Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  Tom felt warmth begin in his neck and crawl into his face. “I…uh, I’m not certain what my plans will be for Christmas, Miss Loving.”

  “Now, didn’t I tell you that first names are quite appropriate? We’re friends now.” She paused at the door of the café, allowing him to open it and then escort her to a table.

  He couldn’t help but admire her ladylike manners, allowing him to remove her wrap, turning ever so slightly, keeping her back stiff and straight as she took a seat. She folded her hands on her lap and continued to sit straight while her gaze locked with his. Her red lips parted in a smile. He compared her to Sara when she arrived, with Sara’s rumpled appearance and coarse table manners—slurping up the bowl of soup, the noodles stuck to her chin, and other unsavory noises. Annabelle was the perfect portrait of a woman of means, one who knew all the workings of a lady. The two women were like night and day. But there remained a uniqueness to Sara. Despite her raw ways, her large, expressive eyes and vitality for life drew him. Annabelle didn’t need anything nor did she need to change. Her life was found in being worshipped as a fine piece of art. Annabelle sought adoration. Sara sought a new life. And maybe love to go along with it.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Annabelle smiled after they gave their selections to the server.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “Ah, a man of deep thought. I admire that.” She leaned over the table. “So tell me, what are your plans? Will you live out your days as a lonely painter here in Bethlehem?”

  “Actually, I would like to travel someday.”

  Annabelle straightened. Her green eyes grew large. “Really.”

  “My fondest wish is to see the great artists of Italy. I think it would be an incredible journey to see the real works of Michelangelo, Botticelli, and others. Though their style is so unlike mine.” He’d never spoken about his dream until now and wondered why it came out. Perhaps he found in Annabelle an engaging soul with an open heart and ears to listen.

  “How grand.” Annabelle smiled at the young girl who arrived with their sandwiches and tea and then continued. “I would love a European trip, too. A grand tour of Italy, then on to France and even Spain. Lawrence has a wonderful book on the European artists in his library. I shall bring it by one day for you to look at.” She picked up her sandwich, keeping a pinkie raised, and took a dainty bite. She then placed the sandwich on her plate, took a sip of tea, and wiped her curled lips on a cloth napkin.

  Tom couldn’t help but stare. Sara would have had the meal consumed in a matter of minutes. Not Annabelle. Eating a meal was like art to her. For Tom, he had no inhibitions about finishing his meal after his day on the mountaintop.

  “You are certainly a hungry man. I’m glad we decided to come here. One day I shall make you the most luscious berry tart.”

  Despite his full stomach, the mere picture of Annabelle presenting him with a still-warm fruit tart in her long fingers made his mouth water and his heart beat a little faster.

  “So tell me about your houseguest. She is quite opinionated, I must say.”

  “Yes, Sara is,” he declared, more emphatically than he would have liked.

  “Is she a cousin of yours? She never did tell me, as she took off without even saying so much as good-bye…after she said in no uncertain terms that Lawrence should stay away. And that he was rude and inconsiderate. I have no idea what that’s all about. And Lawrence wouldn’t say much either.”

  What? “Sara is here to…” He paused. “Claire is tutoring her.”

  “Oh, so she’s a student. How nice.”

  “Claire is enjoying it.” And what about me? Am I enjoying it? No, though I am enjoying the lunch. And talking about Italian art. And maybe fruit tarts.

  “I’m sure your sister will do a marvelous job. Though I think this Sara could use a few lessons in manners. If I can help in any way, let me know. Perhaps she would like to learn piano also? Every well-bred lady ought to play a musical instrument, like piano or violin. Even the flute.”

  Tom could just imagine Annabelle tutoring Sara on the piano. And then the conversation that would ensue—

  Thomas says you’re a pupil of his.

  Oh, no. I’m here because I answered an ad from Tom to be his bride! Didn’t you know?

  Then the look of horror on Annabelle’s face when she discovered the secret. She would run fast and furious, her face etched in anger, until she encountered him on a dark street. How could you deceive me like this, Thomas Haskins? It’s unthinkable! Why, you cad!

