“May I take the gentlemen’s order?” the waiter inquired.
Mr. Astor wasted no time. “I’ll have the lamb with mint sauce. And you’d do well to order it also, Thomas.”
Tom followed suit, ordering the leg of lamb, though he had never been very particular about it before, along with vegetables and bread pudding for a dessert. “Thank you, sir, for this meal.”
“No trouble at all. But I do intend to find out what is keeping you from your work.”
“Well, sir, in a way it’s you.”
Mr. Astor sat back. “And just what do you mean by that, young man?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I was trying to be humorous. What I meant is, do you remember the day when we met this past summer and you talked about my finding a wife?”
“Certainly. Whatever happened with that, by the way?”
“I’ve had several prospects, actually. And one came from an ad I placed for a bride.”
Mr. Astor sat still, his eyes wide. “Really. I never would have considered such a method.”
“But she’s not quite what I expected.”
Mr. Astor chuckled. “Are they ever? A woman is an enigma. While the wrapping may look as if it contains a fine good, one never knows what lies within. And one might receive a wooden crate in appearance but inside find exquisite china.”
“She arrived quite destitute off the street and in great need. Not that such a condition is bad, mind you, but again she was not what I expected.”
“So this is keeping you from concentrating on your work?”
“In a way. You see, I’ve also met a fine woman from Boston. She is a gifted musician and well-versed in etiquette. And I’ve found myself…”
“Caught in between.” The bread basket arrived, and Mr. Astor helped himself to a crusty roll. “How like a book of relationships when one is tested multiple times. And here you had no such prospects just this past summer.” He laughed as if finding great humor in Tom’s predicament. “I was once in your place with two different women of different backgrounds. I decided the one that remained to enjoy all the seasons of life was the right one for me.”
Tom reasoned this. “Well, the one who answered the ad, Sara, found out about the other woman and left our house, determined to return to New York.”
“Then it seems you have your answer. If she’s gone, then what about the woman from Boston?”
“She has remained, at least for now.” He considered then if Annabelle would remain with him through the summers and winters of life. The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became.
“If a bird is determined to live free, then nothing you can say will hold it back. If you try to keep it caged against its will, it will struggle until it dies. You don’t want that to happen here.”
“Sara didn’t struggle until she witnessed the passing friendship I had with Miss Loving. I’m not convinced that she did not have feelings for me. Otherwise, why would she take flight?”
“A sound observation.” He began to eat while Tom stared at his butter plate a few moments. “If this is meant to be, she will return. If not, you must seek another answer, perhaps with this other woman. But for now, until matters are settled, you need to give attention to your work. You cannot allow your talent to be wasted. Use it instead while you are waiting. Give attention to finer details. And I must insist that the painting of Franconia Notch and the others be done as soon as possible.”
Tom tensed. “While you are here?”
“No, I’m leaving in a few days. But I will leave you money to have the works shipped to New York. Oh, and you may keep the river painting you showed me. I didn’t like it much, I’m afraid. Not enough scope.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t mind the man’s frankness. Mr. Astor proved to be a father figure in many ways, setting his mind on the things he must consider in life. He buttered his bread and looked up, slowly taking a bite.
He stopped in mid-bite.
It can’t be.
He nearly choked on the bread before remembering to chew and swallow. Quickly he gulped water to wash it down. “I don’t believe it,” he sputtered. All this time…and I never thought to look here!
“Thomas? What are you mumbling about? Speak up, young man. I can’t hear you with all this noise in the dining room.”
Tom didn’t answer Mr. Astor. Instead he wiped his eyes to make certain he wasn’t seeing some vision of his own making. But he wasn’t. Sara McGee stood three tables over, putting dirty plates and glasses into a large tin basin. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll be right back.” He laid down his napkin and hurried over.
“Sara?”
She whirled and nearly dropped a plate. He reached out to grab it before it fell, and when he did, his hand brushed hers. Her cheeks reddened. She wore a simple cotton dress covered by a white apron, her full brown hair concealed by a white cap. Her eyes remained as intensely blue as he remembered. And her features just as rigid with determination.
“Sara, what are you doing here?”
“I’m working, of course. What are you doing here?” She looked around. “Meeting someone, I suppose?” She turned from him to gather up the remaining dishes.
“Yes, I’m having dinner with Mr. Astor…the gentleman from New York who buys many of my paintings. He’s here to help me succeed with my work…like Mrs. Whitaker wanted for your life.” He paused to see recognition pass over her face. “Sara, I want you to know, I’ve been looking everywhere for you the past week.”
“I don’t understand why. I said I could take care of myself. And I have.”
Tom wanted to say more but caught sight of Mr. Astor and the perturbed look on his face. “I’m sorry; I have to return to my table. Will you meet with me at eight o’clock so we can talk?”
“I can’t. I’m still working then. And Mrs. White expects me home right afterward or she worries.”
“We need to talk. I need to tell you something, something I should have said a long time ago.”
“There isn’t anything left to say.” She returned to her work. Tom waited. When she moved on to another table, he reluctantly went back to his seat.
“I take it you’ve found your lost bird?” Mr. Astor observed. “Is she the one who answered the ad?”
