He looked up from his trance and became lost in another set of blue eyes, only these had become increasingly more familiar and dear over the past month. “I was happy to be of service to you and little Rose here.”
“Happy to be of service?” She set the bouquet on the table beside her and returned to her chair, shaking her head at him. “How can you do that? I’m going off about four hours of sleep without a thread of makeup, and you spent yesterday seeing me at my worst, yet even now, you…you make me feel like those things didn’t change how you see me.”
What was she talking about? Despite the weariness in her eyes, she looked as beautiful as always. “I…I don’t think I understand. Why would my view of you change because of what happened yesterday?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s not a common occurrence for a woman to give birth in front of a guy who she”—a grimace lined her face— “hasn’t known a long time.” Her eyes opened, pleading with him to understand. “And if that weren’t enough, you have a ruined shirt now too.”
He looked down at Rose, her little finger wrapped around his. “My shirt has never known a worthier cause.” His gaze came up to hold Julia’s. “And I hope for a much longer acquaintance.”
Her teeth skimmed her bottom lip as she gave him a reluctant smile—the kind he was learning meant he’d given her particular pleasure. He attempted to quell the sudden acceleration of his pulse, calm the anticipation. Twice he’d come close to kissing her, and both times she’d recoiled from him, trembling. His gaze dropped to that lip tucked beneath her teeth. He’d have to wait.
He cleared his throat and returned his attention to Rose. “Besides, she seems no worse for wear from her delivery adventure.”
“She’s been so observant and quiet. I hope it’s a precursor of things to come.” Her nose wrinkled in a grimace. “Although, I’ve heard horror stories. Mostly from Eisley.”
He chuckled. “You don’t think Eisley tends toward embellishment, do you?”
Julia’s smile spread into a laugh. “A little, but I remember Pete’s first few months. Heaven and earth, the boy’s colic had her living through the ‘nights of the living dead’.” Julia gestured with her chin toward the bundle in his arms. “She’s studying you awfully hard. Maybe she remembers you.”
Rose’s blue gaze fastened on his face, her brow puckered in concentration. He remembered. She’d stilled and watched him, as if she knew he belonged with her and her mother. As he ran a finger down her cheek, the pucker smoothed.
We only need convince your mother, duck. That’s all.
“You seem comfortable holding her.”
“I helped my brother Matthew and his wife with their two when they were born.” He looked over at Julia, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve always felt more comfortable with babies and children. It’s the grown-ups that cause all the trouble.” Rose squeezed his finger, and he grinned at her. “Children take you as you are.”
“Well, this grown-up thinks you’re…pretty amazing.”
“Then you’re the best sort of grown-up for me, Julia Jenkins.”
Her teeth skimmed her bottom lip again. Yes, she’d understood him perfectly.
Rose’s stare brought his attention back to her cherub face. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Rather perfect.”
Julia leaned in, resting her palm on her daughter’s head, the full scent of her hair wafting around him, their foreheads almost touching as they watched Rose.
He swallowed through his tightening throat and looked back at little Rose, her big blue eyes shifting slowly between the two adoring adults above her. “She has your eyes, that dark, piercing blue.”
“Well, that may change with time, but I hope not.”
“And I think she has your mouth too. Perfect lips, like yours.”
Julia’s gaze shot to his, their faces mere inches apart.
Heat swarmed into his cheeks at the unintended innuendo in his words, but he refused to move his focus from her face. “Not that I…I’ve been solely looking at your mouth.” Which is exactly what he proceeded to do, against his will. Somewhat against his will.
“Um…but other parts of you are beautiful too, of course.”
Those attractive lips tipped into a tremulous smile.
“Nice goin’, Romeo.” Nate Jenkins burst into the room from the open door, shaking his head in a slow, exaggerated fashion.
Henry straightened, distancing himself from the proximity he’d enjoyed to Julia. He nodded his welcome. “Nate.”
Nate’s thick hand landed on Henry’s shoulder, giving a hefty rub as he leaned in. “We’re gonna have to work on those romantic lines of yours, Twinkle Toes. You say ‘em like you’re not sure about ‘em. Gotta be strong. Confident.” He winked then stepped around the pair and kissed Julia on the head. “How’s my girl today?”
Julia shook her head and offered Henry an apologetic smile. “Enjoying my time with the man who was strong enough to help deliver your grandbaby yesterday and confident enough to come back to the hospital today despite the…unusual circumstances.”
Nate leaned over and peeked at his new granddaughter, his expression softening around his hazel eyes. “Well, I reckon that’s worth somethin’.”
Henry couldn’t tame the smile her defense inspired. Things had changed and grown between them over the course of twenty-four hours, and even though neither had voiced it, he knew whatever barrier had separated them before had somehow disappeared.
She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Three
J ulia pulled into her parking spot at the bakery and gave a grateful sigh. She’d needed to move back to her apartment.
After spending over a week at her parents’ house as they helped her adjust to motherhood, her independent streak had started screaming for her own schedule. Her books. Her favorite comfy chair and her mismatched vintage furniture.
Her privacy.
