“And I have one other gift for you,” Tom said, handing her a rectangular box. It wasn’t large enough to be a piece of clothing, but it could hold a comb and brush. She smiled, hoping her hands weren’t trembling too much. To her surprise, a tiny box lay nestled in paper. “Are you trying to be funny?” she asked with a laugh. But the look on his face displayed anything but humor. Her smile faded.
She opened it to find a ring.
“It belonged to our mother,” Tom explained. “I asked Claire, and she agreed that you should have it.”
Claire nodded. “I think it will fit you fine, Sara.”
“I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.” She took it out to examine the blue stone set in a silver band that sparkled in the light of the room. She had never owned any jewelry in her life.
“Put it on your finger,” Tom encouraged, “and you will make me the happiest man alive.”
Sara paused, looking first at Tom and then at Claire. Tom’s eyes glinted. Claire smiled. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Sara confessed.
“Put it on, and you will agree to the rest of the ad I placed long ago—and become my blessed bride.”
Claire nodded. “Oh, I know this is something perhaps you two should have done alone, but I so wanted to be a part of this. It’s so exciting!”
Sara stared at the ring. Had Tom just asked her to marry him? She held the ring up, examining it in the sunlight. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she managed to say. Oh, how she wanted to make Christmas here in Bethlehem complete by placing that ring on her finger. The perfect ending to a long and difficult journey that had begun so many months ago.
Instead she put the ring back in the box and stood to her feet. For her, the journey was not yet finished. There were more emotional miles to tread. Oh, a part of her desperately wanted to say yes. But she only felt her heart pause. “I—I’m sorry, I can’t agree to marry you. Please, I have to go now.” She hurried out of the room.
Claire and Tom stood to their feet, their eyes wide, their faces painted with surprise and confusion. Claire pushed Tom into the hallway, whispering for him to do something.
“I don’t understand, Sara,” Tom said as he followed her to the coat closet. “I thought this is what we wanted…what we planned for all along…what God has been showing us these last few weeks.”
“I don’t know, Tom. I can’t even think right now. Maybe it’s still the dizziness. Please, I need to go home.”
“All right. I’ll walk you to the Turners. Let me get my coat.”
“No, I just need to be alone. Thank you…for everything. I’ll come by and pick up the gifts. I had a lovely time.” Sara had barely put her arms through the sleeves of her coat before she stumbled out into the snow. She imagined Tom standing in the doorway of his home, his hand outstretched, stray tears in his eyes. She was sorry she’d ruined their Christmas. Sorry she’d ruined everything in Tom’s life. But she couldn’t say yes. She didn’t know the reason why. Maybe it was Elisa’s warning. Or the memory of Annabelle. Perhaps her past. Whatever the reason, it bottled up her feelings and the joy she wished she could embrace.
Sara walked along the boardwalk until she came to the train depot, silent of trains or visitors with the Christmas holiday. She thought back to the first day she’d arrived in Bethlehem. While it had not been a pleasant introduction at first, Tom had been cordial and respectful. He had tried to understand her these last few weeks, apologizing many times for his weaknesses and his struggles. He’d left Annabelle to be by Sara’s side, trying his best to care for her while seeking God’s will. “Then why can’t I say yes to him?” she said aloud. “I don’t understand what is keeping me from accepting. Isn’t this why I came, just as Tom said? Isn’t this what I’m expected to do as the final act when a woman answers an ad for a bride?”
A bride. The title cut deep. She knew nothing about being a bride. Or a wife, for that matter. How could she fulfill such a role? Sara continued to walk the streets, mulling over these questions that revealed the doubts within her. Doubts that Elisa had encouraged her to heed. She did not feel worthy to be anyone’s bride, to fulfill the vows she must make. She would never be that perfect wife for Tom.
He would look for her to be like Annabelle or some other fine lady of Bethlehem that he liked to paint in his landscapes…the ones who enjoyed fine picnics or walks in God’s creation. He would never be able to love her for who God had made her to be…that poor girl from the streets of New York. She would disappoint him. And he would regret his decision to marry.
Sara brushed away the tears collecting on her cheeks. “Oh, God, help me. Help Tom. Help him to see that this will never work, to realize that this was a dream without the ending he wanted. The ending must be different.” But even when she said it, a part of her refused to accept it. Hope remained somewhere.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Since Christmas Day, Tom had sat for long periods in his study, fingering the ring Sara had put back into the box. A lump of sorrow filled his throat. At first he believed her, that it was the dizzy spell she’d suffered before deciding not to accept the ring and that she would return to claim it and his hand. But when the days passed and she refused to see him, he knew it was more than that. He realized he had made many mistakes since her arrival, but he thought much of it had been healed. Sara seemed to enjoy his company, like the journey to see the Old Man of the Mountain, even if they were caught in the snowstorm. He had tried to care for her as best he could. But none of it was enough. Something was missing in this relationship. He knew what it had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. She did not love him.
