Searching for Sara

by Nona Mae King

  That she felt like a princess from a fairytale. That she feared she still slept on the ship crossing the Atlantic. “I . . . ." That, even worse, she would wake to hear the bellowing voice of Mr. Brockle shouting for his breakfast. Sara felt Christopher’s firmer squeeze and forced a tremulous smile. “Could someone pinch me, please?”

  Thirty-Three

  Displays of Affection

  30 April 1894

  Sara clasped her hands in front of her with eager anticipation as she waited with Dix in the front hall of Lake Manor. As Paul kept Christopher away at a breakfast and luncheon with Damon Childers and his wife Maggie, Dix and Sara decorated the conservatory with hand-painted colored-paper lanterns and woven wreaths of flowers taken from the conservatory itself.

  Hand-painted colored-paper lampshades had also been placed over each light, fully tested to make sure they wouldn’t catch fire, with more woven garlands of flowers bordering the path from entry to dining hall, and from dining hall to conservatory. All other rooms, except for Christopher’s studio where his presents were hidden, had been blocked by a garland of vines drooping across the doorway.

  Hanging across the width of the front hall was also a carefully crafted and painted banner proclaiming ‘Happy Thirtieth Birthday, Christopher’. A larger one hung in the conservatory, where Teddy and some of Christopher’s friends from college hid away. Teddy had also arranged for a few of the gallery’s featured artists and favorite patrons to attend. The grand total of company, including Christopher and Paul once they arrived, would be thirty.

  Gwyn and Thomas hid at a corner street to watch for the carriage’s approach. At the sound of running feet, Sara’s hands tightened. Then the door flew open and Gwyn and Thomas hurried inside.

  “He’s coming!” Gwyn squealed, immediately dashing past to inform Teddy.

  Thomas chuckled. “He’ll be here in two shakes.” Then he made his way to help the kitchen staff with final preparations.

  Sara sent Dix a bright smile, unable to utter a word through the rising eagerness. The carriage rumbled to a stop outside.

  Gwyn took a tight hold of both Sara and Dix’s hands. “Oh goody, goody,” she whispered.

  Sara’s skin tingled and her knees grew weak as she heard recognizable laughter and voices drawing closer. She tightened her hold on Gwyn’s hand as the pair of men ascended the stairs, the subject of their conversation falling to the wayside beneath Sara’s excitement.

  The doorknob turned and the door slowly opened, Paul’s voice recognized to say, “To England? Hm. You know, I think that would be fun,” as he opened the door the remaining way and stepped inside.

  Christopher immediately followed, turning to the duty of closing the door and missing the view of gathered women. Paul sent the ladies a wink.

  “I think so,” Christopher was saying, nonchalant. “It would be a welcome escape from all the pressure here, for both you and Dix.”

  Sara and Gwyn exchanged quiet smiles and giggles, looking up in time to see Christopher’s expression of shock.

  “Happy birthday, Papa!” Gwyn squealed, scrambling forward to launch herself against his legs.

  Christopher gaped at her for a long moment before the expression melted to a smile and he knelt to gather her into a one-armed hug. “And who thought and plotted this little surprise?” he asked, looking up at Paul and Dix. “One guess.”

  Paul laughed, shaking his head. “Guilty only in getting you out and back without suspicion. Everything else was the thought of these two lovelies.”

  Christopher stood, gathering Gwyn’s hand in his as he stepped toward Sara. She held his gaze, cheeks aflame as she held herself in check. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Christopher.”

  “Well.” Paul motioned down the hall. “I don’t know about you, but I am in dire need of coffee and cake. Lead me, fair sweetness of the heart.”

  Dix laughed. “With pleasure, darling.”

  Christopher’s focus didn’t waver as he came to stand beside Sara. He presented her a leather-bound sketchbook. “This is for you.”

  “It is beautiful!”

  He chuckled. “I am glad you like it, but I meant that what is inside is for you.”

  “Inside?” Sara opened the book, her voice catching in her throat at the first sketched image. “Oh Christopher.” The image brought her back to her first days at Lake Manor, in the conservatory, when she first discovered the wonderful aroma of lilac.

