To Love and Cherish

by Tracie Peterson

  “I doubt she thinks any such thing. We’re all aware that you’re well acquainted with every item in this house and every bit of business, as well.” Melinda pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

  “Now, what’s that supposed to mean? You think I have my nose in places where it don’t belong, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that question, Sally.” Melinda turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  She needed to write to Evan, but first she needed to give some thought and prayer to the content of her missive. Better to take her time so she wouldn’t later regret her words.

  Evan’s footsteps pounded along the hard dirt path as he approached the hunting lodge. He greeted Harland as he lifted his hat and swiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Hot for May, don’t you think?”

  Harland sat in a rocking chair, ready to walk to the dining hall for the noonday meal. “Come morning, it’ll be June first. The heat shouldn’t surprise you too much.” Delilah, the cat they’d inherited from the Morley family when they’d begun their renovations of Bridal Fair, rested on Harland’s lap. “Looks like you worked up a sweat.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he gave the rocking chair a backward push with the tip of his boot.

  Delilah jumped down and sauntered toward Evan. He reached down and scratched the cat’s ears. He’d been told the cat possessed different abilities than her sire, Samson. While Samson had detected bad-tempered guests, Delilah’s talents were founded in her ability to sense bad weather. Harland said Delilah could sense a storm moving in before the weatherman over in Biscayne could. Evan had seen the cat become restless, arch, and scream high-pitched meows before a storm would hit, so he didn’t dispute her aptitude.

  Evan stopped at the bottom of the wooden steps and looked up at the older man. “Sometimes it’s a waste of good time taking those fancy folks out to hunt. They’re more interested in talking about their finances than listening to what I tell them.” He clomped up the steps. “And then they complain ’cause they don’t have anything to show off when they get done.”

  Harland gave him a sideways glance. “Sounds like you got something more than a bunch of halfhearted hunters stuck in your craw. What’s eating at you, boy?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired of guests who can’t be satisfied.” He stepped toward the door. “I better get washed up or we’ll be late for dinner. Give me a couple minutes.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Even if the dinner bell rang, he knew Harland would wait for him. The cooks at the large cabin that had been converted into a dining hall might give Evan a hard time if he was late—might even refuse to feed him. But they’d never say a word to Harland. He’d been there longer than any of them, and they respected him both for his knowledge and for his kind nature.

  A person always knew where he stood with Harland. He spoke the truth, but always with kindness. When Evan had asked him how he managed to remain so even tempered when things went wrong, he’d laughed and said, “I’m a man of reason. There’s a reason why things happen. If I stay calm, it’s easier to figure out that reason.”

  Evan yanked off his sweaty shirt and stared in the mirror as he washed his face and neck. Was he ever going to hear from Melinda? A launch from Biscayne delivered the mail and newspapers each day, and each day he held his breath as he riffled through the workers’ mail that was dumped on a long table at the back of the dining room.

  Years ago the mail had been delivered less often, but when the guests complained, the change was made to daily deliveries. Of course, the bag of mail first went to the clubhouse, where it was sorted. Any mail for workers was bagged and then sent to the dining room, where it could be picked up.

  Evan buttoned his clean work shirt, slicked back his wet hair, and hurried down the narrow stairway before the bell clanged in the distance. “I’m ready. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No need to be sorry. Been using the time to converse with the Lord.” Harland pushed up from his chair. “How ’bout you, Evan? You been talking to the Lord lately?”

  “Not much.” Evan kept his gaze fixed on the path.

  It had been Harland who had led Evan to the Lord years ago. Evan hadn’t been working on Bridal Veil for long when he realized Harland was different from most of the men in his life. Harland possessed a silent kind of strength that kept him going no matter the circumstances—and not just dragging along, but moving forward with a positive attitude and a smile on his face. When Evan attempted to praise him for being a good example, Harland shook off the compliment like a dog drying wet fur. “Don’t set your sights on me for an example,” he’d said, pointing toward heaven. “You need to strive to be like Jesus, not like me.”

  From that time forward, Harland had willingly pointed Evan to Scriptures that had helped him understand he needed Jesus in his life. For too many years, he’d dwelled on the pain of a father who had withheld his love and the loss of his mother when he was twelve. Instead of fond memories of his family, Evan’s were of late-night arguments over money and broken promises, his father’s anger when his mother became ill, and shouted blame placed on everyone except Evan’s brother, James.

  While his mother had been affectionate toward Evan, his father had reserved praise and affection for James. Once his mother died, Evan grew up surrounded by coldness. It wasn’t until he met Harland that he’d truly learned the warmth God’s love provided. There was no denying he still had a long way to go before he developed the kind of loving attitude the Bible talked about, but he’d been trying. Some days he was more successful than others. Today wasn’t one of those successful days.

  Harland reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “Might help if you spend some time with the Lord.” There wasn’t condemnation in his voice, only concern. “I know it always helps me when things aren’t going so good.” A red-throated wild turkey strutted across the trail. “And if you want to talk to me, I’ve got a listening ear.”

