The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Daphne wasn’t one of them. She was in need of divine guidance and hoped she would hear God more clearly in church.

  But as she made her way along Wallula Street toward All Saints Presbyterian, she did wish the weather could have been less brutal. Even with her fur collar pulled up close around her neck, she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering as she leaned into the wind from the north. She kept her gaze lowered, watching for patches of ice or uneven ground that might cause her to slip. Thus it came as a surprise when a firm hand grasped her arm above the elbow.

  “Let me help you.”

  Her heartbeat quickened at the sound of Joshua’s voice. She couldn’t help her reaction to him any more than the involuntary shivering from the cold.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d see anyone at church this morning,” he shouted above the wind.

  She forced herself not to look at him, not to reply. She might do or say something she would later regret.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the steps of the church. Joshua held onto her arm as they climbed them, not letting go until they reached the door. He held it open for her, and the wind at her back seemed to blow her into the narthex.

  Walter Rawlings stood near the doorway to the sanctuary, and he smiled when he saw them. “Miss McKinley, Mr. Crawford. Welcome. It’s good to see you both on such a blustery day.”

  “Good morning, Reverend Rawlings.” Daphne loosened her grip on her coat collar and adjusted her fur hat with both hands. “That wind is dreadful.”

  “Indeed.” The minister held out his hand toward Joshua, who stood at Daphne’s side. “At least you don’t have far to come, Mr. Crawford.”

  “It seemed farther than usual this morning.”

  Reverend Rawlings chuckled. “I agree. The parsonage seemed a good distance farther too.”

  The front door opened again, letting in another blast of cold air and a few more members of the congregation. Daphne took that opportunity to move into the sanctuary and walk toward her usual pew. Morgan and his family weren’t there before her, and she wondered if they’d chosen to remain at home. She supposed that would be for the best. The road up the hill to their home could be treacherous in this kind of weather.

  “May I join you, Miss McKinley?”

  She glanced up, expecting to feel the anger and indignation that had been her companion ever since learning about Miss Donahue. She didn’t feel it, and it unnerved her. Better to be vexed with him than to feel anything that put her heart at risk. Wasn’t it?

  “Please,” he added.

  To refuse seemed wrong, especially in this sanctuary, and so she nodded before moving into the pew and sitting down, grateful that the congregation was smaller than normal today. Fewer people to see her sitting with Joshua Crawford. Fewer people to gossip about it later.

  That Sunday morning, Joshua’s mind was rarely on the hymns, the reading of the Scriptures, or the good reverend’s sermon. Throughout the hour, possible scenarios played in his imagination. Things he might say to Daphne. Things she might say to him in response. Ways he might act. Anything that might overcome her resistance. If he could get her to listen, just for a short while, he might be able to change her mind.

  At the end of the service, Joshua followed Daphne out of the sanctuary, leaving enough space between them so she couldn’t complain or tell him to leave her be but close enough she couldn’t slip away. From the set of her shoulders, he guessed she realized what he was doing.

  It wasn’t until he followed her out the front door that he addressed her. “Might I have a word with you, Daphne?” He grabbed his hat before the icy wind could carry it off.

  She turned toward him but didn’t reply.

  “Please. Allow me to walk you home.”

  “That isn’t a good idea, Mr. Crawford.” Wisps of curly black hair whipped against her neck and cheeks as she shook her head.

  “Please,” he repeated. “All I ask for is ten minutes of your time. Surely you can spare me that much.” The look in her eyes told him she was wavering. He took advantage of it. “If you don’t want me to come to your home, then come with me across the street.” He motioned toward the office of the Herald. “We can talk in there, in clear view of any hardy souls who venture out in this weather.”

  There was a long moment of silence before she answered, “All right, Mr. Crawford. Ten minutes. And then I’m going home. Alone.”

  Joshua made certain he didn’t smile, even though he felt like it. Getting her to agree to spend ten minutes with him was a huge victory at this point. He reached to take her arm, but she pulled away and shook her head.

  “I can manage perfectly fine on my own.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”

  She frowned, as if he’d said something objectionable.

  They walked side by side across the street to the newspaper office. Once there, Joshua took the key from his pocket and opened the door, then motioned Daphne in ahead of him. A pale light fell through the windows, casting everything in a gray hue. The cool temperature of the front office would require them to keep their coats on. Joshua wished it otherwise, fearing Daphne would be able to leave without giving any advance warning.

  In silence, she looked around the office, turning slowly. When she faced him again, she said, “You asked for ten minutes.”

  God, help her to hear my heart and not just my words.

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Joshua removed his hat and held it in his left hand. “Daphne, the only things you knew about my grandfather before I arrived were what you’d heard from Griff Arlington. But Richard Terrell was more than a dishonest judge or a saloon owner or a miner. The man I knew loved God fiercely and, because of His faith, was a servant to others. He gave of himself constantly. He helped raise money to feed and clothe the poor. He visited the sick in hospitals, both people he knew and total strangers. Whenever he saw something in this world that breaks the heart of God, his heart was broken too. He did everything in his power to alleviate suffering where he found it.”