  “Hello?” she said, leaning over, her breath fanning his face. “Thomas, what’s the matter?”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Annabelle…there’s something I should…I’ve been meaning to say….” He paused.

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Dear Thomas, you don’t have to say a word.”

  “I don’t?”

  “Of course not. I know exactly how it is. And don’t worry. Things have a way of working out just fine. You’ll see.”

  “Well, thank you for being so understanding.”

  She smiled. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

  He breathed easier, thankful he didn’t have to tell her about Sara. Lawrence must have said something already. “Well, I need to be getting home. Ginger needs tending to, as she took me all the way up the mountain today. And I must finish the painting for the couple.”

  “Of course.” Annabelle waved over the server and asked that the remainder of her lunch be wrapped and put in a wicker basket. “I hope this lunch helped, Thomas. You just seem so distant these days.”

  “Too many things on my mind. The trip to Mount Agassiz, the couple buying the painting….” What to do about Sara. And also you, Annabelle.

  Once outside, they bid each other good day and went their separate ways. But Tom’s feet dragged as he returned to the house. He felt as if he were wallowing in confusion. He wished that matters of love and life could be made clearer. Here were two women, each so different but each with characteristics that drew him in ways he didn’t understand. One day he would have to settle this once and for all. Though he had no idea how.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I sat on the red kare.”

  “Chair,” Claire corrected. “The sound is chuh.”

  Sara bit her lip. “Chair. And I pet the cat until it pur…purred.”

  “Very nice. Your reading is much better.”

  Sara smiled. Claire left and soon returned with the large Bible from the table. “This is why we learn to read,” she explained. “It’s so we can read scripture and learn about God’s plan for our lives.”

  “Mrs. Whitaker would read it to me.”

  “Yes, but now you can begin reading this on your own.”

  Claire flipped through the thin pages as Sara pondered her time so far. She’d learned much since the first day she arrived in this town. She glanced down at her dress, stylish and neat. Her hair was swept up in a chignon without a single hair out of place. She sat straight and tall in the seat, her hands folded in her lap. She might look on the outside like a lady of Bethlehem, but inside she was still Sara McGee, the young woman of straggly hair, torn coat, and spindly figure. This outside adornment made her feel like the fine coverings of the windows of Tom’s house. Even now, she looked at the stately pieces that hung from rods and ran across the top of the windows. Oh yes, they dressed up the place very well. But once the coverings were removed, plain old windows remained. And as much as Claire had tried to dress her up on the outside, on the inside Sara was no different.

  “So let’s see how well you do with the Bible.”

  “But it looks so difficult.”

  “Just sound out the letters like you’ve been doing.”

  Sara began. “I am the gude shepherd.”

  “Good shepherd. But you were almost correct.” Claire smiled.

  “The sheep her my…” She paused. “It’s hear. Remember that a after e makes the e a long vowel sound. And the oi in voice
is like the oy in boy.”

  “The sheep hear my voice.”

  “Very good. You’ll remember the rules, Sara. It takes some time. I truly believe that by Christmas, you’ll be reading to us about Christ’s birth from the Gospel of Luke.”

  “I’m not sure. How many weeks until Christmas?”

  “Oh, not long. It’s November already. Can you believe you’ve been with us over five weeks? My, how time has gone by.”

  Sara could scarcely believe it either. And despite all she had learned, she was no closer to winning Tom’s heart. He appeared as distant as ever, as if he were trapped in one of his paintings. Since receiving a communication from an important buyer, a Mr. Astor, who’d asked for several paintings to give family and associates for Christmas, Tom had been hard at work. It didn’t help, either, that an early snowfall had taken them by surprise and left Tom unable to complete one of the required landscapes. For Sara, such early snow was pleasant to see. In the city it did snow, but it never lasted long. Or there would be bouts of frozen rain and icy pellets. She had a distinct feeling that winter here would be quite different in many ways.

  “What are you thinking about?” Claire asked as she took up her knitting, a new craft she was teaching Sara. They hoped to make new mittens and hats for the coming winter.

  “If Tom can’t finish his paintings for Mr. Astor because of the early snow, what he will do?”

