So long, sweet Ada. Don’t be afraid to take chances and to love completely. From you, I would expect nothing less.
Geoffrey
Ada drew in a long breath, pressing the paper to her chest. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall. She had cried an ocean already.
“Oh, Lord, I loved him,” she whispered. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Help me to accept that and to trust You for whatever comes. Draw me to You like never before. And, Lord, I pray Geoffrey finds You. Because with only his millions for comfort, he’s a lost man.”
She shouldn’t accept the money, but he was right. She would be miserable without Teddy. He needed her with him. Geoffrey, in his kindness, had made a way for her to go.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. He’d taken Geoffrey from her life but given her the chance to remain in Teddy’s. For that, she would praise Him.
She refolded the letter and placed it, along with the check, back in the envelope. Methodically, she washed her hands and rolled up the sleeves of her fancy dress. In the past weeks, her hands had grown soft, unaccustomed to work. She’d become, outwardly at least, a society girl.
She wouldn’t miss it. Hours spent changing clothes. A maid fussing over her. The painfully tight corsets.
She would miss Geoffrey.
“Don’t be afraid to take chances and to love completely.”
Someday, perhaps.
Yet right now, all she could think of was getting her brother well. And piecing her own shattered heart back together.
Night soaked the room in blackness. But nothing could compare to the darkness cloaking his heart.
Ever since the moment when Ada had walked toward Meadowbrook and out of his life, he hadn’t been able to shake her from his thoughts. A week later and he’d slept little, barely eaten, and had to remind himself to breathe.
For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman he couldn’t have. Most every girl he’d ever met had flung herself at him. The only one who hadn’t just happened to be the one he longed for with everything in him.
He shouldn’t have let himself get so close, feel so much. He had, and the damage was irrevocably done. Memories of her had saturated his very being, embedded to the point where nothing could remove them.
Geoffrey sat up in bed, scrubbed a hand across his face. Why bother to try and sleep? It wouldn’t be successful.
He wanted to go to her. He couldn’t. She didn’t care for him. Was no doubt gone to some warmer climate by now. He wouldn’t even know where to search.
He wouldn’t foist himself upon her. She might feel compelled to accept. The woman he married must come to him willingly, for him, not his riches. Perhaps no one ever would. Perhaps his only attraction was his millions.
He swallowed hard. As a little boy, he would’ve traded every cent he owned and more for simple, unconditional love. The hug of a mother, the acceptance of a father. The comradery of a friend.
At thirty-one years old, he was still the same little boy. Still longing for someone to love him. To believe in him.
“Well, let me give it to you straight, Geoffrey Buchanan. He does. More than anyone else in the whole world. He died on a cross for the sins of the universe. Yours included. You just have to let Him into your life, let Him love you. And not be too proud to admit you need saving.”
Perhaps… there was Someone. Only, he’d rejected Him. Relied on his money to get what he wanted, while all the time what he needed couldn’t be bought. Only freely given.
He stood and crossed the room, opened his closet door, flipped on the light switch, and reached up to the very top shelf. Under a stack of old school things rested a small leather volume. He returned to his bed and opened the book. On the front page, in small, uneven letters, read the words, “This Bible belongs to Geoffrey Buchanan.” He smiled and skimmed through the pages.
What was he looking for? He didn’t know. But he would when he found it.
“And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.”
The words stole his breath. Along with a freeing realization.
God loved him. The God he’d considered an angry, sin-damning Being, loved him. Not because he was rich, or famous, or worthy. But simply because He is Love.
And Geoffrey knew one thing. He wanted this love, this God in his life. Totally and completely. Invading every part of him.
As a boy, when his parents had taken him to church, the reverend always told everyone to bow their heads and close their eyes before prayer. It had seemed strange then, but not now.
So he prayed. Not a perfectly phrased, grammatically correct prayer, but one that came from deep within. As he prayed, he sensed God. Coming into his life, filling his heart.
Redeeming his soul.
Geoffrey lifted his head and opened his eyes. The void from Ada’s absence still yawned deep. But there, right along with it, the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. God would help him through this valley. Through every valley from this day forward.
From now on, life would be different. Instead of seeing his wealth as a burden, he would use it to help others. Instead of ignoring the requests for charitable donations, he would give freely. And along with that, he would share what he had learned, and all he would learn.
Someday, perhaps he would be known for more than his riches and eligibility. Someday, he would be able to look himself dead in the eye and say he lived life well. Until then, he could rest secure in one truth.
God’s love.
Chapter 11
Three Months Later
Saranac Lake Sanitarium, New York
Promise filled the air as surely as the gentle breezes off Saranac Lake.
As the days passed and Teddy slowly recovered, her own heart began to heal.
Sketchbook in hand, Ada sat by the lake, her pages fluttering in the breeze. It was a beautiful place of renewal and restoration. And sometimes, yes, even of death.
In that, too, there could be hope.
She closed her eyes, drinking in the freshness of the air. In the woman she had become. One who lived every moment of every day to the fullest, serving God and showing love. One no longer defined by her class.