  The expression on her face hadn’t changed, despite his impassioned words, and he suspected she was counting down the seconds until his ten minutes were up.

  “I wish you could have known him. Whatever he was before Christ, he was vastly different afterward.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  “Grandfather’s best friend for the last thirty years of his life was a man named Kevin Donahue. A successful businessman in St. Louis. They were exceptionally close and thought so much alike that they hoped their families would be joined one day in marriage. But my grandfather’s daughter and Kevin Donahue’s son fell in love elsewhere. So the two old men put their hopes in their grandchildren to fulfill the dream. They talked about it all the time.”

  Daphne’s gaze altered slightly. “You and Miss Donahue.”

  “Yes.”

  “You became engaged to honor your grandfather’s wishes?”

  This part was a bit tricky to explain. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Her eyebrows arched.

  “The thing is, we don’t love each other like a couple who wants to spend a life together in marriage. We care about each other like a brother and sister or first cousins. We grew up together. We spent birthdays and Christmases and Thanksgivings and Easters together. Everyone—our grandfathers, my mother, her parents—talked as if our getting married was a foregone conclusion, and we accepted it the same way.”

  He saw the coolness return to her eyes. He was losing her again.

  “I never asked Mary Theresa to marry me, Daphne. I always thought I would, but I never did. But she didn’t take notice of that fine point, and that was my fault. I’m to blame for any misunderstanding on her part and on our families’ part.” He raked the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “When I realized I was falling in love with you, I knew I needed to tell Mary Theresa as soon as possible. I didn’t want to do it in a letter. That seemed
too cold. But I couldn’t wait until I could return to St. Louis in person, so I called her on the telephone while I was in Boise. Only she and her cousin were already on their way to Bethlehem Springs to see me.”

  When I realized I was falling in love with you…

  A shiver ran up Daphne’s spine. He’d fallen in love with her.

  But did that matter? A man who would woo and kiss one woman while engaged to another wasn’t to be trusted. Only he claimed he hadn’t been engaged. Not really and truly. But why then had he asked for Daphne’s forgiveness after kissing her?

  “I came to Bethlehem Springs to find D. B. Morgan. I did that.” He smiled briefly as he motioned toward her, palm up. “I came to discover the truth about my grandfather, and like what I learned or not, I did that too.” He took a step forward. “What I didn’t come to do was fall in love with you, but that’s what happened. I never planned to stay in Bethlehem Springs longer than it took to finish my business. And if you don’t want me, if you can’t believe me or trust me, if you think there’s no chance you could ever love me in return, then I guess it’s time to give Mrs. Patterson my notice and go back to St. Louis.”

  The Book of Jeremiah said the heart was deceitful above all things. How could she trust her heart when it came to Joshua? Her heart wanted to believe everything he’d told her. But how could she? Honesty, being truthful in all things, was a matter of character, of integrity, and Joshua hadn’t been completely honest with her until Mary Theresa came to see him. The man who would win her love had to be honest above all else.

  “I must go,” she whispered, turning toward the door.

  Tears blurred her vision, but somehow she made her way out of the office and down the snowy street toward home. Somehow she managed not to let them fall until she was safely inside her cozy cottage.

  Only then did she let herself weep for what she thought could never be hers.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lying in bed that night, Joshua counted once again the many good reasons he had to return to St. Louis. His mother and stepfather were there. The Donahue family was there. His church family was there. There might even be opportunities for him to work for a large newspaper once again.

  The sole reason to stay in Bethlehem Springs was Daphne McKinley. And if she couldn’t forgive him, if she couldn’t trust him, if she couldn’t love him, he might as well do what he’d told her: give his notice and leave.

  But as he pondered his options, he discovered all the good reasons in the world weren’t enough to make him want to return to St. Louis. There were more reasons to stay than he’d thought at first. He didn’t want to quit his job at the Triweekly Herald. He didn’t want to say good-bye to the new friends he’d made in Bethlehem Springs. And no matter how many times Daphne whispered, “I must go,” and turned away from him, he didn’t want to give up on winning her love.

  If he left, there was no hope of that happening.

  If he stayed, some hope might exist.

  Some hope was better than none.

  He would stay.

  As early as possible on Monday, he would place a call to his mother and tell her he wasn’t going back to St. Louis. He would ask her to ship his personal possessions—his clothes, his books, some items that had been his grandfather’s—to Bethlehem Springs at her earliest convenience. Maybe if he invited her and Charlie to visit him over Christmas she wouldn’t protest his decision too much.

  Daphne couldn’t sleep. The mournful wind kept her awake throughout the night. It sounded like she felt. Lonely. Abandoned. Heartbroken. In her mind she kept replaying Joshua’s words as he’d shared about his grandfather, as he’d explained about his relationship with Mary Theresa, and most of all, what he’d said about his feelings for her.

