“You did what?” Claire grabbed his hand. “But we don’t want her to leave. Whatever possessed you to do that?”
“I would rather she leave than be a servant in a hotel dining room all because I wouldn’t give her the money. I want her to be free to choose the life she wants. It’s better this way.”
“Then how do you know she won’t take the train tonight? If she has the money, she has no reason to stay.”
Tom knew that could happen. He’d given her no reason to stay except a hope that he’d shown her some fragment of his heart—one willing to be there for her and help her. He wished he could go right now and tell her of his encounter with Annabelle. That his eyes were opened and he’d thrust the relationship aside. That he’d even told Annabelle there was another. “I suppose if I arrive tonight and she’s not at the hotel, I will have my answer.”
“Oh, Tom. Can you live with the fact that both these women might be gone from your life forever?”
He thought about it before slowly nodding. “As long as I have peace. And there is always my work. My only prayer, Claire, is that I’ll be in God’s will.”
Claire shook her head in amusement. “Oh, Tom, I was so worried about what would happen. I’m glad God’s hand is in this. You truly are a dear brother.”
“Sometimes I think I’ve been quite foolish.”
She hugged him. “Look at you. For a man who had no prospects a year ago, you’ve certainly had a share in the fire of relationships these many months. Who would have thought?”
Tom chuckled as he set up his paints. “It was more than I ever expected. Now I can value what matters most and leave the rest behind.” All things worked together for good, he realized. And, as in the way of life, God was taking him through the maze step by step. He only prayed that Sara was still on a similar path. He prayed she had not purchased the train ticket today. He prayed even as he began finishing the painting of Bethlehem’s children enjoying a winter’s day. God, if she will only remain here. Please…give her a reason to stay.
Tom’s nerves were on edge at dinner. Normally he couldn’t wait to wolf down Claire’s fine cooking, but this night everything tasted the same.
“You haven’t taken your second helping,” Claire observed with the hint of a smile, as if she knew the anxiety inside him. “You’re acting like a nervous bridegroom.”
Tom felt his face flush. “Hardly. I’m just curious, I suppose, to see what Sara has decided. If she did leave to go back to New York, you’re free to return home to Massachusetts. You’ve done so much here already. I never really thanked you for it, either.”
“Oh, I would never leave before Christmas! We only have each other, Tom. Nothing is waiting for me in Springfield. In fact, maybe I’ll even come back and settle here again.”
Tom picked up his teacup. “Really?”
“I’m finding I like Bethlehem very much after many years of being away. I have friends in the sewing circle I gather with every Tuesday. I’ve become close to cantankerous Mrs. Harris, believe it or not.” She chuckled. “I like the church we attend. And, of course, this is a beautiful place. Who wouldn’t want to live in a town called Bethlehem?”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I only wish Sara did.”
“She does.”
“You seem confident of that.”
“All Sara ever wanted was someone who cared about her. You’re showing you care by offering to walk her home. She won’t leave.”
“I hope you’re right.” He took a long drink of the now-lukewarm tea. Claire would be privy to the goings-on inside a woman’s heart and especially the woman she thought of like a sister. She would know Sara’s thoughts.
The hands of the clock took forever to move. He decided to go earlier than planned, especially with the snow falling in earnest once again. Not that it was unusual in the White Mountains to find snow steadily rising with each storm until it reached the window frames. He did not want Sara herself lost in the snow or anywhere else. He wanted her here, safe, away from danger, away from anything of life back in the city.
The remainder of the evening he tried to stay occupied with mundane activities. Reading the latest edition of the White Mountain Echo. Considering his next painting—which must be the Old Man of the Mountain—if he could summon the courage to ask Lawrence for his sleigh. He tapped a tune on the armrest of the chair, imagining how that would go, especially after the confrontation with Annabelle.
Claire glanced up from her sewing and smiled. “What a jittery soul you are,” she mused.
