Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas: Hurricane, Mismatched in Texas, Christmas at the Crossroads

by Janice Thompson

  “Want what?”

  “Want a blushing bride.” John shrugged, and an embarrassed look came over him. “Is that too much to ask?”

  “No.” George shook his head. “It’s not too much to ask. And I’m sure God has the perfect woman out there. Perfect for you, I mean. My father once told me that God is in the business of bringing the right woman to the right man. So I suppose sometimes it’s just a matter of waiting.”

  “Yep.” John dropped a handful of coins on the counter. “I think you’re right. And who knows...maybe I won’t have to go very far to find what I’ve been looking for.” He glanced across the street in the direction of Poetic Notions then turned back with a suspicious smile. “Maybe she was right here all along.”

  The clean-shaven butcher reached for his hat, gave George a nod, and headed for the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Belinda set off from Poetic Notions ready to do business with the Lord about her aching heart. She carried her lunch pail in one hand and her heart in the other. At least it felt that way. As she passed Stanzas, she nodded at Cassie Bly and Doc Klein, seated in the restaurant. They waved from the other side of the glass. Then, as she happened upon Rhyme and Reason, she glanced inside and found Peter arranging books. He nodded in her direction. She happened by Sonnets and Bonnets, resisting the urge to go inside to look at hats or to gab with Corabelle, as she was wont to do. No, Belinda had other things to take care of today, things that could not wait.

  She rounded the corner past the lot where the walls were now going up on the opera house. One day it would stand glorious, but today it was a reminder of all the changes of late. Though they had seemed good before, today those changes just felt...wrong.

  Belinda made her way south then east, knowing she would feel better as soon as she landed at the creek. Somehow being near water always made things right. She thought of Adeline, living in Boston. Wondered what it would be like to live so near the sea, where the waves pounded away every trouble. Oh, how wonderful that sounded. How glorious! If Belinda closed her eyes, she could almost envision the sound of the waves. Taste the salty seawater. Feel the pull of the tide.

  On the other hand, if she kept her eyes open, she might just make it to the creek in one piece. Stepping off the street, she picked up speed, eventually kicking up her heels and running. Oh, how many times had she done this as a girl—run all the way home from town. She’d been called a tomboy for it, no doubt, but Belinda didn’t care. In fact, she’d rarely given much mind to what others thought of her.

  My, how times had changed. These days, she worried nearly every day that folks would think she was off her rocker. Lord, am I off my rocker?

  Her pace slowed as she neared the creek. By the time she got there, Belinda was breathless and ready to eat. She consumed the sandwich in short order and ate the apple as well. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes, ready to pray. Trying to get her mind still was a different matter altogether.

  After a few moments, her troubled thoughts settled, and she rose to her feet, pouring out her heart to the Lord. She told Him how sorry she was for barging into people’s lives, and for the pain she’d caused Myles and some of the others. Then she got to the nuts and bolts of her conversation with God: George Kaufman.

  “Lord, how was I to know? I didn’t! I had no idea that I...” Belinda paused. “That I care for him. I’m as surprised as anyone. Maybe more so.” She thought about those words a minute, realizing just how true they were. She picked up the pace, her feet now moving in time with her heartbeat. “It’s not like I did this on purpose, Lord. I would never hurt him. I don’t want to hurt Adeline either, Lord. Oh, but if you could see fit to sending her back to Boston, that would be lovely.”

  She stopped pacing and exhaled. “I’m sorry, Lord. That’s not my business. Of course, I’m the one who brought her here in the first place, so here I go, trying to intrude again. Trying to tell You what to do.” She groaned and her mind began to wander. “Oh, maybe You did bring her here on purpose, Lord. I am not clear about all of that yet. Maybe she’s supposed to be here and I’m just not seeing it. Either way, I ask You to show me what to do. I need your help, Lord!”

