Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “More than indebted,” Tom added. “You make it sound like she simply found a misplaced trinket. She saved their son. That little boy could not have survived much longer in the cold and snow. And now they have asked her to live with them.”

  Lawrence took off his hat and bowed. “May I offer you my congratulations, Miss McGee.”

  “Anyone would have done the same,” she said, uncertain how to answer the man who once thought her a feeble-minded waif of the street who begged for coins.

  “I often wonder if that is true or not. But I do know the people of Bethlehem help in times of need…except perhaps when strangers arrive who we do not anticipate. Bethlehem is known for having quite the fancy and frolicking crowds here for their own pleasure. But to have someone different gracing our town, it does make people take notice.”

  “And I didn’t come by the usual means, either.”

  Tom interrupted. “Although we would like to talk, we must be going, Lawrence. The hour is late.” Tom offered his arm once more to Sara.

  Sara took his arm, grateful to finally be leaving.

  “I do have something to ask.” Lawrence followed them to the door. “Loretta, my wife, would very much like to know you better, Miss McGee. Perhaps you can join us for dinner after church this Sunday? You too, Tom.”

  Sara blinked, taken aback by the invitation. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  He tipped his hat and offered them a congenial smile. Tom nodded in return. As they made their way outside, he sighed loudly. “Would I be wrong to say that a burden may have been lifted tonight?” she asked tentatively.

  “Sara, you can read my thoughts. Lawrence and I have not seen eye to eye these past few months.”

  “I could tell.”

  He looked at her briefly before turning his attention to the snowy road before them. “I thought we might be ready for another confrontation at the hotel tonight. But despite everything that’s happened and my many mistakes, God is redeeming the time and restoring relationships.”

  “What would God have to redeem unless there were people with faults?” Sara said softly. “He works His best in us when we can say to Him, ‘I can’t do it alone.’”

  “I’ve never been able to do any of this alone,” he admitted. “Even when I thought I could—in my paintings, in finding a good and godly wife—I knew it couldn’t come from me. I needed guidance.”

  Sara walked along in silence, trying to decide how best to answer him. “I never needed true guidance, I thought, until the day Mrs. Whitaker encouraged me to come here, and suddenly I had to trust God for my future. Especially in a strange place where the people didn’t know me. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned so much. And I’ve grown fond of the town, even if my first few weeks were difficult.”

  “We have plenty of room for people of means, but I have been wrong not to have room in my heart for you.” He stopped suddenly and lowered his head, staring at the white snow at his feet set aglow by the lantern he carried. “I’m truly sorry for not accepting you for who you are.”

  Sara had the urge to tell him that it didn’t matter, that all was forgotten. But she allowed his words to remain unanswered. They continued until they arrived at the Turners’ door. “Thank you for walking me back, Tom. You don’t have to come every night, you know.”

  “I would be happy to, if you’ll let me. I’m not looking for a reward. It’s just something I believe would be good for both of us.”

  “All right.” She turned to head into the house.

  “Sara.” His voice sounded so gentle and kind that her heart leaped at the sound of it. “Are you planning to leave?”

  “Leave?”

  “Bethlehem. To return to New York. The money I gave you. I—I just wanted to know your plans…so I can tell Claire. She’s been asking about you.”

  Sara hesitated. “I’m not sure, Tom. I haven’t made up my mind.”

  He nodded, though she could tell he desperately wanted to know her answer. But at that moment, Sara didn’t quite know herself.

  “Good night.”

  Once inside, she looked through the parted curtains, watching the lone light of the lantern fade in the distance as Tom headed for home. Her fingers tightened around the window covering when she thought of his dear sister and how all this must have hurt her. She would consider moving back there if they would have her, but Tom had not offered. Maybe he remained entangled by Annabelle Loving. Perhaps he only did this walk to satisfy a request of Claire’s. Sara sighed, wishing it were true that he did care about her. That the real reason he returned was to draw her to himself.

