The Timeless Love Romance Collection

by Dianne Christner

  “I did, too.”

  Maime blinked back the tears and refolded the note. If only she’d had an opportunity to talk with Hank like she wanted to do last night. “Goodness, you had your hands full this morning.”

  “I managed just fine.”

  “I … I need to be thinking about lunch for the residents.”

  “First of all, you need to talk about what has happened. I know this must hurt something fierce.”

  Maime shook her head. “It was pure foolishness on my part. Besides—”

  The sound of a truck caused her to whirl around. James pulled up next to the house. A moment later, he was at her side.

  “I couldn’t go home without stopping by. Can I talk to Hank?” The solemn look on James’s face made her wonder if he possibly knew Hank had left.

  “He’s gone.” She held up the note. “Not sure when he left. My guess early this morning.”

  “Unless Mr. Weaver was right when he said he saw Hank last night.” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.

  James studied Maime for a moment. “Do you have a few minutes? There’s something I need to tell you, and now that Hank is gone, well, I think it’s important.”

  “I need to help Lucy put together something for lunch, first.”

  “I have it all taken care of,” Lucy said. “There’s plenty of fish and green beans left from last night. You talk to James, and I’ll come looking for you if things get out of hand.”

  Maime ordered her pulse to slow down. Anger bubbled in her veins. “You knew something about Hank that you kept to yourself? Has he been in prison? Has he robbed me of what little I have, and I don’t know it yet? Why else would he leave without so much as a good-bye?”

  Lines deepened around James’s eyes. “No. He hasn’t been in prison. Not to my knowledge anyway. But he’s been in a prison of his soul. Let’s sit on the swing, and let me tell you about Hank.”

  He placed his hand in the small of her back and gently guided her up the brick sidewalk toward the front porch. From the pained expression in his eyes, whatever James had to tell her must be heart wrenching.

  Maime took a deep breath and eased onto the swing. “I’m sorry I blurted out those things about Hank. I’m simply … hurt that he’s gone.”

  “You have a good reason to be hurt.” James seated himself beside her. “Do you mind if I pray first?”

  She nodded.

  “Heavenly Father, guide me in what I need to tell Maime. Give her an open mind to hear the truth and a heart for forgiveness.” He lifted his head and took her hand.

  “You’re scaring me.” She hadn’t seen James this upset since before Ivy died.

  “I want to start with asking you to remember how much you and Charles were in love. Remember how caring and full of life he was?”

  “Yes. But what does that have to do with Hank?”

  “I’ll get to that. The war changed all of us who fought—all of us who lived the horror of seeing people killed and the duties required of soldiers. I’m still reliving those nightmares when I labeled myself a murderer, or when a buddy was blown to pieces. Many times I’ve asked God why I was spared. And many times I wished I had been taken. What kept me going was knowing Ivy waited for me. When I came home, I feared she’d not recognize me because of the things I’d done.”

  Maime’s stomach churned. She wanted to know the truth about Hank now, but an urging in her spirit held her back.

  James squeezed her hand. “Charles did not die in the war.”

  She snatched back her hand. Her heart hammered against her chest until she thought it would burst. Could it be?

  “Hank,” she whispered. “My Charles is Hank?”

  “Yes, Maime. I figured it out yesterday.”

  “But how could he do this to me?” She held her breath, sensing the anger raging through her body. “Why?”

  “Because of what I just told you. When I returned home, I worried that I had forgotten how to be a good man. My mind and heart had been affected by the war. Charles not only had those fears, but he’d also lost his leg. In his eyes, he was worse than dead. He had nothing to offer you. He believed you were better off as a widow and free to have a life without him.”

  She stood on weak legs. “How dare he make such a decision? All these years I’ve loved and cared for a man who was so selfish that he chose to deceive me.” Realization of her and James’s relationship settled on her. “What if I had remarried? Look at the sin that would have caused.” She whirled around. “I’m glad he’s gone. He’s vile, cruel—”

  “Maime, I understand your anger, but I’m asking you to consider his side of the story. Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to come back?”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she swiped them away. Now she knew why she’d fallen in love with Hank; he was her first and only love—her precious Charles.

  “Listen to me, please,” James said. “He’s wandered all over trying to forget the war and you. Neither has left his mind. When he came to Hannibal, his desire was to see Cranberry Hill and hopefully get a glimpse of you. But he saw a chance to help and be a part of your life in a small way. Don’t you understand? He had to leave. He realized that if I could see the truth, you would, too. He begged me not to tell you, but since he’s left, I couldn’t let you go on believing a lie. We need Charles as much as he needs us. Help me find him, Maime. Let’s bring him home where he belongs.”

  “No! I can’t. How can I forgive him for the empty years? He betrayed me.” She swallowed hard and flung open the front door, not knowing where to go for comfort, but she had to flee the truth. She hated what Charles had done. How selfish. How incredibly selfish. Let him get as far away from Hannibal as possible. She wanted no part of him in her life. Charles had died in the war. Her Charles would never have done such a despicable thing. Her Charles would have allowed her to help him rebuild his life. They would have done it together. They’d have raised a family.

