The Timeless Love Romance Collection

by Dianne Christner

  Maime inwardly breathed relief. How ingenious of Hank to consider a diversion for these precious people. A few minutes later, as clouds darkened the house and the storm rumbled closer, he began a story about a little boy who wanted a dog but was given a chicken. Hank’s clear voice spun a delightful tale about how the chicken helped the little boy’s mother by providing eggs for them to eat. In the end, the little boy realized that God had provided a way for him and his mother to survive during the hard times. He hadn’t received what he’d wanted, but God gave him what he needed.

  “Do you know what the story means?” Hank said.

  “I like eggs,” Mrs. Weaver said. “And you can’t eat a dog.”

  “Yes, you can,” another man said. “If you were hungry, you could eat anything.”

  “Let’s ask Miss Maime,” Hank said.

  He had a way of making her feel special. “I think it means we need to trust God for all our needs, even if we don’t understand what He is doing.”

  “Like my boys in the war?” Claudia said.

  “Yes, your boys,” Hank said. “Even though the storm outside is not pleasant, we understand God is taking care of us by bringing rain.”

  “It will wash away the German’s tracks,” Mr. Weaver said. “Our boys won’t be able to find them.”

  “But God can.” Hank’s quiet voice calmed the whimpering of a few frightened residents. “He can find every man, woman, and child who is lost. Nothing escapes the eye of the Lord. All we need do is ask Him.”

  “Would you pray for us, Mr. Hank?” Claudia said, her voice brimming with emotion.

  “Sure. Let’s all bow our heads and close our eyes.”

  Each person in the parlor did as Hank asked. “Heavenly Father, we come to You this afternoon a little uneasy with the storm and all the worries of our lives. Be with us. Comfort us, and give us peace. In Your precious Son’s name, amen.”

  Maime lifted her gaze and stared into Hank’s blue eyes. She shivered. Nothing escapes the eye of the Lord.

  Charles had made that very statement the day he left for war.

  Chapter 4

  Hank had a passionate nature about the Fourth of July. He’d lost friends and fellow soldiers in the war. And that didn’t include his missing leg, the deep scars on the right side of his face, and the deeper scars embedded in his heart. He’d seen homes destroyed and lives shattered. But he didn’t regret his act of patriotism—only his lost relationship with Maime.

  Stop it. You’re feeling sorry for yourself. He’d made a choice at the close of the war and thought he understood the consequences, until he saw Maime four weeks ago. This morning all the grief of that decision beat down on him. She was the one love of his life, and every moment spent in her presence pressed doubts against that desperate decision made in 1918.

  “You sure are planning a grand celebration for the Fourth.” Lucy set several jars and bottles of herbal liniments onto a tray.

  “Well, I want the holiday to be in honor of those men who have given their lives for their country. And I’d like to see a worship time for the God who protects us all.”

  Lucy laughed. “I think you should have been a preacher.”

  “Actually, I thought about it at one time, but I didn’t feel the call.” He glanced over at her tray. “I see you’re planning to massage some of the sore muscles of our residents. How about I brew a little peppermint tea to go with what you have there.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hank, that would be wonderful.”

  He heard the light tap of Maime’s shoes across the dining room floor.

  “I hear my favorite two people in the kitchen,” she called. “And I hear laughing, which means fun.”

  “We’re talking about the Fourth of July,” Hank said. “And peppermint tea.”

  “That’s an unusual combination.” Maime tilted her head. “Actually iced peppermint tea would taste good.”

  “The tea is for the residents to drink while I massage liniment into their tired muscles. We hadn’t gotten to Hank telling me all about the party,” Lucy said.

  Hank chuckled. He’d laughed more in the past four weeks than before the war. “Miss Lucy wants to know what’s going on so she can be ready.”

  “I know all about his plans for the Fourth of July.” Maime folded her arms over her chest and feigned a superior stance.

  “I had a sergeant who looked a lot like you,” Hank said. “He sure kept us in line.” But he wasn’t as beautiful.