  For the next few days, Sara went to work at the Maplewood Hotel, and Tom escorted her home evenings. Because the Turners’ house wasn’t far from the hotel, they had only a short time to converse. She still didn’t feel comfortable inviting him in, and he didn’t ask, either. But his nightly presence on the front stoop of the house finally roused Adelaide’s interest.

  “Are you seeing the artist?” she asked one day, while Sara was mending a damaged tablecloth.

  She looked up, startled by the comment. “The artist? You mean Mr. Haskins?”

  “Of course. I see him walking you home every night, though you leave him out in the cold. It’s fine with me if you invite him in to get warm.”

  “Oh, he’s only walking me home from the hotel.”

  “What a kind thing to do. Do you realize he’s famous?”

  Sara flinched when the sewing needle pricked her skin. She soothed the finger in her mouth. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I was talking to a friend, and she told me how he paints exclusively for that rich Mr. Astor of New York. Having a wealthy man like that interested in his work must make Mr. Haskins famous. He’ll soon be known all over the world.”

  Sara bent over her stitching, trying not to think about it. If this were true, why would Tom want anything to do with her? Annabelle was much more suited in that respect—a well-to-do, accomplished lady of Boston. They would make a handsome couple.

  That afternoon at the Maplewood, Sara considered Tom’s status as she cleared tables and did the dishes. She grew nervous when she noticed the clock nearing nine p.m. and thought of Tom’s pending arrival. The hour came and went. She thought of leaving, but just as she was ready to depart he arrived in the hotel lobby, his breathing labored and the lantern swaying.

  “I’m sorry, Sara,” he apologized. “Time got away from me. I was having dinner…”

  Probably with Annabelle Loving. She tried to quell her jealousy. “…with Claire, and we were talking about Christmas.”

  Sara breathed easier. During the walk home she said little, only offering one- or two-word responses to the few questions he posed.

  “Are you angry I wasn’t there on time tonight?”

  “No. I’m just wondering—why do you bother doing this every night? I’m sure there are many others who must be more interesting to walk home.”

  She felt a gentle tug of his hand on hers as he stopped walking and turned her to face him. “I don’t want to walk with anyone else, Sara. I want to walk with you.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re a famous painter.”

  He laughed with a sound that startled her.

  “Yes, and I heard how you made my name famous in this town, telling strangers about my work. Did you know that two men came knocking on my door? They claimed to have talked to you about me. And one of them even bought a painting.”

  Sara had forgotten that day when she boasted about his work to the two men she’d met on the road. Her thoughts became muddled under his bemused expression. She gazed at his laughing brown eyes, rugged complexion, that crop of dark hair with its swath to one side, the bit of sideburns…. “I mean, Mr. Astor, from one of the wealthiest families in New York, is interested in your work. Think how it will open doors of opportunities for buyers and art shows, even world tours….” She halted.

  “Do you think that’s what I consider important in
life? I love to paint, that’s all. God gave me the talent to use for His glory. And if others praise the work, they are praising Him. I paint His creation, after all. His colors and textures. His touch. His landscapes.”

  Sara felt foolish making such a commotion about his work. He truly was a humble man and, yes, handsome, too. She buried her hands inside her new coat, a fine lady’s coat Tom had bought her the other day. “I suppose I should go inside. Adelaide says I should invite you in for a cup of tea.”

  “Actually, I need to be heading back. You remember that this Sunday is the dinner invitation with Lawrence and his wife…? Are you ready?”

  “I suppose. I’ve certainly learned how to eat like a lady, thanks to your sister.”

  Tom chuckled. “You’ll do just fine. I’ll see you then.”