At last the clock struck eight. He began to bundle up in his coat, scarf, and hat and took a cane to assist him in navigating the icy walkway.
Claire lit a lantern for him. “I pray it goes well, dear brother,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
If nothing else, Tom thanked God for his relationship with Claire. Stepping outside, a blast of cold air chilled his limbs, but his heart soared with expectation. In just a short time he would know whether Sara remained in town and if a future awaited them. He took cautious steps on the slippery walkway. No one was on the streets this time of night. He could barely see, with the snowflakes swirling in his face and collecting on his eyelashes. He hoped the lantern would not blow out in the wind.
At last he saw the familiar spirals of Maplewood. Soft yellow light filled the hotel windows. The hotel stood like a place of refuge in the snowstorm and gave him courage. He arrived in the lobby, cold and shivering, and stomped his feet to rid his shoes of the snow.
One of the stewards approached. “Good evening, sir. Do you require a room?”
“I’m here to escort one of your maids from the dining room.”
The man looked at him rather strangely. “The dining room is down the hall to your left, sir.”
Tom brushed the snow from his coat, smoothed his damp hair, and headed for the dining room. Only a few guests remained, lingering over their glasses of cognac. He saw several servants moving about, clearing tables. He approached a petite woman in an apron and small cap and inquired of Sara’s whereabouts.
“Sara? She’s not here anymore. She left.”
In an instant all hope drained out of him. “She must be here. I told her I would walk her home tonight. She was expecting me.”
“You’re too late, I’m sure. You men are always too late.” The young woman moved off to clear another table.
Tom stared after her. How could this be? Claire had been so confident that Sara would be here. And he’d been, too. It seemed inconceivable that she would leave. Did that mean she left Bethlehem as well?
There was no time to waste. He hurried out into the cold once more, headed for Sara’s guesthouse, praying that she was there and her belongings were in her room. When he inquired at the door, Mrs. White shook her head. “She packed up everything she had this afternoon. She didn’t say where she was going, either, but paid her bill and disappeared. I’m sorry.”
Tom offered a meager thank-you and stumbled into the snowy night. His throat clogged with emotion. He forced back the tear or two teasing his eyes. Sara had taken the money and gone back to Mrs. Whitaker and the lonely streets of New York. It’s my fault. I was so blind, so stupid. I let her think I didn’t care. Now I will be a bachelor the rest of my days…and I deserve it. At that moment, Tom truly disliked the outcome of all this—and himself in particular. There was nothing else to do but return home.
He arrived there so burdened he could barely keep himself upright. Claire was busy trimming the Christmas tree with delicate ornaments when he collapsed into a chair in the drawing room.
“Tom? What’s the matter?”
“She’s gone, Claire. Sara left and went back to New York.”
“How do you know?”
“She no longer works at the Maplewood. I stopped by Mrs. White’s house, and she said Sara left this very afternoon and took everything with her. It’s too late for anything. I’m too late.”
“I’m so sorry, Tom.”
&nb
sp; “No one ever told me the hard lessons learned when placing an ad for a bride. I should have taken further counsel from Edward and his bride. It wasn’t enough just to try their plan. I needed to learn what to do and how to act appropriately.”
“There’s nothing more you can do. Sara made her decision.”
He thought for a few minutes, analyzing it all. Suddenly, he flew to his feet. “There is one thing I can do.”
“What?”
“I have the address for that woman, Mrs. Whitaker. I’ll leave tomorrow and head for New York. If I can find Mrs. Whitaker, I will find Sara.”
“But why? She made her choice.”
“She doesn’t know everything. What happened with Annabelle…the decision I made concerning us… She needs to know.”
Claire stared. “But travel all the way to the city? Tom, you’ve never even been out of New Hampshire! Are you sure you want to do this?”
He was never so sure in his life as he strode off to pack a bag. Something, or rather, Someone drove him to do what a short time ago would have been unthinkable. Even with all his faults, he prayed that God would give him another opportunity to make things right. To find Sara and see if she would return to him.