  “What I didn’t come to do was fall in love with you, but that’s what happened. I never planned to stay in Bethlehem Springs longer than it took to finish my business. And if you don’t want me, if you can’t believe me or trust me, if you think there’s no chance you could ever love me in return, then I guess it’s time to give Mrs. Patterson my notice and go back to St. Louis.”

  Tears threatened again. Rather than let them fall, she got out of bed, slipped her arms into the sleeves of her robe and her feet into her house slippers, and left her bedroom. In the parlor, she added wood to the stove before going into her office. There, she sat at her desk and pulled the finished manuscript toward her.

  Dissatisfaction twisted in her belly. She’d thought this could be her best novel. It had everything it should. A little romance. Danger. Intrigue. Excitement. Two villains. Suspense. A hero who saves the day. Her publisher would love it. He would ask when the next volume would be ready. She should be happy.

  She wasn’t.

  Again she heard Joshua’s voice, telling her about the man her grandfather had become. She had based the fictional Rawhide Rick on the Richard Terrell who others had known and talked about, but she had manipulated his exploits to suit her stories.

  “I wasn’t completely honest either.”

  The character in her stories was a wicked man, someone she hadn’t planned to change in future books. But wasn’t the true story even more exciting—a villain, a dishonest man, redeemed by the love of Christ? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to write that story? If she tried, could she do it justice?

  “I believe you’re a naturally gifted storyteller. You shouldn’t waste that gift.”

  She moved the palm of her hand across the top page of the manuscript, reading the words:

  The Dilemma of Marjorie Danforth

  Volume 11, The McFarland Chronicles

  by D. B. Morgan

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the stack of papers to the far side of her desk. Then she pulled a clean sheet of paper from the drawer, rolled it into the typewriter, and typed:

  The True Story of Rawhide Rick

  by Daphne Bernadette McKinley

  A slow smile curved her lips. It gave her pleasure, seeing her real name typed beneath the title. But there was more to the joy than just wanting to write a book using her real name and not a pseudonym. It was more than because she wanted to write a story about a man changed by the power of God.

  Perhaps the joy she felt was because she wanted to write it for the man she loved.

  For Joshua.

  “I love him,” she whispered as she rose from the chair. “And I believe him.”

  She hurried out of the office and into her bedroom. She had to get dressed. She had to see Joshua as soon as the newspaper office was open for business. She had to tell him all that he meant to her.

  Joshua placed the call to his mother in St. Louis before either Christina Patterson or Grant Henley arrived at the office. It turned out that she wasn’t surprised by his news.

  “Mary Theresa called her grandfather before leaving Bethlehem Springs, and Mr. Donahue brought us the word.”

  “I hope you aren’t disappointed, Mother.”

  “Darling, I wasn’t surprised. You are a man who feels passionate about many things—your work, the truth, your faith—but I never thought you were passionate about your feelings for Mary Theresa. You care for her, of course, but I wanted more for your marriage than friendship alone. I wanted you to find someone who will feel as passionate about the things you care about as you are.”

  Joshua wished she’d been this frank with him years ago.

  “Is there a young woman in Idaho who might be the one?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “I thought as much. And does she love you too?”

  He sighed before answering, “Not yet.”

  “I’ll pray for you both.”

  “Thanks, Mother. Listen, I can’t afford to talk for long. I called to ask you to send my things you’ve been storing for me.”

  She laughed. “I already did. Right after I heard from Mr. Donahue. I had a feeling you would remain in Idaho, at least until spring. Your trunk should arrive soon. Perhaps today.”

  Joshua laug
hed with her. His mother, in his opinion, was an amazing woman.

  “Joshua, I found something in the attic while I was organizing your things to send to you. It was in an old trunk of your grandfather’s. I don’t know why I’ve never run across it before now. I’m certain I went through everything after he passed on.”

  “That sounds mysterious. What is it?”

  “It’s a journal. He began writing it before he married my mother.” She was silent a moment. “Darling, everything you’ve wanted to know about your grandfather is in that journal. It’s the story of his life from the time he was a boy.”

  Joshua wasn’t sure what to feel. Everything he’d wanted to know? The answers to all his questions, in his grandfather’s own handwriting.

  “I sent it to you, dear. I put it in with the rest of your things.”

  If his mother had found the journal years ago or even a few months ago, Joshua might still have his position as a reporter for the St. Louis paper, he would never have made this trip to Idaho, and he would never have met Daphne McKinley.

  Thank God the journal hadn’t been found too soon.

  The light was still gray, the sun not yet topping the mountains in the east, when Daphne left her house and hurried down the street toward the office of the Triweekly Herald. Her heart pumped fast, and she couldn’t quite settle upon whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Either one would have been for joy.

  The windows of the apartment over the newspaper office were dark. She was certain she would find Joshua at his desk. But when she entered through the front door a short while later, she was disappointed. He wasn’t at his desk. No one was in sight.

  “Hello?”

  “Just a moment,” Christina called from the room in the back.

  Daphne clasped her hands in front of her chest and controlled the urge to run on through the office to find Joshua.