by Delia Parr
She tucked the note into her pocket alongside her keepsakes. “You’ve been a great help to all of us. Perhaps someday, if I get to keep Hill House, you might come back and do that stenciling in the hallway for me. Is there any way I could contact you?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I travel about, working wherever my whims at the moment take me. But one day, perhaps, I’ll find myself back this way.” He paused and swallowed hard. “God bless you, Widow Garrett,” he whispered and left the room.
After the rush of packing up the carriage Mr. Massey had rented and Mr. Lewis’s wagon and saying farewells, Emma joined the rest of her family in the west parlor. She would have collapsed and dropped straight down on the settee, except that Zachary was still there.
“It’s been a long day for everyone,” he commented. “I should leave, too, so you can all rest for the afternoon.”
“Don’t be so quick to run off,” Mother Garrett said, waving him back into his seat. “You might enjoy hearing Emma tell the tale about sledding down the hill and skating down Main Street again. I know I would.” A twinkle lit her eye as Emma took her seat with proper decorum.
Zachary grinned.
Emma groaned. “Maybe, just maybe, once this bruise is completely gone, I’ll have one full day without being reminded that I might be too old to sled or skate.”
Mother Garrett chuckled. “I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that, so unless you have something more interesting to talk about, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell the tale again.”
Emma’s eyes widened with sudden inspiration. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she argued and slipped her hand into her pocket. “Mr. Lewis left me a thank-you note. I’ll read it to you all.” She nudged her keepsakes aside and pulled out the note.
“Read it to yourself, Emma dear,” Aunt Frances suggested. “Maybe he wrote something he meant only for you.”
“No more secrets, remember?” Emma teased.
“She’s right. Read it to yourself first,” Mother Garrett said quickly. “I doubt that man’s note will be anywhere near as interesting as your tale is, which means you can’t avoid sharing it with us again.”
“Have it your way.” Emma broke the seal and unfolded the note. Silently, she skimmed the words he had written to her. Shocked and well beyond disbelief, she read them again more slowly:
To the esteemed Widow Garrett:
In my room you will find a landscape I painted for you. Next to it, you will find a packet of papers granting you full and legal title to Hill House, in accordance with my wishes as the heir to my late uncle’s estate.
May all those who dwell here, as residents or guests, continue to find the peace and hope and contentment you so lovingly offered as His faithful servant.
With gratitude,
Malcolm Lewis
Emma’s heart pounded in her chest. Tears welled and threatened to spill down her cheeks. Her hands began to tremble. “I . . . I have to go upstairs. No, all of us. We have to go upstairs,” she managed. “Come. Come and see. He left something in his room we need to see,” she insisted, half afraid his words might be some form of cruel hoax, and too afraid to believe they were true.
“Upstairs? Now?” Mother Garrett grumbled.
“Now,” Emma repeated as she got to her feet and shoved the note back into her pocket. “Everyone should come. Hurry, please,” she begged, so excited she thought her heart might burst.
“You go ahead. Take Mr. Breckenwith with you,” Reverend Glenn suggested. “He can carry down whatever it is so us old folks don’t have to struggle all the way up those steps and back down again.”
Mother Garrett sighed. “Go on. Even though I could keep up with you, I’ll stay here to keep these two ‘old folks’ company.”
“But I want you all to come,” Emma countered.
Chuckling, Zachary got to his feet. “We could go upstairs and be back down again in a matter of minutes, or we could argue the issue indefinitely.”
Emma sighed. Maybe it would be better if he looked at the papers Mr. Lewis had left for her first, just to make sure everything was legitimate. “Fine. We’ll be right back. Are you ready, Mr. Breckenwith?”
He smiled. “As always,” he replied, and he even kept pace with her as she rushed upstairs as quickly as decorum would permit.
When she opened the door to the guest room where Mr. Lewis had been staying, the moment she saw the painting, which was sitting on a small table near the window, her heart skipped a beat. She entered the room and approached the painting almost on tiptoe.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the packet of papers lying exactly where he said she would find them, but she kept her gaze focused on the amazing landscape he had painted for her.
Somehow, as if he had been sitting atop a cloud hanging low and just to the south, he had painted an aerial view of the property. Sitting high atop the hill, surrounded by a world dressed in glistening snow, Hill House sat beneath a winter gray sky. A single, gentle beacon of light, that shimmered as if it had come from heaven itself, broke through the clouds to shine directly on Hill House.
Trembling, with Zachary at her side, she stepped closer to the painting and pressed her hand to her heart. The detail in the landscape was utterly breathtaking, but specific details he had chosen touched the deepest recesses of her heart.