  Sara watched as he meandered down the walk. He paused then and turned. They exchanged a lengthy look, a silent communication—of what, Sara didn’t know. But something was happening between then. A bond was forming. A closeness that was unmistakable. Oh, what to do? her heart wondered. She could do little but pray and see what came of it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sara took time to ready herself for the church service and then the dinner afterward with Tom’s friends. Sara shivered, wondering what would happen. She had not been to services since she left Tom and Claire’s. And Lawrence, after all, did not approve of her. He was the one who wanted Tom to marry his wife’s cousin and send Sara back to where she belonged. She dismissed her anxiety over the dinner and reflected on her evening walks with Tom this past week. She thought about how their relationship had turned around so quickly. Brushing out her long hair before fastening it into a chignon for the occasion, Sara had to admit she was searching for the answer Tom sought. Many times she looked at the money in the dresser that Tom had given her for the train fare. She wondered if she should stay in Bethlehem and if they would wed one day…or if her destiny lay elsewhere.

  Sara was finishing her primping when Elisa hurried into the room. “Your beau’s here, Sara. He’s waiting in the parlor.”

  My beau. If only it were so. She patted down a stray piece of hair with a mind of its own, grabbed her coat, and hurried downstairs. Tom stood in the foyer, looking as fine as she had ever seen him. The clear image of him delighted her senses. His recent appearances had been muted by the darkness during their evening walks.

  Tom, too, seemed to look her over with new appreciation. He offered his arm, which she took. The day was clear but snowdrifts were everywhere. Sleighs dashed by as couples rode back and forth between the hotels in Bethlehem. Christmas wasn’t far away. Sara knew she would spend it with the Turners. And though she should be happy about the plan, the thought saddened her.

  “You’re quiet,” Tom noted. “If you’re nervous about the visit with Lawrence and Loretta, please don’t be.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about Christmas and family.”

  He hesitated. “I’m sure you miss Mrs. Whitaker.”

  “No…yes—I mean, of course I do.” She felt a blush beginning. “I mean, I was thinking about how I will spend the day.”

  “Claire and I were talking about that, too. We hoped you might be able to have Christmas dinner with us. Consider this your invitation.”

  “That’s nice of you to ask, but the Turners have invited me to their family gathering. They ask all their relatives to come for a fancy brunch and to exchange gifts.”

  “I see.”

  Now Tom turned silent. Sara wondered about it, but they arrived at the church momentarily. People greeted Tom while giving Sara curious glances. And then she saw a familiar face coming toward her through the crowd of people.

  “Oh, my dear Sara! How I missed you.” Claire gave her a warm embrace.

  Tears filled her eyes. “I missed you, too.” When they parted, she saw Claire’s eyes glimmering. “I’ve been practicing my reading. Susan Turner has been helping me. She’s been reading to me Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. And I was even able to read the letter Tom had written.”

  “Oh, really?” Claire gave Tom a curious glance as he stood among the congregation talking to several men. “I’m not sure what letter this is. Do you mean the letter with the money to return to New York?” Her face suddenly dropped, and her eyes glistened again.

  “Claire, I have no plans to go back to New York. In fact, do you think Tom would mind if I use the money to buy a few personal items?”

  Claire grabbed her hand. “Oh, Sara, you don’t know how happy that makes me! Of course you can use it to buy whatever you need. I see that Tom bought the coat for you, too. I told him which one to get at the mercantile.”

  Sara smiled, happy for Claire but surprised, too, over what had just come out of her mouth—that she would not be leaving Bethlehem. What had caused her to come to this conclusion? Was it the emotion of seeing Claire? Looking out over the congregation that filled the pews, Sara realized it was more than that. It was the community. The Turners. The people she worked with at the Maplewood. And, yes, Tom.

  When they began to assemble in the pews to sing the opening hymn, Tom stood on her right. Sara cast a glance at him out of her eyes. He was staring straight ahead. What was he to her? A brother? A friend certainly, but perhaps one day, dare she think it—a husband?

  After they had sung a few hymns, the reverend spoke on the preparations for Christmas, encouraging each of them to likewise prepare for the arrival of the Savior in their hearts as they embraced His love this season. Sara felt Tom’s fingers brush across her hand, and she relished his touch.

