New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  Amelia took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Very well,” she said. She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, and Luke sat back down in the chair across from her. Mrs. Johnson stepped out of the living room and went to the kitchen.

  “I know you’re mad at me for never coming back to my parents’ house before you left Texas,” Luke started. “But trust me, I had good reason.”

  Amelia wanted to roll her eyes, but out of courtesy didn’t.

  “From the moment I first laid eyes on you that night when I fought with my father, I couldn’t keep my mind off of you,” Luke went on. “I was smitten. But given the situation, and all my parents had told you, I thought I never even had a chance with you… But then, the more time we spent together, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I did have a chance.

  “But I knew better than to actually take that chance. I was well aware that you were leaving Texas to come back here to Arkansas, and I didn’t want to offer you another long-distance romance. You deserve more than that—and you deserve more than what I could have given you back in Texas, which is why I never even considered giving you any reason to want to stay there.”

  Luke paused for a moment and shook his head in defeat. “Back there, my name is no good,” he sighed. “As I explained to you, I can’t establish the business relationships I need to maintain my life and livelihood. I barely have any social connections either. And half the time, I’m not even welcome in my parents’ house.

  “So, when I realized that you were developing for me the types of feelings I had for you, I stepped back. I couldn’t let you know how I felt and try to pursue things with you when all I could promise you in Texas was a trying, tormented life.

  “I stepped back. I stepped away. And within a few days, I cursed myself for my decision. I shouldn’t have run away from you, but should have run toward you. But luckily, it wasn’t too late, and I came up with a plan—one where I took action.

  “My life in Texas was going nowhere, and I had nothing to lose there. So I sold my farm off to the bank. I lost a little bit in the transaction—but it was a small price to pay for what it bought me. It brought me here… I used the money to buy a smaller farm here in Arkansas, and I’ve been here for about a week now, setting things up.”

  Amelia’s head was spinning. She had so many questions, but she was speechless.

  “I know this is a lot for you to take in right now,” Luke went on. “But I hope that, once you’ve processed it all, you’ll understand my intentions and be happy… I came here to start a new life—and I’d like to share that life with you, if you’ll have me.”

  As if Amelia wasn’t confused enough already! Her head started spinning even faster. She’d been so fond of Luke back in Texas, but she’d been so hurt when he abandoned her without explanation. Now he’d given her an explanation, but she still had reservations. She was still worried that he might abandon her again—after all, it seemed to be his pattern.

  “I… I… I don’t know, Luke,” Amelia stuttered. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid you might run when things get tough, like you did with the—”Amelia stopped speaking. She wanted to be honest, but didn’t want to pour salt on Luke’s open wounds or be offensive.

  “Even after all this time you still think the worst of me, don’t you?” Luke asked with a grunt. He shifted in his seat, then continued.

  “My parents told you a lot about me, good and bad,” he said. “But I’m sure there’s one thing they never told you… I’ve wanted to be a farmer for some time now, and I got my first job working on a farm about six or seven years ago.”

  Amelia didn’t know where Luke was going with this, but she poised herself and listened attentively.

  “I worked as a farmhand for one of the most successful operations in Alton, if not all of Texas,” Luke went on. “And I was getting know-how and experience, and making the connections I would one day need to run my own farm.

  “Anyhow, from time to time, one of the other farmhands wouldn’t show up or would quit without notice—and the farmer would fill the void in his line of workers with one of his slaves. And that’s how I came to know a man named Tobias. He was the biggest and strongest of the farmer’s slaves, and he filled in the most often.

  “I wound up working alongside Tobias quite often. At first we never spoke to each other. But then one day, I tripped on a trap that some poacher had set on the farm. The trap pierced my boot and broke into my skin. I couldn’t walk.

  “Tobias put me in the wheelbarrow and pushed me from the farm to the doctor’s house. And he waited outside, out back, until the doctor was through with me. Then, I got back in the wheelbarrow, and he pushed me home to my parents’ homestead, where I recovered for the next week or so… When I went back to work at the farm, Tobias and I started talking—and in no time, we became unlikely friends.

  “I learned a great deal about him—like the fact that he was ‘married’ and had two children. And I also learned a lot from him. He showed me some of the slaves’ farming secrets and told me a great deal about his people’s history and culture.

  “But sadly, my friendship with Tobias didn’t last all that long. It was brought to an early end, for the most unfortunate, disgusting of reasons. After the war broke out, there was a wave of attacks and lynchings across all of Texas. Tobias and his wife were killed in such an incident, and their two children were sold off, each to different masters. For the first time in my life, I saw firsthand just how ugly and devastating slavery was… and I didn’t like it.

