The Message in a Bottle Romance Collection

by Joanne Bischof

  Footsteps sounded down the dim hallway; then a woman of perhaps forty or so appeared. She took Rosie’s name, assuring her that the wait would be only a few minutes. Rosie sat beneath the window and was just rehearsing what she might say when the receptionist returned, the doctor close on her heels.

  He slid on his hat as he stepped forward. “I was just thinking it time for a break. Care to join me?”

  Rosie stood.

  He smiled at her, holding the door open as he did.

  They strode back down the steps and onto the sunny sidewalk. After walking quietly for a length of several businesses, he paused at a small cart where a young man was scooping ice cream into a cone. The vendor handed the treat to a customer, and Dr. Brooke stepped forward. He requested pistachio and then glanced to Rosie. Realizing he meant her to choose a flavor, she eyed the canisters that filled the creamery cart. Rosie pointed to one that looked much like cherry and, when she took her first taste, was awful glad she’d chosen it. The vendor wished them a happy Fourth, and they returned the sentiment.

  Dr. Brooke motioned for them to walk on as they ate their confection in companionable silence.

  After a minute, Rosie slowed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because you’re my friend.”

  “I don’t think I make a very good friend.”

  “Certainly you do. Though I take it you haven’t come for me to sign your book.”

  The back of her throat smarted. “In actuality that is one of the reasons I came.” She pulled the text from her bag, along with a fountain pen.

  His brows lifted in surprise, and when she insisted, he tucked the textbook under his arm and pocketed the pen. “Perhaps I should do away with this first.” He took an oversized bite of his ice cream, and Rosie laughed softly.

  “I’m in no hurry,” she said.

  They stood in the shade of a eucalyptus that rose to a massive height. Silvery-green leaves fluttered overhead. Below, the sidewalk was littered with those same leaves dried to a crisp shade of pink. Across the road, patriotic festivities were in full swing at a park. When Dr. Brooke motioned for them to keep walking, Rosie did, taking another taste of her ice cream.

  He was quiet beside her for several paces. “Do you have a good life, Rosie?”

  She peered down, then all around—giving herself time to truly search her heart. Finally she nodded. “I do have a good life.” She got to live and work in a wonderful place. And she had Abner. For a good many years, she had Esther as well. Rosie did her best to explain that to the doctor. “Two people who loved me as if I were their own. I felt it every day and still do.”

  “Do you know the reason you were on their doorstep as a toddler?”

  “I have my theories.”

  Dr. Brooke’s expression was kind. “Certainly.” His forgotten cone dripped. “And do you know of the reason that you were in the water the day you were rescued?”

  Slowly, Rosie shook her head. “No. At least not precisely. But perhaps the two are connected. I think I was trying to get away from someone. But who—I don’t know.” Someone who had come to take her back? Wanting her after all? She didn’t remember love or safety with whoever it was. Only fear and danger. She could only now recall being put into a boat in the night, then stroke upon stroke later, hitting the water hard and fast and sinking out of sight. Holding her breath. Swimming as far as she could…

  Then blackness. Everything blank. Memories wiped clean away. Some of her limbs crippling.

  Much of it now slowly, slowly being restored. But some—lost forever. They both knew it to be true. Because however long she’d stayed under, it had been more than her little mind had been able to handle without air.

  The doctor paused and faced her, causing Rosie to halt. “Are you ready to be all right with that?” he asked. “To let the past be the past and, if God wills it to return to you in whole, to face it with a heart of courage? And in the meantime, to rest in knowing that there are many who love you and who are here to walk with you through any storm that may come.”

  Her eyes stung, and she nodded again. “Yes.” The single word came out teary.

  “And that you are worth a great deal, Rosie.” Dr. Brooke smiled, and she could see how much he meant it.

  She smiled back, feeling the joy of those words rise inside her.

  “What do you think about letting go of the shadows?” he asked.

