“My story. Yes.”
He picked it up, his mouth agape. “You finished it.”
“For you. Happy birthday.”
“For me?”
“And Mother.” Emotion broke her voice. “I wanted to honor her memory by finishing it and honor your strength and compassion by giving it to you on your fiftieth birthday.”
The tip of his nose and his eyelids reddened. “Your mother was so proud of you. She would be delighted to see the woman you have become.”
That commendation meant more to her than any other. Her father sniffed and blinked rapidly as he trailed a finger over the title page. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Between Two Moons. How did you come up with that title?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “During an important scene, the main character, Adeline, is sitting beside a pond at night, alone and confused. She looks across the water to see someone who cares for her coming toward her. The moon is shining brightly in the sky above him, and it’s also reflected in the water in front of him. For a moment it looks to her as though he is standing between two moons.”
Christopher drew his head back slightly. “You have put a lot of thought into this story.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Only about eight years.”
“God makes all things beautiful in His time.” He covered her hand with his. “Does your story have a happy ending?”
“You must read it to find out.”
He squinted, still grinning. “Not even a hint?”
“No. You’ll be the first person to read it straight through without having read a previous version, without remembering all my wrong turns.”
He leaned back in his seat, gazing proudly at the manuscript. “This is wonderful. I look forward to reading it. And,” he held up a finger, “I know how important your privacy is, so I will keep this gift to myself.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll go tuck it under my mattress now.” He re-wrapped it in the cloth but handed her the ribbon. “Thank you, Hannah. I know how hard you worked. And it wasn’t easy with a house full of mouths to feed, but you succeeded. You have seen how others can affect your work. I hope you will see how your work might affect others. And I still think you should use your talents to bless this community, not just me.”
She ran the silky ribbon between her fingertips. “I’m thinking so too. I’d like to write stories for the library and the school. It might take me a while with a household to tend to but—”
“It’s time we divided your chores between your sisters.”
She shook her head. “I promised Mother I’d take care of everything.”
“Which I believe included teaching the girls how to manage a household.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle. “Your mother didn’t mean for you to be stuck here forever. She would want you to move forward in life. It’s time.”
Her heart thumped in her chest, excited over words she never thought she would hear. “Time for me to move forward?”
“You have done a beautiful job with the girls and the house and me.” Christopher relaxed his wise brow. “It’s time to see what else God has for you in life.”
Footsteps moved about in the upstairs bedroom. Christopher glanced at the ceiling and tucked the manuscript under his arm. “Let the girls do more of the housework and you spend that time writing. If you find a new life presenting itself, you are free to pursue it.”
She thought of Henry and his unreadable expression when she’d given him the completed manuscript. It didn’t appear they would have a future together, but maybe someday they could work together to produce books for the settlement. Or she could write the stories and give them to Olivia to use in school. Maybe a new life was presenting itself.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Henry lifted one of the four printed and bound books on his worktable. The binding stitches were perfect, the pages precisely cut, and the tanned leather exterior beautifully embossed with gold leaf. He traced a finger over the title. Between Two Moons.
The urge to flip through the pages tempted him to open the unread books, but he wanted Hannah to be the first to have that honor. After carefully wrapping each volume in a sheet of paper, he slid them one by one into his satchel then checked his pocket watch. Eight o’clock in the morning seemed too early to visit her house, but he wanted to deliver the books soon so she could give one to her father for his birthday. He slung the satchel over his shoulder, keeping his arm across it to guard its precious contents.
The road north was empty, save for a family of songbirds pecking at a pile of seed that must have spilled from a wagon bed. Warm sunrays danced between the trees as Henry shuffled down the road, whistling. The birds launched into flight as he passed their buffet, but he didn’t miss a note of his happy tune.
It had been too long since he’d engaged in such a jovial activity as whistling, but everything about this morning, his future, and life in the Land stirred music in his heart. The tunes themselves came from something much deeper than the fine morning: they flowed out of an overwhelming sense of freedom. He was free to do the work he enjoyed and do it on his terms. He was free to build his home when and where he wanted or sleep in the corner of his print shop if he chose. And, most importantly, he was free to love the woman who had captured his heart.
As he neared his family’s home, his mother was sweeping the front porch. When she saw him walking down the road, she leaned her broom against the railing and dashed into the house. A moment later she returned to the porch with Ellenore and Hazel. As Henry passed the house, his mother and sisters smiled and waved, giggling with the knowledge of where he was going and why.
“Good luck!” Ellenore called from the porch. She blew a kiss.
He flashed them the confident grin they were hoping for then returned his focus to the road ahead. His self-assurance came not from the hope that Hannah would accept his apology but from his belief that even if she didn’t, he was doing the right thing.
Since the Vestals’ home was the farthest from the center of the settlement, the sandy road dwindled to a thin path as it veered away from the meadow and toward their house. The perfect rows of stately fruit trees set Mr. Vestal’s orchard apart from every other farm in Good Springs.