  “He will finish them. I’ve seen snow come and go until winter finally decides to stay for good. It isn’t even December yet.” She then cast Sara an amused glance. Sara wondered what it meant. Did Claire think her too forward in showing concern for Tom’s livelihood? Did this mean she missed his presence? Not that he offered her much when he was in the same room, except for a thoughtful look or vague comment. But Sara did like Tom, she had to admit. He was certainly handsome with his dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was tall, distinguished, talented, and he had some money. And he knew wealthy people like the Astors who came from the city. If only she could be his equal somehow, a perfect companion for him, his cherished wife.

  Sara took up the Bible once more, determined to read the passage without stopping. Claire put down her knitting to listen. When she finished, Claire exclaimed, “Sara, that was excellent!”

  “Thank you. I want to be able to read the Christmas story, like you said. It will be my gift to you all, as you know I have no money to buy gifts.”

  Claire patted her hand. “It will be a treasured gift, I assure you. There’s nothing more satisfying than reading the Bible and learning God’s plans for us.” She patted the book sitting on Sara’s lap. “I remember when I was young and quite foolish. I cared little for what the Bible had to say. I thought, ‘It’s only an old book written by men.’ But then I found a revelation of God in these words, words that helped my wandering soul and planted my feet on the path He’d chosen for me. And suddenly I saw that they weren’t just words printed on paper but were living words that brought life. Maybe that’s why the Bible is thought of as meat; it’s food our souls need every day of our lives.”

  Sara realized she did not merely hold a book but a treasure worth more than gold. And with each passing moment, she felt an urge to read and write. Not just to become one of Bethlehem’s fine ladies, but to be a woman who understands the Bible. “Does this book talk about men and women and about marriage?”

  “Oh, yes. In fact, the Bible says how finding an excellent wife is a good thing.” Claire flipped through many pages until she came to a section called Proverbs. “Let me share with you what God sees in a virtuous woman.” She began reading. “‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life….’”

  Sara listened as Claire expounded on the characteristics of a godly woman. And suddenly the things she had been learning to do—homemaking, reading, learning about godly strength and wisdom—all were preparations for becoming a virtuous wife. What she’d been doing these past two months was learning to be a keeper of the home, a wife, and a mother. It was true. The Bible was a lamp unto her feet and a light unto her path. And all things were working together for good, if she continued to have patience to the end.

  That evening, with Tom called away to a friend’s house, Sara and Claire enjoyed their dinner in the dining room where they shared womanly things. Every day Sara felt her bond with Claire strengthening. Claire even claimed that in many ways Sara was the sister she’d never had. They shared secrets and giggled in girlish fashion. Later that evening, dressed in their robes, they sat enjoying the fire. The flames warmed Sara’s toes. Normally she would never expose her feet in such a fashion. But here with Claire, she felt uninhibited and at peace. The cup of hot tea Claire had made her felt warm in her hands. “This is so nice,” she murmured. “I wish it would never end.”

  Suddenly the door slammed. Sara bolted upright and instantly spilled the cup of tea across the front of her robe. “Oh, no!”

  Claire rushed out, and in an instant Sara heard voices in the hallway. When Claire returned with several towels, Sara blotted the tea from her clothing and the floor.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Tom stood in the doorway, remaining at a distance with his gaze averted in respect.

  Sara glanced back at him and was thankful he was not looking at the dark stain splattered across the front of her robe or her bare feet. “I–I’m fine, thank you. The robe caught most of it. I wasn’t burned.” Her face burned, though, imagining what was running through Tom’s mind. She was now clumsy along with being poor and unkempt. She tried to blink back the tears, but they were already making an appearance in her eyes. How she wanted to tell Tom what she’d learned in the Bible—and that she was endeavoring to become a virtuous woman so he would trust her with his worldly possessions and his life. Now the moment was ruined like her robe by the spilt tea.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” Claire whispered, as if she sensed Sara’s turmoil. “You were only startled.”