  “What is it, Papa? Did you get me one?” Gwyn squeezed his hand.

  “It’s for both of you, pictures sketched these past weeks.”

  “Pictures!” Gwyn danced around Sara, arms extended. “Is it you, Sara? Is it me? Can I see?”

  Sara presented the leather book. “I will let you be the very first to see, poppet.”

  “Goody!” Then she scampered off toward the conservatory, clasping the book tightly against her chest.

  Christopher offered Sara his arm. “That action was wiser than you know.”

  Sara laughed. “The dear. She will guard it diligently.” His calm smile drew a peek. “You did very well at acting surprised.”

  The welcome sound of his baritone chuckle caused a tingle as Sara smiled up at him. “Because I was surprised. I had forgotten all about the party, to be honest.”

  “I am glad. Gwyn was so hoping Mr. Paul would no’ confess the secret.”

  “Paul confess a secret? He would rather die than ruin a surprise. The more elaborate he needs to be, the better he likes it.”

  “Then this surprise must have made him see stars. All the intrigue and the tale-telling. Even getting your own chum mixed up into the scheme.”

  Christopher laughed. “I thought Damon seemed in a better mood than before. How long have you and Dix planned this party?”

  “Since my second display.”

  “What?” He blinked down at her.

  “It was such fun.” She motioned to the colored lamps. “And see? We were able to do so many more creative things, and they took hardly any at all time to hang. It was worth the extra effort. After all, we only turn thirty once.”

  “Thank God.”

  “You know you do no’ mind the extra attention.”

  “No, I suppose I don’t.” He leaned slightly toward her. “Which, of course, will prove Dix’s point that I’m spoiled.” Sara laughed. “That makes me think you don’t believe me.”

  “I do,” she said. “I only do no’ mind doing it.”

  Because he never asked her for anything in return. He only gave when she was too afraid to ask, provided when she was uncertain where to go next, and supported and pushed when she was too scared to step forward.

  ~§~

  “What was this about England?” Dix asked, her eyebrow arched as she regarded the handsome face of her husband.

  Paul’s lips twitched upward as he sipped his punch. “England, Sweet?”

  “Don’t give me that, Paul Michael Donovan. You and Chris are sharing a secret and you offered your expertise, didn’t you, silly man?”

  Paul kissed her hand again. “I did.”

  Releasing a deep breath, Dix rolled her eyes. “So we’re away once more to England and adventure when we’ve only just become settled here again. Whatever will I do with you?”

  “Come with me to England and leave your baby brother and his inspiration to their own mischief,” he proposed, winking.

  Dix slightly smiled as she shifted her attention to watch Sara and Christopher. They spoke with a collection of friends and patrons of the gallery, a cluster of about eight people circled about the two.

  “Her arrival couldn’t have been more perfect,” Paul said, drawing her focus. He smiled his usual boyish charm. “Chris was ready to struggle out of the grief and loss. He only needed a different . . . voice than what we offered.”

  “Now they need to make it through the next pain.” Dix looked back to the pair as Mr. Jeffrey Stillwell approached the couple, patting Christopher on the back and drawing his attention.
r />   Paul focused again on the laughing couple. “I’ve often said the Lord works in mysterious ways, and this shock of her being his ‘Lady of Charcoal’ was no different. It made him realize that his fondness and affection were more than what he thought.”

  “So . . . he loves her?”

  “I truly believe he does,” Paul agreed, nodding. “The only truth giving him problems is how much he loves her. The feelings are different than what he felt for Carla, and that makes him feel guilty. I think it will also be a continuing struggle for him, but one that he’s willing to face with Sara.”

  Dix looked toward the couple when Teddy approached. “It looks as if presents are about to be unveiled. I can hardly wait to see Chris’ reaction to one particular gift,” she confessed.

  “Do tell,” Paul said, tone highly interested.

  Dix laughed. “Oh darling.”

  ~§~

  “One more, Gwyn, and then you must go to bed.”

  The entire crowd complained in unison with Gwyn. But the girl was coaxed, as was the crowd gathered in the conservatory, and Christopher was offered one more present to open. The little girl scrambled back onto her father’s lap to wait.