  Maime cleared her throat. “As I said, before Hank compared me to an army sergeant, our Fourth of July will be the grandest this town has seen in years. We’ll have games, wonderful food with watermelon, fresh corn, and roast beef—all courtesy of James—and a cake.”

  “A cake?” Lucy’s eyes widened. “With flour and sugar so dear?”

  “Hank assures me that he can make a heavenly cake that will not take much flour. He’ll sweeten it with honey and top it with fresh strawberries. And later we can watch the town’s fireworks from the backyard. Let’s all pray Mr. Weaver doesn’t get so upset like he did last year.”

  Lucy stiffened. “I remember he jumped over a chair to get away from enemy fire. Mr. Grayson got upset, too. Both men were trembling like fall leaves. We had a difficult time calming them down. Later I cried, not because of how hard it was but because I felt so sorry for what they’d been through.”

  “I understand how they feel.” Hank sighed. “At times I wish I could hide somewhere in my mind. War is harsh. A man wants to forget it, but he shouldn’t so he can do his part to make sure all the killing never happens again.”

  “I have no idea what you went through, but those of us who waited on loved ones to come home will forever appreciate your sacrifice,” Maime said.

  “Thank you. I’ve run into many folks who simply want to put it all behind them and not understand the danger of overlooking why we were there.”

  “You’re an insightful man, Hank. I’m proud to know you.” Maime smiled. “Seems to me you ought to be teaching school or behind the pulpit.”

  “I already told him he ought to be a preacher,” Lucy said.

  “Oh, I’d look real peculiar hobbling up to the front of the church with a missing leg and a face full of hair.” He turned his attention back to the stove. Did Maime remember how she used to tell him he ought to teach school or preach?

  “Give it some thought,” Maime said. “I’d hate to lose you, but your wisdom needs to be shared.”

  Hank picked up the salt and pepper to keep busy, anything to keep from spilling out the truth. “What can I do to help Mr. Weaver and Mr. Grayson through the fireworks tonight?”

  Maime touched her finger to her chin, just as she used to do when she was a girl. “I don’t want to put the burden on you. Sometimes James can talk to them when they are all worked up. He’ll be here for the festivities.”

  “Have you said yes to James yet?” Lucy said.

  “No. And I’m not. At least I don’t think so.”

  Hank poured boiling water onto the peppermint leaves. I will not be jealous. What if she says yes and marries up with him? Dear God, what have I done? His Maime would be guilty of bigamy, and it wouldn’t be her fault.

  Maime touched Hank’s shoulders. “Never mind. As long as I have Hank here cooking and filling my head with worthy things to be thinking about, I don’t need James or any other man.” She took the pepper shaker from his hand and added a hint more. “With all of this fuss, I wonder what you have planned for Christmas.”

  I can’t be here. I’ve got to leave before you learn the truth.

  The sound of a truck alerted Hank to James’s pulling up next to the house. The man sure paid a lot of visits to Cranberry House. Not that Hank blamed him.

  “My lands, looks like James is courtin’ today,” Lucy said.

  “Hush.” Maime waved her away, as though her words might disappear in the wind. “What if he hears you? Besides, I need to check on one of my plants.”

  “That made no s
ense, Miss Maime.” Lucy picked up the tray with the liniments and fresh-brewed tea. “If you decide not to take him up on his offer, let me know. I think he’s handsome. I could settle into being a farmer’s wife quite easily.”

  “Lucy! I can’t believe you’re talking that way in front of Hank.”

  Hank laughed. “I’m rather enjoying it. Poor James. Sure hope he ends up with the right woman.” He dried his hands on a towel. “I’ll go meet him. He most likely has food for the celebration.”

  Without another word, he grabbed his crutch and limped out the screen door and down the steps. Maybe he could take care of business and spare Maime the trouble. Who was he fooling?

  “Mornin’, James. Looks like you’re going to make sure the Fourth will be done in style.”

  “I’m doing my best. Miss Maime around?”

  “She’s in the conservatory. Probably nursing a plant. I’m sure she’ll be right on out.”