  She told the Almighty all of her feelings, good and bad, as she continued to pace. After some time, she settled onto the grass, exhausted. Wrestling with God was taxing, to say the least. And though she hadn’t yet heard Him answer in an audible voice, Belinda did feel somewhat better for getting her feelings—her true feelings—out in the open.

  She thought once again about that hymn, “It Is Well with My Soul.” How could she get to the place where all of this felt well when it clearly was not? The words ran through her mind once again and she gave herself over to them:

  When peace like a river attendeth my way

  When sorrows like sea billows roll

  Whatever my lot, though hast taught me to say,

  It is well, it is well with my soul.

  Belinda pondered those words at length, finally ready to let go. Ready to give her heart fully to the Lord, regardless the outcome. Finally, blissfully, peace fell over her like a comforting cloud. Her anguish seemed to roll away, much like the sea billows in the song. Her mind could rest easy in the words, “It is well with my soul,” which she now whispered.

  As the anxiety lifted, Belinda grew sleepy. Her eyes drifted closed and she relaxed, drawing in a breath of fresh air. Resting under the shade of her favorite oak, Belinda found herself whispering a prayer for forgiveness.

  “Lord, I am so sorry. Truly. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, especially not George. Or Adeline. She’s done nothing to deserve my censure. And she’s certainly been through enough pain in her life without experiencing any at my hand. Forgive me, Lord, please. And if I am to marry George...” She paused, feeling a smile begin at the edges of her lips. “If I am to marry George, You will have to take care of the details, Lord. Just show me what to do, Father.”

  Belinda closed her eyes and rested. After some time, she jolted and realized she’d fallen asleep. With a gasp, she sat up, believing it must be well after one o’clock. She scurried back into town, her empty lunch pail clattering at her side as she ran.

  Once in town, she headed in the direction of Poetic Notions. However, just as she reached the bookstore, she took note of George and Adeline coming out of the restaurant across the street. She quickly darted into Rhyme and Reason to avoid them.

  Inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. She contemplated what she would tell Peter, should he ask why she’d stopped by. Just as quickly, she knew how she would remedy this. She needed a poem. A love poem. One sure to win the heart of the man she loved. Peter wouldn’t have to know who it was for. He knew so little of love, anyway, being an old bachelor and all. Still, he knew poetry and would be the best to advise her.

  Belinda heard a giggle coming from the back of the store. A suspicious giggle. She stood as still as a mouse, hand clamped over her mouth. Oh, how she wanted to bolt out the door—but at just that moment, George and Adeline passed by on the boardwalk, arm in arm. She ducked down to avoid being seen, her heart thumping madly.

  Another giggle erupted. Now her curiosity was duly piqued. What in the world was going on here? She heard soft words being spoken and was reminded of the time when she’d stumbled upon Mama and Papa alone in the parlor, whispering words of love to each other. Oh, how embarrassing that had been!

  A few seconds later, Belinda recognized a familiar female voice speaking in a soothing tone. “Why, Peter Conrad, I haven’t been kissed like that since I was a girl!”

  Belinda clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Sarah Jo Cummings! A few more giggles erupted and Belinda did her best to reach for the door handle...but in doing so, she managed to drop her lunch pail, which went clattering across the floor. She scrambled down to pick it up, somehow falling flat on her belly, her skirts twisted in a knot.

  Peter appeared a few seconds later, staring down at h
er with a stunned expression on his face. “B–belinda. I, um...I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Clearly. “Oh, I, um...” She tried to stand but got twisted up in the fabric. The lunch pail fell once again, making a terrible noise.

  “May I help you?” The tips of Peter’s ears were as red as could be, and he wore a suspicious smile.

  “Oh, no,” Belinda said, rising to her feet. “Actually, I just stopped in to...” She looked around the shop, finally noticing a book of poetry by John Keats. “I’ve been meaning to buy this book for some time now, you see. I’ve been wearing you out with writing love poems, and I thought the classics might be of help to me. So, would you put this on my account, please?”

  “Indeed.” He took the book and walked to the register. “Will that be all?”

