She grinned. “We did. And we are here to return it to you.”
With a nod, he waved them in. They all came inside and headed toward his living room. Once they were all seated, Hugh finally spoke. “Was it at the B&B?”
“Yes. Evelyn’s friend Kathryn had it, just like you thought she would. She asked us to return it to you.” Sophia stood and handed the box to Hugh. “She thought maybe you were ready to have it back.”
This close to him, she could make out the lines around his eyes, his mouth, the creases in his forehead—all the same as the last time she’d seen him. But something about him had changed. Ah, there was now a light in his eyes.
“She was right.” He opened the box, pulled out the journal, and began leafing through it.
Sophia returned to her spot on the couch, where William slipped his hand into hers and planted a kiss on the side of her forehead. She leaned into him.
Her eyes met Ginny’s. Her friend smiled, something fresh and warm burning in her own gaze.
Finally, Hugh cleared his throat and looked up at them all. “Thank you. I can’t believe you’ve returned what was lost so long ago.”
Sophia hadn’t meant to become the spokesperson for the group, but it felt right. “We’re simply the messengers.” How amazing it was that William and Ginny and Kathryn—and Emily—had been put in her life, and now she was being put in Hugh’s to continue the circle of love and light.
“I wish I could repay you somehow.”
“Believe me, having the chance to read Emily’s journal was enough.” Sophia sighed. “I only wish she had gotten her own happy ending. I mean, she did, in a way. I know it looked different from what she’d wanted, but I can’t help but be a bit sad that she and Edward never got to enjoy a life together.”
A wide smile spread across Hugh’s face. “You don’t know.” He flipped to the last page of the journal. “Hmm. It’s not written in the journal.”
Sophia sat up a little straighter. “Know what?”
“Makes sense, I suppose. Not all British marriage records have been digitized, and parish registers tend to be restricted . . .” Hugh waved his hand. “Let me explain. Your visit sparked something in me—a desire to know more about my family’s legacy, which I had staunchly ignored because of a few events in my past that convinced me it wasn’t worth knowing. But your zest, your zeal for a story that wasn’t even part of your heritage, made me ashamed that I didn’t have that same passion for my own. So I recently reconnected with some distant cousins. And they told me a wonderful tale.”
Delight curled through Sophia’s whole being as she relaxed against William and listened to the beautiful story woven into history, one that had brought everyone in this room together.
EPILOGUE
EMILY
1866
I heard the laughter first.
It floated on the breeze, across the top of the water, twisting through the garden as I walked toward the tree. I hadn’t visited this place in years—not since I’d learned Edward had become a father.
And I had no intention of visiting it that day. But the laughter drew me, as if from a ghost.
Because it sounded just like him, twenty years before, when we were children playing together. Before all the strain, before life pulled us in different directions.
And I knew it was madness—maybe my spinster life of writing at the parsonage, alone most of the time, had finally driven me to the edge—but I had to see for myself.
As I rounded the corner and caught sight of the fading sun on the horizon, I saw the shadow of a young boy swinging from the tree. Drawing nearer, I watched him jump from the lowest branch and tuck into a ball as he rolled away from it. Had he no sense of the danger in playing so close to the bluff’s edge?
Intent on warning him, I quickened my pace. But when I got near enough to see him clearly, I could not contain my gasp.
He looked at me, brown hair flopping into his bright eyes—eyes I’d memorized and knew better than my own.
It was Edward, or, at least, a younger version of the man I’d grown up with.
And yet, it was not him, for his stature was slighter than Edward’s had ever been.
He stopped and stared at me. By the look of him, he must have been five or six years of age. “Hello.”
“Hi.” It was all I could manage at the moment.
His perky little smile could melt the coldest heart, I was sure. “I’m James.”
So this was Edward and Rosamond’s son.
That meant they were here.
Edward’s mother always sent me a warning when they would be coming, so I could make myself scarce. I think she did it as much for her family’s sake as for my own, but it didn’t matter.
She hadn’t sent word this time.
I managed somehow to find my voice. “I’m Emily. Lovely to meet you.”
“You as well.” He looked around me. “Papa!”
My heart felt as though a thousand horses stampeded across it. The air stood still as I slowly turned on my heel.
There stood Edward, his jaw hanging slightly askew as our eyes locked. How could he still have this effect on me, years later? Time and distance should have diminished his pull—and yet, they had not.
He strode toward me and stopped mere inches away. What was he thinking? I longed to know, but could not ask. I didn’t have a right to hear his thoughts anymore.
“Papa, this is Emily. We just met.”