“Yes. And her feathers are too ruffled. She will not even speak to me.”
Astor chuckled. “Thomas, let the matter settle.” He pointed to their lamb with mint sauce that had just arrived. “Enjoy your dinner, and think about your work. It’s all you can do.”
My work, he thought. A work that is only just beginning.
Chapter Fifteen
Sara could not get the vision of Tom Haskins out of her mind, even as she cleared away the remaining dishes from the tables that evening. She saw his face everywhere—the dark eyes, raised eyebrows, and lips parted in inquiry. The way he asked to speak to her. Yet the memory of the conversation between him and Annabelle Loving still raked her. Why had he tried to find her? Didn’t he already have Annabelle at his beck and call? An accomplished and beautiful lady, ready to fulfill his every desire?
Perhaps Claire had a hand in this sudden meeting. After all, she and Claire had grown quite close. She was indebted to Claire for the love she’d shown. Her heart ached at the thought of their separation. Many times Sara wanted to send word to Claire, explaining why she could not remain in the house. She had come to Bethlehem for one reason: to answer an ad for a bride. But when another woman entered the scene, it made no sense for her to stay. She had to move on with her life the best way she knew how.
Sara carried a stack of plates back to the kitchen, where young maids bustled about, washing plates, cups, and silver. Sara took up a towel to begin drying the mounds of dishes. Her arms ached, and her fingers soon turned to lumps of wrinkled flesh. I’m just a servant, she thought bitterly. Perhaps that’s why he came here tonight—to witness my true status. To confirm his decision regarding Annabelle and all the things she promised him.
“So who were you talkin’ to out there?” a young girl named Rachel inquired. “Saw ya there in the dining room with some fine gentleman.”
Sara looked over at the young girl not much older than she. Like Sara, many of the help were unlearned and poor. They worked to put bread on the table. Some worked to pay off debts. Others worked for the reason Sara did, to provide for some untold future.
“A man I met some time ago.”
“And why would some fancy gentleman be interested in any of us?” Rachel hooted. “Do you think they’re lookin’ at us in our aprons and caps?” She began to strut about the room like a lady of means, her hand pointed at an angle, her nose in the air. “Why, thank ye, man, I’ll have this dance.” She performed a clumsy curtsy. “Oh, but please pardon the cap an’ apron.”
The other girls burst out in laughter.
Yet the image convicted Sara when she thought about how she’d tried to become such a lady like that, full of airs. She once had the appropriate dresses and hats, courtesy of Claire, but had sold the garments to pay for her lodging. “Did you know I actually lived with him at one time?” Sara said.
At this, the girls in the kitchen stopped their chores and turned to look at her. “Mercy me, you lived with a man?” said one. “How did you dare?”
“How improper,” said another.
“Why not, if he’s providin’?” added a third.
Sara felt a flush in her cheeks. “I didn’t live with him alone. I lived with his sister and him, in their house.”
“Why are you working here, then, if you had such a fine life?”
It seemed as if everyone wanted to hear her sad tale. Sara obliged, sharing with them her life on the streets of New York, answering Tom Haskins’s ad, and her arrival here in Bethlehem.
“And he dared court another woman while you were here?” Rachel said in dismay, shaking her head. “Why if I saw him, I’d tell him a thing or two. Shameful.”
“I’d tell him to go his way,” declared another.
The others agreed and shared sympathy over Sara’s plight. She should welcome it with open arms, except she couldn’t forget the memory of Tom’s sad countenance this evening in the dining room. Thinking on it, it seemed as if he missed her company. But why? He had no reason to, with the accomplished Annabelle available to entertain him—with a grand wedding trip…living a lavish lifestyle with a beautiful woman on his arm…everything a man could want.
And what did Sara herself have to offer him? She could barely read and write. She worked as a maid peeling potatoes and washing dishes. She had no money, no fame, nothing but disheveled hair and dark circles under her eyes. And one shabby work dress. Yet he appeared relieved to find her. And he wanted to speak to her. There was little doubt he still cared about what happened to her, but he was more likely looking after his charge out of obligation.
Sara moved to dry more dishes until they were finally done. By then it was nearing nine o’clock and weariness had set in.
“Now if you need me to go and talk to that man, you let me know,” Rachel told her.
Sara smiled. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right.” She had taken care of herself among all sorts of strangers and friends for many years in New York. Surely she could do it in a tiny town like Bethlehem and with a man like Tom.
Sara left the kitchen and went to fetch her ratty coat. The garment did little to shield her from the New Hampshire cold. She had considered buying a coat, but that would put her further behind in saving enough money for the train ticket to New York. Oh, how she wished Tom had just lent her the money to leave. Why he wanted her to work herself to death and nearly freeze in the process, she did not understand. He could have done the right thing and sent her back to where she belonged.
Sara ventured outside and found that a fresh layer of snow had fallen while she worked. The new snow soaked her leather shoes, numbing her feet. She looked carefully where she walked, hoping she wouldn’t slip and fall.
Suddenly she heard a cry from the darkness. She paused. Tingles shot through her arms and down her back. She squinted until she saw a small child walking about in the snow, crying. Sara hurried over and found a young boy in distress. “My goodness, what are you doing out here in the snow this late at night?”
