The Love Letter

by Rachel Hauck

  In the bluish light of the projector, Jeremiah frowned. “You know, you can talk yourself out of success if you want, but, Chloe, why not just take the opportunity and run with it?”

  Chloe slumped down in her chair. He was right. Of course. Why not call upon her experience to own the role instead of trying on various forms of self-deprecation?

  Jer aimed the remote at the projector. “Roll ’em.” He laughed. “I always like saying that.”

  “What? No popcorn and candy?” Chloe said. “What kind of cheap theater is this?”

  “The kind where the wife doesn’t believe in carbs and sugar,” Jeremiah said, pressing his finger to his lips as the older kids, one by one, snuck in and crawled into the wide theater seats. “But what I ate in New Zealand stays in New Zealand.”

  “You know your kids are listening.”

  Jer spun around, offering the boys a high five as film rolled against the screen. “They have their daddy’s back.”

  On the screen, Esther leaned against a tree watching the battle on the field. Chloe cringed, seeing herself on screen, imagining what she’d do differently. But there were no retakes after Zarzour blew through.

  “Is this the final?”

  “Almost.”

  Chloe held her breath as Esther ran to the wounded Hamilton. This was her death scene.

  Was she believable? Did she wear the part well? Did her appearance put the viewer in mind of an aristocratic woman raised in the backwoods of South Carolina?

  As she watched Esther kneel over Hamilton and confess her love, Chloe felt her sincerity, felt her love.

  My dearest Esther,

  I love you.

  Affectionately Yours,

  Hamilton Lightfoot

  Chloe brushed away a tear and swallowed a mixture of emotions. She’d confessed her love to Jesse and signed it, Affectionately Yours.

  Up on the screen, Esther leaped at the redcoat, dagger in hand. “Death, you cannot have me!”

  Behind her, Ezra muttered, “Cool move.”

  But for Chloe, it was nothing but tears.

  “Beautiful moment,” Jeremiah whispered. “What were you feeling?”

  Chloe smiled softly. “Alive.”

  The camera zoomed in on her as she lay crumpled on the ground. Chloe winced. She could’ve posed better, but in truth, she didn’t remember anything after her declaration.

  The screen faded to black. She sighed. “Think that death scene was good enough for Zarzour?”

  She started to stand and stretch, but the screen brightened. Hamilton was carrying Esther into the morning light.

  “You captured that?” Chris had scooped her up after a run-through on the battlefield. Right before Zarzour arrived.

  “B-roll.”

  “I like it.” She patted his arm. “It gives the viewer a little bit of hope. She’s dead but loved, you know?”

  “Agree.” Behind him the boys whispered, smacking their baseballs into their gloves. Jeremiah turned, giving them the fatherly eye of “quiet or else.”

  “Know what Chris is saying here?” Chloe said. “‘Daschle, what’d you have for breakfast? You weigh a ton.’”

  The scene changed once again. Chloe followed the camera into the Kingsley home, into the parlor and the stack of Esther’s books on the desk.

  “An epilogue?”

  “Something like that.”

  The shot moved outside, to an upcountry sunset over the barnyard.

  “When was this?” Chloe said, then instantly recognized the first day and the attack of the evil rooster. Esther bumped into Hamilton. “Wait, isn’t that Jesse? Chris wasn’t there yet.”

  Jeremiah smirked. “Zarzour said to use B-roll.”

  “Jesse as Hamilton is the final scene? But this wasn’t in the script.”

  “We came up with the idea later. Well, someone came up with it. A really smart guy suggested it.”

  Hamilton walked alongside Esther as the children clung to him, and the lens focused on the American colonies’ flag flapping in the breeze. Freedom.

  “What do you think?” Jeremiah angled to see her face.

  Chloe turned to him. “Are you telling me that’s the ending?”

  “That’s the ending.”

  “Of Bound by Love? The one where I died so beautifully? Just like Greg ordered.”

  “You did die beautifully, Chloe. But this is a love story. And if love doesn’t triumph, we have no movie.”

