Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “No, not really. I know she has blue eyes and brown hair.” Ladies bedecked in all their finery stood on the platform, many of them looking as if they were expecting someone. Some wore magnificent hats. Others were inquiring about carriage rides to the nearby hotels. A few were clad in less-than-appealing frocks, looking ready to beg coins from passengers or ask for work.

  Lawrence laughed long and loud. “What a fine selection, Tom. Maybe you should be introducing yourself to each of them.” Suddenly, Lawrence walked up to a woman standing nearby. She wore a large hat over her brown hair; her fine dress was covered by a decorated coat. “Begging your pardon, miss, but are you by chance Miss Sara McGee? The one who answered an ad for a bride in a New York paper?”

  “I most certainly am not!” She whirled from him.

  Tom contained a chuckle, mixed with uneasiness. How would he find Sara among this flock of peacocks? He’d told her how to find him, but she’d said nothing about what she would be wearing or anything else.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a young woman standing to one side. She was dressed in a shabby coat with holes, buttoned by a single button in front, and stared at him with large blue eyes. Loose strands of stringy brown hair framed the thin, pale face. Her hand clutched a carpetbag. She looked lost or maybe was just looking for money. His feet shifted toward her.

  “Well, I don’t know what to say, Tom,” Lawrence announced loudly, arriving back from his quest. He tipped his hat and scratched his head. “I asked around, but no one is answering to your lady’s name of Sara. I guess she decided not to come after all. Probably for the better.”

  The beggar girl took a few steps forward at this point. She held the carpetbag in front of her like a shield. When Tom caught her eye again, she looked away.

  “I’ll still wait to make certain. What time does the next train arrive from New York?”

  “Not till this evening.” Lawrence whirled. “Why are you staring at us, young girl? Are you looking for money?”

  “I—I,” she began, before turning and shuffling away.

  Lawrence shook his head, laughing. “I suppose I should humor her and give her a few coins. Can’t be selfish, can I?” He rummaged in his pocket for some coins.

  A strange sensation came over Tom as he watched the girl drift away. It can’t be…can it? Could that possibly be Sara McGee? But how? She was supposed to be a fine woman of the city, nicely dressed. Or was that the portrait he’d created in his own imagination? “Young lady, please wait!” he called out to her.

  “What are you doing, Tom?” Lawrence asked, following him.

  “I think she might be Sara.”

  “What? Impossible. That homely thing—it can’t be!”

  “Stop,” he said to his friend. “Don’t say that.”

  “You must stop with this nonsense, Tom!”

  Tom ignored him. Suddenly the girl turned, a look of horror overtaking her face. “Please wait!” Tom called again, his steps quickening. “I need to ask you something.”

  “What’s the matter?” The question came from one of two men nearby whom Tom knew from Bethlehem.

  “I’m trying to talk to that girl in the worn coat,” Tom said breathlessly. “I think she’s the one who answered my ad.”

  The men stared at each other and burst out laughing. “Were you that desperate, Tom?” said one.

  “As if Bethlehem doesn’t have plenty of fine ladies to choose from,” added another.

  The young woman whirled. She opened her mouth as if to cry out, but then several people stepped in front of her, blocking her from his view. And suddenly she was gone.

  Tom halted. Now there was little doubt in his mind that the young woman was indeed Sara.

  Lawrence was panting by the time he caught up to Tom. “I see she’s gone.”

  “She’s not gone. She’s hiding, I’m sure. And I can’t say I blame her. Look at how everyone treated her.”

  “It’s better this way, my friend. Let her go. She’s not for you anyway. Leave her some money to go back home and be done with it.”

  Tom stared at the gift he still held. Never did he envision that a destitute woman of the streets would answer his ad. In his dreams he saw a fine woman like the Astor family, elegant, beautiful, willing to leave the city to come to his doorstep. A fine woman like Margaret who had answered Edward’s ad.