  “Mmm, yes.” She nodded, anxious to be on her way.

  At that moment, Sarah Jo appeared with an armload of books. She placed them on the front shelf and began to arrange them in a colorful display.

  “Well, hello, Belinda," she said with a suspicious smile. “I didn’t realize we had a guest. Peter and I were just...” She bit her lip and then said, “Talking about poetry.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I am his apt pupil.” Sarah Jo’s eyes twinkled merrily.

  “Um, yes.” The tips of Peter’s ears turned even redder, though Belinda hadn’t thought that possible. “We were talking about the great Robert Browning and his views on poetry, to be sure.”

  “And what were his views?” Belinda turned her question to Sarah Jo, who paled.

  “Gracious, I can’t remember. You tell her, Peter.”

  He nodded. “Browning said, ‘God is the perfect poet.’ Truly, only the Lord can compose a life. And he does it in perfect rhyme, perfect meter. His ways are vastly beyond our own.”

  “Ah. Lovely.” Belinda fought to think of how she could escape before making a bigger fool of herself.

  Sarah Jo sighed. “Is he not the most brilliant man you have ever met in your life? Peter, I mean. Not Browning.”

  Belinda couldn’t help but smile. “Indeed he is.”

  “And such a great poet, too.” Sarah Jo gave Belinda a curious look. “Why did you say you came in again, honey?”

  “Oh, to buy this book,” Belinda said, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s something I should have purchased ages ago.” She began to ramble about the book, and before long her words sounded silly even to her own ears. Still, she dared not speak about what she’d just overheard coming from the back room. Surely her giggles would get the better of her.

  “We got a new shipment today,” Sarah Jo said, gesturing to the books in front of her with a smile. “So there will be many more to look at once I get these shelved. Thank you for stopping by.”

  “Y–you’re welcome.” Belinda stumbled out of the store, wondering how and when Peter and Sarah Jo had finally fallen for one another. Obviously Sarah Jo had known all along, but Peter had not.

  Or had he? Maybe his vehement denial of feelings for Sarah Jo was really nothing more than a ruse, a way to convince himself otherwise.

  No one could deny the feelings between the two now. And it looked as if Sarah Jo had gone to work for him, filling both his shelves and the empty space in his heart. Would wonders never cease?

  “Oh, Lord, this is blissful news!” she whispered to the heavens. “Truly, You are the best poet of all! Thank You so much for accomplishing what only You could accomplish. You knew all along!” No doubt about that, at least now. God brought Sarah Jo all the way to Texas to be with Peter Conrad. The Lord had an amazing sense of humor.

  Thinking of happy couples caused Belinda’s thoughts to shift to Adeline and George. She looked this way and that, making sure they were nowhere in sight, then sprinted up the boardwalk to Poetic Notions. Once inside, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

  “Belinda, are you all right?” Aunt Hilde drew near, a look of concern on her face. “I was so worried. We were about to send out a posse to search for you.”

  “I’m fine.” Belinda gasped for breath. “I...just...I just had to spend some time alone.”

  “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Greta said, drawing near. “Has something happened?”

  “I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you,” Belinda said. “But suffice it to say, Sarah Jo Cummings was, indeed, supposed to come to Poetry, Texas. She is here for a reason, to be sure, and that reason includes both loving and being loved.”

  “Ah.” Aunt Hilde grinned, and her eyes narrowed as she pondered Belinda’s statement. “I suspected as much. So, all’s well that ends well, then?”

  “Apparently so.” Belinda walked into the back room and reached for her apron, which she quickly tied around her waist. Could the day possibly get any stranger?

  ***

  George closed up shop for the day and walked across the street to Rhyme and Reason. He needed to see a man about a poem, and it wouldn’t wait.

  The door was open, but the shop appeared to be empty. Perhaps Peter was in the back. Or maybe he’d already headed home of the day but had forgotten to lock up the shop.

  “Anyone here?” George called out. When no one responded, he tried again. “Hello! Anyone here?”