  “So I don’t die. I mean, Esther doesn’t die?”

  “She lives. Happily ever after.”

  “Oh my gosh . . .” Laughter bubbled up. “Are you serious? I can’t believe it. Thank you. Truly. Jeremiah, you are the best of the best! And you can tell my father I said so.” She fell into the embrace of her friend, her hero. “This is amazing! Esther doesn’t die. Hear that, boys? She lives. Your dad is a genius.”

  “I can’t take the credit. The idea wasn’t mine.”

  “Then who? Sharon? Dad? Wouldn’t it be just like him?”

  “None of the above. Though I did hear about it through Raymond.” Jeremiah stood, motioning to the kids in the light of the projector. “Come on, let’s go play ball. Leave these two alone.”

  Chloe jumped up. “What two? Where are you going?” She snatched her bag up from the floor.

  “You’re staying, Chloe.” Jeremiah raised the canned lights just enough for a romantic hue to fill the room. There in the back row sat Jesse, his dark hair loose and flopped over his brow. “With this guy. He’s the genius behind the ending.”

  “Jesse.”

  He stood. “Hello, Chloe. I got your letter.”

  31

  JESSE

  She ran into his arms, knocking him against the wall. Her soft weeping filled his ears. He loved the feel of her against him.

  “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He sank into the nearest chair, cradling her in his arms. “I didn’t get your letter until four days ago.”

  “But you’re here . . . you’re here.” She roped her arms about his neck as he tightened his embrace, her kiss finding his over and over again.

  “I love you, Chloe. I didn’t think I could love anyone again, but I do, heaven help me, I do.” He kissed her again, hungry, giving, pleasing.

  She sniffed away her tears between kisses. “I love you, Jesse. Heaven help me, I do.” She tipped her head to the screen. “The ending was your idea?”

  “Before I left the guesthouse, your dad invited me into his office to talk about the consequences of walking off a set. I suggested an easy solution to let Esther live. I was ranting. Didn’t think he really heard me. Then I went to Boston. Four months passed. Then four days ago Jeremiah sent me a link. At the same time, the admin at DiamondBros found your letter. A temp had stashed it away—”

  She kissed him again, her touch powerful, her breath warm, her hands embracing him.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I can’t believe it took me so long to get here. With you.”

  “I was okay with dying, you know.” Her kisses filled his shallow, dry well. “Did you see my dagger move?”

  “Yes, and now I’m a little scared.”

  She laughed, bold and free. Love broke chains. Unlocked doors. Healed wounds.

  “I have a lot to tell you,” he said. “I-I’ve met someone.”

  She reared back, eyes narrowed. “Hmm, this feels like a bait and switch. Who did you meet?”

  “Same Man you met at church.”

  “Smitty?”

  “No, Chloe—”

  “Jesus.” She brushed her hand over his shirt. “How’d you meet Him?”

  “The Brants, of all people. Loxley’s parents. Now I know I’m forgiven.”

  She pressed her cheek to his chest. “I can hear Him in there. Tossing out some old furniture. Wait, He’s saying something . . .” She held up her finger, pretending to listen. “He’s asking if He can hang something on the wall.”

  Jesse laughed. “What?”r />
  “A picture. Yes, I see a picture. It says, ‘Home Sweet Home.’”

  “Perfect.”

  “And He’s sitting in your chair. Says He’s got the con.”

  Jesse scooped her closer, his kiss wild and abandoned, possessing her until he lost the edges of his being and existed in a space without borders.

  When he pulled away, she settled back against his chest, pretending to listen.

  “Wait, He’s hanging another picture, Jesse. He’s still moving in.”

  “A picture of me and you?”

  “No, it’s a letter . . .” She sat up, hands pressed on his chest, her expression full of wonder. “The one Oliver gave to me.”

  “Oliver?”

  She slipped from his lap, hand over her own heart. “It’s true.”

  “What’s true, babe?”

  She peered at him. “Babe? You called me babe. No one has ever called me babe before.”