“I–I’m lost!” he cried. “Please help me.”
“Shh, it’s all right.” Sara crouched beside him. “What’s your name?”
“S–Sammy,” he said in a shivering voice. “Sammy Turner.”
Sara looked about at the houses with the soft glow from oil lamps filling the windows. “We will go to the next house and see if anyone recognizes you.” Sara took his small hand, which gripped hers soundly. As they started down the street, she thought of the times she’d helped lost children wandering about the city streets. Some were reunited with their parents but others she had to take to the orphanage and leave them there. It nearly broke her heart. How well she understood what it meant to be alone in the world with no family save God.
“I—I don’t know how I got lost,” the boy mumbled. “I went to fetch some sticks for the fire. Then I couldn’t find my way back. Please help me find my house.”
“Shush, it will be all right.” How the little boy’s anguish mirrored her heart. She, too, wanted to find her way back home. But where was home? Bethlehem? New York? Maybe nowhere.
They stumbled their way along, and finally she saw a house barely visible in the whirling snow. “Let me ask here.” She knocked at the door.
“Well…what do you want?” answered a gruff man smoking a pipe. “It’s too cold to be out begging for money. But if it’s money you need…”
“Please, this little boy is lost. His name is Sammy Turner.”
“Ha, you’re lost again, Sammy?” the man exclaimed, shaking his head. “He does this often, miss. He lives two houses down from us on the right. Picket fence out front, if you can see it in the snow. I’d help you, but I have a bad knee. Can’t risk falling. But wait…” He left and soon returned with a lantern. “This should help.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” Joy filled her heart at his kindness. She coaxed Sammy down the snow-covered walkway until they came upon a group of people with flickering lanterns.
“Sammy!” a voice shouted. A man grabbed him up in a hefty hold.
“S–sorry, Papa. I got lost when I went to get sticks from the woodpile.”
“I’m so grateful someone found you.” The man then looked at Sara. “Thank you so much, miss. We realized he was missing an hour ago and began looking around town. I should have known he might head for the Maplewood Hotel. It’s the biggest place around, and he likes going there. Especially since they put in that newfangled bowling alley.”
“I like bowling,” Sammy said solemnly, wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand. “You knock over milk bottles with balls.”
Sara smiled, though by now she could barely contain her shivers. “I–I’m g–glad he’s back with you, s–sir.”
“We shouldn’t be standing out here in the cold. Please, come to our house. I insist. My wife will want to thank you, and we will get you something warm to drink.”
Sara accepted as numbness began to settle in her hands, joining her cold feet. She followed Sammy’s father to a house that was but a hundred yards away. When they burst inside, a woman stood in the hallway as if expecting their return.
“You found him! Oh, thank You, dear Lord!” She gave Sammy a hug, nuzzling her face in his hair. “I was so worried.”
“Addie, this is…” The man paused.
“S–Sara.”
“Sara found Sammy out on the street and brought him back to us. But she is very cold.”
“Oh my, come right in,” Addie invited. “Sit close by the fire.” Sara found an abundance of warmth and love in the words and kind gestures as she was led into the main sitting room where a huge fire was kindled in the fireplace. “Sit here and warm yourself. Elisa,” she addressed a young woman who ventured in, “go fetch
Miss Sara a nice, hot cup of tea. And bring Sammy some warm cider.” Addie then went to find them blankets.
Sara snuggled under the blanket that brought instant warmth while the heat of the fire warmed her cold feet. Likewise, Sammy rested nearby, wrapped in his own blanket. For the first time in a long time Sara felt warm and secure, surrounded by the attention of a kind family.
“Please stay as long as you like,” Addie said. “In fact, please stay the night. We have a spare room.”
“Oh, I can’t stay long. I must go back soon, or Mrs. White will wonder what happened to me.”
“You can leave when you’re warm. Henry will be glad to walk you to wherever you’re staying.” She glanced at her husband. “Henry, I’m so thankful for the way our neighbors came out in the snow to help us.”
“Our town is like that when difficulties happen,” Henry said, taking a seat near Sara. “We see many wealthy people come and go. But the real wealth is found when we come together and help each other. We can’t close our doors to people’s needs….”
“Or our hearts,” his wife added. “You’re welcome to come here anytime, Sara. Even stay with us if you need to. Oh, listen to me, I haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Adelaide Turner, and this is my husband, Henry. These are our children. Elisa’s the eldest, and she’s eighteen. Susan is twelve, and of course you know Sammy, who’s five.”
Elisa brought her a cup of tea. Sara took a sip, even as the three children sat nearby, staring at her. She immediately engaged them in conversation, asking each one about themselves and what they liked to do.
“I love snow!” declared Sammy. “Except when I get lost in it. But I have a new sled that Papa made for me.”
“I would rather do my embroidery,” Elisa said. Sara could tell there was a certain maturity about her. She wondered if they might be friends someday.
The middle child, Susan, sat still and silent. Sara asked what she liked to do. Prompted by Elisa, she finally talked about her enjoyment in reading.
Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 15
