“Good. I need to get out a few items for you to send to Wes, and I don’t think I can bring the chest downstairs on my own. It’s falling apart.”
Eisley settled down beside him on the couch. “For Wes?”
“Didn’t you say he was working on Great-Grandpa Taylor’s story?”
Her answer came slow. “Yes.”
“Good, I thought I’d make copies of Grandpa’s journal, add some other items I’ve collected over time, and send them off to him. They’d help him, wouldn’t they?”
“He’ll love it.” Eisley clapped her hands together. “Oh wow, we could send it as a Christmas gift, couldn’t we? Is there time? He’s going to be thrilled.”
“I reckon if we pay extra.” He patted his knee as if the decision was final. “I’ll send a copy off to him, and you can keep the originals.”
“But that’s your life’s work.”
“And nobody else has cared about it like you have. Seems right that you should have it now. You know, if the worse happens.”
Eisley grew quiet, his implication shoving reality into her face again. She perked back up for Uncle Joe’s sake. “You’ll love Wes’s interpretation of Jonathan Taylor’s story. He let me read a few scenes, and it sounds like such an adventure.”
“It was an adventure. It will make a great movie.”
“I can’t wait to tell him. He’ll be over the moon, as they say in England.”
He studied her, his smile softening. “You like this Wes fellow, don’t you?”
She offered him a sneaky grin over the thumbnail she nibbled. “Yeah, a little.”
His raised brows probed for a full confession.
“Okay, I like him a lot, but I’m being careful. Smart, this time.”
He relaxed back against the cushions. “Seems our little plan was a success, then.”
“Your little plan?”
His eyes sparkled like the trickster he was, and for a few seconds Eisley forgot about his illness. “When I first contacted Lizzie through that genealogy chat room, it was to get information. But then we started talking about other things.” He released a low whistle and shook his head, his eyes softening to a distant look. “If I wasn’t a dyin’ man, I would have crossed an ocean and snatched her up.”
Eisley grinned. What a match they’d have made. Oh God, please give him that chance.
His eyes focused back on Eisley. “But when I told her about my assistant and shared your story, she became real interested in doing a little matchmaking. We talked a long time about you and Wes—your pasts, your hurts, your dreams. One day she asked me what you needed.”
She blinked. “What I needed?”
He slid his palms out against his legs. “Yeah, what your heart needed most.”
“My heart?” Eisley shook her head, trying to follow Uncle Joe’s line of thought. “What did you say?”
He snuck in a grin and settled his piercing gaze on her. “I said you needed a fairy tale.”
She pulled in a quick breath, the statement piercing. “A fairy tale?”
“And Lizzie said she knew of a knight who needed a heroine.”
She stood and began pacing, smile growing as the reality of their scheme bloomed to life. “So, you got Daniel Harrison involved and the trap was set? Well, you picked the right kind of movers and shakers to set your harebrained plan in motion. Me and somebody like Wes Harrison?” She laughed. “Maybe a combination of your medication and some powerful daydreamers can work the impossible.”
“I think he got the best end of the deal.”
She sat back down and nudged him with her shoulder. “You chose well, but better than I’d ever have chosen for myself.”
“No one else will do for my best girl.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “There’s one more thing I’d like you to do, Pippy.”
“After creating my little fairy tale? I’ll do anything you want, Uncle Joe.”
“That’s music to my ears, girl.” He turned to the table at his right, grabbed a giant notebook, and placed the bundle on her lap. “I want you to write Julia’s story.”
“What? Me?” She shook her head and pushed the notebook back toward him. “I’m not a writer.”
“Stop it. Those excuses you keep wielding are nothing but lies. Living with a brother as talented as Brice is tough. Your Uncle Cob was like that for me. But stories have been brewing in your heart for years, waiting for the right time.”
“I can’t write a novel.”
“The pages you sent from England are as good as anything I’d write, probably better, because they came straight from your heart. You have a natural skill few people are given.”