If bleary eyes and foggy brains were her new status quo, then at least she wanted to have them in her own place.
And…she missed Henry.
He’d sent her a few texts and photos over the past week and half. Some amazing sunset pictures from a hike. A clip of his newest composition. A question that turned into a conversation then…an expectation.
Of his words. His humor. His presence. Every day.
After some coaxing, he’d even sent her a selfie taken in front of a beautiful horizon, his smile uncertain, his hair endearingly disheveled, and a little bit of thumb over the screen. His messages and phone calls had become a regular fixture over the past five days. A morning greeting and a final goodnight. A few conversations in between.
A simple act that somehow carried the weight of a promise.
The way he took care of her and Rose, the tenderness in his touch and expression, stripped away any doubt in her heart as to pursuing a future with this impossibility. After all, if Wes could make the choice to stay in America with Eisley, couldn’t Henry do the same?
They’d seen each other at Sunday lunch a few days before, but with all the excitement over the newest Jenkins baby and with the usual crowd in attendance, they’d had little time to talk.
She shook her head and pushed open the back door of the bakery, holding the door ajar as she tugged the infant carrier through on one arm and three bags of groceries on the other. Okay, this was doable.
After some special contortions only a mother—or gymnast—could appreciate, she made it up the narrow stairway to her room with Rose happily sleeping in her carrier.
Praise God for small favors.
New mother tip: Carriers and wraps are heaven-sent.
The scent of peaches and mangos, remnants of her favorite shampoo and lotions, greeted her as she entered her apartment. She appreciated her parents’ love and support more than ever as she adjusted to these new demands in her life, but she needed to succeed on her own—even if the idea generated a great deal of healthy fear. It also propelled her into her new future—one that
included motherhood, a degree, a bed and breakfast, and, hopefully, a certain composer.
She checked on Rose, smiling down at her sleeping little one with a sense of success at their first solo endeavor.
New mother tip: Celebrate small victories because, in the grand scheme of things, they’re huge.
After unpacking her clothes and the new clothes she’d bought for her daughter, she walked back into her cozy sitting room and sat down, mentally prepping herself to catch up on emails. The comfortable tug of her large armchair tempted her from her good intentions, but just as the tiredness began to overtake her, a box on her desk caught her attention. What on earth…
The locked box from Aunt Millie’s!
Julia stumbled over to her desk, almost knocking over the office chair, and opened the drawer where she’d placed Millie’s envelope.
Rose stirred but didn’t wake.
Keeping as quiet as possible and praying for just ten more minutes of naptime, Julia slipped the key from the envelope, a very spy-like feeling tingling over her skin. Maybe that was a mother-y skill too—sneaking.
The key clicked into the keyhole, and the box lid popped free as if it had been opened often. How many times had Millie opened this precious secret?
Julia bit down on her bottom lip and raised the lid with a little trepidation. A typed letter with some sort of official emblem waited on top of other papers. She took it from the box and read:
Dear Mrs. Sterling,
This is to confirm that you received the telegram I sent to you regretfully informing you that your son, First Lieutenant Lucas Randolph, has been reported missing in action as a result of an air operation last night. I am sorry that I can give no further details. Should additional information become available you will be notified.
The term missing in action is used only when the person’s whereabouts or the status of an individual is not immediately known.
Please accept my sincerest sympathy. Lt. Randolph was a dedicated pilot and informant, faithful to his duties and comrades. I hope that new information will provide news that he is safe.
Again, I wish to convey to you the sympathies of all of us who served alongside him and understood the value of his particular work, something many will never know.
Some general’s name followed with a signature. Julia reread the note.
So Lucas had gone missing in action. A plane shot down? A mission exposed? Had he been captured and placed into one of those awful prison camps Julia had learned about in high school history class?
Aunt Millie’s loss, her hints of otherworldliness, began to make sense.
Someone added a handwritten note to the bottom of the letter in a style she’d seen before. Ah, yes. Emmeline Sterling, the mysterious benefactress. She was Lucas’s mother? Had Lucas’s German father married an Englishwoman?
Amelia,
I was informed Lucas’s plane went down over northern France. He has not been recovered or located yet, nor has his kit been found. Do not lose heart. How many times has one of you been in such circumstances only to come out of it in the end?
What did that mean? Aunt Amelia was a pianist, not a combat pilot.
Our people will keep looking for him until they find him.
Our people?
I’ve enclosed his most recent letter to you and hope his words will give you strength. His thoughts were always of you and Rosalyn. Hold fast to courage and hope, as I attempt to do, and do not blame yourself for quitting the field to protect Rosalyn.
Lucas would have wanted you to do nothing less. You, my dear, were his everything, and as long as you are safe, no matter where he is now, know you have made the right choice. You have kept his heart safe by living your life.
Yours,
Emmeline
What did this mean? Yes, Amelia had quit her concerts and returned to Appalachia to protect her and Lucas’s child from the consequences of his spy-job, but why did Emmeline refer to Amelia as ‘quitting the field’? Was it a reference to ending her public musical career?
