

  “Oh, no!” Tom looked at his pocket watch. To his dismay, he realized he was twenty minutes late. How could that have happened?

  “So many tourists are here, ready to enjoy the fall colors.” Lawrence paused and glanced around at the busy scene. “I’m not sure how you’ll find your lady, Tom. Do you have a description?”