  Maime blinked. She brushed past Lucy in the kitchen and stepped into the conservatory.

  “What is it?” Lucy hurried to her side. “Sit down, Maime. Are you ill? You’re ghastly pale.”

  She turned to her friend. “Hank is really Charles. All these years … and I believed he was dead.”

  Lucy gasped. “You poor dear.” She opened her arms for Maime, and she stepped into them. Lucy held her tightly. “Cry. Just cry until there are no more tears.” And Maime did.

  Some time later, Maime lifted her head from Lucy’s shoulder. Exhaustion had left her weak, and she thought she might be physically sick.

  “Tell me what is going on,” Lucy said. “We can sit on the bench here.”

  In the next few minutes, Maime retold the story as James had done for her. “I am so hurt and angry,” she finally said. “And James … how could he ask me to find Charles and bring him home? Does he think I can forget and forgive what Charles has done to me?”

  Lucy pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped Maime’s face as though she were a child. “You have every right to be angry.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed.

  “But I do have a question.”

  Maime nodded.

  “Didn’t you feel love for Hank?”

  “I did. Even that was a lie.”

  “How many times have you wished that Charles was still alive? Do you think this might be an answer to prayer?”

  “I’ve been deceived, Lucy. I’ve lived with memories of a man who didn’t care enough to come home to me.”

  “I can see he couldn’t. I can see that a man could love a woman so much that he’d rather she believe he was dead than face her with what had happened to him.” Lucy grasped Maime’s shoulders. “I’m going to leave you in here so you can pray about what God would have you do.”

  “Are you saying I should do what James asked?”

  “I don’t know, but God does.” Lucy smiled and walked back into the kitchen. “James is still here. I’ll enlist his help for lunch.”


  “Oh no, you can’t—”

  “Hush. You have an important task to do.” Lucy turned her attention to pulling plates from the cabinet.

  Maime thought her body could not contain a single tear, yet more fell from her eyes. Bitterness, rage, and a hurt that cut so deeply that she thought she would bleed. How could Charles do this to her? Had he ever loved her at all? They’d been closer than most couples were. Best friends. Did he think she was weak and unable to handle his missing limb or to understand his role in the war?

  Question after question swelled in her mind. No answers. Last night James had called him “Chank.” He knew the truth then. Abruptly her tears gave way to prayer.

  I have brought you together for My purpose.

  Maime startled. No, God. Had He betrayed her, too? The One she trusted asked far too much of her. No, God. It’s impossible.

  Chapter 9

  Hank had embraced sunrise hours ago, and its warmth had helped dry his tears while God eased his brokenness. Walking away from Maime had been harder this time than when he left for the war, for now all of his memories of her had been rekindled. The girl he’d married had blossomed into a mature woman with purpose. She’d fared well without him. His death had strengthened her, and for that he sensed a deep gratitude to the God they both followed.

  Are you really following Me?

  Where did that thought come from? He pushed aside the question and continued to hobble down the road. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

  His stomach rumbled. His body had grown accustomed to eating regularly, and it would take time for him to get used to going a day or more without food. He’d brought two biscuits and honey to eat this evening. Tomorrow was another day, and during this time of year wild berries were plentiful. As long as he put miles between him and Maime, he’d be fine.

  Stop right here and turn around.

  The heat must be getting to him. Twice his thoughts had been interrupted by strange comments. He spotted a maple tree ahead and decided to take a brief reprieve. With his typical awkward movements, he settled onto the soft grass and leaned his head back against the tree. The need for sleep seduced him into shutting his eyes. Soon he gave in to his body’s weariness.

  Dreams of Maime filled his mind, and he let himself live in a fantasy world.

  They were happy at Cranberry Hill, and the home flourished for all the residents. Mr. Weaver and Mr. Grayson spent their days fishing, and the womenfolk helped Maime. Hank had both legs, and a Great War had never happened.

  Hank woke with a start, recalling his delicious dream. Strange how the dream world mixed the past and the present, reality and fancy. The sun had started its descent; he’d slept too long. He grabbed his crutch and pulled himself up. The thought of eating one of the biscuits crossed his mind, but if he waited until tonight, he’d sleep better. He took a deep breath and started down the road. All the while, his mind and heart rested on his wife.

  “Hank, you make the best biscuits,” Maime had said. “They’re better than pie or cake.”

  He remembered her compliments when he nursed a fledgling flower to grow through stubborn soil.

  “I love color. Look what you’ve done for that poor plant,” she’d said.

  “God has done all the work,” he’d said. “I’m simply making the ground around it easier for it to grow.”

  “You have the touch.” Her smile had spread wide, and he remembered the girl of fifteen who had captured his heart so many years ago. “When times get better, I’ll have flowers blooming everywhere again.”

  Memory after memory rushed over him. The girl, the woman—his Maime, the love of his life.

  The afternoon faded into the fiery hues of yellow and orange. His gaze scanned the horizon for a place to lay his head tonight. Incredible weariness settled over him, matched only by extreme loneliness … his oldest friend.

  I have a better life waiting for you. Turn around.