Chapter Seventeen
Tom immediately thought of Sara’s arrival to Bethlehem as the train rumbled along the tracks. She’d taken this same ride to come to him, traveling far to come to a strange place. She must have been as nervous as he, removing herself to a foreign land filled with strangers. Stepping off the train in Bethlehem to see all the ladies in their fineries while she herself wore a ragged coat and clung to a carpetbag—he had to admire her courage, remembering the picture.
Tom leaned close to the glass, his breath fogging it, while he observed the countryside frosted in white. Why had it taken him this long to venture from Bethlehem and his roots? He thought then of the gospel, of Mary and Joseph leaving their small village to venture to the city of Jerusalem for the Passover. Now he was going to a big city also, but this time it was to beg Sara to reconsider and return to Bethlehem with him. He wished then that he had a gift to give her, but his departure had been so hasty, there wasn’t time. He could only offer the gift of his heart. “God, I pray I’m not too late,” he whispered.
After long hours of travel, the train chugged into Grand Central Depot in New York City late that afternoon. Tom had never seen a place like it. Tall gray buildings immediately caught his attention. Numerous carriages and coaches clogged the muddy streets. Peoples of all sizes and backgrounds rushed by. Many accents filled the air, some unfamiliar, others difficult to even understand. Standing on the platform, Tom realized that this foreign place was also Sara’s home. What she once experienced in Bethlehem, he was now experiencing as a stranger in a strange land.
Just then he felt a tug at his pocket. He whirled and found a young boy trying to pull his pocketbook out of his trouser pocket. His grabbed it just in time, even as the boy with large eyes backed away from him. “What are you doing?”
“I need money.” The boy sniffed and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. “And you got lots. I can tell from your fine clothes.”
Tom glanced at his attire, thinking that he did not look at all wealthy. Mr. Astor had even found the suit unfit for dinner at a hotel. But here things were different. He set down his bag and took some coins from his pocket. “Here, and don’t steal anymore. It’s against God’s law.” The boy looked at him strangely then took the money and ran off into the crowd, no doubt looking for his next target.
Welcome to New York, Tom thought grimly. He couldn’t recall a single instance of pickpocketing in Bethlehem. What kind of place had he entered? He reached down to pick up his bag only to find an empty walk at his feet.
The boy! While he had been engaged with the boy, another one must have made off with his bag. He looked around, trying to find the rascal who’d stolen his possessions. “Have you seen a young boy with a black bag?” he asked a bald-headed gentleman passing by.
“Of course not,” the man snapped. “People are everywhere.”
“Someone just stole my bag! It had my clothes in it.”
The man grinned. “You sure don’t know the city, do you? Got to look out for your money and your possessions.”
At least Tom still had his pocketbook. He reached inside it for the slip of paper where he’d scribbled Mr. Whitaker’s address. “Do you know where this is?”
“I know it. You can take a carriage there. It’s quite a few blocks away.”
“Quite a few blocks?”
The man wrinkled his forehead and began to chuckle. “Where are you from, anyway? The farmlands? Europe?”
“Actually, Bethlehem.”
The man hooted. “Bethlehem, eh? No such place, except in the Bible. Maybe you belong in the hospital.”
“I beg to differ, sir. There is such a town, in New Hampshire.”
“Bethlehem, New Hampshire. Never heard of it. Next thing you know, someone will be telling me they’re from Jerusalem, Ohio.” He laughed once more and shouted to a friend. “Walt, you have to hear this. This fellow says he’s from Bethlehem.”
Walt strode over, his eyes wide and a ready smile on his lips. “Well, if that isn’t just the place to be for Christmas. Donkeys and mangers and shepherds in their fields keeping watch over the ol’ flocks.”
“Bethlehem, New Hampshire, is a nice place to visit,” Tom said evenly. “If you don’t believe me, perhaps you can ask my friend, Mr. Astor. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”
Both men ceased their snickering. “You mean of the Astor family?”