  “About a year later, I was asked to serve as a soldier for the Confederacy. But I couldn’t. I didn’t share their beliefs, and I was actively rebelling against them. Since Tobias’s murder, I’d helped sneak nearly a dozen slave families out of Texas—and I would have helped even more had I not been found and arrested by the Confederacy, who charged me only with abandonment and luckily were not privy to what else I was doing.”

  Amelia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was seeing a new side of Luke, and she was astounded by it. All along she’d thought he was a coward who paled in the light of his brave soldier brother. But in reality, he’d been the braver one, for in fighting for what he believed in, he was taking on greater challenges and risks. He hadn’t abandoned his call; he’d clung to it so tightly that he put everything he had, including his life, his liberty, and his freedom, on the line. And something told Amelia that he’d be even more committed to her. She was swooning.

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia said, bowing her head. “I didn’t know about any of this.”

  “I know,” Luke replied reassuringly. “And there’s a lot more you don’t know about me… like how I love fishing and swimming, how I’m really good at calculating numbers, and how I couldn’t carry a tune to save me… But if you’re interested, I’d like to give you the chance to learn it all—and to learn all I can about you.”

  Amelia looked up again and locked eyes with Luke. “That would be wonderful,” she smiled.

  Later that same week, Amelia Johnson and Luke Porter officially began courting, and two months thereafter they were married in the church at Camden. Amelia quit her job as a waitress and helped Luke run the farm, which one day became very successful.

  Luke continued to maintain communications with his parents, and his father’s disposition toward him softened and stabilized a year later when Amelia and Luke become proud parents to their first of two children. They named the bubbling little boy Carson, after the man who’d brought them together.

  THE END

  7. THE DESTITUTE Bride

  Copyright © Hope Sinclair 2018

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ONE

  Agnes Thompson opened the door and walked into the room. She was met with darkness and total silence.

  She shut the door behind her and slowly walked across the room. There wasn’t very much of anything- to get in her way or make her stumble, but she walked cautiously nonetheless, out of habit.

  Once she was on the other side of the room, she reached out in front of her, felt around for a bit, then grabbed what she was after. She lit a match and took it to the oil lamp on her mantle and in a flash, her living room sprang to life around her.

  Only Agnes’s living room wasn’t so lively. In fact, it fairly boring. Over the past several months, she’d sold off the majority of the room’s furnishings, as well as all of the artwork, knickknacks, and other items that once filled it. Now, like every other room in the house, the living room was a shadow of what it once was.

  Agnes walked away from the mantle and went over to the only piece of functional furniture that remained. She sat down on the couch and leaned back. She’d just worked a 10-hour shift at the restaurant in town, and she was exhausted. Her back ached, and her limbs felt like they were on fire. But luckily, she wasn’t hungry. She’d scavenged for some leftovers off of her customers’ plates when the cook wasn’t looking, and they’d really hit the spot and filled the hole in her tummy.

  Even though Agnes wasn’t hungry, another one of her “basic needs” was unmet. As she sat trying to relax on the couch, she shivered. She lived in Annapolis, Maryland and it was early October. There was a chill in the air, both outside and inside the house.

  Agnes forced herself to get up from the couch and go over to the cupboard. She pulled out a wool blanket, draped it over her shoulders, and wrapped it around her body. Then she went back to the couch and huddled beneath the blanket.

  As she lay on the couch, she desperately wanted to ignite her coal stove to make the room warmer. But she knew that doing so was out of the question. She only had so much coal on hand, and she needed to save it for cooking and winter.

  Even though she was covered with the blanket, she continued to shiver. Still, she managed to drift off to sleep at some point. She didn’t mean to fall asleep. Her body was just so worn out that she gave in to it.

  The next thing she knew, Agnes was startled awake by the sound of someone knocking on her door. She opened her eyes, and the room around her was filled with light. She’d slept straight through to morning.

  She looked at the mantle and shook her head in disappointment. She scolded herself for not snuffing out the oil lamp before going to bed. It had burned all night and exhausted a great amount of oil.

  Agnes was still a bit groggy, and it wasn’t until there was another knock on her door that she remembered what had roused her. She jumped up, folded her blanket in half, and tossed it over the back of the couch. Then she brushed her clothes straight, smoothed out her hair, and went to the door.

  “Good morning,” said a much older man with a flat expression on his face. The man seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

  “Don’t you recognize me, Miss. Thompson?” the man asked. He paused for a moment, then added, “I’m Harold Spencer.” He took off the dark hat he was wearing, and the features of his face became more apparent. Suddenly, Agnes realized why she recognized him.

  “Oh, I’m so very sorry, Mr. Spencer,” Agnes said politely. “I just woke up, and I’ve yet to fully come to my senses.”

  “I understand,” Mr. Spencer replied. “And I do apologize for coming by so early. I’ve stopped by at different, more ‘conventional’ hours over the past few days—but, you haven’t been here. So I figured I’d try you in the early morning… And, here you are.”