She still thought of Geoffrey. In unguarded moments memories flooded her thoughts, so raw and fierce, tears overwhelmed her and she let herself cry.
But she was moving forward and dreaming again. Using her life for a greater purpose than drowning in her own sorrows.
Teddy waved at her from where he gathered shells on the beach. The doctors had credited his healing to their treatments. She gave all the glory to God.
He flashed her a smile before heading off again. In a few weeks, they would leave here. She hadn’t yet decided where to go. Perhaps to Malone, back to where they’d grown up. They still had over five hundred dollars left and could use it to purchase a shop. Something the two of them could do together. Wherever they went, they would go with God.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a figure walking along the beach, approaching Teddy. The two met and stopped, no doubt exchanging salutations. Teddy moved in one direction, and the man continued in the other, along the water’s edge.
She glanced at the watch pinned to the bodice of her dress. Three o’clock. She should go inside, prepare tea in their little cottage.
She smoothed her skirts and stood, casting one last glance at the water.
Her breath caught. No. It couldn’t be. Her traitorous heart played tricks on her. She had to stop seeing him in every face, every form.
He came closer.
Her heart quickened.
Geoffrey. There was no mistaking the determined step, the wavy hair.
And as their gazes met, that mesmerizing smile.
He stopped a few feet away, his hat in his hands.
“That boy said his sister was up here.” His words were quiet. “I hoped it might be you.”
She nodded, taking him in. He’
d changed in three months. His posture more relaxed, his eyes less troubled. Still as devastatingly handsome as ever.
As dangerous to her heart.
“What are you doing here?” She ran her hands across her skirt. Was her hair still neat, or tangled by the breeze? Thank goodness she’d worn a becoming lace blouse and cherry-colored skirt.
“Discussing with the owners the prospect of opening another facility near here. For those who can’t pay for treatment.”
“So you’ve turned philanthropic?” Oh, how she’d missed teasing him.
“I’ve found God.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Or rather, He found me.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” She took a step closer. Reached for his hand before she could reconsider. Entwined their fingers.
“I’m certainly glad to see you again. Ada…”
“Geoffrey—”
He held up a hand. “No, let me speak first. After I found God, I asked Him that if our being together was right, He would let us meet again. And look, we’re here together. So much time has been wasted, and I don’t want to wait another minute.” He dropped to one knee. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “For the second time, I want to ask you to marry me. But this time, it’s for real. Become my honest-to-goodness fiancée. Let me make you my wife.”
Wife. He was asking her to marry him.
Everything in her begged to say yes.
He reached into his pocket and removed a box, opening the lid. With unsteady fingers, he took out a diamond ring. Gold, with two hearts twined together.
Her breath faltered.
“I’ve been carrying this with me almost since you left. Hoping against hope that if God decided to intervene, I would somehow, someday, have the chance to give it to you. Will you take it, Ada?”
There could be no hesitation. God had brought them together that day in Central Park and again here on Saranac Lake. He had a purpose for their lives. And they were meant to be lived together.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh Geoffrey, yes!”
He slipped the ring on her finger then stood to his feet. Encircled her in his arms. Captured her lips with his.
Their breathing melded together, his touch gentle, yet possessive. Calling her his with every movement. Every touch. He wove his fingers through her hair, loosening it from its pins, and she wrapped her arms around him, lost in a kiss so much more than physical contact. A joining of two hearts. Making them one.
She took a step back and smiled slowly.
“I love you, Ada McClane.” The words lingered in the air, magic in their sound.
“And know this, Geoffrey Buchanan. I love you. Not because you are rich, or famous, or eligible. But because you are you. And because I’m so deeply, madly, and totally in love with you that it wouldn’t matter if you spent your days cleaning gutters in the Lower East End.” She laughed.
He took her hand in his, emotion in his gaze. “Walk with me along the beach. I’ve got half an hour before my meeting, and I want to spend every moment of it with you.”
“Then what?” They joined hands and started along the shoreline.
He leaned closer and brushed his lips over hers once more. Heedless of whoever was watching, they kissed. Living and loving in the most perfect of moments.
He slipped his arm around her waist and smiled. “After that, I’m all yours.”
She leaned against him. “What about me?”
He trailed his finger along her cheek, a thousand promises in a single look. “You are and always shall be… forever mine.”
Forever mine.
Forever his.
Amanda Barratt has won several awards for her work and enjoys writing about eras such as Regency and Victorian England, and the Gilded Age. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers, she lives in northern Michigan with her family, where she reads way too many old books, watches period dramas to come up with new plotlines, and dreams of taking a trip to England. Amanda loves hearing from her readers on Facebook and through her website amandabarratt.net.
Love’s Reward
by Susanne Dietze
Dedication
For Karl, who believed in this enough for the both of us.
Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
COLOSSIANS 3:23–24 ESV
Love is love’s reward.