  Instead, Sara McGee arrived in rags and carrying a dirty carpetbag. What was he to do? He couldn’t send her back. She was in desperate need. If nothing else, he must try to help her and be the Christian man he liked to profess to others, like Lawrence. “I have to find her,” he decided. “I can’t leave her wandering around some strange town. I invited her here to Bethlehem. Her circumstances don’t matter. She deserves the same chance at life as if she were wearing pearls and lace.”

  Lawrence shook his head in disbelief. “Tom, I don’t know what to say. I thought I knew you.”

  “I thought I did, too. But I think I’m about to.” In a way I never thought I would.

  Chapter Seven

  Dear Lord, what should I do? The pain in Sara’s heart was so great, she felt her heart might fall out of her chest to the cold ground below. She sat behind the large tree that occasionally sprinkled her with golden leaves while she sorted out her predicament. She should have realized that coming here was a mistake, especially after seeing the fine ladies and gentlemen on the train and at the depot. Maybe if she had thought to remove her ragged coat and fix her hair, none of this would have happened. Now Mr. Haskins had seen her for who she was—a vagabond of the streets. And she’d been the object of scorn by the man’s beastly friends.

  Sara’s fingers touched the hair that had fallen out of the chignon Mrs. Whitaker had tried to fashion for her. She’d never considered keeping herself presentable on the streets of New York. In the days leading up to her departure, Mrs. Whitaker had become fastidious with her looks, as if she had some premonition of what might happen. Sara now stripped off the offending coat, jamming it into her carpetbag beside her other dress. She looked down at the frock Mrs. Whitaker had given her. Compared to the other women, the dress was out of style, even if it was the finest dress Sara had ever owned. She wanted a new life, yes, but could she find it among people clothed in fine linen? What about other worthier things? Like kindness? Or goodness? Mercy? Love?

  At least the artist of Bethlehem, Mr. Haskins, appeared to reach out to her in a kindly manner, even if she disliked the snobbish friends who accompanied him. He looked nice, too, from what she had seen of him, dressed as he was in pleated pants, a jacket, and a hat. He carried a gaily wrapped gift that sparked her curiosity. When Mrs. Whitaker had read Mr. Haskins’s last letter, it seemed he looked upon the good qualities of a person…those things of worth that existed on the inside. The very things lacking in Mr. Haskins’s friends. If only she could trust him.

  Sara knew she needed to make a decision. A quick check of her small purse showed that she lacked the money for a train fare all the way back to New York. She had enough to take her to the next station but not even enough for Boston. She sat for the longest time, trying to reason out her dilemma, when she heard a voice.

  “Miss? Are you hurt?”

  The question startled her. Sara looked up to find a young couple gazing down at her. They were like so many she had seen at the train depot, finely dressed and no doubt here for a visit. The woman held an open parasol; the man carried a cane with a gold head in the shape of a lion. Sara couldn’t help but stare at it.

  “She must be hurt,” the man said to the woman. He offered Sara his hand. “Let me help you up. Did you hurt your leg?”

  “Remember how I once hurt my foot?” the young woman said. “There are so many rocks about that it’s difficult to walk.”

  “I’m not hurt,” Sara managed to say.

  The man withdrew his hand, leaving Sara on the ground, and the couple stared first at her and then at their surroundings. “Are you hiding from someone?”


  Sara didn’t know what to say as she slowly came to her feet, brushing away the grass and leaves from her skirt. How could she explain that she was avoiding a man who had placed an ad for a bride—because she’d answered it? “Yes,” she finally admitted, knowing she couldn’t lie. “I came by train. I thought I was waiting for a friend, but he wasn’t one after all. I don’t have much money, you see….”

  “How awful!” exclaimed the woman. She nudged the man, who immediately withdrew a purse out of his pocket. “Please, take a few coins.”

  “No, no. I won’t beg.”

  They stared back with wide eyes as if confused by her response. “But you must be in need.”

  “Well, yes. Actually, I was hoping to find some work. Do you know of a place that might need help? Like a maid?”

  “There are many hotels and guesthouses. The finest is the Maplewood Hotel. You should have no trouble finding work. Why don’t you check there?”

  “Thank you.”