Eisley jumped to a stand and stepped back, arms up in defense. “A novel? I’ll admit I love Julia’s story, and this trip to England has inspired a lot of creative thinking, but I’m not up for something this big. I haven’t had training or read all those writing books.”
“I know your writing. I’ve read all your articles for the preschool’s newsletter, heard your crazy kids’ stories you created for your classroom, and now these chapters about Julia. You have what it takes, and my editor will give your work a solid edit before he publishes it.”
His smile bloomed with a whole lot more confidence than Eisley felt, with maybe a little crazy hovered in there too. “Those articles were small things like the kids’ stories. Fun and simple. I can’t write something as good as—”
“That’s a bunch of hogwash.” He slammed a palm down on the arm of the couch. “You let one hurt in history steal your gift, and it’s a cryin’ shame. I don’t care how much you think Brice is better than you. There’s no one else I’d trust with this story, and there’s no one else who can write it with the same passion as you.”
“Uncle Joe—”
“Oh,” he breathed and placed his hand on his chest as he pressed back into the couch. “You’ve got me all worked up.”
Eisley jumped forward and fell at his knees. “Are you okay? Uncle Joe, do I need to call the doctor?”
“No.” He waved her away. “All this worrying. And after you promised to help me....”
“Don’t worry, okay? We’ll take care of it. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
He pressed the notebook back into her hands and moaned. “Take it.”
Eisley made a hesitant movement and then wrapped her hand around the book. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” Uncle Joe suddenly jolted back to life. “Could you run over there to the kitchen and grab me one of them delicious chocolate chip cookies your mama brought over yesterday? She’s quite a sis to have.”
Her mouth dropped open and then she smacked him on the shoulder with the notebook. “Why, you little trickster! Some people will do anything to get what they want.”
The twinkle in his eyes dimmed into a sober look. “And some people need to figure out what they want, find the courage to do it, and shoot for their dreams. You’ve got the wrong picture of yourself in your head—a picture of some failure. But God don’t see you that way.”
She glared at him as she grabbed two cookies, letting him know she wasn’t quite over his sneaky manipulation.
“You’re a sweet woman who loves her family and brightens the lives of everyone she meets. For too long, you’ve listened to the wrong voices about who you are, but God sees you as someone beautiful and precious. Someone worth dying for.” He took the cookie with one hand and held on to her arm with the other. “God knew all the sorry stuff I’d do. How much I’d mess up my life! And still, before I was born, he loved me.” His gaze rested on hers and she sat back down beside him. “He loves you.” His nod punctuated his words. “Maybe you should remind yourself of that more often, Pippy, and celebrate His love for you.” He tapped the notebook in her arms. “The gift is in you.”
Eisley’s vision blurred. “I do love this story.”
“And God loves your story. I think it’s past time you left your failures in God’s hands and trusted him to your future. He
wants to do something great through you. Take the life you have, and live it for today and tomorrow—not for yesterday.”
The truth of his circumstances added gravity to the intensity of his gaze. He was right. She’d spent the last two years wallowing in her past, her brokenness, instead of looking for God’s work in the present. It was time to let it go.
“Anybody home?”
Her dad’s voice broke into the room as he rounded the doorway. He tugged off his ball cap and gave his dark hair a forceful ruffle. “Looks like the two of you are up to no good.”
Eisley shared a smile with Uncle Joe and patted him on the knee. “Why start changing habits now, Dad?”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Dad shot a frown to Joe. “She been moonin’ over her Mr. Fancy Pants, Joe?”
Joe adjusted himself against the cushions of the couch. “Less moonin’ and more talk about dreams and stories and such.” Uncle Joe’s gaze needled his point further into her conscience. He was right. She could do this. Or she could at least try.
“Well, I reckon she’ll want this instead of leaving it in the front seat of my pickup.” Dad raised the carefully wrapped painting to her, shaking his head. “You made such a fuss about showing it off, it’s a wonder you forgot.”
“Oh, my goodness. Uncle Joe, you’re going to love this.” She ran across the room and pried the rectangular package from Dad’s teasing grip.