  She pondered that, and it felt like freedom. “I like that idea.” She thought of the lighthouse. Of the beaches she now combed looking for reminders of not being alone. She thought of Jonas’s face and of the sunrise, and she knew what she needed to do. She looped her hand through the crook of the doctor’s elbow when he offered it. “I like that very much indeed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sun’s about down. You coming out to see the fireworks?”

  At his cousin’s voice in the doorway, Jonas peered up from lacing a shoe. “I guess so. You?”

  Oliver leaned against the jamb. “Yeah. The boys are saving us a spot in the gazebo. I told them I’d come find you.”

  Still needing another shoe and suspenders, Jonas nodded. “I’ll be down.”

  Oliver patted a hand on the door frame. “See you.”

  He was gone, and Jonas tugged on his other shoe. He made quick work of the laces then dug through the wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of gray suspenders then clipped them to the waist of his pants. After sliding the suspenders onto his shoulders, he grabbed a waistcoat and pushed the three buttons into place. Finished, he checked his appearance in the mirror and shoved his hair into place with his fingertips. Never one for hats, he stepped out and into the sunroom.

  Other vacationers already filled the area where the crack and pop of fireworks would be muffled by the glass and where night’s chill would be softened. Jonas strode toward the exit, his eyes lifting to the evening sky.

  “I bet she’s gone mad,” a woman said, her nose so close to one of the windows that it left a mark.

  Then another woman spoke. “They say she’s been out there for over an hour now and won’t be coaxed from the water. She’ll be fired, that one. Or frozen come morning.”

  Something in Jonas caused him to pause his mission toward the exit. He strode to the windows and peered down. With the sun now vanished, the dusky purple air was a haze he had to squint against. Below, crowds were clustered about, some on boats, some on blankets, all awaiting the Fourth of July spectacle to come. But a crowd of a different kind had gathered on the north side of the resort’s beach, all watching the water. Many pointing, others chattering. Jonas squinted and peered past them to the sea. There in the crash stood a young woman with a mass of wild, white-blond curls. Rosie.

  He didn’t stop to think. Didn’t pause to contemplate what this meant for her, or what it would mean for him, he was simply jogging toward the stairwell, down, and through the courtyard where he burst past the exit that freed him from the hotel. He was halfway across the sand before he realized he’d yanked his shoes off. He wove through the onlookers then was striding into the darkening water sloshing up to his knees.

  The crowds murmurs rose, and he ignored them—his sights only on the young woman who stood up to her hips in the water. The skirt she wore was drenched, and her pale blue blouse soaked so that it clung to the shape of her corset. Jonas didn’t call out to her. She spotted him and turned back toward the sea. He reached her, and still he didn’t speak. Just wrapped a hand around her waist and angled his body so that the next wave crashed into it as a shield. Her hip braced against his, and he could feel her trembling.

  She peered up at him with tear-filled eyes. Not of grieving, but of something different. “Everyone can see you, Jonas. You’re going to get in trouble.”

  He shook his head. He was in trouble the moment she tugged that bottle from his grasp and he saw her face—knew her spirit. And it was a kind of trouble that he never wanted to break free of. So he gripped her other arm gently and dipped his face clo
ser to hers, asking, “What can I do?”

  A wash of emotions filtered through her expression, from gratitude to grief. It was the latter that lingered, her chin beginning to tremble. She peered longingly out to the sea, and he thought perhaps she meant to swim to kingdom come, but she just dipped her face and pressed her forehead against his chest.

  “I’m letting it go,” she whispered.

  He lowered the side of his face into her wild curls and closed his eyes against the sensation. Her nearness and trust. All the tenderness she was feeling, be it sorrow or freedom. It seemed a blend of both. He wanted to ask what it was that she was letting go of, but he stayed quiet and simply wrapped an arm around her. He didn’t dare glance at the crowd on the shore. Not for fear of their reaction, but because he really didn’t care. Several stars were appearing in the sky, and he whispered words that he hoped would coax her toward shore, toward warmth. The tide was coming in. He could practically feel the water growing deeper around them. It was up to his own waist now.