Movement between two of the rows caught Henry’s eye as he passed. At first, he thought it was David mowing the grass around the trees. When Henry got a better view, he realized it was Wade.
The young man stilled his scythe, and a disapproving expression puckered his face. He dropped the tool and marched toward Henry. “What are you doing here?”
Henry halted on the path. He thought of the anonymous notes he’d received that warned him to leave Hannah alone. Shifting his satchel, he withdrew the folded scraps of paper from a side pocket. “I believe these messages were from you.”
Wade stopped his hasty approach and leaned his palm against the trunk of the last tree in the orchard’s row. His cheeks flushed and he narrowed his eyes. “But you ignored them and you hurt her, didn’t you?”
Henry stuffed the notes into his shirt pocket. “You’re right, and for that I have come to apologize.” When Wade’s expression lightened, Henry held up a finger. “To her. Not to you.” The scowl returned, so Henry continued. “You cannot expect a man to obey an anonymous note that is tossed into his workplace tied to a rock, can you?”
Wade’s face relaxed so that he no longer looked like he’d licked pinesap. He crossed his arms over his chest. The young man wanted to be seen as a hulking man, but the gesture did nothing to increase his stature.
Henry stepped forward. “Hannah and I have had our differences, but I’m here to do my best to make it right. Do you find something ignoble in that?”
Wade crinkled his brow. “Are you going to tell her you’re sorry?”
He almost grinned. “Yes, and I brought something that I hope will rectify the situation.”
“Will it make her happy?”
Henry patted his satchel. “I believe it will
make her very happy indeed.”
The young man lowered his arms, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I want her to be happy.”
“Me too. I care about Hannah very much. I can’t promise that we will never argue again—in fact, that’s half the fun—but I will strive to always treat her kindly.” Henry stepped closer, seeking to build camaraderie with the young man who, as a second son, must have felt left out among the village men. “If she is able to forgive me, might you be able to as well?”
Wade shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose, but you better not hurt her again.”
“And since you have shown the courage to warn me in person, man to man, I shall take your warning to heart.” Henry straightened his hat as if on his way to official business. “Now if you will be so kind as to let me pass, sir, I must pour my heart out at the feet of the woman I love.”
Wade laughed once. “Are you going to say that to her?”
“Probably not.” He grinned at Wade. “Unless you believe it will help my chances of winning her back.”
“No, I want to be there to see it if you do.”
He patted Wade’s shoulder as he passed. “I’m sure you will have ample opportunity to laugh at my blunders in the future.”
As Henry cut across the yard, one of the Vestals’ yellow dogs ran beneath the clothesline with four puppies following it. The last puppy turned toward a tablecloth that wiggled in the wind. The puppy caught the edge of the cloth in its teeth and tugged playfully.
“No, no, no!” Hannah yelled at the puppy as she stormed out of the mudroom to the clothesline.
The puppy continued having its fun with the cloth until Hannah scooped it from the ground and opened its furry jaw. As soon as she’d freed her laundry from the puppy’s mouth, she hugged the dog to her chest. “My laundry is not a toy for you, understand?”
The puppy licked Hannah’s chin and she smiled.
Henry was only a stone’s throw behind her when she looked back. Her gaze traced the length of him, from the top of his felt hat down to his polished boots and back up, finally settling on his face. She cradled the puppy with one arm and petted its head with the other hand.
He gave her the chance to speak first. When she said nothing, he removed his hat and walked toward her. “My apologies for coming uninvited and so early in the day. I have something for you. A delivery from the print shop.”
Hannah lowered the puppy to the ground and watched as it ran after its mother. Then she met his gaze. “Something for me?”
“Yes,” he answered, opening his satchel. He paused to scan the property. Wade was watching them from the orchard. Doris and the twins were in the vegetable patch, though they were looking in the opposite direction. There was movement in the barn, but with the laundry flapping back and forth in his line of sight, he couldn’t tell if it was Christopher or David. “May we step inside?”
She raised her regal chin, looking at the back door of the house and spoke with an edge in her voice. “Very well. But I have work to do.”
“I won’t be long, I promise.” He followed her through the door, which was propped open with a wedge of wood, and up the mudroom steps into the kitchen. The buttery scent of johnnycakes clung to the air, making his stomach grumble.
She stopped in front of the stove and spoke over her shoulder. “I can put the kettle on, if you want a cup of tea. And there are biscuits,” she said, motioning to a covered breadbasket on the table. “I have apple jam too, if you like.”
“No, thank you.” Though he had worked through the night and his body begged for sustenance, he had come to fulfill the purpose of his work not feed his belly. He stepped past her to the table and set down his satchel. “Thank you for the honor of reading your story.”
“You read it?” She breathed the question with hesitation.
“Olivia was right. It’s one of the best stories I have ever read. Absolutely inspired.”
She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and turned to face him. “Do you really think so?”
His hands yearned to reach for her. “I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it.”
