Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “Why not? You saw what she said. She already has her sights set on Mr. Haskins. And maybe he does on her, too.”

  “Tom has no interest in her. But you must try to at least be polite, even if you aren’t fond of what you’re hearing. You’re new here. It’s best to try to make friends, not enemies.”

  Sara turned to watch Annabelle walk off, her feminine form swaying in such a manner as to call all attention to herself. “Look at that. Who can’t help looking at her?”

  “You don’t know my brother, then. I hope you will soon.”

  Sara hoped she would, too, but that hope seemed to dim the longer she stayed here. She feared it might one day vanish altogether.

  Chapter Ten

  Tom trotted along the country road on his horse, Ginger, trying to enjoy this pleasant day. But instead of allowing the autumn breezes to refresh him and the vision of a new painting to fill his mind, he felt instead a reprimand in his spirit. It was as if Mother were alive, standing above him and wagging her finger, telling him how impolite he had been to the family guest. He recalled one day in particular from his youth, when a hoity-toity acquaintance of Father’s had come to stay at the house. The man was pretending to be a friend because he knew Tom’s father had money and this was all a scheme to steal it. When Tom confronted the man with his deception, Mother immediately took him into another room for punishment.

  “You are never to address an elder so impudently, Thomas Edward!”

  “Even if he plans to steal from Father? I saw it in his eyes.”

  Her features turned beet red. “Even so, we are God-fearing people, and we will do what we are asked. And it’s God who will watch over our affairs.”

  Tom wondered what brought that event to mind. Surely Sara wasn’t here to take advantage of them—to escape her life of poverty in New York for this fine life of a good home, plenty of food, and now a new dress and shoes to wear. He might have thought so were it not for the first day when she ran away and then claimed she would return to New York as soon as she had the money. None of this lent itself to one looking to take advantage of the situation, but rather someone trying to find her way in life. And he was still determined to do everything he could to help her, just as Mother would have wanted. If only he could keep his feelings out of the fray.

  Soon it would be one month since Sara’s arrival. Her appearance and manners were much improved, thanks to Claire’s careful tutelage. She now made a fine loaf of bread, helped Claire with household duties, and even displayed table manners that would rival anyone at the Maplewood dining room. But in the back of his mind lurked the final goal of all this: a marriage contract. Wasn’t that the ad’s intent—for him to marry the one who answered it? But so far nothing seemed to point to that conclusion. Sara was young. Immature. Needy. Claire adored her like a sister. And in his eyes, having Sara around was like having another sister. They were a family, in many respects.

  Tom continued along the road, glad he made the trip to Littleton yesterday to purchase paints needed for today’s work. The day had turned blustery with a hint of winter weather quickly approaching. Soon they would taste the first snowflakes, and once that happened here in the mountains, winter was here to stay. Precious little time of fair weather was left in which to paint. He’d felt the urgency in his spirit recently and thus had made the decision to make the trip to Mount Agassiz today.

  Tom patted the saddlebag that bounced on Ginger’s rump. He remembered Sara’s sadness over the fact he’d sold the painting he was supposed to present to her that day at the depot. He decided to at least make some amends, as a gentleman should, and create another work for her. He would paint the view from the summit of Mount Agassiz, overlooking the town of Bethlehem to the mountains beyond. And he would make a duplicate of the work for Mr. Astor and have it ready when next he visited.

  Before heading out that morning, Tom had collected some brushes and a small canvas. In the other room he heard Sara’s and Claire’s voices. They were engaged in a sewing lesson. He nearly looked in on them but decided he didn’t want to interrupt. That is, until Sara suddenly bounded out of the room and nearly collided with him in the hall.

  “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Haskins.”

  “Miss McGee.” He kept his gaze averted, though he did admire the lime-colored dress she wore. It appeared soft in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The color reminded him of spring. “I was just gathering some of my supplies.”

  “You’re going to paint?”

  “Yes, on Mount Agassiz.” He glanced at her and saw her face brighten.

