by Ginny Aiken
She looked over at a bow she had purchased for Tyrone. She prayed it was as good as she’d been told it was. A good bow was as important as a well-made cello. She’d looked long and hard to find one that would meet Tyrone’s approval. She’d even gone into research, learning who made the best ones and why. She prayed she’d made the right choice. She couldn’t afford the eighteen-thousand-dollar ones she’d come across and knew Tyrone would love, but settled for one slightly over four thousand dollars, a replica of a historical bow.
They’d made special plans for breakfast the next morning. In fact, they’d planned the entire day together. That will be the perfect time….
Dressed for work, she made her way north on Biscayne Boulevard toward the hospital. She didn’t know if she should pray for a calm night or a busy one. Both had their own advantages. A busy one would go fast. A calm one wouldn’t wear her out for their special date. She decided not to worry about it and checked in at the nurse’s station.
Everything went well until three a.m., when the quiet floor erupted in turmoil. The patient in 5B had awakened suddenly, disoriented and violent. She restrained him with the help of an orderly, then injected some medication to help him sleep. His stitches had torn, which required she report the event to the doctor on call. Fashioning some quick butterfly stitches over the aggravated area, Cassandra reported the incident to the doctor on call, not surprised he didn’t come up to check on the patient. From that point on, Cassy watched the gentleman like a hawk. She wasn’t going to allow a lawsuit to be levied against the hospital on her shift.
Ty took the velvet box from the top of the dresser and opened it. His grandmother’s ring sat cradled inside the dark velvet. The pink diamond had a unique Royal Asscher cut. If he remembered correctly, it was around two-thirds of a carat. “Lord, I love her with all my heart, and I know I want to spend my life with her. So why am I afraid?”
Tyrone closed the velvet box and placed it lovingly back on his dresser.
The phone rang and broke into his thoughts. “Hello.”
“Hey, Ty, it’s me.” Cassy’s voice warmed his heart.
He glanced back at the ring box. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“I’ve got bad news. I need to work a double shift.”
Tyrone’s heart sank. “There’s no one else?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve personally called a couple of the nurses. I don’t like my schedule, Ty. It’s frustrating. We need more nurses, but budget restraints hold back on the hiring, and private duty nurses aren’t always an option.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you tried to get off work.”
“I don’t give up our special days together easily. If it’s any consolation, I’ll have the next two days off. I already told them my phone will be disconnected. I’m working far too many hours. It’s not healthy.”
He had to agree there. “I wish there was something I could do.”
Cassy chuckled. “Come to the hospital and join me for breakfast. I miss you.”
“I’m on my way. I miss you, too.” Making adjustments to his schedule, and her making adjustments to hers, was the only way they would be able to spend time together. Cassandra is definitely worth the sacrifice, Lord.
The highlight of Tyrone’s day had been their breakfast together. Once Cassy returned home from work, she went straight to bed. He prepared a breakfast of fresh fruit and bagels. Today he would brave it and ask her the question. In a box on the counter sat fresh-cut exotic flowers, ones he believed would blend well with her natural color.
Next, he put on some classical music and lit the candles lining his apartment for the occasion.
The doorbell rang. He glanced over at the clock. Right on time. Gotta love that, he thought with a smile. He opened the door and she returned his smile. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“‘Morning. I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Shh, no problem. Work is work, and sick people need their nurses.”
She looked down at her feet. “I almost quit. I told the hospital administrator he had to hire someone soon or I would quit. I also pointed out how much they were paying me and others in overtime by not hiring another nurse.”
“Did it help?”
Cassy chuckled. “The bottom line with them is the money, not the patients. So, yeah, I think it worked.” She looked to her left and to her right. “Do you think I might be able to come in?”
“Oh, sorry.” Ty stepped back and let her pass before him.
“What’s all this?” She gazed around the open room.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, but I didn’t …” Her eyes fixed on the long white box on the kitchen counter.
“Do you have a tall vase?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“I thought so. These are for you.” He handed her the box.
She opened it. “They’re gorgeous.”
He liked pleasing this woman. And giving her simple gifts brought a deep, resounding pleasure and satisfaction.
“Since this is a day of gift giving, I have one for you. I’ll be right back.” Cassy fled to her apartment.
Tyrone paced, fingering the velvet box in his pants pocket.
Cassandra bustled back in through the front door. She held a long, thin, gift-wrapped box in her hand. “I hope you like it. If not, I can return it.”
What had she purchased? He received the box in tentative hands. It was as light as a feather. His mind raced. Only one thing he knew came in a box of this size. “What did you do?”
Cassy smiled. “Open it.”
Ty sat down. She shouldn’t have. He ripped the wrapping off the package. The name of a well-known bow maker was on the outer box. “Cassandra, I can’t accept this.”
“You haven’t opened it yet. How do you know?” she teased.
“I know the company, and they aren’t cheap.” His hands caressed the long box. “How did you come across them?”
“Well, open it before I explode,” she demanded.
Ty chuckled.
“Trust me; it’s paid in full.”
