Copyright
ISBN 978-1-61626-679-0
Copyright © 2012 by Yvonne Lehman. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations marked nlt are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Wheaton, Illinois 60189, U.S.A. All rights reserved.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
one
“He humbled you by letting you go hungry. . . .
He did it to teach you that people do not live by bread alone;
rather, we live by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.”
Deuteronomy 8:3 nlt
Home.
That’s where the heart is alleged to be.
If so, then yes, Thomas Knight had come home.
“Don’t drive to the entrance,” he instructed the taxi driver when they neared the hotel. “Let me out here at the sidewalk.”
The driver pulled over to the curb and shut off the meter. “Enjoyed talking to you. I don’t get to the suburbs often. Most of my driving is from the airport to the DC hotels and back again.”
Thomas handed him his fare and tip. “Thanks. Nice ride.”
“Thank you,” the driver said. Ducking his head, he peered past Thomas in the passenger seat. “Nice-looking place.”
Thomas nodded, got out with his backpack, and shut the door. He lifted his hand in farewell, and the driver pulled away from the curb.
Nice-looking place, yes.
Thomas stood on the sidewalk, staring at the one hundred-year-old, three-story, white Victorian structure. His gaze swept upward to the third floor that consisted of the suite with its king-sized bed, private bath, and small sitting room. A sense of longing surged through him at the windows of the room next to the suite. The hotel looked more like a welcoming bed-and-breakfast than a hotel, reminding him of the fallacy of first impressions.
Just as a book couldn’t be judged by its cover, or a man by his appearance, a hotel couldn’t be judged by its columns, upper balconies, immaculately groomed lawn, or budding cherry trees mingled with a background of red maples, tulip poplars, and white oaks.
A curved concrete driveway provided an entrance and an exit. He strode up the right side of the drive to the entry, bordered by a blue lavender hedge. He could almost smell the fragrance, although the blooms wouldn’t appear until summer. On each side, in front of the white banisters, boxwood shrubs formed a green background for the myriad colored pansies—yellow, purple, pink, and white—growing in profusion in the flower beds.
James had been true to his word in keeping the place looking decent for the small town. The hotel had been a mecca at one time for tourists who preferred not to stay in the heart of Washington, DC, but in Silver City instead. Thomas’s dad had wanted guests to feel at home, even talk to each other in the large living room, where cozy flames leapt and danced in the spacious fireplace whenever winter storms howled outside.
Stepping onto the blue-stained wooden porch, Thomas touched the knob of a royal blue rocking chair. He didn’t bother looking through the glass-paneled doors but focused on the sign he’d posted there after having the utilities turned off and locks secured: Closed Until Further Notice.
The insides were void of human habitation. Abandoned. Had been for over three years. The same amount of time Thomas had been. . .away.
No, one could not judge the insides by the outward appearance.
Mentally shaking away threatening memories of the past, Thomas turned and sat in a blue rocker. James probably stored them in the winter and brought them out in spring. Maybe passersby stopped to sit in the rockers and enjoy the scenery even though they couldn’t enjoy the inside of the hotel.
Familiar cool March winds brushed his face. Fluffy white clouds skittered rapidly across the blue sky as if spring couldn’t wait to make its full appearance in the nation’s capital.
He felt a smile as he thought of cherry blossom time in Washington. The trees in front of him sported pink buds. With the white hotel at his back, he faced the direction of another White House. That brought thoughts of one’s right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Politicians in that capitol were supposed to ensure such rights for its citizens. Many experienced the results of such rights; but there was another side to life, others who had little opportunity to pursue much of anything.
He had pursued.
And where had it gotten him?
That remained to be seen.
He heaved a hefty sigh, pulled his cell phone from the side pocket of his backpack, and punched the first of only a few numbers in his phone.
Holding it up to his ear, he listened to the message. “You have reached the office of James B. Knight, Knight and Son, Attorneys at Law. Mr. Knight is not available at this time.”
No, the elder Mr. Knight was dead.
“Please leave your name, number, and a brief message. Mr. Knight will return your call at his earliest convenience.”
Thomas joked. “Not available for your own long-lost bro—”
“Thomas?”
Hearing his name spoken by James sent the adrenaline flowing faster through Thomas’s veins. Whether James would feel glad or disappointed in seeing him didn’t matter. They were brothers. The only remaining blood kin in the family. No, there was the extended family. James and Arlene’s four-year-old, Valerie. And the baby boy Thomas had never seen.
Thomas laughed. “The one and only.”
“Good to hear from you, Thomas. It’s about time. What can I do for you?”
“Well, you could have a cup of coffee with me.”
“Need to be a pretty darn good cup of coffee to make me chase you all over the nation. Where are you now?”
Thomas was tempted to say he was home, right there in Silver City, where his heart had always been.
“Since you’re the one with transportation, what about the Silver Percolator on Main?”
