Christopher pressed a kiss on Sara’s head before following after Robert, a murmur the only heard response to the question. Sara listened to the wonderful harmony of conversation, releasing a soft breath as the front door closed behind them.
“Gwyn, darling, will you hurry upstairs and roust Hank from under the covers? Threaten to leave him here alone, uninvited to our adventure, if he isn’t down by the time I finish my second cup of coffee. Yes?”
Gwyn’s eyes rounded as she nodded, scrambling from her chair and scampering from the room and up the stairs in a great clamor of shoes and calling of “Hank, you’re going to miss it all!”
Sara laughed, returning her focus to her slice of bread and jam as she relished the continuing sounds of family echoing back at her.
“I am intrigued that you do not allow my apparent contrary attitude harass you.” One side of her mouth shifted slightly upward, and her eyes twinkled. “Are you so safely held within your current euphoria?”
The heat of Sara’s cheeks confessed more than any words, but Sara didn’t mind. She simply smiled and focused to her breakfast, oddly aware of Rachel’s continued regard, though not in any form or fashion in her memory.
“Such repose, dear heart, is apt to find you able to navigate whatever wilderness or storm that Life deems necessary to send.” She leaned forward, the only action which drew Sara’s gaze. “I encourage you to set this emotion to the deepest part of your memory, for you will need to return to this place of peace in the months and years to come. Trust that as the one stark truth I can offer you.”
Sara blinked at her, but even that warning did not jar loose the spirit-deep calm. It felt very much like having her spirit embraced within a delicate morning fog. “What do you find as your peace, Mum?”
“La!” Rachel leaned back, preoccupied with the duty of refilling her coffee. “At one point in my life I would have said that I simply did not allow emotion in the way of the business of daily life.” Her gaze continued to watch the ripples of the coffee as she stirred in the cream. “But then a young man decided he wanted to find a way over that wall. He worried, railed, and fretted at it until, one day, it utterly collapsed.”
Rachel blinked and then gave herself a minute shake before slipping a small smile in place and meeting Sara’s scrutiny. “Never underestimate the retaliatory power of someone being unmoved by hate and anger.”
“Pardon?”
“It sounds the most amusing bit of advice, does it not? ‘Turn the other cheek,’ or it may as well should be.” Her amusement shifted when there came the crash of a vase and table from upstairs. “Ah. Hank is awake at last. In but a minute or five we will be accosted by an avalanche of children and shoes, I imagine.”
Sara giggled. “You may be right, mum.”
Rachel regarded Sara for a moment of silence, her lips still teased with the caress of an amused smirk before she raised her cup. “To Sara Lake. Long may she reign as queen within her euphoric castle.”
Laughing, Sara lifted her cup to meet the other woman’s in a delicate clink of agreement. “Amen.”
~**~
Joseph Conklin breathed deep of the moist air within the alcove of greenery at the park. The worn leather portfolio from ages past rested upon his lap and drew the attention of his fingers, teasing the seams and the leather strap which kept it sealed. Too many years had come and gone since he allowed his muse free reign. Even now he could clearly feel the strain of attempting to see with the artistic side of his nature.
There always lingered the ache of her absence. The remembrance of what Ann would offer to help unlock his inspiration. But Sara was right when she said he could not keep those images locked away. They were the key to the lines and shadows he wanted to put on the page.
The soft calfskin drew his focus, his fingers pausing their tease of the leather strap. A part of him actually felt a tightness of fear at what he would find within. There had been so many years since he last picked up even a pencil…. Joseph cleared his throat and unwound the strap, slipping the loose pages free from the satin lined pouch. Did he even remember what phase of art—the protective film shifted, revealing the pencil sketch of Ann sitting upon the window seat in the sitting room of their cottage, her hands resting simply upon her lap as she gazed out onto their side-garden. A hint of a smile tickled a dimple in her cheek and tightened his chest with regret, sorrow, and the memory of his love for her.
Sara could be seen in the profile of her mother’s face. In the serene contentment of her features and the grace of her posture. How many other images within this forgotten stash of memories would bring mother and daughter together into one vision? He should allow Sara the discovery, and definitely encourage her to keep her favorites.
Joseph thumbed the page, unable to turn to the next memory. Unable to truly entertain the idea of returning to art as anything but a critic. An entrepreneur. A supporter. In his current role, he held sway. Influence. Returning to the role of creator did not, honestly, appeal to him. Perhaps he needed to give himself permission to not be a creator. To continue as he was and be accepting of that role.
To give himself permission to dabble.
Actually, dabbling as a creator while continuing to focus on being a critic and supporter would give him the opportunity to work side by side with Sara. To guide her as she honed her skills. Perhaps that would be the key to his own inspiration?
Did he hope for such a thing?
Children’s laughter drew his focus, guiding his attention to a small parting in the greenery where he could clearly view the approaching quad of women and children. His lips smoothed into a smile, any tension draining from his persona as he watched Sara’s bright features dance with eagerness and happiness. He could visualize Ann with the same expression, focus entirely upon the duo of boy and girl skipping down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand.
And he felt a tug at his inspiration, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal a stage of watercolor or oil. Christopher Lake was a lucky man, to be so surrounded by such brilliant shades of life.
Sara met his gaze and immediately lifted her hand in greeting, guiding the others’ attention to his location with no change in expression. Relief flooded over him as he stood, carefully tucking the pages back within the portfolio and tying it closed.