  “I’m happy to be the first. But what truth are you talking about?”

  Grabbing his hand, she pulled Jesse to his feet. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

  CHLOE

  Jesse sat in the passenger seat, relaxed, at home, his head against the head rest, his arm stretched across the console, resting on Chloe’s shoulder.

  He wound his fingers through her hair, brushing his hand over the back of her neck until she thought she’d jump out of her skin.

  She was at home with him. At peace. The moment she saw him it was as if they’d never been apart.

  After parking in the shade of the Greek column at the Daschle estate, they walked into the house hand in hand.

  “Dad?” She went to his office first, but his desk chair was vacant.

  “Good, we’re alone.” Jesse tugged her to him, sweeping in for another kiss.

  “I need a million of those.”

  “Then let’s get started.” He dropped to the couch, bringing her with him. She laughed, scrambling up.

  “I really have to show you something. Ah, here it is.” Chloe retrieved the yellow folder from the edge of her father’s desk and sat next to Jesse. “A man came to see us. Said his family had this letter in their possession for centuries.” She handed him an envelope.

  “I’m starting to value letters these days.” Jesse took the envelope and kissed her cheek. “I love you, babe.”

  She curled her legs behind her and brushed her hand over his soft hair, watching as Jesse opened the letter with care, scanned the page, then read aloud, “‘My dearest Esther . . . Yours affectionately, Hamilton.’” He peered at Chloe. “It’s from Hamilton. Where did you get this?”

  Chloe detailed Oliver’s story and Dad’s journey into family history for the truth. He listened with a furrowed brow, nodding, humming.

  “Jesse, your grandpa Hamilton was in love with my grandma Esther. We are their descendants.”

  “This is crazy.” He read the letter again. “It’s his handwriting, all right. I recognize it. So, Esther is your ancestor? This is wild. Like something that would—”

  “Happen in a movie?”

  “Yeah, like something that would happen in a movie.” He set the folder aside and scooped Chloe into his arms. “But this isn’t a Hollywood ending, Chloe. This is our ending. You and me. This is what the movie, the letter, meeting at Dylan and Violet’s wedding, the sense of something happening between us when neither of us wanted it.”

  “So, where to from here, Hamilton Lightfoot’s grandson?” She leaned for a kiss, his words freeing her to be who she always wanted to be. “I like that I can kiss you any time I want.”

  “Then why wait?” He released her and slid down to one knee.

  “Jesse?”

  “The letter just confirms what I already knew. We are meant to be together. Chloe Daschle, granddaughter of Esther Longfellow, will you marry me?”

  “I think love has been waiting 240 years to hear this word: Yes. I will marry you, Jesse Gates, grandson of Hamilton Lightfoot.”

  32

  Critics love Bound by Love.”—Los Angeles Times

  “Weekend blockbuster? Period film Bound by Love owns the box office.”—Variety

  “Painter and Daschle are pure chemistry.”—Movie News

  “Did anyone know Chloe Daschle was this talented?”—Harvey Beckham, critic

  CHLOE

  January

  You see, love stories worked for her. She got the guy in the end. At least in real life.

  This year Variety dubbed her “the one to watch.” Death could not have her any longer.

  So when the Academy Award nominees were announced, she laughed to see her name listed under Best Actress.

  But a week before the biggest night in Hollywood, the Gonda, Daschle, and Gates clans, along with their dearest friends, gathered on a Santa Monica beach for a sunset wedding.

  Smitty reappeared in their lives after months of silence, clapping his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “It’s about time. I never thought I’d get you two together.”

  Then he vanished again, leaving them to ponder and wonder, Man or angel? Either way, they would never forget his divine help.

  A stringed quartet played as the celestial lights dimmed and the stars beamed along the horizon.

  Dad offered Chloe his arm. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  “And break Hamilton’s and Esther’s hearts all over again?”

  Chloe walked down the white runner to where Jesse stood under an ivy arch. She carried Hamilton’s first love letter tucked into her bouquet.