“I’m his professional artist. He visits Bethlehem quite often on holiday.”
The men looked at him in disbelief and even took a step back. One removed his hat. “Well, pardon us,” Walt said hurriedly. “We didn’t mean anything. It’s just we’ve never heard of such a town.”
“Anyway, take a carriage, and you’ll find the place you’re looking for,” added the first man. Both men tipped their hats and scurried away.
Tom thanked them even if he still burned with resentment over the reception he’d received…until he remembered Sara at the Bethlehem depot, enduring taunts from those who did not understand her. His steps slowed. God, was this what it was like for her? I never understood it until now. He inhaled a swift breath, feeling humbled already, and he’d only been here an hour. In that time, he’d had his belongings stolen, his money nearly taken, and his hometown mocked. “Blessed be the name of the Lord who knows that pride comes before the fall,” he whispered before striding off to find a carriage.
At least the carriage driver proved to be interested in hearing about Bethlehem when Tom mentioned the town’s name. He asked many questions about the area and the people. When Tom also dropped the name of Mr. Astor into the conversation, the man looked at him with the same stunned surprise that Tom saw on the faces of the men at the depot. The driver then took Tom on a short tour of the city, pointing out the various buildings. At the end of the journey he sat waiting in expectation, his hand wavering. Tom obliged with a healthy tip and thanked him for the ride.
“Thank you, sir. And if you need me again, I come by here frequently.”
Tom nodded and stared at the busy street before him. He wished then he had the company of Mr. Astor to help him navigate this place. But the man didn’t even know he was in the city. Tom was supposed to be in Bethlehem painting the man’s requested landscapes. Instead, he traveled the long and noisy streets of New York in his quest to find a pale young woman who could be any of the women he saw on the street. He passed many who appeared frail and dressed in ragged clothes. But others were clad in fine apparel, like those who inhabited the Bethlehem hotels. The contrast proved startling.
He felt strange, standing here on the sidewalk with nothing but the clothes on his back and some money in his pocket. He didn’t know what he would do for personal possessions or where he would even stay. He left these things in the Lord’s care, as Sara must
have done. She, too, trusted God for every provision. Shelter. Food. Clothing. A friendly face. And he was about to do the same.
Tom paused before the bakery owned by Mrs. Whitaker, looking for the words to say. He wasn’t ready to propose to Sara, certainly, but he did want her to come back to Bethlehem with him. At least until they discovered God’s will for their future. He entered the shop. People stood in line, waiting to be served. He found a man there, taking bread out and serving the customers one by one. Tom waited patiently until his turn came at the counter.
“What’ll it be?”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone. A young woman. Sara McGee.”
The man shook his head. “Don’t know anyone by that name.”
Tom glanced down at the address on the paper and read it aloud.
“That’s this address, but I don’t know any Sara McGee.”
“What about Mrs. Whitaker? Is she here?”
The man shook his head. “She ain’t here. Look, are you going to buy something or not? I’ve got customers waiting.”
Tom selected three rolls, which the man hastily wrapped in paper and shoved toward him. Numbed, he took them. Sara, where are you? I don’t understand why you’re not here! It’s like you’ve vanished.
He walked out the door and plopped down on a nearby stoop, ignoring the cold stone beneath him. No doubt he looked the part of some lost soul of the street. He ate slowly, enjoying none of the bread, all the while wondering where Sara could be. He felt certain she’d taken the train here. And this was the address where he had sent the letters; the place was even confirmed by the man inside the bakery. None of this made sense. It was as if door after door were shutting before him, no matter how hard he tried to walk through. What am I doing wrong? he wondered. Maybe I’m supposed to accept the life of a bachelor…painting my works, selling them off to rich people like Mr. Astor, making a name for nothing. But what good was any of it if he shared it alone? Didn’t the Bible even say that two were better than one? Didn’t Mr. Astor, Lawrence, even Claire agree that marriage was important?
Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 17