The little voice broke our daze. Edward smiled, his eyes still on me. “I know, son. We’re old friends.” Then he finally took his gaze from mine. “Cook just made cake, and you may have a slice if you hurry.”
With that, the little boy scampered away.
Edward and I were alone by our tree, as we’d been so many times before.
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“Mother has been feeling poorly, so we surprised her with a visit.”
“Is she all right?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Just some chronic fatigue. The doctor believes she will recover with some extra rest. But she loves her parties, you know, so getting her to abstain from a few is no easy task.”
I turned to face the ocean. “Yes.”
For a moment, we didn’t speak. I had no idea what to say. Just as I’d determined to stick to a safe topic like the weather, Edward spoke. “I didn’t know you still lived nearby. Mother said you quit being a governess for the children years ago.”
“I live in the parsonage. I have for five years now.”
“Our parsonage? How could I have not known this?” A pause. “But I suppose Mother didn’t want me to know. I even asked her once . . .”
“Asked her what?” I lifted my eyebrows in his direction.
He studied me for a moment. “Do you live there alone?”
“Of course I live there alone.”
“So you never married?”
“No.” I lifted my chin away from him, toward the sea, but I couldn’t stop the tremor that overtook it. Didn’t he remember what I’d told him?
“Emily. Look at me.”
But I could not.
Not until he was beside me, gently turning me to face him. I took a step back and found myself against the tree, letting it hold me up. I’m sure my own legs would not have been capable in this moment.
“There’s something you should know. Maybe you already do. It’s the sort of thing people love to gossip about.”
“I’m not exactly in the habit of conversing with many people. I spend most of my time alone, writing. I’ve had several books published already.” Why was I rambling?
A slow smile spread over his lips. “Of course you have.” Then he tenderly took my hands in his. “Last year, Rosamond died. She contracted a disease thanks to her . . . exploits.” His eyes bloomed with pain.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I threaded my fingers between his. Poor Edward. Poor James.
“I did love Rosamond, in a way. After all, she gav
e me James. And in the end, she realized what she’d done and how her actions had affected us all. The last six months of her life were the best we had together.”
My heart swirled with emotions, my head with tangled thoughts. “What you must have been through. I can’t imagine.”
“Emily.” His grip on my hands tightened. “After that night in the library, when we . . . I was faithful to my wife. I never strayed. I put all thoughts of you and me out of my heart forever. But right now, I can’t help but wonder . . .” He took a step closer and lowered his face to mine, not stopping until our noses nearly touched.
All I could hear was the ocean below, the rattle of the leaves above, and the breath between us.
A tear leaked from the corner of my eye and trailed down my cheek. Was I really standing here, with him, hearing what his heart was trying to tell me? Was I brave enough to speak the words for us both? “What are you wondering, Edward? If maybe there’s another chapter to our story? One we didn’t see coming?”
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
And then he kissed me, and it lit a flame that burned with an eternal oil. When at last he pulled away, he whispered the words I’d longed to hear since I was a girl.
“I love you, Emily Fairfax. Will you marry me?”
I couldn’t help myself. “On one condition.”
He laughed. “I should have known this would come with conditions. Well?”
I pushed my hands through his hair and tugged him toward me once more. “That you will always give me plenty of inspiration for my stories.”
His grin turned wicked. “I promise to give you many, many pages’ worth of inspiration.”
“Good. Then I accept. Now be quiet and kiss me, you oaf.”
“With pleasure.”
As the man I loved drew me closer, I lifted my eyes toward heaven and surrendered my future once more.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Lately, I am learning more and more about the power of our words. I’ve become more conscious of the words I speak over myself as well as what I say to other people. It’s more than “positive thinking”—the words we say ultimately contribute to the stories we weave, and I want my story to be as positive and hope-filled as possible, regardless of my circumstances.
I’ve also become much more aware of the lies that I tell myself—“You are not worthy.” “You are not enough.” “You will never achieve what you want to achieve.”—and the need to replace those lies with the truths that God says about me. I have listened to Lauren Daigle’s song “You Say” on repeat lately, and it has become a theme not just of this story you hold in your hands, but one in the story of my very life.
Yes, the power of our words is monumental, and while words have the power to heal, they also have the capacity to hurt. According to The National Domestic Violence Hotline, “Domestic violence (also called intimate partner violence [IPV], domestic abuse, or relationship abuse) is a pattern of behaviors used by one partner to maintain power and control over another partner in an intimate relationship.”
However, abuse is not just limited to physical violence, though that is what many of us think of when we hear the word. It also includes emotional abuse—the words spoken by one partner to another.
