Dully, she took it in her hand without looking at it. “Thank you.”
“My condolences, madame.”
Véronique kept walking.
• • •
Home again, she removed the pin from the veil and pulled it from her head to drape over a kitchen chair. When she had planned to raise the child alone, she had not feared the future. Now she did.
“Christophe, what will we do now?” The baby gurgled in his sleep but did not stir. Véronique put him in his cradle.
Glancing at the table, she saw the envelope the postal clerk had given her and she roused herself to look at it.
When she saw the return address, her fog of grief lifted a bit. So Christophe had finally decided to answer her letter.
She tore open the flap and unfolded the single page.
February 17, 1921
Dear Véronique,
Please excuse me because I am not good in French writing. I hope are you able to understand what is here. I have a big mistake when I come to America. I am sorry then for Croix Rouge to find me. Now I am big sorry. I am miss you and France. I have very more to tell but not way is this.
I am come back home to there.
Love for you,
Christophe
Véronique stared at the page, first to decipher what was written there, and then to absorb its meaning. My God, she thought, Christophe was coming back? She turned the paper over as if to find a better explanation on the back, but of course, it was blank.
The letter was dated three months earlier. She had never expected to see him again.
She glanced at the cradle. He did not know he had a son. He did not know that she was now a widow.
But apparently, the life she had been certain would be waiting for him had not worked out. There were any number of reasons and he could not write enough to explain.
In her sadness over Édouard, though, a candle had been lit. And it was carried by a man named Christophe.
“If you would please sign here, Mr. Grenfell?”
The desk clerk at the Powell Springs Hotel turned the register to face Tanner. He signed it Mr. & Mrs. T. Grenfell on the line the clerk pointed to. Beside him, Susannah stood wearing the pale-blue dress and matching cloche that she’d worn on her wedding day. So much had happened since that afternoon last summer. Tanner looked handsome in his own dark suit, and she felt her heart swell with love every time she looked at him.
The clerk handed Tanner a key with a big brass fob. “I think you’ll find everything to your liking, and I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Please let us know if you need anything. Your luggage is already in your room.”
“Thanks.” He turned toward her and held out his arm. “Come on, Mrs. Grenfell,” Tanner said. Susannah grinned and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. He led them up the carpeted staircase, up two flights, and down a long hall. When they reached the last door she looked at the small brass plate affixed just below the room number.
“‘Bridal Suite?’” she read. “Tanner, really? Can we afford this?”
He chuckled and unlocked the door. “When we made that deal with the Braddocks, I held back some money for a special occasion. I think this qualifies.”
It was a lovely corner room with a view of two streets, lace curtains at the windows, stylish furniture, and a big bed draped with beautiful linens.
“I don’t feel like I deserve this,” she admitted in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to be hard on you when Riley came back, but I was. Just trying to figure out what was best, I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. We’ve been all over this and it’s behind us. He’s gone back to the life he wants and that’s what we’re doing, too.”
Taking her by the hand, he sat beside her on the tapestry sofa. “When we got married last summer, I got your wedding band from Friedman’s. I got your locket there too.”
“Yes, and I love it,” she said, touching the pendant she wore.
“But all I got you was a wedding band.”
She shrugged. “And it’s—”
He shushed her again. Susannah waited, completely baffled by where this conversation was going.
He took her face between his work-roughened hands—hands that could control a stallion, soothe a nervous horse, or hold Susannah prisoner on a razor edge of anticipation before pushing her into a rapturous abyss of ecstasy. “I know I asked you to marry me.” He released her and rummaged around in his coat pocket to produce a small velvet box. He pushed the button that opened the lid and she had a brief glimpse of a sparkling jewel. “Now I’m asking you to be my wife.”
He slid a ring over the knuckles of the same finger that bore her wedding band.
Susannah stared at the diamond through the tears that welled in her eyes. “Oh, Tanner…it’s so much more than I ever would have expected. It’s…”
He gave her a sweet smile, one that pierced her heart as nothing else ever had. She flung her arms around him.
“I know you wouldn’t want me to just load you down with presents to make up for keeping my feelings to myself. But if you ever start thinking that you aren’t in my mind and heart, I hope you’ll look at that ring and remember it’s not true. You’re always there. And I promise to keep working on letting you know that.”
“I wish I had a gift for you,” she said.
He smiled and shook his head. “Believe me, you’ve given me more than I ever dreamed I’d have. You gave my poor old heart a home.”
• • •
Christophe climbed the last hill that led to the Raineau farm. Although it was spring and the grasses had turned green and sprouted up in many places—Nature making a good effort to heal herself as he’d expected—he knew exactly where to look to see the rusting remains of the ambulance that had brought him here almost three years earlier.
The landscape was still wounded and scarred, and trees hadn’t yet had the chance to replant themselves. But here and there, life had returned. He heard a few birds twittering as they flew past. As he neared the farmhouse, he saw not only sheep in a pen but a donkey as well. Things must be improving because of the relief efforts. He even saw a new room rebuilt onto the house. The shadows were growing longer and the afternoon light fading.
He picked up his pace. Even his cranky leg was giving him a break today, and it didn’t hurt despite the distance he’d walked with his valise. He had arranged to have the rest of his belongings delivered. Just outside the house he saw a woman in a print housedress with russet hair taking laundry from the line that he had strung for her two years earlier. Beside her in a basket he saw something else. It moved but it wasn’t an animal. It began crying—a baby? What—was that a child?
Slinging a white towel over her arm, she bent down to pick up the infant and hoisted it to her shoulder, patting its back and jogging it soothingly.
Suddenly a brown-and-black dog came running up to him, barking but smiling too, to jump around his feet.
“Chien! Veins!”
Now she looked at Christophe and the towel fell from her arm. For a moment she froze and stared at him. Then comprehension flooded her expression.
“Christophe!”
In the last of the day’s golden light, he lifted a hand in greeting. He raced toward her and she flung herself into his open arms.
Christophe, the man who had first come here with no name, was home again.
The End
Photograph by Elena Rose Photography, 2011
Alexis Harrington is the award-winning author of a dozen novels, including the international bestseller The Irish Bride. She spent twelve years working for consulting civil engineers before she changed track and became a full-time novelist. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys jewelry-making, needlework, embroidery, cooking, and entertaining friends. She lives in her native Pacific Northwest, near the Columbia River, with a variety of pets who do their best to distract her while she is working.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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