“Good morning,” she offered, breathless. The blonde girl clinging to her hand grinned up at him. “Gwyn. Master Hank, this is my father: Joseph Conklin.”
Gwyn Lake blinked, the grin fading to an open-mouthed expression of confusion and wonder.
Sara laughed. “Poppet, heavens, what has you so befuddled?”
The girl focused on her and leaned forward, her whisper clearly heard by all within the small group. “Why isn’t his last name the same as yours? My last name is the same as Papa’s, and Hank’s is the same as Uncle Robert’s.” Hank nodded in silent agreement.
Joseph chuckled, he simply couldn’t help it, and crouched before the girl, drawing back her focus. “It is a terribly long and confounding story, Miss Gwyn, and I don’t know if I would even explain it correctly. Suffice it to say, I have entirely too many names.”
“But why?” Gwyn Lake continued to blink up at him, joined now by Henry ‘Hank’ Trent while Sara and Rachel observed his reactions to the young duo from behind.
“Why do I have so many names?” The pair nodded. “Honestly, so that I could be someone else.” A plainer answer he could not possibly manage. “Does that make sense?” Gwyn and Hank exchanged glances and then shook their heads. Joseph and the two ladies laughed. He straightened and offered each lady a tip of his hat and a slight bow. “Good day, ladies. Do you have any specific agenda in mind? Or can we take a simple turn around the park?”
Rachel Samson took Hank and Gwyn by the hand. “The three of us are determined to make our way to the gardens in the center of this lovely park, so you two are free to do what you will. Come along, dear ones. Let us have our adventure.”
Gwyn and Hank laughed, delight dancin
g in their eyes and upon their lips as they clasped tighter upon Rachel’s hands and pulled her forward. Joseph’s attention lingered after them, a surprising feeling of anxiety over-shadowing the eagerness.
“I do no’ know where to start.”
Sara’s admittance drew his attention, and he saw mirrored in her eyes the same hesitation and eagerness. “Because what do we know of reconnecting to a lost family member?”
Her lips quivered upward, her fingers continuing to tease the ribbon of her reticules. “A long-lost friend is such a different connection than a lost father,” she admitted, breathless.
He had no word nor phrase to offer in reply to such a specific truth. Especially when he himself struggled with the same duty of reconnection…. Reconnection? Did one not need to be initially aware of the person to re-connect? He motioned toward the bench, determination offering a surprising wave of action. “Let us take a moment and simply connect. Much as a sponsor does with a new charge?”
At least it was a place of familiarity.
~**~
Sara breathed deep of the salt air, relishing the murmur of the waves as they danced against the vessel now making its way from the harbor. Lord, so many blessings have been poured out upon me, I have no’ the sense to do other than say ‘thank You,’ and isn’t that a said way to repay such a miracle? But she knew her Lord would lead her down a path fraught with opportunities to pass His wonders along, and that would forever be enough of a ‘thank You’ for Him.
A step sounded beside her and she smiled, her eyes glancing to the hesitant expression of her father and one-time future sponsor. Mr. Conklin met her gaze for a brief moment before taking up a place beside her, hands clasped before him as he leaned his weight upon the rail. It presented as such a boyish and cavalier action, his hat tilted and jaunty upon his head. His form … almost nonchalant.
"Traveling across the ocean no longer holds awe and excitement for me. Not for a very long time," he confessed, and the admittance sounded almost a sigh of defeat.
Sara surrendered to the desire to rest a hand upon his back, and the effect on his countenance was striking. Years fell away, and as he closed his eyes, memories danced across his features with his smile. It renewed the hope that she and her Lord could repair the chasm in his soul, even if they could not mend the relationship between he and his father.
Her father turned his face toward her, the memories still so starkly clear within his expression. “Come what may, Sara Ann, we will have a go at this father-daughter adventure, will we not? We’ll release the yesterdays to where they fall and look to tomorrow.”
Sara giggled and wrapped him up in a fond embrace. “Come what may, Papa.”
Broken Angel
Heart of the Blessed | Book Three
Released May 16, 2016 | About the Book
Rachel Samson has studied at a business school for women in France for a great portion of her life as a young lady. Withstanding browbeating from both her classmates and instructors, she has matured into a young woman who knows her own power as well as the way to get what she wants. When she arrives home, however, she discovers that all is not as she thought it would be.
Determined to protect all aspects of his family, Henry Samson has carefully chosen each path Rachel is to take. Including the delicate choice of whom she’s to marry to benefit the business: the son of his lifelong friend. Rachel refuses the match and forms a seemingly unbreakable obstacle between father and daughter.
When a final truth is confessed, will she surrender to her delicate nature and forgive and forget?
Find more at angelbreathbooks.com/broken-angel/
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About the Author | Nona Mae King
Writing has been Nona’s passion since childhood. She began writing young adult novels as a teen, graduating to inspirational and suspense romances in college. She also wrote and co-directed full-length plays for her home church, Canby New Life Foursquare.
In 2006, Nona moved to Washington State from her home in Oregon and married Michael King, a fellow writer, and continues to pursue a career in writing as an independent writing and editing professional for Angel Breath Books. She specializes on novels of romance and adventure. All the novels focus on faith, honor, respect, and the importance of communication in our relationships.
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Book site: http://angelbreathbooks.com/
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