  “I would love to go to the summit one day. I remember you talked about the tower there. But Claire plans to show me how to hem a shirt correctly so the stitches don’t come out.”

  “I’m sure we will go sometime,” he said, sidestepping his way to the front door. “Good day.” He found his way outside, even with the image of Sara’s eagerness branded in his mind.

  Thinking back on it now, she did brighten up the day in that dress. He could picture Sara in a future landscape, wearing the green dress, perhaps holding a straw hat, with a basket resting at her feet and surrounded by a meadow of flowers.

  Now he neared the Maplewood Hotel complex and the path that would lead him to the summit of Mount Agassiz. Suddenly Tom thought he heard someone calling his name. He reined the horse to a slow trot. Again he heard his name and turned about in the saddle. Lawrence was racing along the boardwalk toward him, waving his hand. Tom pulled back on the reins, drawing his mount to a stop.

  “You’re getting on in years if your hearing is that bad, my friend,” Lawrence said, panting. “And I must be getting on in years when I find myself out of breath from running such a short distance as that.”

  “I have horse hooves to listen to, the wind, and my thoughts. Sometimes it’s difficult to hear anything else.”

  “Of course you must have a lot on your mind these days…and in your life. So, do tell, how is it with the street urchin? Tell me everything.”

  “What street urchin?”

  Lawrence chuckled. “Oh, dear honest Tom, just like honest Abe. We haven’t seen each other in several weeks. I only wanted to hear about life with Miss McGee from the city streets. I ran into Mrs. Childress a week or so ago, and she commented how your guest has the most atrocious table manners.”

  Tom frowned. “How nice that everyone in town remembers Sara’s faults. And what else do they know? Or think they know?”

  “Mrs. Childress only meant that the girl didn’t seem to know how to act in public.”

  “She had no family, Lawrence. Or anyone else, for that matter, except the baker’s wife. She lived on the street, eating stale bread and taking what she was given from Mrs. Whitaker’s hand. I doubt any of us would have endured such a life as well as she did.”

  Lawrence held up his hands. “All right, enough already. I can see you’re taken with her. I thought you were merely providing for her needs and giving her a few lessons until she was ready to go back to the city. I apologize.”

  Tom, however, wasn’t listening. He was caught up in one sentence. I’m taken with her? His throat tickled, and he coughed. Ginger shimmied beneath him in response. He drew back on the reins. “Steady, girl. What do you mean, I’m ‘taken with her?’”

  “Come now, Tom. Listen to yourself. You come to her defense like a conquering hero. Which is fine, I suppose, if that’s what you want to do.”

  Tom decided he didn’t want to debate the point anymore. As it was, he’d seen the strain on their friendship the moment Sara arrived. He’d rather salvage what little remained than argue over fruitless points. “So how is business?”

  “Business is well, but with the fall season about to end, the visitors are leaving. The hotels are already emptying. But I still get inquiries for work on a coat, especially with the cold weather coming. What about you? Are you off on another painting venture?”

  “To the summit of Mount Agassiz. I want to paint the view before the snow comes
.”

  “Ah, perfect. I would accompany you, but a gentleman needs his trousers hemmed. And if I’m not there to oversee the seamstress, the gentleman can get a little anxious. In fact, it seems everyone is anxious these days.” His eyebrow lifted.

  “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” Tom could hear the disagreement in his voice. He had known Lawrence for a long time, since childhood. It pained him to see their relationship suffer. But then he supposed it was bound to happen. As a Christian, he saw things in a different light than Lawrence did. Maybe one day Lawrence would come to see that eternal light and they would become true brothers in Christ.

  Tom made his way up the path and to the gatehouse, the first stop before visitors ascended to the summit of Mount Agassiz. There he was greeted by Mr. Corliss, the proprietor. “Ah, Tom. You still owe me a painting of the summit view for my building here.”

  “Oh, yes.” He said it before realizing he’d intended the painting for Sara. “If I may be allowed to come again soon, that is. I had in mind to paint this one as a gift for a visitor to Bethlehem.”