  “And who is this one from?” Christopher read the affixed card and looked up to meet Sara’s gaze. “From our lovely hostess.”

  Sara flushed. He began the duty of unwrapping the gift, the colorful paper joining its fellows that littered the area around him. Hostess of Lake Manor. Oh if it could be so, Lord. Sara peeked at him as the final bit of paper fell away, the unveiling drawing a hushed exclamation from the crowd. But Sara’s eyes did not shift from Christopher’s countenance, hungry for the approval and acceptance of this particular canvas.

  An entwining of charcoal and watercolor depicting him and Gwyn together, as she had seen them so many times as a family. Gwyn the key to Christopher’s smile, and he the foundation to Gwyn’s loving personality.

  “Oh Papa,” Gwyn breathed.

  Murmurings and soft exclamations of wonder began to rise within the gathered group, but Sara could only watch Christopher as he stared at the image. How his throat struggled with a hard swallow. How he blinked several times in succession to keep back the emotion. How his thumb caressed the specifically chosen frame.

  Sara released a sigh of relief. He loves it.

  A nudge at her elbow gathered her focus. Teddy winked at her. He alone knew of her terror. Creating an image with such personal intensity fell well beyond what she ever risked before. Her heart soared with his acceptance.

  Christopher met her gaze. “Thank you.”

  The gruffness of his voice sent her heart into her throat, allowing only a smile as she stepped forward to gather Gwyn from his lap. “Come along, Miss Gwyn.”

  "But, Sara."

  “You promised you would go to bed when we said you were to go,” Sara reminded. “That’s why we let you stay up this late.”

  The chuckles of the crowd followed Sara and Gwyn as the two exited the conservatory.

  “But it’s Papa’s birthday. I want to stay up with all of you.”

  “I know you do, poppet, but it’s just too late for pretty girls like you.” Sara adjusted Gwyn in her arms and onto her left hip as she navigated the hall and then up the stairs to the second story. “I’ll be sure to have your papa draw lots of sketches of everyone dancing and laughing.”

  Gwyn picked at Sara’s single silver strand necklace. Her lower lip protruded. “I suppose . . . ."

  Sara kissed the girl on the cheek. “Do no’ fret. We can have another party for your papa tomorrow. This time you can be there for the entire event. It will be just us, and your Auntie Dix and Uncle Paul. Fine?”

  Gwyn threw her arms around Sara’s neck and kissed her. “Oh thank you!”

  “But you must promise to go right to sleep. There will be no’ sneaking out to watch.”

  Gwyn nodded, eyes wide. “I promise.”

  “Good girl.”

  Sara set Gwyn gently upon her bed, helping her from dress to nightgown and then brushing her hair and tying it into braids with ribbons.

  “Where did you put the leather book your papa gave me?” Sara tucked the girl under the covers.

  “I gave it to Harold so that it’d be safe.”

  “Good girl.” Sara kissed Gwyn on the forehead. “Say your prayers.”

  Gwyn closed her eyes and folded her hands. “Dear Lord, thank you for papa. Please tell Mamma I love her. Thank you for bringing Sara. Please give me good dreams and . . . and…” Gwyn peeked at Sara from one eye. “And please make Sara my new mamma. Thank you. Amen.”

  Sara caressed the girl’s blonde ringlets. “Good night, poppet. Sweet dreams.” Once in the silent hall, she slumped against the closed door. “Amen, Lord. Amen.”

  ~§~

  Christopher finished his third navigation through the dancing couples in the dining hall of Lake Manor. “Have you seen Sara?” he asked Paul, stopping him on his way to Dix with a glass of punch.

  “Not since she took Gwyn upstairs. Sorry, Topper.” Paul gripped his shoulder. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.” Christopher turned from the main portion of the dining hall to make his way to the front foyer. “Harold.” The older man exited the conservatory with a box of trash. “Have you seen Sara?”

  “Yes, Mr. Christopher.” He gestured back to the conservatory doors with a motion of his head. “She has wandered to the far portion of the conservatory. To the gazebo, in fact. I have taken her a glass of punch.”

  “Is she fine?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Christopher. She told me she wanted a moment to look through the book you gave her before going into the party.”