“You’re kidding. Right?” James’s words came quickly.
Thomas scoffed. “Have I ever kidded?”
“Not in about three years or so.”
They both chuckled. “Let’s see,” James said. “It’s my break time anyway. See you there in about twenty minutes.”
“Hurry up, James. I’m needing that coffee.” Thomas closed the phone and heaved a deep breath. What he needed most was renewed contact with his brother. He hoped James felt the same way.
But James enjoyed the good life with a successful law firm, fine home, pretty wife, and two children. He could get along fine without his younger brother.
two
I don’t need you. I don’t need your store. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. I don’t want somebody who doesn’t want me, who I can’t trust. So I’ll do what Aunt Clara says and make lemonade out of any sour lemon.
But thinking of Raymond Boswell as a lemon wasn’t easy when she’d been so close to him putting a diamond on her ring finger. Or had that been only her fantasy?
Gloria Seely slowed her pace. It wasn’t like she was going somewhere. She paused only a few steps from the mailbox at the end of the sidewalk no more than fifteen feet down from the front porch.
Maybe acceptance was in that mailbox and would put her on the interstate of life. After all, she had education, had experience. She mustn’t let them take away her confidence.
Pausing at the mailbox she looked up, aware of the mid-morning chill from the wind that sent a few fast-moving clouds drifting across the blue-gray sky. Please, God? Don’t let it rain on my career parade. That was about as close to a prayer as she got lately. A lot of prayers from Aunt Clara and Uncle Jim had gone up for her job hunt. Maybe He would answer their prayers, if not hers.
She reached the mailbox on which someone, probably Aunt Clara, had painted daisies on the side around the names Clara and Jim Dobbins. Tied to the wooden post was ivy mingled with long-stemmed coneflowers left over from last year’s crop. The seeds attracted birds. They also invited butterflies and bees, which she didn’t mind, although she wasn’t exactly fond of spiders.
All clear. She pulled down the flap, reached inside, and slid out two bill-sized and one letter-sized white envelopes, a gardening magazine, and a supermarket advertisement with coupons and specials.
She laughed lightly. They didn’t need that. Very little store-bought food here. Clara had her own little garden. Whatever grew in spring came from the community garden, organic and fresh, or was donated to the Wildwood Center. She’d been aware of the difference between eating college food or fast food and the food she ate at Clara and Jim’s. And this time of year, a lot of garden-fresh food came from Clara’s pantry filled with glass jars of canned goods she’d put on the shelves last harvest season.
Gloria thumbed through the mail. Yes, advertisements. Ah. The letter-sized was addressed to Miss Gloria Seely. The return address in the left-hand corner was Silver Lining Bookstore. The large bookstores in DC had told her on the spot they weren’t hiring, and she wasn’t about to apply at any Walkway Christian Stores. Betty Ann, the manager at Silver Lining, had said she’d send a letter to applicants. Gloria didn’t think that many bookstores from this DC suburb of 30,000 or so people would have that many apply who had her education and experience, although the unemployment rate was extremely high.
Raymond, the person she didn’t want to think about, had given her a glowing written recommendation. That was the least he could do—after what he did. She had felt a twinge of guilt when she told the manager she quit working at the store in Shenandoah Valley to come live with her aunt who broke a bone at the side of her foot. That was true, just skewed. Five weeks of unemployment passed before she told her aunt she’d quit and asked if they knew of any jobs. That’s when Clara and Jim said she could stay with them while she searched for the right job. She’d stayed with them during high school and summer breaks from college until moving into an apartment with a college friend.
She stopped her finger before it could slide under the flap and make a jagged edge. She would wait and use a kitchen knife to cut a neat slit. With an ironic scoff she added to the thought—being the competent, efficient person I am.
Yeah, right. I quit instead of waiting to get fired, so I can’t even get unemployment checks. Great move!
Feeling the cool breeze on her face and a tickle on her cheek, she lifted her hand and tucked the errant lock of hair behind her ear.
Aware of the buoyancy in her step and a rush of anxiety-ridden adrenaline, she studied the small three-bedroom house. It had a storybook look in its quaintness. Beside the entry and in front of the picture window sat a white wicker love seat with a low wicker table in front. A wicker chair filled the adjacent corner.
A riot of color blazed in the flower bed filled with paper-white narcissus, daffodils, jonquils, and buttercups. Those delicate flowers had a hearty demeanor. She walked closer and bent to smell the sweet fragrance emitted by the jonquils. Nature gave the impression winter was over and spring almost here. Maybe the winter of her life was making a change, too.
She straightened, smiling at the house, much like other homes in the neighborhood that looked cozy and welcoming. Much like her aunt and uncle who didn’t mind when she slipped up and simply called them Clara and Jim, as she had done when a child mimicking her parents. They adequately replaced the grandparents she no longer had and the parents, Ellen and Joe Seely, from whom she’d been separated much of her life.