  Mr. Spencer smiled at Agnes, and she forced herself to do the same. Sure enough, Mr. Spencer was a “nice man” by any and all standard measures. But he clearly wasn’t there at Agnes’s house on a personal call. He was there on business.

  “May I come in?” Mr. Spencer asked, holding his hat to his chest. “I’ve got a lot I need to talk to you about—and it’s awfully cold out here.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Agnes answered. “Please come in.” Her sentiment was just as false and hollow as her previous gesture. She didn’t want Mr. Spencer in her house. He was, after all, a banker.

  Mr. Spencer stepped inside and found it just as cold as it was outside, if not colder. He ran his hands over sleeves of his coat to try and generate more heat in his arms.

  “I’m sorry about the temperature in here,” Agnes said in a meek voice. She felt embarrassed. “I’m low on coal, and I haven’t gotten around to stocking up for the winter yet.”

  “You haven’t gotten around to a lot of things,” Mr. Spencer chimed back, effectively changing the subject.

  “Your payment is late… again.”

  “I know,” Agnes admitted, feeling ashamed. “But I promise I’ll have this month’s payment to you by next week.”

  Mr. Spencer shook his head and frowned. “You’re already three months behind, Agnes,” the banker reminded her. “Even if you pay me one month’s payment next week, you’ll still be three payments behind… plus interest.

  “I know, I know,” Alice replied. “I’ll settle everything as soon as possible.”

  “And, how are you going to settle everything?” Mr. Spencer asked emphatically. “How are you going to keep current on your payments henceforth?”

  “I’ll… I’ll… I’ll work more,” Alice stuttered. “And… and I’ll sell some of my belongings.”

  Mr. Spencer shook his head again and sighed.

  “From the looks of you,” he said, “you’re already working too much. And from the looks of your ‘home,’ you don’t have anything left to sell. It’s time you start being realistic. You owe more on this house than it’s worth, and you simply are not able to keep up with the monthly payments.”

  “But please, Mr. Spencer,” Agnes begged. “Just give me a little more time. Let me see what I can do.”

  Mr. Spencer took a deep breath.

  “I knew your parents well,” he said in a softer voice. “They were kind-hearted, wonderful people. But when it came to business, they had no sense between them. They made many very poor decisions and when they both died last year in that horrible accident, they left a lot of debt behind.

  “That debt fell onto your plate. I knew it was too much for you to handle. It was too much for most anyone to handle, let alone a girl so young and inexperienced. Still, out of respect for your late parents, I pushed my professional limits and managed to arrange for a loan for you. The bank paid your debtors off in full, immediately, and you agreed to make regular monthly payments to reimburse them, putting this house up as collateral.

  “But you haven’t been making those regular monthly payments. You haven’t made them for the past three months, and you haven’t paid this month’s payment yet either. So that means that you didn’t stay current four out of the past twelve months. You defaulted on one-third of your payments… One-third.”

  Mr. Spencer put his hat back on his head and ran his hands over his arms again.

  “I’ve done everything I can for you,” he went on. “I can’t do any more. It’s out of my hands now. The bank is in control, not me, and it sees you as a great risk. If you don’t pay up what you owe soon, to the bank will foreclose on your collateral… and you’re going to lose your house!”

  Mr. Spencer turned toward the door.

  “I can’t give you more time to come up
with the money,” he said over his shoulder. “But I can tell you this: You have about a month before the bank will pursue foreclosure. So whatever you’re going to do, do it before then.”

  Without saying anything further, Mr. Spencer exited Agnes’s house, and Agnes was left wondering what on earth she could do to save it. Taking a deep, anxious sigh she resolved to pray on the matter.

  TWO

  Agnes stared down at her fingers and hoped that they wouldn’t fail her. Nearly all of them were scratched, pricked, or otherwise marred, and her skin was blistered in a few spots.

  She took hold of the two plates of fried eggs, fried meats, and buttered bread she was supposed to carry to the table at the far end of the room. Halfway there, she felt a sharp pain pulse throughout her fingers. The tips of them felt like they were being scratched and pricked all over again. Like her fleshing was being torn.

  But Agnes persisted. She forced herself to maintain her composure and kept hold of the plates. She wouldn’t let the pain get the better of her, nor would she let it show to others.

  She was just a few steps away from her designated table, when her left hand quivered uncontrollably. Just like her skin, the muscles in her hands had been weakened. They were strained and tired, and there was nothing she could do to stop the spasm.

  The plate of food that Agnes was carrying in her left hand crashed to the floor, followed by the other plate. She hadn’t had a spasm in her right hand. She was just so shocked from dropping the first plate that she’d let go of the second one in the process.

  “I’m… I’m… I’m so sorry,” Agnes stuttered, looking at her customers with an embarrassed expression. They appeared quite startled.