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 laughed 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.
Christina looked out the doorway. “Oh, Daphne. It’s you. What are you doing here so early? Was there a problem with your column?”
“No. No problem. But I need to talk to Mr. Crawford.” A tiny thrill ran through her as she amended her words. “To Joshua.”
If Christina noticed, she didn’t let on. “I’m sorry. You just missed him. He’s on his way to the depot to meet the morning train.”
“The train?” She was too late. He was leaving, just as he’d told her he would.
“Yes. He told me he—”
Daphne didn’t wait to hear whatever Christina had to say. She whirled around and raced out into the frosty morning. She ran as best she could through the snow. As she reached the rise in the road, she saw the train was already at the station.
Please don’t go. Please don’t leave.
She slipped on an icy patch and fell to her knees. A cry escaped her lips as she struggled back to her feet and kept going. She saw him then, climbing the steps to the platform.
“Joshua!”
He didn’t stop, didn’t turn. She was too far away to be heard over the hissing of the train.
“Joshua!”
Breathing hard, she ran on.
“Joshua!”
Now walking on the platform, he hesitated, then looked over his shoulder.
She waved her arm over her head. “Wait!”
He returned to the top of the stairs.
Daphne dragged in a deep breath and pressed on, hoping not to slip and fall again. She had to reach him. She had to stop him from leaving. It seemed an eternity before she reached the steps to the station platform. She paused to catch her breath again but kept her eyes locked on Joshua.
He came down two steps and stopped again.
“Please don’t go, Joshua.” “I wasn’t—”
“I was wrong. Terribly wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“I shouldn’t have walked out yesterday the way I did. It was rude. I should have stayed and listened to everything you had to say. I should have given you a chance to explain.”
“You did. I’d said it all.”
“Don’t go back to St. Louis. Please stay.”
The hint of a smile curved his mouth. “Why?” He came down one more step. Close enough that she could almost drown in the blue of his eyes.
“Because I shouldn’t have judged you the way I did. I haven’t always told the whole truth either. About my writing. About lots of things. If you’re guilty of wrong doing, then so am I.”
“I’m not sure that’s reason enough for me to stay.”
“Not reason enough?” Panic ignited in her chest. “But I love you, Joshua.”
In a flash, he was off the last step and his arms were around her. “That’s the only reason I need.” He lifted her feet off the ground and kissed her, right there
for anyone and everyone to see. Kissed her until she was more winded than the race to the station had left her. Kissed her thoroughly, completely, and until there was no doubt left in her mind that he loved her still.
When her feet touched the ground again, she opened her eyes to gaze into his. “You’ll stay?” she asked softly.
“Actually, I came to see if my trunk has arrived.” He gave a small shrug and grinned. “Mother shipped my things to me since it appeared I would be staying longer than first planned.”
“You weren’t leaving?” She drew back.
He shook his head, the grin fading away. “Not without you, Daphne. I’m not going anywhere without you. Not ever. Looks like you’re stuck with me, for better or worse.”
September 1, 1904
I am taking up this record of my life one last time. Much has happened since I made the last entry more than thirty years ago. Many good things. Some hard things. There has been great happiness and great sorrow.
Now I am dying. Although the physician doesn’t say so, I know it is true. Perhaps I will live another month or two. Perhaps I will die before tomorrow comes. I don’t mind. I am eighty-three years old. I’ve outlived many others. My eyesight is no longer good, and my aged body aches in many ways. It is time. My only regret is that I must say good-bye to those I love.
This journal has been a private thing, but now I wonder if it should be shared. I have never told Angelica Ruth about the man I was before I met her mother. Perhaps that is well and good. But there is Joshua to consider. Perhaps the boy should be told. Mine would be a cautionary tale, lessons that might keep him from making similar mistakes as he grows up without a father or a grandfather. I know too well what that is like.
As I look back over my years in St. Louis, these are the strongest memories:
My Annie died in the night, February 13, 1885, her body ravished by the disease that tortured her for five months. I did not know if I could bear the pain of my loss. Nor could I understand why God took her when I needed her as I did. The years we had together were too few, but the Lord sustained me.
Robin Lee Thatcher - [The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs] Page 21