  Again the man tried to give her money. Sara finally accepted a few coins. They smiled, pleased, and bid her farewell. She could at least buy some bread with it. Perhaps there existed an abandoned cellar where she could live for the time being. A chill coursed through her, but she refused to put on the paper-thin coat. It did little to shield her from the autumn weather anyway. Instead, she smoothed out her hair with her fingers and vowed to stand straight and with her head erect. She would try to look her best, or at the least, like a woman with a goal in mind. And her goal right now was seeking employment so she could afford the train fare back to New York where she belonged.

  Sara wished she’d asked the couple where this Maplewood Hotel was located. She returned to the depot, hoping to find the answer. Thankfully she saw no sign of Mr. Haskins or his rude friends. The depot appeared empty, as most of the visitors had secured carriages to their destinations. She walked up to the ticket window and asked about the Maplewood.

  “Go down the street here, miss. Make a left on Main and walk about two miles. It’s a huge place on your right. Can’t miss it.” He peered over the tops of his reading spectacles. “I can arrange for a carriage, if you’d like. It’s quite a walk from here.”

  “Oh, I’m used to walking. I come from New York City.”

  “That’s a long ways from here. We get plenty of folk visiting here from the cities. Are you up for a visit to see the fine autumn leaves?”

  “I’m here for a short time.” She hesitated. “Do you, by chance, know a Mr. Thomas Haskins?”

  “Sure I know Tom. No finer painter anywhere. In fact, I saw him at the depot today. He was looking for someone.” The man peered once more over his spectacles. “You wouldn’t, by chance, be the one he was looking for?”

  “I…” Again came the urge to lie, but she refused to submit. “Yes, but it’s better he doesn’t find me. I’m not what he expected, you see.”

  The man laughed. “None of us are, darling. What was he expecting to find?”

  “I’m not sure. Someone in a fine dress, no doubt. A lady of means, not one who has come under hard times. Everyone here is so well-off and sure of themselves.”

  “Well, you look just fine to me and quite sure of yourself.”

  She hesitated. “I only wonder…about him. What kind of man he is.”

  “Aw, Tom’s a fine gent. For him to be looking for a woman, that’s good news. He could use a good wife and not one who puts on airs. The ladies around here come and go too quickly. They’re only here for a spell. So I’m sure it’s a fine thing you’ve come to visit him.”

  Sara felt her cheeks warm. “Well, thank you for your help. But, please, don’t tell Mr. Haskins that I was asking about him.” She didn’t wait for his reply but turned and made her way toward Main Street. It didn’t take long to see that Bethlehem was tiny compared to the giant city of New York. Small, quaint shops stood intermixed with fine hotels and guesthouses. From the middle of Main Street, Sara could already see the end of the town and the vast acreage existing beyond it. But what caught her attention were the mountains surrounding the town—tall, rocky, a few even dusted in powdery white snow. A chill of excitement burst through her. She stopped to take it all in. None of Tom’s descriptions had prepared her for this. It was as if she had stepped off the train into another world.

  Sara continued. Few people were on the boardwalk. The grumbling in her stomach alerted her to the noon hour, when everyone was at home or the hotels enjoying a meal. She should try to find a bakery that sold bread, if such a place existed here. Bethlehem did not have much in the way of shops. After a bit, she located a small bakery tucked away on the street. Gathering her courage, she entered and encountered the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods. Another woman stood at the counter buying her daily bread. She looked at the woman serving the bread, wishing it was Mrs. Whitaker with her friendly smile. Instead the woman observed her with eyes that weren’t unkind…but neither were they friendly.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’d like a roll please.” Sara showed her the coin.

  “One roll? Is that all?”

  “Three would be fine. And I guess a ginger cookie.” Sara knew she shouldn’t buy so much, but the woman’s perturbed expression spurred her to spend more than she should. She enjoyed the fine morsels anyway and continued her journey along the boardwalk, admiring the many hotels and guesthouses. People here certainly had money. The homes were well-maintained and pleasing to the eye. Nothing was in disrepair. No peeling paint or sagging shutters or broken fences. A shame, she thought, that people’s attitudes did not match the mood. Sara tried to quell her emotion with Mama’s words, which warned her about the plant of bitterness taking root. “Once it gets a foothold in your heart, it’s hard to pull up. So never give it a place but seek forgiveness.”