She nodded rigidly. “No. I know. You’ve been quite honest in your assessments.” A sweet smile broke through, banishing the sadness from her eyes. “Inspired, you say?”
“Exquisitely.” He almost smiled as he pulled the wrapped books from his satchel. It was too soon to be satisfied. He stacked the first three of the books on the table and then held out the fourth to her. “Your story deserved to be printed. I worked night and day until it was done.”
Her lips parted in surprise as she accepted the book. Before she unwrapped the paper, she looked up at him with a slight furrow between her delicately arched brows. “Had you already finished your assignment from the elders?”
“No.” He was too far behind now to finish. “This was more important.”
“More important than making your profession a village-supported trade?”
“You are more important.” He lifted his chin at the book. “Open it.”
As she unwrapped the book, paper crackled then floated to the table. She held the book with both hands, her joy-filled face like a mother examining her newborn. She touched the embossed letters then lifted the cover. “Between Two Moons by Hannah Vestal. Printed in Good Springs in the Year of Our Lord 1869. It’s gorgeous. Henry, I…” Her golden brown eyes left the book long enough to glance at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You deserve it.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You worked hard and used the talents God gave you to write a story the whole settlement needs to read.” He waited for her to recoil, but she didn’t. He tapped the other three copies stacked on the table. “One copy is for your father. I’d hoped to deliver it early so you could give it to him for his birthday. The other two copies are yours to do with as you wish, but I’m hoping one copy will be donated to the library.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” She closed the book’s cover and hugged it to her chest as lovingly as she had cuddled the puppy a moment ago.
“Yes, of course. And talk it over with Olivia and your father since they know your feelings on the matter and would give you wise counsel.”
She smiled. “I already know what they would say.”
“As do I.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Take your time and think it over. I never want to rush you.”
“You have been so kind.”
“No, I haven’t. I have been honest with you but not kind. I will never lower my standards, but I’m determined to give the same grace that I need every day. You came to me and asked for my forgiveness when I was the one who should have apologized. I’ve made so many excuses for myself and refused to excuse others. No more.”
She laid the book on the table. “I know I don’t make sense sometimes, and—”
“But you do. After reading your story, I feel like I finally understand you. Not fully but enough. You make sense to me.” His heart drove him to plead for hers. He took her fingers in his good hand. “Hannah, I know you are bound by promise to help raise your sisters, and that’s part of what I admire about you. So, I will wait for you. In the meantime, would you let me court you?”
Gazing into his eyes, she took his left hand in hers, touching the scars as if they were perfect skin. “I’d like that very much.”
He drew her hands to his lips and kissed them. “Thank you.” He almost said that she’d made him the happiest man in the village, and indeed every fiber of his being pulsed with joy. However, he would wait to tell her on the day he proposed marriage. For now, he would try to make her the happiest woman.
The warmth of her hand radiated through his scars. He looked down at his aching hand. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” She replied quickly then gazed up at him. “Does it bother you?”
“Sometimes. But it won’t keep me from anything.” He released her hands and reached into his satchel. “I have one more thi
ng for you. I meant to give it to you months back, but the timing didn’t feel right.” He withdrew the sketch of her mother. “I drew this long ago. I want you to have it.”
She covered her mouth with four thin fingertips. “Henry!” she gasped.
“I tried to capture your mother’s likeness as she was when she babysat my brother and me as children.”
“It’s perfect.” She dabbed the corner of her eyes. “Sometimes when I try too hard to remember what she looked like, I can’t picture her at all. But this,” she said, holding the sketch as if it were a treasure map, “is more than I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I’ll ask my father to build a frame.” She stepped toward the parlor. “And we will hang it on the wall. I know the perfect place.”
He followed her into the next room while she held the sketch up to the wall. Seeing her joyful was more satisfying than any accomplishment, any argument won, any perfection. He leaned against the corner and watched her, filled with contentment.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Hannah tightened her shawl around her shoulders as she mingled with the villagers at the settlement’s eighth anniversary celebration. The autumn equinox’s arrival had brought a chill to the air. Soon the deciduous leaves would change colors, painting the village in splashes of red and gold.
Autumn was her favorite time of the year and it always began with the village’s anniversary festivities. She’d never been more pleased to celebrate coming to the Land than she was this year. For it was this special place that had opened her imagination, lured her to write, and inspired her with its beauty. In her arms she held two copies of her book, proof of what the right inspiration could help to accomplish.
Several booths had been set up on the dry grass in front of the chapel. An array of fresh pies and cookies and pastries covered one table. The glassblower stood behind another table offering each child a miniature figurine as a commemorative token. Mrs. Foster sat at one end of a table, showing children how to re-bristle a bone toothbrush, while Mrs. Colburn stood behind the other end, demonstrating how to make salt-based dentifrice. Minnie and Ida intently watched the ladies. Hopefully, the girls would come home with a keen interest in dental health.
The Uncharted Beginnings Series Box Set Page 59