“But, honey …”
“Tyrone David Carver, open it and accept the gift as it’s been given, with all my heart and love,” she chastised.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Inside he found what he’d expected. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. But how can you …?”
“Honey, I love you. I researched bows, and I felt I knew a little about your preferences, so I took a risk and purchased this replica.”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Try it out. If it doesn’t feel right or if it doesn’t bring complete satisfaction, the company will replace it.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve been looking at this same bow for awhile now. It’s perfect.” Tyrone placed the bow on the coffee table. “I have another gift for you. Actually, it’s more than a gift.” He cleared his throat. “Come here. Sit beside me.”
She took his hand and sat down.
“Thank you.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “I love you, Cassandra.”
“I love you, too.”
He did not have a doubt of her love. Not because she’d spent far too much money on the beautiful bow, but because he could feel the honesty in her kiss. He could hear it in her voice, in the way she walked and in the way she moved. He loved her, and he knew she was the one for him. “Cassandra.” He caressed her fingers. “I know our schedules will be a problem. But I want to spend every free moment I have with you. I want to rise with you in the morning and experience everything the Lord would have us experience together. I know we’ve spent few days together, but I know my heart, and I think I know yours. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Gentle tears filled her eyes. Ty fought down the lump in his throat.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her warmly on the lips. He pulled away and fumbled for the ring box in his pocket. “Hone
y, if you’d like to pick out a new ring, I understand. But my grandmother gave me this awhile ago. She didn’t wear it any longer, with Grandpa gone, and she didn’t feel safe keeping it with her in the assisted living facility.” He popped open the box.
“Oh, Ty. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a diamond like that.”
“It’s a Royal Asscher cut. Grandmother said it was first designed in 1902. It’s also a pink diamond, which is very rare. My grandpa used to say it was ‘a special ring for a special lady,’ and I think I know how Grandpa felt.”
Cassy’s hand shook as she reached out for the ring.
Tyrone took her hand into his and kissed her ring finger. “I love you, Cassandra.” He placed the ring on her finger.
“Oh, Ty, I love you, too.” She tipped her head to the side. “Just how many kids did you say you wanted?”
Tyrone roared with laughter. “All in good time, my dear. All in good time.”
Peace washed over them both. Ty clasped both of her hands with his and prayed. “Father, bless us and watch over us. May we remain true to you and true to each other.” Then he quoted from Psalm 108, verses 1 and 2. “‘My heart is steadfast, O God; I will sing and make music with all my soul. Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn.’”
“Amen.” Cassy smiled. “I look forward to a lifetime of making music with you.”
“We do harmonize well.” Ty clicked off the stereo and picked up the bow. He sat down with his cello and played.
LYNN A. COLEMAN
Lynn A. Coleman is an award-winning and bestselling author of Key West and other books. She began her writing and speaking career with how to utilize the Internet. Since October 1998, when her first fiction novel sold she’s sold thirty books and novellas.
Lynn is also the founder of American Christian Fiction Writers Inc., and served as the group’s first president for two years and two years on the Advisory Board. One of her primary reasons for starting ACFW was to help writers to develop their writing skills and to encourage others to go deeper in their relationship with God. “God has given me a gift,” says Lynn, “but it is my responsibility to develop that gift.”
Lynn has spoken at writers groups, women’s groups, homeschooling organizations, church groups, conferences, workshops and retreats. “Lynn is informative, humorous, and approachable—what more can you ask for?” said one attendee.
She makes her home in Keystone Heights, Florida, where her husband of thirty-six years serves as pastor of Friendship Bible Church. Together they are blessed with three children and eight grandchildren.
SPRING IN PARIS
by Peggy Darty
Chapter 1
It was five a.m. in Paris when Melanie Roberts’ plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport. Melanie felt every mile of the journey. Her clothes were rumpled, and she had reverted back to her thick lenses because she was still adjusting to her new contacts. Her shoulder-length, glossy hair had now been whisked back from her face and secured with a rubber band.
Her shoulder bag tugged hard on her shoulder and she gave over to the slump. Despite aspirin, soothing music, and earphones, she hadn’t slept more than an hour. She kept thinking about all that water underneath the plane.
Glancing around her, she noted the other passengers looked as bedraggled as she did. They were businessmen, or women who were probably visiting family, and a few stray singles like her.
She sighed and took a firmer grip on her bulging shoulder bag, but not before it had slammed into the passenger behind her.
“Sorry,” she called over her shoulder to the man who looked far too crisp at this hour in his expensive suit.
“No problem,” he answered in a slurred voice, but she could tell from his expression that he considered the jab of her shoulder bag a big problem.
She turned back around, shuffling with the line, realizing why the Ivy League types never appealed to her. Too arrogant.
She was herded into the long customs line, proof that at last she was in Paris.
“Business or holiday?” the customs officer asked.
“Holiday.”
His eyes lingered on her passport then returned to her. She looked down at the passport picture, recalling it was made before she got a different hairstyle, but at least she was wearing the same glasses. His eyes swept her five-foot-seven-inch frame, all one hundred thirty-five pounds of it; then he stamped the passport and handed it back.