  “Ah.” He glanced beyond to the etched glass doors. His eagerness to see her alone made him force his feet to remain still. He offered Harold a smile. “Did you need some help?”

  “No, Master Chris. I can handle a few boxes of gift wrap. You enjoy your party.”

  Then he passed to places unknown, leaving Christopher to stare at the conservatory doors in silence and hesitation. It would be the first time in several hours he could be alone with her. A perfect time to make a confession of her worth to him. His hesitation centered around the fact he had no clue how to preface the admittance. Blurting didn’t seem very romantic.

  Christopher scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Oh why not?” He pushed through.

  The gazebo came into view, and his steps slowed. Sara sat upon the lower steps, her burgundy gown fanned out around her as she viewed each image with silent intensity. If an easel and canvas stood beside him, her rapt attention to his sketchbook cradled in those delicate hands would have found itself immortalized in oils.

  Christopher cleared his throat.

  She flushed and smiled, swiping hints of wetness from her cheeks. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Sara.”

  She closed the sketchbook and repositioned it within her lap, her gaze not wavering from his. “I am no’ avoiding the party. I promise. I only wanted a bit of time to see all the lovelies.”

  “I know. I met Harold just outside.” He motioned to the sketchbook as he sat beside her. His eyes drank in the emotion of her face. “Do you like them?”

  The book drew her gaze, and she smiled as she ran her fingertips along the cover. “I love them. They feel a little like re-living memories of my favorite moments with you. Thank you.”

  His gaze traced the lines of her cheek and jaw. The curls at her temples. The soft line of her neck. “It was my pleasure.”

  She flushed and lowered her gaze again to the book, silence descending. A silence Christopher dreaded at one time. Now? It was comfortable, simple, and oh so welcome.

  Christopher pulled a bit of flower from the vine entwining the column to his left. “Thank you for the party, Sara.”

  “It was my pleasure to do for you, Christopher.”

  The caress of his name stood the hairs on the back of his neck and opened a door to a vision of a new future, but
with a different silhouette. A different face. One that was welcome. One that . . . he felt he had seen his entire life.

  “I am glad the party makes you smile like that,” she whispered.

  Christopher met her gaze. “Hm?”

  She shook her head, cheeks flushed. “Nothing.” Then her gaze retreated from his and she hugged the sketchbook to her chest.

  Christopher watched her intense reverie as she stared away. Welcoming the desire to hold her, to show her just how much he cherished her presence in his life. His chest tightened with the possibilities. The opportunity to accept what she offered with such eagerness, and this time as more than ‘friend.’

  Sara released a soft breath. “Christopher, I . . . ." Cheeks flushed, she cast a quick glance. “I do no’ know how to thank you for all you have given me. You make me . . . . Even through your ache for your sweet wife you always made me feel welcome. I never knew such before coming here.”

  “I promised to protect you, Sara.” He set aside the flower to take her hand in his. “With everything you offered to me and my Gwyn, such was easy enough to want for you.”

  When her presence helped him past the grief which held him back for so long? Yes. For now he could face the darkness to reach the light.

  Clearing his throat, Christopher lowered his focus to that warmth in his, watching as his hand continued to envelop hers. A hold of support which rescued him from the emptiness. A tender touch that never demanded anything. How could he do anything except love her?

  “Are you well, sir?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “No. No, I don’t think I am.” Those beautiful eyes shone with brilliant clarity. He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve been ‘well’ since meeting you.”

  Sara’s initial reaction was a blink. Then those rose lips curved upward. And it was that smile which did an odd thing to Christopher. There, surrounded by the newness of spring and the soft scent of roses and lilacs, he found himself reaching out to caress a tendril of hair from her cheek.

  “Sara Ann Little, do you have any idea how much I love you?” The confession slipped forth as if it were the simplest of questions.

  Again Sara blinked, her quick intake of breath a momentary pause before a glimmer of tears. “What did you say?”

  Christopher brought her hand to his lips, the caress lingering upon the velvet of those inspired fingers. “I love you, Sara Little.” A tear dripped down her cheek and Christopher leaned in to kiss it, closing his eyes at the warmth. “I don’t want to lose you ever again. Please, Sara. Be my wife.”