  James leaned against the side of his truck. “You remind me of an old friend.”

  Hank’s stomach did a flip. “I take that as a compliment.”

  “He was Maime’s husband. Quiet spoken, caring, and my best friend. Before the war, when my wife was still alive, the four of us used to spend a lot of time together.” James lifted his hat, and with his sleeve he swiped at the perspiration on his forehead. “Charles loved baseball. Every Saturday afternoon, we’d round up enough fellas to play, and our wives carried on like we were the best players in the state.”

  Hank hated himself. Selfishness had climbed into his heart and taken over any shred of decency that he had left. He took a deep breath. “I’m pleased that I remind you of an old friend. Odd how life never turns out like we expect.” He tugged at his ear.

  “My wife’s smile could rival the sun,” James said. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. You ever married?”

  “Yes. A fine woman. I think about her all the time.”

  James glanced up at the house. “Maime helped me through my loss. Both of us hurt real bad from losing our spouses.”

  Hank needed to change the subject before he stepped into the realm of confession. “I haven’t told Miss Maime yet, but I need to be heading on down the road soon.”

  “I thought you liked it here in Hannibal.”

  “Oh, I do. But I have a restless spirit.”

  James sighed. “Think real hard on staying. Maime speaks highly of you, and so do I. You’re a big help to her.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “So you’ll think about it? Pray about it?”

  Hank tasted the bile rising in his throat. Pray about deceit? “Yes, I’ll pray.”

  James picked up a slab of beef, and Hank grabbed a small basket of potatoes.

  “Do you like to fish?” James said.

  “Sure do. Sitting on the Mississippi riverbank has a way of relaxing a body.”

  “Ah, so in all your travels, the Mississippi stays close by.”

  “Pretty much.” Watch what you say.

  “Mr. Weaver and a few of the other men here are always after me to take them fishing. I thought we could go next Saturday. By then, everyone should have rested up from the celebration on Monday. Could you arrange coming along?”

  A longing crept over him. He’d missed James. “Just say when. All I have to do is put on a pot of beans with one of your fine ham bones.” They’d done a lot of talking back when they’d fished together. “What you’re doing for the men and an old cripple like me is … well, it’s a fine thing.”

  “Thanks, Hank. I feel the same about what you’re doing for Maime.” James chuckled. “I don’t look at you as a cripple.”

  “Unless we’re running a race.”

  “I don’t do that anymore.” James headed for the backdoor then swung his attention back to Hank. “Maime’s husband and I used to run races. That man always beat me. He used to say he could outrun me on one leg.”

  “He must have been fast.”

  “He was. More importantly, he was the godliest man around. Sure hated it when he didn’t come back from the war.”

  Hank thought he would throw up.

  Maime felt Mrs. Weaver’s head. The fever had returned, draining every bit of the older woman’s strength. She’d complained of a scratchy throat since Memorial Day, and now that the Fourth had arrived, her health had not improved. She complained of a headache, and now this fever would not go away. With the rattling in her chest, Maime feared pneumonia. The doctor who normally tended to folks at Cranberry Hill had left for St. Louis on Friday and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.

  “Can you give her anything?” Maime said to Lucy.

  “Some ginger tea would make her feel better. Sometimes a tea made from rosemary will help a headache.”

  “Let’s do that.” Maime swallowed hard to keep her emotions intact. “Mr. Weaver will have a difficult time enjoying the festivities without his wife.”

  “Tell him to let me rest,” Mrs. Weaver said through closed eyes. “I want him to have a good day.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Maime touched the woman’s cheek. Although Mrs. Weaver had her moments when her mind slipped a bit, most of the time she was all right.

  The older woman laid her hand on her chest. “I think I have a bad chest cold.”

  I hope that’s all the doctor finds. “We’ll have the doctor here tomorrow,” Maime said. “He’ll have you feeling better in no time at all.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Weaver smiled, her pale face causing Maime to pray for her recovery.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Lucy said.

  “That’s not fair. You’ve looked forward to today since you first heard about it.”