  She never determined what happened to unrequited love, but when it wondrously, mysteriously landed on her, she yielded.

  Jesse’s sweet aunt Pat worked overtime to confirm Chloe’s connection to Esther. Mom paid an artist to paint both family trees. Chloe bound it in a gilded frame and presented it to Jesse as a wedding gift.

  He winked at her when she stopped at the top of the runner. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Hello to you.”

  Their pastor, Shawn Bolz, opened in prayer, then asked Dad, “Who gives this woman to this man?”

  “Her mother and I.” Sniffing, he placed her hand in Jesse’s, and Chloe stepped into the role she was born to play. Wife, lover, and friend.

  They spent their honeymoon in Bora Bora and watched the Academy Awards from their ocean hut, eating chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne.

  “You’re going to win, babe,” Jesse said during the commercial before the Best Actress category.

  “I’ve already won.” She kissed him, then searched his eyes, finding love in his deep blues. “Are you happy?”

  “What do you think?” Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her as a man in love. Chloe sighed and shivered.

  “I think I’m never letting you go.”

  The commercial ended, and the camera zoomed over the Oscar stage. “Hey, there’s Mom and Dad.”

  The great Raymond Daschle and Rachel Hayes smiled for the viewers.

  “Jer and Laura are right behind them.” Jesse popped another strawberry in his mouth, then waved at the TV, calling hello.

  “You’re ridiculous.” But Chloe savored every moment of her new life with him.

  The show announcer introduced Chris Painter, who walked to the podium amid hearty applause.

  “The nominees for Best Actress are . . .” He read Chloe’s name first. “In Bound by Love.”

  Chloe ducked behind a pillow as a clip from the movie played, the reality of playing her great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother sinking deeper and awakening an awe for the beauty of God’s orchestration over her life.

  She never, ever imagined this journey.

  “This is my favorite scene,” Jesse said, settling his hand around her waist, drawing her against his chest, kissing her head. “You’re going to win.”

  “Babe, God has done a lot this year, miracles even, but taking me from queen of the death scene to Oscar-winning actress in twelve short months is a bit of a st
retch.”

  “You think He can’t?”

  “Oh, I know He can. But I have you, babe. I have the letter and the rest of the story. I have this amazing testimony about love. What else do I need?”

  “You’re going to win.”

  “You’re not biased or anything, are you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Chris introduced the other nominees, then tore open the envelope. He smiled.

  “You won, babe. You won. Look at his expression . . .”

  Chris peered into the camera. “My good friend, Chloe Daschle.”

  With a shout, Jesse jumped up, bouncing on the bed, sending the chocolate strawberries flying. “I told you!” He pumped the air with his fist. “I told you!”

  “I-I can’t believe it.” Chloe exhaled and fell against her pillows, arms wide, and laughed. “I won. I actually won.” She sat up with a fist pump and a “Yes!”

  On the TV, Chris held her gold statue. “Chloe wanted to be here tonight, but the shock of being nominated killed her.” The Oscar audience laughed. “No, seriously, she’s on her honeymoon, so she’s having a better time than any of us right now. I know she’d want to thank her parents and sister, Jer and Laura Gonda and everyone at Gonda Films and Premier. And of course, her costar. Me.”

  “He’s slaying this,” Chloe said.

  “Also, her new husband, Jesse Gates, who wrote the screenplay. And, um . . .” Chris cleared his throat. “God. She’d like to thank her Lord and Savior, for all of His blessings.”

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  When the show ended, Jesse clicked off the TV and reached for her hand. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”

  The night breeze was silky as they strode along the shore, hand in hand, the waves gentle and low.

  Chloe leaned against her husband’s arm, their footprints leaving a trail in the sand. The waves would wash them away before morning, but their journey toward happily ever after would stand forever.

  And perhaps generations from now, their descendants would find clues through their lives to the answers they sought. The notion gave Chloe chills.

  “Hey, Jesse, we should write a screenplay about our romance.”