He picked up the ring and saw the blue stone glint in the sunlight reflecting through the window panes. The symbol of a covenant they would make before friends and family. A love to cherish forever. He felt in his heart that he was ready, that love moved him to action…especially after the trip to see the Old Man. Even before then, in the weeks leading up to it when he walked her home at night and during the dinner with Lawrence and Loretta, he believed they were becoming one. Thus followed the proposal for marriage on Christmas Day.
But now they were once again separated like the first day when she ran away from him at the depot. At times he wrestled with the pain of ever having placed the newspaper ad on the advice of the young couple. The couple had been so happy, content with what they did and with the result. But for him, this had only been a time of burning away the dross in his life. It proved painful, but he felt it would eventually lead to the will of God. To a bright and fulfilling future. Somehow.
Tom looked over Sara’s partially completed portrait. He’d finished painting the blue of her eyes and gazed at them even now. Eyes that had seen so much in her young life. And eyes that displayed unspoken reservations.
“But you aren’t a reserved woman,” he told the portrait. “Look what you’ve done with your life. You came here not knowing anyone or anything, on the advice of Mrs. Whitaker. You were brave to step out of familiarity into the unknown. And it’s true that neither of us really knows what marriage is all about. But we’ve been through so much. We know we both see and hear God. Can you not take this final step of faith with me—and trust God?”
“Tom, who are you talking to?” Claire had peeked into the room.
He nodded at the portrait.
“Expressing your feelings to a painting? Tsk, tsk. Why don’t you go to the Turners and speak to her?”
“She won’t see me.”
“How do you know? You’ve only been there once or twice. Maybe that’s exactly what she’s waiting for, to see if you will reach out no matter what. If one doubts, the other’s faith must rise above it. Then both of you will come to an agreement.”
Tom said nothing.
“You do want to marry her, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I love her. I know we haven’t been together that long, but that’s why she came here after all—to marry. And now that we’re ready for it, she won’t ag
ree.”
“But can you honestly say that when you put that ad in the paper you were ready for marriage? Weren’t you going to wait and see?”
Tom admitted that was true, particularly with two women playing tug-of-war for his affections. But Annabelle had left, and Lawrence had informed him not long ago that she was already interested in a violin player at the Boston conservatory. So where did that leave him? With the one who had answered the ad in the first place. The one God had orchestrated to come here. Sara McGee.
“Yes, and I sought the Lord’s will. I have no reason to think He means anything different but that I should marry Sara. Until the day she refused the ring and my intentions. Now I’m left wondering.”
“Go seek her out then. Tell her your heart.”
“Claire, I made my heart known. What more can one say when you give a ring and ask for a hand in marriage? I believed I did what was right. But it’s plain to see she doesn’t love me. And I can’t make her.”
Claire sighed in exasperation. She gave one final plea that he seek reconciliation before she left the room. But Tom would not go and beg on bended knee—though many did propose in such fashion. Maybe he should have proposed in front of the Old Man. What a beautiful place to have asked for her hand in marriage, at the foot of the rocky face shaped by God. A symbol of how their lives had been changed by the circumstances around them. Maybe he would have come away with a better outcome than this.
Tom took out his paints and palette. Even if he did feel sorrow, he also felt the need to paint. Another landscape of the Old Man was in order. Sara had asked specifically for it. If nothing else came of this, he would give her a painting as he’d originally intended to do the day she arrived. She would have it forever as a symbol of what might have been.
He dabbed moss green paint to bring out the color of the forests as though they had just come to life, exactly as Sara requested. Tall spruce then came forth on the canvas. Finally he began the outline of Profile Mountain where the Old Man found its craggy existence among the rocks. He felt peace as he worked on the scenery. Love of creation, certainly, but more importantly, love for the woman who saw the value in creation as he did. And hope that love might be reciprocated—though he didn’t know how or when or if ever.
“Ahem.”
He turned, paintbrush in hand, to see a familiar face. He set down the brush at once. “Lawrence! What a surprise.”
“After what Claire just told me, I would have expected you to be painting a scene of rain and dark, cloudy skies. But this is excellent.”
“Do you recognize it?”
“Of course. Profile Mountain. Why this particular scene?”
“It’s—it’s something Sara requested.”
Lawrence nodded and, to Tom’s surprise, pulled up a chair. “Claire said that Sara refused your proposal on Christmas Day. I must say, I was rather surprised to hear it.”
“Sara has always weighed everything carefully. But this came unexpectedly, I must admit. I thought she would rejoice, but instead, she left.”
“I’m sorry, Tom. I know you care for her a great deal. You can’t let go. If there’s one thing I’m learning through these situations you’ve been through, it’s how your faith never wavers. You know I’m not a religious person. Even though I’ve gone to services for years and even sang in the choir, it was of little importance in my life. But these days I’m seeing more and more the value in a true belief. Or in the least, a belief in a Supreme Being in charge of this life.”
“A Supreme Being, yes, but One who also desires fellowship. Even Jesus took friends among the disciples. He is not just one dimension that we see in church.” Tom acknowledged his painting. “He wants to be a part of every minute detail of our lives. He is creating it all, a grand picture on His heavenly easel.”