JOHN DRYDEN
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Debra E. Marvin, Gina Welborn, Anita Mae Draper, and Ruth Reid for helping with various parts of the story; to my fabulous editors Rebecca Germany and Ellen Tarver; to my amazing agent, Tamela Hancock Murray; and to my family who cheered me on while I wrote. And to the Lord Jesus, who taught me so much about His provision and steadfastness as this story unfolded. I’m grateful for all of you.
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California
May 4, 1896
Never, in all my days!”
Daniel Blair paused on the bottom stair, hesitant to step into the morning-bright foyer with Mrs. Beake in such a mood. His landlady shook her graying head and dropped something onto the credenza with an indignant huff. Another soggy newspaper? Wilted produce, or mail delivered to the wrong address?
His pocket watch reported it was past nine already. He didn’t have time to commiserate with her over a deliveryman’s blunder. He didn’t even have time for breakfast. But Mrs. Beake was in such a state, he hastened into the foyer with as cheerful a smile as he could manage on so little sleep. “Good morning, ma’am.”
His landlady’s glare could curdle milk. “It is hardly good, sir.”
Worse than he thought. Wilted produce and a soggy newspaper. “What’s happened, if I may ask?”
“As if you’ve no inkling.” Her tone dripped vinegar. “What sort of home do you think this is?”
“A fine one.” A beautiful house with a breathtaking view, the edifice appealed to his architect’s sensibilities. A covered porch, three stories, and a mansard roof featuring two oeil-de-boeuf windows overlooking the street—he couldn’t have designed the place better himself. It was the perfect dwelling for now, until he could get around to building his own home.
The way she scowled, however, this might be his last day under her exceptional roof.
What had he done? He was up on his rent. He was quiet. He’d also been keeping odd hours, thanks to his work. Perhaps he’d been more than a bit inconsiderate of his landlady.
“Forgive me, sleeping through breakfast. I worked until half past two last night, er, this morning. Most discourteous of me not to inform you I’d struggle to be at the table by seven.”
“A trifle, compared to this.” Mrs. Beake pointed at a basket on the credenza, her bony fingers trembling as if the hamper had contaminated them. “You know my rules.”
No vices. No females or pets. Easy for him to avoid. “Ma’am?”
A rap sounded against the front door. Mrs. Beake jutted her chin toward it. “You’ve got another one, Mr. Blair.”
He rubbed his temple. “I’m sorry. Another… what?”
“Another girl.”
He turned around. Darkening the stained-glass panel was a smallish, puff-sleeved silhouette crowned with a large hat. A girl indeed.
But for him? He held back a snort. “She’s not here for me.”
“They’ve all been for you.” Mrs. Beake jerked open the hamper, revealing a steaming batch of cinnamon-scented muffins. “Three since eight o’clock, food and girls.”
At the smell, Daniel’s stomach growled. But for him? “This is a mistake.”
“No mistake.” The female at the door rapped again, this time louder. Mrs. Beake didn’t move to answer. “Bold as brick, these hoydens. Why, it’s an affront to my cooking as well as my reputation. In my day, girls did not call on gentlemen to whom they were not related.”
“Perhaps the churchwomen are here
about my influenza.”
“You recovered more than a week ago,” she noted.
“Word might just now be out. Although I don’t need the goodies.” He smiled, hoping to erase the crinkles around her pursed lips. “You took superb care of me while I was green-gilled.”
“Pah. Man that you are, you groaned about work. I was lucky to get a spoonful of soup down your throat.” She shook her head. “I’m not a complete lack-wit. These maidens have more than prayers on their minds.”
He doubted it. “We may speak of it this evening, if you wish, but I am late. Perhaps our visitor calls for you. Someone from your knitting group.” The knocker rapped again. Daniel took his bowler from the rack, ready to slip out the door once he’d admitted the caller.
Mrs. Beake slammed the hamper lid. Daniel opened the door.
And tried to swallow, but his tie was suddenly far too tight.
“Josie.” There, the swallow came, grating his throat like broken glass. “Miss Price, rather.”
“Good morning, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Beake.” Josie had a voice like a songbird, lilting, high and sweet. She even had a tiny stuffed bird pinned among a festoon of feathers atop her brown hat, but he far preferred gazing at the pretty face beneath it, framed by wisps of chestnut hair curling at her nape and temple.
It had been too long since he’d seen her. He’d thought of her countless times in the past weeks, and now here she was at his door—
“My boarders do not receive calls from unrelated females.” Mrs. Beake sniffed.
Daniel loosened his tie. “Of course not, ma’am—”
“I am here to see you, in fact.” Josie smiled at Mrs. Beake. “On behalf of the Ladies’ Aid Society, I’d like to extend an invitation—so much warmer when delivered in person, I find—to a benefit tea luncheon at the home of Mrs. Predmore this Saturday.”
Mrs. Beake frowned as she inspected Josie’s figure. Daniel’s gaze followed his landlady’s, admiring the feminine cut of Josie’s jade jacket. But he could see where Mrs. Beake’s approval ended. Josie’s legs were encased in buff trousers tucked into leather boots. Her legs were slender and long. With a start, Daniel lifted his gaze.
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