  A new wave crashed against them, trailed closely by another. Jonas braced her and she him.

  The water retreated, the sea drawing in its breath for the next blow that he could already see coming. The air was crisp. He could feel her chill right through his shirt that was now as wet as she. “We need to get you warmed up,” he said softly. Though night had settled, the hotel was lit up with a thousand bulbs, making it easy to see everything from the shoreline to her face.

  “I’ll…I’ll be along.” She glanced around. “But I—” Her eyes landed on something in the water and her expression turned puzzled. “It came back.”

  He glanced down to see the bronze bottle bobbing beside her.

  “They’re not supposed to come back when you throw them out to sea.”

  Jonas smiled, loving everything about her. “I think it’s how the tide’s moving just now.”

  “Oh.”

  He fetched it and was about to offer tossing it out again when a flash of color popped overhead. Bright red. Then blue, followed by shades of yellows and greens. At the burst of fireworks, the crowd let out a collective gasp, and every eye turned toward the sky. Jonas just watched Rosie. Watched the way the color tinted her pale skin—flashing it the same shifting colors as the water’s surface with every pop and fizzle. Mouth parting, she glanced upward, toward the spectacle, and she looked peaceful.

  “Did you ever look inside? The bottle, that is.”

  Her gaze shifted back to his face, and she nodded.

  “May I ask what was in it?”

  “There wasn’t anything.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head, and he could tell she wasn’t a bit disappointed. Because sometimes the good news was right there to be seen all along. It wasn’t always etched in bronze, but it was as real and tangible as five curving letters. Ones that had traveled across lands and lifetimes to deliver the smallest—most profound of messages: hope.

  A wave shoved him closer to her, and though she still looked chilled, her expression was so earnest, he dared not broach the notion again of getting her to shore. Instead, he thought of the night before and the words he wished to say to her. “Rosie, I’m sorry about last night—”

  “No, please.” She bumped against his chest when water pushed her into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, struggling to right her footing.

  Holding her arm, he helped steady her.

  “Would you…would you be willing to try again?” she asked. “That is, if you haven’t changed your mind.”

  She wanted him to…what?

  “Rosie.” He stepped closer, gently taking hold of her other arm, and the barriers that had been collapsing between them—those that society deemed necessary—dissolved into nothingness. “I’ll try as many times as you wish.” When she tipped her chin up, he dipped his head. A pair of fireworks burst overhead, so loud that he sensed her flinch. He glanced from her eyes then back down as he eased his lips to hers. It was a gentle kiss. A coaxing that he meant only in question. At eighteen, she was plenty old enough, but he knew in some ways she was still the girl who had been saved from the sea and he didn’t wish to startle her.

  He kissed her as he had meant to the night before. For her to know, to see. That he meant this. That it wasn’t just a fleeting attraction or a stolen touch here or there. He wanted this. He wanted her. Oliver was right—he was in awfully deep.

  The current pulsed, and her skirts swirled about them, brushing his leg, tangling them together. They stumbled as one when another wave struck, and he righted her best he could without breaking apart. She smiled against his mouth, and he felt it. Freedom.

  Perhaps hers. Perhaps his. God help them, a little bit of both.

  Jonas opened his eyes as another wave came, tugging her from him. This one the boldest yet now that the tide was rising higher. He caught her elbow as she nearly slipped beneath the surface. Her hair was wet ribbons that stuck to them both. Water swelled to his chest as her bare feet lifted from the ground for a moment, before the wave retreated. Before her footing had even returned, his mouth found hers once more.

  He heard the crowd roar and, willing to lift only his gaze, saw that most who dotted the sand weren’t cheering for the sky. A laugh built inside him, and he pulled away only for breath to fuel it.

  Rosie did as well then glanced toward the commotion.

  Knowing there was really no way to do this covertly, he slid a hand around her side and, when she didn’t resist, urged her toward the shore. His pants clung to his legs, and she had to heft her skirts out of the way to keep from falling.