Lawrence nodded, his gaze transfixed on the portrait of Sara resting against the wall. “And what is that? I didn’t know you painted portraits.”
“I didn’t either. And maybe it’s just as well it’s half-finished. Sara preferred this painting of the Old Man rather than one of herself.”
“I think you should finish both. Who knows, you may have opened another door in your life as an artist.”
“Perhaps, but I still prefer landscapes.”
Lawrence smiled. “Do what you must. I must see to an errand for Loretta. She prefers a different color shawl than the one I gave her for Christmas. I hope to make an exchange.”
Tom thought for a moment. “I hope, Lawrence, that you will soon stand with me at my wedding.”
“I’m certain I will, my friend. Don’t give up. You’ve come too far on this journey. It’s for an appointed time.”
“There’s a scripture that says that very thing, in Habakkuk: ‘The vision is yet for an appointed time…. Though it tarry, wait for it; because it shall surely come.’”
“Then let that word be your strength.” Lawrence placed his hat on his head. “Tell me at once when you have news to share.”
Tom marveled at his friend’s change of heart but, more importantly, the faith rising within him. He’d labored much in showing God’s truth to Lawrence, but perhaps words didn’t need to be the sole source. Change could also come through the natural course of living day by day. And God was opening his friend’s heart to a revelation of His nature. Despite what had happened with Sara, Tom could count this all joy. More was happening here than met the eye. And he would do what scripture begged, even if he disliked it. He would tarry as long as he needed.
Sara felt like a wanderer of the heart and soul since the episode at Christmas with Tom. She often paced inside the Turner home. Even with her work at the Maplewood, she felt on edge, without peace. There seemed no purpose or sense of direction. She thought her decision would free her to explore the future and what God would have her do. But every waking moment was filled with Tom’s sorrowful face when she put the beautiful ring back in the box. She relived the event repeatedly and squirmed at the thought of making him so sad. The day had gone well, too, except for the fainting spell during the painting of her portrait…and then refusing his proposal. Had she closed off her heart to the door God opened through Tom’s gift? Was she like those in the biblical Bethlehem, with no room in her heart to accept a new life and a new purpose?
Sara gathered the dishes from the evening meal even as her coworker, Rachel, inquired of her melancholy.
“Tom proposed to me at Christmas,” Sara finally said.
“He did? Oh, how wonderful. When is the wedding? I’m invited, aren’t I?”
When she said she didn’t feel it was right to marry him, Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious. I would take the ring immediately if I had some fancy man like that ask me to marry him. He’s gonna be rich, you know. Everyone’s talking about his work. In fact, I overheard Mr. Akins say the hotel is thinking of commissioning your Mr. Haskins to paint a huge mural of the mountains to decorate the back wall of the dining room.”
At this, Sara looked over at the empty space that might one day be filled with Tom’s creative handiwork. Oh, how she dearly wanted her empty heart to be filled by him. Why did she insist on shutting him out? Was it insecurity—that a woman of the streets could never find happiness with a famous painter?
“Now you see why I have my doubts,” Sara told Rachel. “Can you really see me married to someone that important? I’d have to walk four steps behind him.”
“Oh, really, Sara. I’ve seen him come to walk you home. He adores you.”
Tom adores me?
The comment stayed with her as she carried the dishes off to the kitchen. When she returned to the dining room, a man had taken a seat at one of her tables. The face seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place him. That is, until their eyes met and recognition finally dawned.
“Hello, Miss McGee.”
“Lawrence! I mean, Mr. Boshen.”
“Lawrence is fine. I’d like to order a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”
“Of
course.” She hurried away, wondering what he was doing there this time of day. When she returned with a teapot and cup and placed them before him, his hand gently took hold of her arm. His eyes narrowed in concern.
“I just wanted to say something,” he said. Then in a quiet voice he added, “You can’t do this to him.”
“Sir?”
“To Tom. You can’t break his heart like this. Do you know how long I’ve been pestering him to settle down with a woman before he becomes too old and feeble to enjoy life? I told him he would become a crooked cane if he didn’t relent and find a woman.”
Sara listened but couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing—or witnessing—from Lawrence Boshen.
“Yes, I know I’ve likely been the cause of your differences. I encouraged Tom to look to someone else, like my wife’s cousin. But it was wrong of me to presume I could play matchmaker. The more I see you two together, the more I’m convinced that you’re perfect for one another. And he is deeply in love with you.”
Sara concealed her hands behind her so he would not see them trembling. But her voice betrayed her. “M–Mr. Boshen, I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes to Tom and you will make him the happiest man alive and soothe the rest of us here in Bethlehem who are concerned about him. His paintings can only take him so far in life. But it’s the company of a beautiful and talented woman, along with her determination and faith, that makes a man complete in his work. I know. I’m married to one.”
Talented? Beautiful? Sara could not believe the words. Then she heard someone summon her to the kitchen. She managed to give Lawrence a weak smile before she left, though her feet were slow to obey. Had she just witnessed a dream or was this truly Tom’s friend, the one who had once despised her, the one who had tried to tear them apart, now asking her to reconsider?
Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 23