  He had just turned to leave when Sarah Jo came from the back room, carrying a stack of books. “Well, hello, George. What can I do for you on this fine day?”

  He looked at her, a bit startled to see her there with her arms full. Was she purchasing them, perhaps, or had she taken to working in the bookstore? Recovering quickly, he said, “Oh, I’m looking for Peter. I need help with...” He shook his head, not wanting to finish. No point in letting Sarah Jo know what he was up to.

  Peter arrived in that moment and nodded in George’s direction. “Good to see you, George. What brings you here this time of day?”

  “Actually, I...” George shook his head. “I suppose it can wait.”

  Sarah Jo looked at him thoughtfully, placing the books on the glass case near the register. “No, you two men go right ahead and talk. I need to get back to the hotel, anyway. Cassie and I are going to have dinner together, and I need to freshen up a bit first.” She gave Peter a girlish smile and a wave then disappeared out of the door, humming a happy tune.

  “So, what can I help you with, George?” Peter asked.

  George reached into his pocket, pulling out the poem he had started weeks ago for Corabelle. “Well, I hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I’ve been working on a love poem, but I can’t seem to finish it. I meant to ask for your help with it ages ago, but, well, my situation changed. I no longer needed it.”

  “And now you do?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Would you mind if I took a look at it?” Peter asked.

  “No, that’s why I’m here, in fact,” George admitted with a shrug. “I need your help.”

  He handed Peter the poem and listened as his friend read it aloud:

  Oh, lady fair

  With golden hair

  And winsome smile

  You’ve crossed the miles

  To meet me here

  And now, my dear,

  I offer you

  My heart so true...

  Peter looked up with wrinkled brow. “If you don’t mind my asking, who did you write this for?”

  “Well, that’s just it.” George sighed, nervous about admitting the truth. “Originally I wrote it for Corabelle. Then I decided to rework it to give to Adeline. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to change it up, but nothing sounds right. Now, well, now I’m not so sure a poem is even a good idea. Seems like no matter what I try, the poem just sounds...ridiculous. Like I’m trying too hard.”

  “Maybe you are. Why don’t we go into the back room where we can sit and talk this through?”

  “Sounds good.” George followed Peter until they reached the small office at the rear of the shop. He
’d never been back here before and was astounded at the clutter. Everywhere he looked, there were books and more books.

  Peter gestured for him to sit and he did, but he had to move several books to accomplish the feat. Once Peter was seated, he read the poem again, this time silently. Afterward, he looked at George, eyes narrowed.

  “I’m going to ask you some hard questions.”

  “Fine.” George took a deep breath and waited.

  “You know what the great Anton Chekhov said, don’t you, son?”

  “Um, no, sir.”

  “He said, ‘Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint.’”

  “Ah.” George scratched his head, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

  “That’s what’s missing here,” Peter said, shaking his head. “The glint.”

  George had to agree, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

  “Talk to me about your feelings for Adeline.” Peter looked over at him, lips pursed. “Forget what you’ve written here. Let’s start from scratch. What do you feel when you’re with her?”

  “Well, I...” He shrugged. “I feel like she’s a wonderful person. I really like her a lot.”

  “Hmm. Not exactly the stuff love poems are made of.” Peter rose and paced the crowded room. “When you see her face, what comes to mind? Does it make you think of a Greek statue, perhaps, or maybe the Mona Lisa?”

  “Not really,” George said.

  “Some other great work of art, then? Something more abstract?”

  George shook his head. Though he tried to think creatively, his thoughts were jumbled.

  “Let’s talk about her hair,” Peter said. “What does it put you in mind of?”

  “Well, as you can see, I’ve mentioned her golden hair,” George said with a shrug. “Do you think I should say something else about it?”

  “You’ve mentioned that it’s golden, yes, but you haven’t shared what happens to your heart when you see it.” Peter shook his head. “When you see her walking down the lane, does that golden hair inspire you in some way? Does it affect your heart? Are you a better man for having seen it?”