  Hank stopped in the middle of the road.

  Turn around.

  Turn around.

  Maime is waiting.

  What did he have to offer her? Could she ever forgive him for the years of deceit? But the whispers of God bid him to go back to her. Hank stood on the dirt road and stared back at Hannibal. The idea of walking back to Cranberry House and not revealing his identity entered his mind, but he understood what God wanted.

  James’s question about the truth setting a man free seemed to resound from every direction. Hank wanted to be happy, but he didn’t deserve it for the wretched things he’d done. Yet the urging in his spirit called to him.

  He realized what he’d known all along. Jesus had died for him so Hank could be free and live. God did not view Hank as wretched; that was the biggest lie of all. Hank needed to ask forgiveness from God and from Maime, and then with the help of Him, put the past to rest.

  The truth seemed simple enough, but was he man enough to take the first step?

  Oh, Lord, how I want to go back to her.

  Lifting his shoulders, he took the first step back to God. For in making his heart right with Him, he had a chance at winning back his wife. He could stand before her as a whole man and confess his sins.

  With every thump of his crutch against the road, his heart grew lighter. Charles Bradford was walking back to his wife.

  “It’s nearly dark, Maime,” James said. “Charles will be finding a place for the night.”

  “Just a little while longer.” Maime searched both sides of the road. “I think you made a wise choice by staying off the main road.”

  “I want to find him as much as you do. But once the evening hides him, we’ll have to stop looking until tomorrow.”

  Maime nodded, but she didn’t agree. She understood that James had chores to do and even more in the morning. “I’ll help you with chores tonight and in the morning. I don’t think God would have convinced me to find him if we were forced to stop looking.”

  “Then pray it is soon.” He slowed the truck and studied every direction.

  She thought back through the day: the beautiful day, Aunt Flo’s criticism of Cranberry Hill, discovering that Hank was missing, the heartbreaking knowledge of learning about Charles, and God’s dealing with her selfish heart. They would find Charles tonight. She felt certain.

  Maime startled. Was that a man limping toward them? Emotion choked her. “Look ahead. It’s Charles. Pull over, please.”

  A few moments later, she ran to the man she’d loved for so many years. “Charles” was all she could utter.

  The more she hurried, the faster he limped. She heard him call her name.

  “Charles, I was afraid that I’d lost you again.”

  Once he was close enough for her to touch, she stopped and faced him. He didn’t speak, but then, in the shadows, she saw the tears streaming down his face.

  “I couldn’t stay any longer,” he said. “I guess James told you the truth.”

  “He did, but …” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “But … you’re walking back to town.”

  “I was coming to you. To tell you the truth myself and ask for your forgiveness. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I know that sounds insignificant considering all the years I led you to believe I was dead. But I don’t know what else to say.”

  She touched his shoulder. “You are forgiven. Please come home, Charles. I need you.”

  “I want to. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” Emotion ended any more words.

  Maime waited. After all, she’d waited eighteen years.

  “I have a lot of demons.”

  “We’ll chase them away together.”

  “And I have only one leg.”

  “I fell back in love with your heart, not your legs.”

  “My face is scarred.”

  “Your face is not your heart.”

  He chuckled. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “And I’m in love with the most handsome man in t
he world.” She glanced about. “It’s dark, Charles. We need to get home.

  “Yes, I think it’s time to go home. Our home.”

  Chapter 10

  One year later

  Daddy, your little girl wants to be held.”

  Charles reached up for his six-week-old daughter. “Oh, let me have my Kathryn Jane.”

  Maime laid the tiny pink bundle into his arms. He settled into the front porch swing, and Maime snuggled next to him. “She’s such a good baby.”

  “That’s because she’s just like her mama.”

  Maime giggled. “She’s more like you than me.”

  “God is so very good.” He kissed his infant daughter. “I’m so blessed with my girls.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

  “We’re all blessed.”

  Mr. Weaver opened the front door. “Fishing sounds real good today. Can’t find my pole or my gun.”

  Charles chuckled. “We went yesterday, but we can talk about going today. Don’t worry, Mr. Weaver. I’ll protect you.”

  “I’m never afraid when I’m around you.” The old man smiled.

  “I think he’s getting better,” Charles said and peered into the deep blue eyes of his tiny daughter.

  Maime kissed his whiskered cheek. “I believe I’m just like Mr. Weaver. I’m not afraid when you’re here. Everything at Cranberry Hill is sweeter now that I have my husband.” She laughed. “Besides a beautiful daughter, my flowers are blooming again.”

  “Just like our love.”

  FINDING YESTERDAY

  by Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  Dedication

  To the late Dr. Gayle Price, my friend and English professor who taught me so much about life, writing, and the Lord. I miss you dearly.

  Chapter 1

  1937

  Don’t look now, but I saw somethin’ you didn’t.” Frankie grinned, dumping his mud-caked boots in a pile and wiping a filthy sleeve across his forehead.

  Justin looked up from scrubbing mud between his fingers, the sunlight pouring behind the Camp Fremont Civilian Conservation Corps barracks blinding him. “What’d you see? That bull moose that showed up over by the bridge?”