If you, like Sophia, have experienced abuse of any sort, my heart aches for you. I pray in reading her story you have felt hope where perhaps there was none before, and I urge you to reach out and get help. Free 24/7 assistance can be reached at 1-800-799-7233 or https://www.thehotline.org.
We each have a story worthy of telling, and I pray that you, dear reader, find the strength to shout yours from the rooftops so it cannot be ignored.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As I sit down to write this thank-you card of sorts, I am first most thankful that I get the chance to do it again. It amazes me when I think of that six-year-old girl who had a dream in her heart and the fact that it came true! I am so incredibly grateful that I get to do what I love.
To my fabulous readers, thank you for spending time not only to read the stories that once only existed in my mind, but also for every review you have left, every note you have sent to me, and every person you have told about my books. You have inspired and encouraged me beyond measure.
To my husband, Mike: Your constant belief in me and the way you have supported me in so many practical ways has meant so much. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in this writing endeavor—or in life.
To my boys, Elliott and Theodore: You make my world so much brighter and more entertaining. You have become woven so tightly into my life that you’ve changed my story for the better. Never forget how much you are loved.
To my stepmom, Kristin, and mother-in-law, Nancy: Once again I must thank you so much for the time and energy you sacrifice weekly to give me extra time to write. I know the boys love spending time with you, and they are so blessed to have such amazing grandmas.
To my agent, Rachelle Gardner: God really smiled on me when he sent you my way. You were the agent that I didn’t dare dream of having! Thank you for your constant encouragement and all the ways you work hard for my benefit.
To my editor, Kimberly Carlton: Girl, it’s been a blast working with you! I’ve loved every moment. Your insights were so spot-on with this story, and thanks to you, it’s better and stronger. I am so grateful for your enthusiasm and reassurances whenever I feel uneasy about this whole writing gig.
To Karli Jackson: You rock this editing thing, and I’m so glad we got to work together again! So proud of you for pursuing your dreams on the work front and mommy front. You inspire me!
To my wonderful team at Thomas Nelson (specifically Becky Monds, Amanda Bostic, Paul Fisher, Allison Carter, Laura Wheeler, Kristen Ingebretson, and anyone else who touched this book): Working with you has been a dream. Thank you so much for helping this story become a reality, and for doing such an amazing job in supporting your authors. I am so incredibly honored and blessed that I get to publish with you.
To my amazing writer friends, especially Gabrielle Meyer, Melissa Tagg, and Alena Tauriainen: No matter how far apart we are, I know you ladies will be there to pray for me and give me exactly the advice and encouragement I need to keep going. Thank you for walking this writing journey with me forever and always.
And finally, God: Thank you for stepping into this story, for writing it with me, and for reminding me time and time again that my story matters because you say it does.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1.Sophia has always wanted to learn how to surf because it’s a way to connect with her absentee father. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do and why?
2.Whose storyline (Sophia’s, Ginny’s, or Emily’s) was most compelling to you and why?
3.Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” What do you think of this quote, especially as it relates to Sophia, Ginny, and Emily?
4.Ginny has struggled her entire life with doing what was expected of her versus following her own dreams. What advice would you have given after she failed to convince her parents to let her attend culinary school?
5.Sophia finds it difficult to accept help from others, believing she needs to be strong like her mother. Can you relate to her reticence?
6.Which relationship (romantic or otherwise) was your favorite in the story and why?
7.Joy tells Sophia that it’s not enough to simply recognize the lies we believe about ourselves and our circumstances—we have to replace that lie with truth. What do you think about this? How have you seen the battle between truth and lies play out in your own life or in the lives of those closest to you?
8.For much of the book, Sophia blames herself for David’s abuse, even though she’d never blame another victim. Ginny believes in other people’s dreams but can’t see her own working out. Do you think it’s much easier to be kinder to other people than to yourself? Why or why not?
9.Kathryn tells Sophia, “Take these flo
wers, for example. I can’t just sit around waiting for them to decide if they want to bloom or die. Growth won’t happen without a little intervention. They were designed to bloom, yes, but circumstances and a harsh environment sometimes make it impossible for them to flower on their own. They can’t prune themselves. And you can’t prune yourself, dear.” Do you agree or disagree?
10.In your opinion, what was the sweetest or most romantic gesture in the book?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsay Harrel is a lifelong book nerd who lives in Arizona with her young family and two golden retrievers in serious need of training. She’s held a variety of writing and editing jobs over the years and now juggles stay-at-home mommyhood with writing novels. When she’s not writing or chasing after her children, Lindsay enjoys making a fool of herself at Zumba, curling up with anything by Jane Austen, and savoring sour candy one piece at a time.
Connect with her at LindsayHarrel.com
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