  When the service concluded, Tom led the way outside to await Lawrence and Loretta. Tom shifted about, rubbing his hands together. Sara found little comfort in seeing his anxiety. Her stomach tightened when Lawrence arrived with his wife and the tall, stately form of Annabelle Loving. Sara thought she might faint under the woman’s piercing gaze. Annabelle’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and she nodded curtly at Tom before looking away.

  “We’ll be having dinner shortly,” Lawrence said. “I need to take Annabelle to the depot.”

  Annabelle looked with disdain at both her and Tom.

  “You’re leaving us?” Tom asked.

  “I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you, Mr. Haskins.” She drew on her gloves. “It’s been quite illuminating here, I must say.”

  “I hope you do well with the conservatory in Boston.”

  “I suppose I should continue with my piano. At least there I will be appreciated for my efforts.” Her gaze then turned to Sara. “Take care of him, darling. He’s quite a talented man in some areas, but not in others, I’m sorry to say.” She whirled away, her head high, and strode off in the direction of Lawrence’s sleigh.

  Sara was speechless, as was Tom. She looked to him for an answer, but his face appeared stony and unreadable. What had become of the two of them? Did this mean that he had relinquished Annabelle?

  Loretta tried to give them an encouraging smile and waved her hand. “Please, come with me. We’ll go on to the house. Lawrence will be back shortly.”

  Everything seemed awkward, yet the knowledge of Annabelle Loving’s departure renewed hope for Sara. Could it mean…was it possible to even think…? She looked at Tom, but he appeared sullen, with his gaze focused on the ground. She instead chose to wait and be patient.

  Inside the Boshens’ fine home, Loretta told them to make themselves at home while she finished dinner. The array of paintings on the walls captivated Sara. Most of them showed a style similar to Tom’s artistic flair, depicting the White Mountains in all seasons.

  “Did you do these?” she asked.

  He nodded as she studied each work. One showed a couple strolling in a meadow filled with wildflowers; another showed a train climbing a mountain. “What is this one?” she asked Tom.

  “It’s a painting of the Cog Railway. It’s a train that goes up the side of Mount Washington.”

  “A train that climbs a mountain!” Sara sta
red in amazement. “I didn’t know trains could do that.”

  “It’s quite an engineering feat. Of course, the train isn’t running in the winter, but in the summer it takes tourists to the summit of the highest mountain in the state. Maybe you would like to see it sometime.”

  “Oh, I would love to!”

  Tom’s grin widened as they continued their examination of the paintings. He took pleasure in explaining each one and where he painted it, along with the story that inspired him. Sara enjoyed this time of sharing in his work and his enthusiasm.

  The front door slammed. Lawrence walked into the drawing room, rubbing his hands together. “Well, she’s gone back to Boston,” he told Loretta, who had come from the kitchen upon his arrival.

  “She will be much happier there, I’m sure. She needs to use the talents God has given her and not stay here, pining away in Bethlehem.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I thought it would be nice to have family here, especially with Christmas coming. She could have at least stayed for that. I don’t understand why she…” He paused when his wife shook her head, as if to remind him of Sara and Tom’s presence in their home. He smiled meekly and led the way to the dining room, where they gathered for dinner.

  Sara remembered all of Claire’s instructions concerning table manners, using the linen napkin properly, cutting her meat into dainty portions, and taking care to chew and swallow without causing undue attention. She even refused second helpings, though she yearned for more of the delicious Yorkshire pudding. Tom and Lawrence discussed the snow and possibly going snowshoeing. Tom asked if he might borrow Lawrence’s sleigh for a trip to a place called Franconia Notch. Sara only stared at the fine china, the burning candelabra, and the glimmering silver.

  “So where do you live now, Sara?” Loretta asked.

  She glanced up. “Oh, I’m living with the Turner family.”

  “We heard how you helped that poor Turner boy who was lost in the storm. Do you plan to stay with the Turners permanently?”

  “I…” She paused. “I have no other plans at the moment. But plans can change very quickly.”