  Evan nodded and ducked his head beneath a low-hanging branch of a live oak that shaded their path. “I know you do. It’s Melinda. I haven’t had a letter from her. When she left, I asked her to write to me as soon as possible.” He kicked a small rock with his toe. “She was unhappy when she left, and now I’m afraid that she’s decided I’m not the man for her.”

  Harland tipped his head to the side. “And have you written to her?”

  “The very day she left here. I put it in the mail the following day.”

  “Before you go jumping to conclusions, why don’t you give it a little more time? Knowing Mrs. Mifflin, I’m sure she keeps Melinda mighty busy. And with them returning home early, I’m guessing it caused more work than usual for her.” Harland waved to a couple of the workers as they approached the dining hall. “Besides, all this fretting isn’t gonna make a letter get here any sooner. And if Melinda is the woman God intends for you, He’s already got it planned out.”

  Evan forced a smile. He knew Harland was right, but knowing something and accepting it were two different things.

  CHAPTER 5

  JUNE 1898

  Melinda sat down at the small desk in the corner of her room and picked up her pen. Every day since her return to Cleveland, she had attempted to write to Evan. But with each attempt she had failed. The words simply wouldn’t come. She prayed and prayed that the Lord would give her the perfect words to fill the pages. Finally, those words had become clear, and now she could only hope that Evan hadn’t lost patience while waiting to hear from her.

  She knew her concerns were well founded. When she had first returned to Cleveland, a letter arrived almost every day, but over the past week she’d received only one, and it had been brief. Evan ended the letter with two questions. Is all hope lost? Should I quit writing to you?

  She began her letter with an apology for her delayed reply. As she continued to write, the words spilled from her pen as though they’d been bottled up in her head for an eternity. She couldn’t seem to write quickly enough to keep up wi
th her thoughts. Thoughts that were far different from the ones she’d had when she’d left Bridal Veil Island.

  First let me give you an absolute NO to your latest questions. All hope is not lost, and I very much want you to continue writing to me. I have now had time to consider my actions and have been seeking God’s guidance as to my response. During this time of thought and prayer, I realized that my actions were foolhardy and selfish. I love you and didn’t want to leave the island. I know from your letters that you shared those same feelings. However, when you didn’t ask me to stay, I felt rejected and unloved.

  After reading your first letter, it became clear that your reaction was based upon logical and reasoned thinking, while my desire to remain was based upon my emotions and more impracticable nature. The Lord has shown me that your practicality is an excellent virtue and one needed in any good and strong relationship between a . . .

  She hesitated, her pen hovering over the page. She didn’t want to say husband and wife—it seemed too presumptuous in this first letter. After all, Evan had declared his love, but he had never uttered the word marriage. “Man and woman,” she whispered. Yes, that would be a much better choice. Once again she began to write.

  . . . man and woman. As I have continued to consider your actions, I am most thankful that you had my welfare and concern at heart. The fact that you deeply cared about my comfort and where I could live speaks volumes to me. I do pray that my delayed response has not caused you too much worry. Please know that though we are separated by distance, my heart remains yours.

  Once she’d completed her apology and assured Evan of her love, Melinda continued with the happenings at the Mifflin residence since her return. She didn’t know if he would want to read of her worry over Sally’s loose tongue or Mrs. Mifflin’s tiresome behavior, but in the past he had urged her to tell him the small details of her life. Besides, it gave her a safe place to release some of her frustration, frustration that stemmed from her difficulties with both women.

  I must close for now. I hope all my ramblings have not put you to sleep. I will have less to write next time, for I promise I will not wait long before posting another letter. Remember that I love you and eagerly await the time when we can once again be together.

  With love and devotion,

  Melinda

  Mrs. Mifflin was in her glory. There was no other way to explain the woman’s euphoria. Because most members of Cleveland society had been vacationing elsewhere during the winter, word of Mrs. McKinley’s arrival and the tea being hosted at the Mifflin residence didn’t circulate until one week prior to the big event.

  Melinda wasn’t certain what pleased her mistress the most. The fact that she was hosting the president’s wife in her home or the fact that she’d been able to keep the secret from leaking out ahead of time. There was no denying that her friends were more than a little impressed—and more than a little envious.

  When Mrs. McKinley’s letter arrived saying that she and her two servants would be delighted to stay at the home of the Mifflins rather than take lonely rooms in a hotel, Mrs. Mifflin had shown the letter to all of her acquaintances. “Ida and I have always been very close—like sisters,” she would say while tucking the letter back into its official envelope. When further questions arose, she would respond as if she weekly corresponded with the president’s wife, though Melinda had never seen any such letters. And with Sally checking the mail, Melinda knew she would have heard about regular correspondence from the executive mansion.

  Mrs. Mifflin was basking in the attention, accepting every invitation to call on her society friends prior to Mrs. McKinley’s arrival. Today she was to pay a call on Lucy Hollister. As with all of her other visits, she insisted Melinda accompany her.

  Although Melinda had requested permission to remain at home, her mistress didn’t relent. “You know I don’t like to pay calls by myself.”