She fought her way to the luggage carousel where she spotted the Ivy Leaguer again. There was the usual wait for the luggage to arrive, so she sank into a hard chair and closed her eyes. Her second-graders flashed through her mind, and she wondered how they were spending their spring break. Then she thought of her wonderful grandmother, who had passed away in January. The money she had left Melanie had been earmarked in a special note. “Go see Paris for me….”
Paris was a long way from little Milton, Ohio. Thank You, God.
A flurry around her jolted her back to her senses and she struggled to her feet as a jumble of luggage rolled around the carousel. She spotted Ivy League again. Watching him hassle his sleek luggage gave her a bit of satisfaction so that she almost missed her maroon canvas bags.
After another tussle, she ended up out on the street, her mind suddenly blank. She reached into her jeans pocket, fumbling around for the engraved card with the address of the Ritz. She had told herself she was going first class, especially with the hotel, and by the price, she knew she had.
The limos were disappearing, along with the taxis as the crowd elbowed ahead. She hesitated, wondering what to do. Then suddenly a taxi screeched to the curb before her. A little Frenchman hopped out and tossed off some words that didn’t seem to match anything in her French-English dictionary.
“Want to share a taxi?” Ivy League suddenly appeared. “Where are you headed?”
“The Ritz,” she informed him with pride.
He nodded. “I’m staying near there.”
He related all of this to the driver who was loading their luggage into the trunk. Ivy League opened the back door and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Well, do you or don’t you want a ride?” The slur was actually a southern accent, because the lazy drawl had been sharpened with crisp consonants. He was clearly irritated.
“I do,” she snapped back, piling into the backseat and staring pointedly out the window. As she gazed, she quickly forgot about her grouchy traveling companion. It was still early morning in Paris, and the taxi zipped right along. Melanie watched with delight as they approached the famous landmarks she had studied about in the travel books. She knew exactly where she was. She didn’t need to speak French!
They had passed the Champs-Elysées and were heading toward the Arc de Triomphe. Melanie pressed her face closer to the window, pushed her glasses securely in place, and peered at the French flag from inside the Arc. Soon the taxi was pulling into the Place Vendome.
She bit her tongue to keep from saying, There it is. She glanced quickly at Ivy League who was fast asleep, even snoring! How could one sleep when the statue of Napoleon crowned the middle of the square?
She turned in her seat as they swept past it, and now the driver was pulling to the curb where a green canopy overhung the entrance to a hotel. It took a moment for her to realize this was the Ritz. It was obviously understated elegance, so typical of Paris class.
The driver had announced their arrival as he swung to the curb, and Melanie gripped her shoulder bag and glanced again at her sleeping traveling companion. So long, Ivy League.
She stepped out onto the curb and discovered her driver knew English for his fares; he briskly told her exactly what she owed him. She added a generous tip, and then he led the way through the revolving doors where a smartly dressed concierge took charge, escorting her up to the reception desk.
There was no line here, and the concierge at the desk spoke English. She listened carefully as he handed her a registration form while explaining the amenities of the hotel. She w
ent through the process, nodding gratefully while handing over her passport and credit card. She had preregistered by mail weeks ago, so the paperwork went swiftly, and soon he was handing back her passport and credit card, motioning for one of many fast-paced bellboys.
She was ushered down a couple of steps and across the lobby, where several distinguished-looking men wearing business clothes and reading newspapers glanced disinterestedly at her.
Melanie ran a hand self-consciously over her hair, realizing she hadn’t put on any lip gloss in hours or even brushed her hair. It was no wonder she was not attracting any attention. On they went, down a long hall flanked by impressive little boutiques.
“Is this your first trip to Paris?” the concierge asked as they reached the elevator. She wondered if it was that obvious.
“Yes, it is,” she replied as the elevator door slid open and they stepped inside.
He glanced at her once again as he led the way down the hall and unlocked a door. He seemed to sense how tired she was and didn’t attempt to continue polite conversation. She reached for her billfold to tip him as he opened the door and placed her luggage inside.
“If you need anything—”
“I’ll be fine,” she smiled as he walked out, softly closing the door.
Her eyes widened as she surveyed her new home for the next six days. The room was filled with antiques, which would bring a rare gulp of enthusiasm from her mother, but which held little fascination for her. What she did like was the gorgeous soft pink brocades and marble fireplace. Her bedroom was a gracious blend of more pale pink in the satin coverlet of the bed with its matching pink chair. She peered into the bathroom and spotted the same marble elegance there.
She quickly opened her canvas bags, shook out the new clothes, and proudly hung each treasured garment on a padded hanger. Then after she had luxuriated in the beaded-oil bath water of the huge tub, she pulled on a loose gown and sank into the pink satin bed. She felt as though she had just melted into a pink cloud.
When she awoke and glanced at the ornate clock on her bedside table, she had slept until noon! She stirred lazily, enjoying the comfort and luxury.