  Mr. Corliss frowned before bustling over to address several other visitors eager to make the trip up the mountain for the views. When Tom was finally allowed access to the path after promising a painting as soon as he was able, he made his way on Ginger toward the summit.

  In about a half hour he came in view of the newly erected metal tower. Bethlehem was all abuzz with excitement when the structure was first built. Mr. Corliss claimed he built it to offer a view of heaven itself. Tom agreed to the assessment after he mounted the many stairs, while toting his painting supplies. The Presidential range stood before him in all its splendor, as did the Franconia range. Like Mr. Corliss said, Tom felt transported to a city of majestic peaks fashioned by the hand of God. And immediately his heart stirred to bring the scenery to canvas.

  Tom set up the portable easel at once and began to sketch an outline. In the next hour he had created the view looking out toward the rugged Franconia range. The higher peaks of Lafayette and Garfield boasted a faint splatter of white from new-fallen snow. He then began dabbing color, bringing out the hues of gray stone and brown-tinged forests flanking the sides. He sat back to peruse the work. Once more he wondered how God guided his hand to create such pieces. He couldn’t help but marvel, as he did so often. Not that he meant to wallow in pride, only simply to give God the glory in it.

  “Yes, it is indeed excellent,” a voice noted in satisfaction.

  Startled, Tom looked behind him. A couple stood there, the same couple he’d seen at the gatehouse with Mr. Corliss. They were not commenting on the fine scenery witnessed from the tower either, but rather on his painting. “Thank you. I didn’t even hear you come up the stairs.”

  The man stepped forward and swept off his hat. “I do believe we know you. You’re the artist who helped my wife when she hurt her ankle this past July—Mr. Haskins.”

  Tom stood in an instant, unable to bridle his amazement. “Why, yes.”

  He offered a grin. “I’m Edward Newkirk, if you recall. And you remember my wife, Margaret.”

  He shook their hands. “I can’t believe we’re meeting again like this.”

  “Neither can we. Here we came to enjoy the view, and we find a famous artist painting it. Quite providential. Now, you cannot refuse me if I offer to buy it.”

  “Sir, it’s only partially completed.”

  “Then finish it. I will pay you well for your haste in the matter.”

  “But this painting is for…” He paused. “For a guest staying in my home.”

  “Maybe even for a nice lady friend, Edward,” Margaret noted with a coy smile. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. The one who answered the ad for the bride.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” Margaret exclaimed. “So you did receive a response.” Their faces glowed, accented by broad smiles. “I think it’s wonderful to have a painting like that—giving her a bit of your heart through your talent. Quite romantic.” She laughed. “I surely didn’t know what to do with a wheel, I must say….”

  “A wheel?” Tom said, puzzled.

  “I oversee a company that makes wheels for carriages,” Edward explained.

  “In New York City,” Tom finished.

  “Ah, so you remembered. And now you’ve found a prospective bride through the ad we placed?”

  Tom hesitated on that point. “I’m not certain if she will be a bride. But I am helping a young lady in need.”

  Edward and Margaret exchanged glances. “Well, we all are needy in one way or another,” Margaret commented. “I won’t tell you what kind of condition I was in when I first met Edward. And he, well, he barely had his company going then. But we knew in our hearts we were right for each other.” She held out her hand. “And I just found out that we will be having a baby come late spring!”

  “Congratulations,” Tom managed to say.

  “Which reminds me, we should be getting back so you can rest,” Edward added, taking hold of Margaret’s arm. “The carriage is waiting. A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Haskins. Are you sure I can’t buy the painting from you?”

  Tom looked at the painting and, without another thought, offered it to them when he finished. “You don’t need to pay me, either. Your words are payment enough.”

  The man looked puzzled. “But I would be happy to. In fact, I insist.” He fetched his pocketbook.

  Tom took the money and watched the couple head for their carriage after he promised to deliver the painting to their hotel that evening. He gathered his own supplies and returned to Ginger, all the while marveling over what had transpired. The couple must be another sign sent by God. A sign not to despair but to have faith and be patient. A relationship and marriage might still be in his future.