Uncle Joe’s eyes grew wide. “This seems pretty exciting.”
Eisley walked with careful steps back to the sofa—as if her very movements might shatter the precious parcel. “You remember the paintings we found in the tower?”
“Now how can I forget such a tale?”
She peeled back the paper inch by inch. “Lizzie let me bring one of them back with me and I chose this one because I thought you’d want to meet someone.” She turned the portrait of G. MacKelroy toward her uncle for the grand unveiling, her smile so broad it tensed her whole face. “Uncle Joe, say hello to G. MacKelroy, the guy I believe is Julia Ramsden’s husband.”
“Who’s Julia Ramsden?” Her dad’s voice barreled into the solemnity.
“Dad.” She breathed out a forty-pound sigh. “Do you ever listen to me?”
“Of course I do. I’m the one who helped pay for that ticket to Scotland.”
She stared at Uncle Joe, who did nothing to hide his humored smirk. Her dad. A massive heart hid beneath all the gruff—you just had to search for it.
“G. MacLeroy, eh? I’m surprised the painting’s stayed in such good shape after all this time.” Uncle Joe let out a low whistle and pushed forward on the couch.
Dad stepped closer, hands on his hips as he gave the portrait a thorough examination. “It’s a shame it’s broke, ain’t it?”
Eisley looked up at her father, his words registering a few seconds slower. Broken? She whipped the portrait around and noticed a diagonal tear sliced a few inches from a lower corner to the man’s shoulder. “Oh no!”
“Eisley, it’s only in the bottom corner.” Uncle Joe’s quiet voice soothed.
“But it was in perfect condition before the flight.”
Her heart sank. After she’d been so careful. So gentle. Her thumb trailed the ragged canvas, pushing back the open gash. The unfortunate results of air travel. She should have learned her lesson from the airport scene in Toy Story 2.
“I bet Charlie Ross down at the photo shop can patch it right up. He’s worked on all sorts of pictures before, even some of the paintings from Drew’s Antique store.”
“Thanks, Dad, but I don’t think Charlie’s had a lot of experience with five-hundred-year-old paintings.” Eisley smoothed over the rip and noticed something within the tear. At first, she thought it was another touch of black paint or a trick of the light, but after closer investigation, she realized it was writing.
“What?” Uncle Joe leaned closer. “What is it?”
Eisley lowered herself beside him and placed the portrait on the coffee table. “I’m not sure.”
She carefully peeled back the loose canvas to allow more overhead light into the torn space. Her fingers trailed over a loose scrap of paper tucked within the tear. Was it a message? She caught the corner of the strip with her fingernail and pulled it forward. “I think it’s a note or something.”
“Why on earth would anybody put a note behind their paintin’? Ain’t nobody going to see it, unless they know where to look.”
She raised her gaze to her dad, the full implication of his words tingling through her. Her breath blew out in staccato. “Dad, you’re brilliant.” Her gaze shifted to Uncle Joe. “A secret message hidden for someone to find.” She swallowed through the lump forming in her throat. “But only if they know where to look.”
Uncle Joe’s lips tilted with uncertainty. “You don’t think…”
“What are you two yappin’ about? You ain’t making no sense.”
Eisley’s voice trembled with her body. “We’ve been trying to understand how Julia smuggled Scriptures into parts of Derbyshire, but we hadn’t been able to figure it out.” Eisley inched the note from canvas into the twenty-first century light. Other pieces slid into view from behind it. Her breath clogged tight.
Dad leaned over Eisley’s shoulder. “It ain’t even in English—only some kind of scribbles.”
Eisley tilted the slip of paper toward the light. “Dad, I think—” She looked closer, vision blurred from staring. “Those are Old English letters.” She worked her dry voice around the words, slow and uneven. “Reioyce in the Lorde alwaye and agayne I saye reioyce. Let youre softenes be knowen vnto all men. The lorde is even at honde.”
“That’s a verse from Philippians, ain’t it?” By this point, even Uncle Joe was on his knees by the coffee table.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“I think your story is coming together.”