  “Nonsense. I’m a trained nurse, and you’re needed to direct all the goings-on.” Lucy gathered up Mrs. Weaver’s hand. “However, you could put on some water for the tea. I’ll slip downstairs in a minute.”

  “We’ll take turns,” Maime said. And when Lucy opened her mouth obviously to protest, Maime kissed her forehead. “It’s not good to argue with the boss.”

  Once in the kitchen and the teakettle on its way to boiling, Maime told Hank about Mrs. Weaver.

  “I’ll take the tea up to her,” he said. “You help James with the residents.”

  “I should tell Mr. Weaver that his wife is resting, and she wanted him to enjoy the day.” The smells from the roasted beef, potatoes, and green beans tugged at her stomach. She hadn’t taken the time to eat this morning with the holiday preparations weighing heavily on her mind.

  “I’ll have the food ready in an hour. If you can help James dish it up, I’ll sit with Mrs. Weaver so Lucy can join in with the fun. Both of you women work too hard to miss the games and food.”

  Maime frowned. “And what about you?”

  Hank lifted the lid on the green beans and added some fresh dill. The aroma sent her mouth watering. Charles used to add a toss of dill to the green beans. Praise God that He had sent Hank into her life. All the fond memories of Charles washed over her like fragrant flowers. Hank had a way of blessing her at every turn.

  “Do I dare say that Charles used to put dill in my green beans?” She laughed. “I’d slip away from the stove, and he’d lift the lid and sprinkle it in before I could say a word.”

  “You don’t like it?” Hank said. “I can pull it out.”

  “Oh, I love the taste. It was a game between us. And he’d do the same with potatoes. We had a little herb garden in the right-hand corner of the big garden. We used to add herbs to vegetables and meat, even bread.”

  Hank dried his hands on his apron. He trembled and leaned on his crutch.

  “I’m sorry, Hank. I’m forever talking about Charles, and it has you uncomfortable. Please forgive me.”

  He quickly glanced up. “Miss Maime, you talk about whatever pleases you.”

  “I miss him.”

  “And I imagine he misses you.”

  “In heaven? Do you think he ever wonders how I’m doing?”

  �
�I’m sure of it.”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m such a silly goose. Someone needs to scold me for such goings on. It’s been far too many years.” She focused on the residents and James in the backyard. “I’ll go help James with the horseshoes.”

  “Hurry along. I bet you have an eye for ringing them every time.”

  “More like, I need to get the corn in here so you can get it cooking.” She laughed again, that sweet sound. “Thanks for making this day special for all of us at Cranberry Hill.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  Chapter 5

  Maime lifted the worn rug from the clothesline. She’d taken out all of her frustration about Mrs. Weaver’s illness and her dilemma about marrying James by pounding every last speck of dust from the rug. But before she carried it back inside, she took a moment to catch her breath and allow the gentle breeze to bathe her face.

  The doctor had come this morning and given Mrs. Weaver medicine for the pneumonia. Maime hated that dreadful disease; it had taken her daddy, and she knew how it drained a body of all its strength.

  Lord, must she go now? Mr. Weaver won’t last long without her, and she’s such a dear soul.

  Perhaps Maime had given into selfishness, especially if the good Lord wanted Mrs. Weaver home where the fever and chest pain would no longer be a part of her life. Six people had died since Maime had started taking in helpless folks at Cranberry Hill, nearly twelve years ago. Death was a fact of life, but it never made saying good-bye any easier.

  Like saying good-bye to Charles, an impossible task. In the beginning she planted flowers so when he came home, he’d see how well she’d taken care of the spacious area around the house. But as the years crept by, she did less and less work outside. Now her garden contained vegetables for her residents, and lately she’d taken interest in maintaining the conservatory. If a rare flower appeared, it was a surprise, like an expected gift from a friend.

  If she married James, and he was a dear man, he’d make sure the rest of her days would be filled with love and devotion. And he’d help her find someone to look after Cranberry Hill. The idea of building a life with James nudged at her. He wanted children, and she had a few more childbearing years left in her.