Light poured from every window of the house, with silhouettes of residents and guests inside. Two chairs sat side-by-side on the snow-covered patio, where a fire was burning in the outdoor fireplace, and she could just make out the corner of the pen she had had built to protect the chickens in the back of the house. Beyond the gazebo, the shadow of a panther crept through the woods. And in the distance, far beyond the figure of a woman skating down Main Street, a lone wagon, much like the one Mr. Lewis owned, traveled south out of Candlewood.
“The painting is exquisitely done,” Zachary murmured. “The man has an amazing talent with the brush.”
“He has an amazing heart, as well,” Emma whispered, blinking back tears. She picked up the packet of papers and handed them to him. “I know you’re not my lawyer at the moment, but would you mind if I asked you to look at these? Just to make sure they’re valid?”
He lifted a brow.
“Please. Just this once.”
He sighed, took the papers from her, and read through them. Twice. And then again. He shook his head, and his eyes mirrored the very same wonder she felt. “I’m not sure how or why or when—”
“But he was the heir? He was the legal owner of Hill House? And all along he was here?”
“That’s what the documents prove. Mr. Larimore did quite a competent job,” he admitted as he handed the papers back to her.
She clutched the papers tight in her hand. When Mr. Lewis had ridden back into town with Mr. Larimore, she had had no idea of the professional relationship that existed between the two men. Nor had she any suspicions at all during Mr. Lewis’s stay that he might be more than he presented himself to be—a man who spent his life traveling and painting the lives of all he met with beauty.
Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes for a moment. Her spirit bowed to the awesome power and love of her Creator, who had answered each and every one of her prayers, as her heart showered the heavens with praise and thanksgiving.
When she opened her eyes, Zachary was gazing at her with such tenderness and affection, she knew with one gentle beat of her heart that the man who would love her and be her companion and helpmate was right here beside her.
He had been here all along, too.
EPILOGUE
IN EARLY MARCH, Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances were married at Hill House.
Instead of flowers, which were still waiting for spring to warm them back to life, bouquets of multicolored cotton bows decorated the parlors, and a wreath of candlewood greens was on the front door and the porch railings. Even Butter wore a bow for the festive occasion.
In lieu of inviting a multitude of guests from the congregation, the couple chose t
o limit those in attendance to family and close friends. Still, between Reverend Austin and his wife, Aunt Frances’s two sons and their families, Reverend Glenn’s Hill House family, Zachary Breckenwith, the Masseys, and Orralynne Burke, who appeared to have settled permanently with the young couple, nearly twenty people witnessed the simple ceremony.
In keeping with tradition, after the new associate pastor and his bride accepted congratulations, they all filed into the dining room to share a meal together. Emma ushered the last of the guests from the parlors toward the dining room and walked behind them with Zachary as her escort.
He bent low to whisper in her ear. “Since everyone is here, shall we tell them today?”
She chuckled. “Not today. This is Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances’s special day. I don’t think we should do anything to detract from that,” she whispered back.
He frowned.
“Besides, I haven’t agreed to marry you. I’ve only agreed to let you court me. And only after you’ve made this one last trip to New York City and return to Candlewood,” she reminded him.
“Which won’t be until next month,” he countered, clearly anxious to share their news.
“April is such a lovely month,” she offered. Indeed, this particular April was going to be very lovely. Spring would arrive, filling the world with color again. The canal would reopen, bringing a new season of travelers and guests on holiday. More important, her three sons, their wives, and Emma’s grandchildren would all be together in Hill House to help celebrate her birthday—a perfect opportunity to introduce them all to Zachary Breckenwith.
“I rather like March,” he grumbled.
“You also like surprises,” she teased, reminding him of their conversation in the woods when she wanted to know where he had planned to take her on their first outing. “Since you never did take me riding again, I might reconsider your suggestion to tell everyone today if you can at least tell me where you were going to take me.”
“I can’t. It’s a secret.”
She tugged on his arm. “You told someone else, but you won’t tell me?”
He grinned. “I promised Mother Garrett I wouldn’t tell another soul.”
She pouted, quite certain she and Mother Garrett were going to sit down later tonight to talk this out. “Then take me riding tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I’m leaving early tomorrow afternoon, remember?”
She tilted up her chin. “Speaking of which, I received some papers from Mr. Lewis’s lawyer in Philadelphia. I thought we might meet for a short while in the morning to go over them. Just to get your advice,” she added.
“You need a lawyer, remember? Hire one.”
She grinned. “Perhaps I should just wait a bit longer before I do.”
He cocked a brow. “How much longer?”
“Until I decide whether I should marry one instead.”