Her story? She met his smile with a hesitant one of her own. “I think you might be right.”
“Lizzie’s gonna be real pleased.”
“I can’t wait to share it with Wes, either.” Eisley ran a thumb over the paper. Rejoice?
“Wes?” Her dad’s question slipped in like a ten-foot grizzly. “Who’s Wes?”
Eisley squeezed her eyes closed, a chuckle shaking her shoulders. Yep, her father was a great listener. “Someone I can’t wait for you to meet, Dad.”
Chapter Nineteen
Eisley tucked Nathan and Pete into their beds with another round of questions regarding Santa Claus’s impending visit. Thirty minutes and an interrogation later, they finally calmed down enough to appear to be sleeping, but with the excitement buzzing off their bodies, she wasn’t holding her breath.
She melted into her desk chair with a long sigh and stared at her computer screen, as the screensaver photo of her and Wes at the airport stared back at her. Wes had texted around 8:00 pm with a Happy Christmas Eve, pet. My thoughts are with you tonight.
Her attention drifted from those wonderfully intoxicating eyes to the stack of Julia-notes to her left. Eisley had sent a few chapters to Uncle Joe for a critique and then spent two days researching how to write a synopsis so she could send it to his editor by the end of the week. In three days, to be exact.
She dropped her face into her hands. What was she thinking, writing a novel? The first few chapters had been a test run, and the thrill of words emerging onto her screen had infused energy like a sugar rush. Her own experiences breathed life into the words on the pages as she wove in her journey through the secret tunnel, the amazing discovery of the hidden room, and the chill of the frostbitten British morning air. But write an entire novel? Could she do it? A restlessness urged her to dive into her craziness headfirst.
The little blue envelope at the corner of her desk teased her attention. It had arrived four days earlier from England with the words Do Not Open Until Christmas scrawled across the back.
As if Wes didn’t trust her or something.
She pulled the card closer an
d checked the clock. Only 10:30 pm. She shrugged and fiddled with the edge of the card. Technically, it was already Christmas in England, about 3:30 am, but definitely Christmas morning.
The clock flipped to 10:31. Close enough. She peeked over her shoulder for any signs of awake children. A bump of something hid inside the paper. A gift? She squeezed out a quiet squeal. The last “romantic” Christmas gift she’d received had been almost five years ago, when Marshall tried to make up for his first stupid incidence of adultery. He’d given her some gaudy ring they couldn’t afford and she’d worn it like the crown jewels, in the hopes her joy on the outside would soothe the constant ache of his betrayal.
She broke the seal. On the inside flap another warning blazed in black ink. If it isn’t Christmas, pet, do not open it yet. What a poet!
Eisley worried her bottom lip and allowed her index finger to skim over the back of the blue card peeking from the package. 10:32pm. The beautiful tingle of anticipation spiked her fingers into motion. She slid her fingers into the paper and pulled out the card.
Something slid out from the middle of the paper and landed on her desk with a light metallic click. Sealed within a plastic bag rested a silver charm bracelet, simple and elegant.
Eisley gasped with delight and pulled the thin chain from the bag, caressing the cool links. The only charm fitted to the bracelet was a simple heart with a small inscription. She moved the bracelet closer to the light and her vision grew blurry. Engraved along the edges of the heart was the phrase, Many waters cannot quench love.
***
Wes opened the large box from Eisley after all of his family members departed from the room. Inside the package nestled a spiral-bound book of all of Joe Taylor’s research, a letter from Jonathan Taylor to Joe, and two photographs, both in black and white. Penned beneath the first photo of a dapper young man was Jonathan Taylor before sailing to America.
Wes stared into the dark eyes of the man in the snap. Serious. Determined, with a strong jaw and body to match the look in his expression. The next photograph showed a couple. Older. At the bottom read, Jonathan and Laurel Taylor, 1948. Jonathan stared down at his bride with unabashed adoration, her head of long, light-colored hair tipped back in a full laugh. In 1948 they’d have been married about thirty years, with four children and a lifetime of heartache and healing behind them.
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 22