A bond with these wonderful people had formed early. Clara said she’d felt more like a mother to Gloria’s mom, Ellen, than a sister, Ellen having been an unexpected child in their mother’s middle age. Now Clara and Jim pretended they needed Gloria. But she needed them more.
The screen door creaked as she opened it and walked in. The kitchen beckoned her with its aroma of peach pies baking in the oven. Aunt Clara twisted off the top of another jar of her canned peaches, ready to mix with the other ingredients for the many pies she would send to Wildwood, the local shelter, for supper.
“Advertisements,” Gloria said as she laid the junk mail at the end of the countertop since Aunt Clara was elbow deep in her cooking, stirring ingredients in a huge plastic bowl. She held her envelope close to her chest. “This one’s mine.”
Aunt Clara stilled the spatula. “Oh honey.” Her soft blue eyes in her round face, surrounded by fine white hair, held all the love in the world. “Is it from the bookstore?”
Gloria nodded. She walked over to the silverware drawer and took out a table knife, barely hearing Aunt Clara’s words. “I guess that’s your acceptance.”
Surely it was. Hope and prayer went a long way, and Aunt Clara’s prayers seemed to go right to the throne of God and get an answer.
She slit open the top and laid the knife on the table.
She pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it. She read aloud.
Dear Miss Seely:
Thank you for your patience in waiting for a response. We have reviewed the many applications and find you are the most qualified of all the applicants.
Gloria squealed and glanced at Aunt Clara, whose eyebrows lifted and whose eyes gleamed with expectancy. Her lips opened in a sweet smile. She nodded.
Gloria glanced at the page again.
However, we regret to inform you. . .
Her voice shrank as did her hopes.
. . .the position is no longer available. The job offer in another town for our manager’s husband fell through. She will not be leaving us after all.
Gloria’s voice broke on the last words. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “There’s something handwritten here.”
Sorry. You would have been perfect for this. Enjoyed talking with you.
Betty Ann
Gloria laid the letter and the envelope on top of the supermarket advertisement and dropped them into the recycle bin. Too bad there wasn’t a recycle bin for a loser.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I know you need to get on with your life in your way. But you’re an answer to prayer for me and Jim.”
Gloria walked over to the sink and washed her hands, her back to Aunt Clara. That’s what they’d said upon learning she lost her job. They invited her to stay with them since Clara slipped on some ice a few weeks ago and broke a bone on the left side of her foot. Gloria couldn’t imagine that slowed her aunt down. She was a whiz even wearing that shoe boot.
But Gloria needed a place to stay until she could earn enough money to support herself. Drying her hands, she turned to Clara. “The youth planning committee meets tonight at six. Uncle Jim wants me to sit in on it.” She laughed lightly. “And order the pizza, probably clean up later.”
Aunt Clara nodded. “Maybe you’ll be back in time for the Bible study.”
Gloria shrugged. “I doubt that a youth eating-meeting will be finished in an hour.”
Clara’s glance held a hint of hope. “You know it’s all right if you come in late.”
Gloria knew that. After all, she lived here now. Jim and th
e youth director, Greg, worked together on youth events that involved Wildwood and the church. Since Greg couldn’t be at the meeting tonight, Jim had asked her, and she knew he was only trying to make her feel needed, which she didn’t.
Gloria stared down at her hands as she wiped them with a paper towel. Aunt Clara said more of her expected encouraging words. “I know Jim appreciates your help. As I do.”
Gloria tossed the paper towel into the wastebasket, on top of her rejection letter. “Then I’d better get busy helping you.”
They smiled at each other. Gloria turned to the table. She would help make pies and take them to the shelter. She couldn’t help but wonder if a shelter for the homeless, like Wildwood, might be her home if it weren’t for Aunt Clara and Uncle Jim.
She thought of her aunt saying she was an answer to prayer. Maybe she should tell Clara not to pray for her. This didn’t exactly fit in with what she’d planned for her life.
three
Man does not live by bread alone, the Bible said.
He needs soup, too, Grandmother added.
Both quotes had appeared on the menus in the hotel dining room.
Both Dad and Grandmother had gone to their heavenly home.
Thomas walked the few blocks from the hotel to the Percolator, comparing the cool, fresh air with the memories of a putrid-smelling alley. He entered the Percolator, absorbing his surroundings, aware of what changed and what stayed the same in three years. One of the empty booths in the sandwich and coffee shop, next to the windows along one wall, beckoned him. When the waitress brought over a menu he thanked her and said he was waiting for someone.
He didn’t know her. She might have been here years ago when this had been a favorite haunt, but he wouldn’t have given her a second thought. Now he wondered about her life and watched for a moment to see how she handled the few customers who came in to order.
She appeared content. A man walked up to the counter and ordered a bran muffin. They exchanged light chatter, and her quick laugh sounded from behind the counter. The espresso machine churned.
A Knight to Remember Page 1