  “Sara?” A gentle voice greeted her at the next corner.

  Sara looked toward the voice and saw the same man from the train depot. His stature reached to the sky. She gazed up at his face that blocked part of the sun, feeling small and insignificant in his presence.

  “Sara?” he said again. “You are Sara McGee, aren’t you?”

  She nodded and wiped her face, hoping she had brushed away the crumbs from her sparse meal.

  “I’m Tom Haskins. I’m the one who placed the ad in the newspaper.” He offered his hand but not the present he held in the other.

  When she did not acknowledge the greeting, he allowed his hand to rest at his side. “I’m very sorry for what happened at the depot today.” He paused when a few people walked by and gave them curious looks.

  At least Tom’s friends were not with him. Still, she didn’t know how to respond.

  “It’s difficult enough coming to a strange place, only to be greeted in such a way,” he continued. “I ask for forgiveness.”

  “It’s all right.” She fumbled with her carpetbag. “I mean, it isn’t all right what some of those men said, especially if they are your friends, sir.”

  “Those who don’t know the Lord say and do foolish things.”

  Sara stepped back. Mrs. Whitaker was right. Tom Haskins was indeed a Christian man, and a devout one at that. With such knowledge, he deserved forgiveness and more. After all, how many times did she need forgiveness for some folly?

  They stood there for an awkward moment. Finally, Tom offered his hand once more, this time inquiring if he might take her carpetbag.

  “It’s not heavy. There isn’t much in it,” she confessed.

  “Is your trunk still at the depot?”

  “I… This is all I brought. It’s all I have in the world.”

  He glanced down the street toward the depot, half expecting her trunk to still be on the platform. He opened his mouth to comment but closed it and took her bag instead.

  “I’m sure you weren’t expecting someone like me,” Sara offered. “I don’t look like everyone else here.”

  “No matter. I’m sure you were expecting someone different to greet you and offer a proper welcom
e to Bethlehem.”

  His swift response caught her off guard. “Well, yes, I suppose I was.” She admired his fine appearance. He wore the same outfit she had seen him in earlier—the tailored trousers and jacket—and his hair was combed smooth. He carried himself with confidence, nodding at people who greeted him along the way. He was well-known here. If only she looked more presentable, walking by his side. They continued in silence until he inquired about her trip.

  “It was fine,” she answered. “Boston reminded me of New York.”

  “You stopped in Boston?”

  “I switched trains there.”

  “Oh yes, of course. I don’t travel much. I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve never been farther than the White Mountains, actually, although my sister has asked me to visit her in Springfield many times.”

  Sara wished their conversation wasn’t so formal. Maybe it wouldn’t be if she didn’t feel so awkward after everything that happened at the depot. “Mr. Haskins, if you could suggest a place to stay, I plan to find work at the Maplewood Hotel or someplace like that. I’ve already seen several hotels here. I’m sure there’s plenty of work.”

  He stopped, turned, and looked her over with a set of dark brown eyes and eyebrows drawn together in concern. “I’m not sure I understand. Why do you need to find work at a hotel?”

  “Well, I know I’m not what the letters painted me to be. As an artist, I’m sure you like realistic portraits.”

  “Actually, I paint landscapes. And, yes, I do like realism. But I’m sure the letters are accurate. You’re from New York, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve obviously lived a hard life. You love children. You work hard.”

  “That is all true.”

  “Then there’s nothing to be concerned about. You don’t need to find another place to live. Besides, my sister Claire would be very disappointed. She’s worked hard all week to make the home presentable. In fact, she traveled here to help me and to serve as a chaperone.”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t know.” Sara fell silent. “Of course, if you’ve gone to so much trouble, I will gladly stay in your home. I didn’t want to be a bother.”