  Choking back the anguish, Sara hurried out of the drawing room and up the stairs to the bedroom to find a safe haven. It had been such a wonderful day up until this point. “Oh, God, why did this have to happen?” she mourned. “I only wanted You to make me someone Tom will respect and love. To make me the perfect woman for him. And…to make him love me, somehow. And now this had to happen.” Everything seemed out of reach. She had a long way left to accomplish the qualities Claire read to her from Proverbs. Too much for Tom to ever truly accept her.

  A few days later, Sara awoke to a sunny and warm morning. Much of the snow that had fallen the previous week had melted away. At breakfast Tom declared he must finish a certain painting for Mr. Astor. Sara voiced a desire to walk Main Street and see all that there was to see. Now that she had the proper dress and characteristics of a lady, thanks to Claire’s guiding hand, she felt certain she could handle the venture with confidence.

  “You should escort Sara,” Claire remarked to Tom. “You have yet to properly show her the sites of Bethlehem, and she’s been here for several weeks.”

  Tom paused, his fork containing a piece of pancake hovering in mid-air. “I’m sorry, Claire, but I must finish the paintings. Mr. Astor is expecting them.” He then added, “I hope you understand, Sara.”

  “Maybe another time. I know the paintings are important.”

  Tom finished eating his stack of pancakes then hurried to gather his supplies. Sara stared at her half-eaten breakfast. If only he knew how happy she would be just to accompany him in his work. She began to clear the dishes from the table but felt no joy in doing it. She feared she was only becoming a decoration in this place, like a wooden chest of drawers or a faded picture on the wall that no one ever notices. Why does he bother to keep me here? Why do I stay where I’m not wanted?

  “Sara…,” Claire began, following her into the kitchen, “give Tom some more time. Once the paintings
are done for Mr. Astor, he won’t be so preoccupied.”

  “I know.” She forced a crooked smile.

  “I would go with you on your walk today, but I promised Mrs. Harris I would visit her. She has such terrible rheumatism. I want to bring her some porridge and maybe read to her.”

  Sara asked if she could be of help, but Claire waved off the suggestion. “Mrs. Harris likes her company one at a time, I’m afraid. But I’ll introduce you to her soon.”

  Sara tried to think good thoughts about the day. At least she was free to roam about Bethlehem wherever she liked. She could enjoy this taste of springtime here in November, even if she must enjoy it alone. She was determined to make this a beautiful day. Despite everything that had happened, today would be different; she could feel it. A new chapter was about to be written in the book of her life.

  Sara dressed carefully in the garment she and Claire had picked out many weeks ago, the emerald green dress, complete with a large hat and fitted gloves. Once she came down the stairs, she hoped to garner Claire’s opinion but found she had already left to tend to Mrs. Harris. The house seemed empty. Sara wandered from room to room, imagining herself as the lady of the house. She straightened chairs and the paintings on the walls.

  “Oh, I must see to tea this afternoon,” she announced to no one in particular. She envisioned the parlor filled with Bethlehem’s finest ladies, here to discuss the activities of the Ladies’ Aid Society and to work on their quilts for the poor. Sara would present tea on a silver platter, along with Claire’s famous blueberry biscuits. Everyone would thank her for her hospitality.

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Harris. I’m glad you enjoyed the tea.” Sara curtsied and moved in dignified fashion to the mirror in the hall. She looked at her reflection. The green dress suited the day. She turned from one side to the other, convinced that she appeared the part of a fine woman enjoying all that Bethlehem had to offer.

  Sara strolled outside, where the warm wind brought the pleasing aroma of mountain air. She took to the wooden boardwalk along Main Street, careful to keep her back straight and her gaze focused ahead. The sumptuous hotels that made Bethlehem an eager destination for holiday travelers materialized before her. She passed the famous Sinclair Hotel and, farther down, the Howard House. Men and women gathered on the front porches to take in the pretty day. They sat in the wicker chairs, rockers, and even on the porch railings, holding cups of tea or reading newspapers. Women embroidered or engaged in conversation with their neighbors. Sara imagined herself on the porch of one of those hotels, indulging in tea while chatting with a handsome suitor. If Tom Haskins refused to look her way, perhaps another man would. She smiled at the prospect.