  Fireworks continued to boom and fizzle overhead as the crowd parted some. A maid about Rosie’s own age rushed forward with towels and a worried look. She draped one across Rosie’s shoulders. Before he could take the towel offered him, Jonas spotted a familiar face beneath the brim of a derby hat. Babcock. Their sponsor.

  One of the hotel’s very owners.

  Like a stone tossed into an eddy, Jonas’s heart plummeted. He turned to speak to Rosie, but a frowning maid was drawing her from his side. With that stern look of disapproval, the woman had to be one of Rosie’s authorities. Rosie glanced back and, despite everything, gave him a small smile. Jonas held it in his mind as she was escorted inside. Wishing he could do something, he scanned the crowd for the hotel owner. The one who could fire Rosie in the blink of an eye. The gentleman was leaning against a lamppost, adjusting his tie. Steeling his nerves, Jonas strode that way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Walk with me,” Mr. Babcock said—his voice holding a midwestern lilt. Though a middle-aged man, he used a glass-topped cane to point along the path.

  Jonas strode with him up the walkway that led away from the beach and along the north side of the resort.

  “How are you enjoying our hotel?” The gentleman wore a navy tailored suit and swiped at his mustache. He nodded to a gathering of patrons who watched the fireworks from the benches that lined the walkway.

  More than a little nervous about what the man had just witnessed, Jonas pushed his hands into his pockets. “Very much, thank you.”

  Two valets, who looked to be on break, stood a little taller upon spotting the man at Jonas’s side. Mr. Babcock dipped a friendly nod to them then spoke to Jonas. “And how is it going out on the bay? In the boat, that is. Have you made it around the point yet?”

  It took an effort to keep his voice strong and steady. “We aim for it tomorrow.”

  “Good, good.” He adjusted his bowler hat, and his cane made tapping sounds on the path. “I noticed you had the lighthouse keeper in your employ.”

  “He’s come to our aid.”

  “Graham is a good man. Known him for years. Before this hotel was even built. His granddaughter…she’s a fine young lady. It’s been a privilege to have her on staff.” He pointed with his cane up toward the maids’ quarters, and Jonas forced his gaze to stay steady on where they were headed.

  Finally, Jonas slowed to a st
op. “About what happened back there…” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I owe you an explanation.”

  But Mr. Babcock simply said, “I see you lads out there on the water from my parlor window.”

  Were they going to discuss him and Rosie or not? Confused, Jonas nodded. Had Mr. Babcock not seen what had transpired in the water? Jonas had no doubt that it was against regulation for a staff member and a hotel guest to be found in that way. But if the man wanted to talk about boats…

  “Every morning I say to my wife, ‘Now that is what I would like to be doing.’ ”

  Mr. Babcock adjusted his hat again. “You may recall that I’m an oarsman myself.”

  “Yes, sir.” That’s how they’d met. A day forever etched in Jonas’s memory. The reason he was here and four boys’ proof that hotel founders, Babcock and Story, had developed a love for this very island upon their many trips across the bay. Two tycoons in a small rowboat. Armed for both sport and leisure—off to hunt jackrabbits and birds on this island that once held nothing other than small game and native plants.

  As if remembering as well, Mr. Babcock glanced around at the fine, sprawling resort. Every window was aglow, the sound of the fireworks faded, the tang of gunpowder and sulfur still in the air. “Those days are long gone now. But there are moments, often at dawn, when I remember what this land was like before we built. When it was just sagebrush. Waves on sand. Pesky seagulls. But this”—he waved a hand around them—“this I would not trade for the world. This is its own kind of paradise. A glory that few would see otherwise.” He pointed toward the ocean.

  Jonas tried to formulate a response to that.

  “Oh, it’s the young man!”

  At a woman’s shrill voice, he glanced over his shoulder.

  A reed of a woman bustled up to him, her husband trailing a few steps behind. Jonas recognized them instantly as the couple from the observatory when Rosie had slipped away.