The corner of a black-and-white photo peeked from beneath another envelope. Julia slipped it from its place, and her vision blurred with a sudden swell of tears. A much younger Amelia, her smile bigger than any Julia could remember seeing on her aunt’s face, stood beside Lucas, who held a round-faced baby in his arms. It was the only photo Julia had ever seen of the three of them together. Why had Aunt Millie kept it locked away from the world?
Julia smoothed her fingers over the faces. How many times had her aunt unlocked this box to remove this photo and stare at those faces? She turned the photo over, searching for a date, but found two words instead. My family.
Julia knew the pulse and pull of the word family. She’d never have made it through the rape without their support—not to mention their love her entire life. Her gaze drifted to the carrier where Rose began shifting in her sleep, a sign that Julia’s quiet time was coming to an end. Her body responded to Rose’s noises for an upcoming feeding.
Now, as a mother, Julia understood even more why Millie would upend her world to keep her daughter safe. Love inspired courage like nothing else could.
Even Julia’s own minute way of stepping into her life as a single mother—as Henry had said—took courage.
A copy of sheet music surfaced next in the pile of papers, but unlike the others she and Henry had found, this one had a note written in the margin. She blinked away another rush of tears. She knew this handwriting too. Lucas.
Dearest, I located the first special music you ever composed and thought you’d enjoy seeing it once again as a reminder of how far we’ve come. Of course, at the time, it held no romantic notions. Your mind had not turned in that direction yet, though mine had from the first moment I heard you play. But this is the music that changed our lives from spectators in the war effort to participants. I blame you for being too brilliant to settle for a life of mere observation and too clever to create a simple code, easy to uncover.
Why not use the music you love and for which I love you?
My clever darling, how I miss you.
Julia read the last four sentences again. Spectators to participants? Code? Julia placed the papers back down, realization sinking deeper with each blink of her eyes. Amelia had been involved in espionage too…through the music.
As if in answer to Julia’s unvoiced question, a little book came next in the box—something like a passport-looking pamphlet. Inside was a photo of a young Aunt Millie, only her aunt had glasses and a very different hairstyle. No one would have recognized the beautiful pianist with such a disguise if they hadn’t known those eyes for years. The information in the booklet gave a false name and nationality. French.
Yes, Aunt Amelia had been a spy.
Julia’s breath whooshed out as she rocked back in her desk chair. How had an Appalachian girl become a world-famous pianist-turned-spy then recluse?
A smacking noise followed by a frustrated grunt shook the carrier with Rose’s discontent. Julia picked up the box from the desk and moved to her couch, rescued her daughter from breaking into a full-on starving cry, and settled back onto the couch to feed Rose and reread the new information in the box.
As she shifted through the box with her free hand, metal chinked against metal. Her fingers brushed through myriad objects until landing on a vintage emerald ring in an Edwardian setting, the rectangular gem surrounded by tiny diamonds.
A wedding ring?
Julia passed her thumb over the stone and then set the ring back in the box, only to see a small envelope with her name written in Aunt Millie’s hand. She pinned a corner of the envelope underneath her leg for pressure, then wedged her finger beneath its flap and broke the seal. A card fell out.
Julia,
If you are reading this then you know more about my past than anyone in our family. You’ve seen life within a life, the truest and happiest part of my story. Now that I am gone, feel free to share this story if you wish, but I am glad you were the first t
o know.
I kept my secret at first to protect my family, then I suppose I thought I’d keep their memories to myself. After Rosalyn’s death, I spent years nurturing my distance from the world and hiding within the past, too afraid to love again, too terrified to open my heart. But you entered my world and reminded me of the importance of love and relationships and the risk we take to feel connected…the need to feel connected. I’d forgotten. I’d allowed fear to steal my courage, and my world became a fortress instead of a haven.
If I could repeat those years of love and loss, I would. Even with the heartache, I would—because I lived a full life loving and being loved by an amazing man.
Don’t get lost in the details of my little secret. Instead, learn from it. I grieved long and hard and perhaps too privately, but we grieve greatly because we love greatly. Yet our grief sprouts hope’s wings. We go on and we wait and remember.
Cradle time with a careful hand. We are only given a small number of hours and days with those we treasure. Life is hard and terrifying at times, but as the scriptures say, love is the greatest of all.
Love well and fiercely and with abandon so that when the pain comes, you have the comfort of knowing you lived.
Amelia
∞ ∞ ∞
Henry brought his hired Sedan to a stop at the bakery directly beside Julia’s car, stumbled out of the car in his hurry to get inside, and nearly fell on top of his violin case in the process. He was an idiot…but for all the right reasons. Little Rose’s entrance into the world had changed things, but the texts over the past week only proved his goal. He was ready to bypass the whole girlfriend phase and go directly to fiancé.
“Slow down, Henry,” he murmured as he pushed open the door. “She’s just become a mum. She needs—”
“Henry!”
As if from his daydreams, Julia rushed down the hallway toward him with Rose in her arms and a smile more vibrant than he’d seen on her lighting her face.
His future looked beautiful in pale blue.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 23