  Riding down the path on Ginger, Tom wished he could have talked more to them. He looked down the road and at the dust cloud flying behind their carriage and thought of trying to catch them. But instead, he made for the path that would lead him back to his house in Bethlehem. At least now he had a weapon or two of encouragement to battle the doubt that often stalked him.

  Tom returned home to find Sara and Claire away on an errand. Just as well. He needed the quiet to collect his thoughts. He wondered what he would say when the women asked to see his painting. Maybe he should just tell them the truth: that the couple who had encouraged him to submit the ad now encouraged him to continue on the journey he’d begun.

  A rap came on the door just as Tom had made himself a cup of tea. He opened it to reveal a stunning Annabelle Loving in her dress of pure white and wearing a bright smile on her face. She looked like a bride, of all things. His throat clogged with emotion.

  “Why, hello, Thomas!”

  “Miss Loving!” he managed to blurt out.

  “I hope you don’t mind this intrusion. May I come in?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He fought to steady himself as he stepped aside. She brushed by him in a way that brought a flash of warmth. “How are you?”

  “I’m well. And yourself?”

  “Just fine. Thank you for asking.” Her gaze encompassed the house. “What a beautiful home you have, Thomas.”

  “I owe it all to Claire. There’s nothing like a woman’s touch.”

  “I agree. There’s nothing like a woman’s touch in a man’s life, either. It makes him complete.” She laughed coyly. “Did I tell you I saw Claire the other day? She mentioned you had a houseguest, but we weren’t quite introduced the way I’d like. She’s quite outspoken, I must say. And quite impertinent.” Annabelle wandered into the drawing room and took a seat on the settee. She patted the vacant place beside her, but Tom took a seat across from her. Her lips turned downward. “I take it we’re alone?”

  “Uh, Claire and Sara aren’t here.”

  “Sara, is it? Hmm. Well, I must say, I admire what you’re doing for her. It shows your generous and giving heart, Thomas. I’m so impressed. She must be indebted to y
ou.”

  Tom didn’t know if Sara was indebted to him or not. In fact, she had yet to thank them for anything they had done. That mere fact pricked him like a pin.

  “Well, there’s another reason for my visit besides wanting to see Claire and your little friend. Are you free to take me out to a luncheon today? Lawrence suggested a nice lunch. I’m quite famished, and I really wanted someone to talk to. Perhaps we can go to Rablets’?”

  Tom could hardly refuse her charming ways or her sweet smile. In fact, he was hungry also, after his excursion to Mount Agassiz. “I would like that.” He fetched his still-warm coat from his mountain excursion earlier that day, along with his hat. Annabelle waited for him in the foyer. Once outside he offered her his arm. He hoped Sara and Claire would not make a sudden appearance on a street corner and see them.

  “You seem preoccupied,” Annabelle noted. “Lawrence said you were headed to Mount Agassiz to paint. How was it?”

  “Excellent. I saw an exquisite view of both Mount Garfield and Mount Lafayette.”

  “I would love to see the painting when it’s finished.”

  “Can you believe I sold it already? I’m to deliver it tonight to a couple at the Sinclair Hotel.”

  “You sold it! Why, Thomas.”

  “They were visiting the tower at the summit. It was the quickest sale I’ve ever made. The paint wasn’t even dry—nor is the painting yet finished.” He couldn’t help the pride in his voice.

  “My, my. It doesn’t take long for the public to see what a professional you are. Soon you will be painting for royalty, Thomas.” She leaned over his arm and giggled.

  “Did you know that Mr. Astor of New York City is one of my principal buyers? In fact, he should be arriving in December. He likes to visit Bethlehem around Christmas.”

  “Well, how can he not? I mean, it’s such a wonderful place to celebrate the season, and it has the most perfect name, too.” She snuggled closer. “We must make plans to celebrate the season, Thomas. Can’t you just see it? A warm fire, delicious cider, conversation…”