  That had been the end of the discussion. Now Melinda dutifully sat beside her mistress as the carriage delivered them to the mansion of Hubert and Lucy Hollister. She supposed she should be grateful for the privilege of attending such affairs. To act as personal maid or companion to a woman of society was a great honor. Scullery maids and mere household servants would never see such moments, except from the serving side. Even so, these events were a painful reminder of the life she’d once had.

  “Now, do not forget, if asked, that Ida and I have been the dearest of friends since our youth.” Mrs. Mifflin’s proud bearing mirrored her tone. “You may even let it drop in conversation, should you be addressed, that I’ve been invited to the White House on many occasions.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Melinda knew better than to comment further.

  Once inside the house, Melinda was directed to a chair in the far corner of the parlor while the two matrons shared tea near the fireplace and Mrs. Mifflin spun stories of her close friendship with the president’s wife.

  “My Hubert says the president’s wife suffers from poor health, and he doubts she’ll actually be well enough for a visit to Cleveland next week.”

  Surprised when Mrs. Hollister raised her voice enough to be heard in the far corners of the room, Melinda looked up from her stitching. Mrs. Mifflin’s smile disappeared, and her shoulders lifted to a squared angle that would have made a military officer proud. “Her health has been failing for some years now, so I’ve alerted Dr. Braden to be at the ready.” She spoke with such authority that even Melinda had believed her reply—until they returned to the carriage.

  “Drive us to Dr. Braden’s office, Matthew,” she said.

  Melinda lightly grasped the woman’s arm before they stepped up into the carriage. “Wouldn’t it be easier to telephone the doctor from home? His office is quite some distance from here, and I know there is much you wish to accomplish before Mr. Mifflin returns home for the evening.”

  Mrs. Mifflin stiffened at the suggestion. Melinda sighed. Like most of the wealthy women of Cleveland, Mrs. Mifflin had insisted upon having a telephone in their home. However, she and the other women seldom used the device. Word had quickly passed among them that the operators listened in on all of the calls and were quick to repeat everything they heard.

  “Calling on that telephone would be no different than telling Sally I was going to Dr. Braden’s office. Everyone in Cleveland would know before I even arrived at his office.” She pressed her hand to her chest as she settled on the carriage seat. “I didn’t realize Ida had succumbed to poor health—she said nothing in her letter. However, I don’t want anything to go awry while she’s staying at our house.” She glanced at Melinda from beneath hooded eyes. “And since I’m going directly to the doctor’s office, my comment to Lucy wasn’t really a falsehood.”

  Melinda didn’t respond. If Mrs. Mifflin believed it so, nothing Melinda said would change her mind. Instead, Melinda thought of her own mother, who had been so much more giving and gracious than Mrs. Mifflin or her friends. Yet Melinda’s mother had held just as respectable a position in society. But unlike most of them, her mother had cared about people. Melinda could remember her mother once sitting up all night with their housekeeper when the poor woman had caught influenza. Other times, she remembered her mother’s generosity with the servants—giving them extra food to take home to family members and giving them generous bonuses every holiday.

  The memory made Melinda more melancholy than she already was. How she missed her mother and father. The years since their deaths had flown by in many ways; in others it seemed that just yesterday she had been sitting beside her mother in a carriage just like this.

  “Remember, Melinda, mercy is always better than pride. People will say and do things with which you will take umbrage, but it is always better to err on the side of mercy. Mercy gives, where pride takes.”

  Melinda nodded as if hearing her mother speak the words once again. Life with Mrs. Mifflin had snuffed out a great deal of Melinda’s merciful thoughts. She didn’t like to admit it, but Mrs. Mifflin’s influence had not
exactly been good. Melinda knew herself to be judgmental and critical. She thought of Evan. She’d even been critical with him—questioning his love for her—placing expectations on their relationship that she had no right to infer.

  She sighed. Lord, help me to be more merciful. Help me to be more like Mother and less like Mrs. Mifflin.

  Evan entered the hunting lodge and removed his hunting boots. Delilah rubbed against his pant leg and greeted him with a purr. “It’s good to see you, too, Delilah.” He reached down and scratched the cat behind her ears.

  There had been four men on the hunt today, each an avid sportsman. In truth, the four of them could have done quite well without Evan, but rules were rules, and one of his primary jobs during the season was to lead all of the hunts. For some groups he needed to be an instructor as well as a guide. Today’s group required neither. He’d been pleased, albeit somewhat surprised, that they had embraced him as a fellow hunter rather than an employee.

  Of course, he’d worked at Bridal Veil long enough to know that much depended upon the mix of guests on each hunt. Although these men had treated him as an equal today, if one or two of them hunted with different guests in the future, their behavior would likely be less friendly. It was the way of things among the wealthy visitors, and Evan had learned to accept it.

  When he’d first arrived, Harland had said, “Always remember that we may all be equal in God’s eyes, but our employers don’t see things that way.” Evan had never forgotten Harland’s words of caution.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the front porch and greeted Harland as the older man walked inside.