“Too quickly,” Lawrence piped up. “One moment we think a marriage might be coming and the next it’s gone….”
“Shush, Lawrence,” Loretta said.
“I meant no harm. I was only agreeing with the young woman that times and seasons are forever changing. But it seems, Miss McGee, that you’re adapting quite well to the life of a New Englander.”
“Time helps, sir. And the excellent tutelage I received under Claire Haskins.”
“She is a wonder,” Loretta agreed. “A sweet woman. We have talked at the sewing circle. She misses you dreadfully, Sara. It makes no sense for you to be spending your time and money living away from her. What do you say, Tom?”
Sara found herself at a loss for words. She bowed her head and stared at her lap, waiting with baited breath for his reply.
“Sara is quite settled where she is now,” Tom said without looking her way. “She likes the Turners very much, and they like her.”
“Of course.” Loretta smiled and went to bring out the dessert of bread pudding and rum sauce.
Though the dessert looked delicious, Sara had no appetite for it. She considered the statement Tom had made. He apparently didn’t want her living in his home. All the hopes that had been building since Annabelle’s departure were quickly falling apart. There seemed to be no future even still. Tom Haskins would never love her. There would never be a marriage. They would continue with this shallow existence, the nightly platitudes, the occasional glances. He still felt her unworthy of anything more. She would forever remain a maid in a fancy hotel, grieving over what might have been.
Oh, why did I tell Claire I wouldn’t use the train fare?
For the next two nights, Tom did not come to walk her home from her job at the Maplewood. Sara tried to put the disappointment out of her mind but couldn’t. He’d been cordial and kind this past week, even seeing to her safety, that is, until the dinner at the Boshen house. A part of her dearly wanted to be with him. She enjoyed his company. If only he felt the same way.
She spent a quiet night after work looking out the window at the dark street of Bethlehem, her fingers clutching the envelope of money. She had no reason not to take this money right now and go to the depot to buy the ticket. If she did, she could be back in New York in time for Christmas. Wouldn’t Mrs. Whitaker be surprised? But she’d be unhappy, too. What would Sara do once she arrived there? Mr. Whitaker would never allow her to stay at the house. She would become a vagabond on the street once more, having to find lodging and scrounge around for work to buy food. How could she return to that kind of existence after all she’d experienced here?
Maybe, if she stayed in Bethlehem, another man would come into her life. She’d already captured the attention of several men. She was no longer beholden to Tom or the ad in the newspaper. She could continue living with the Turners and wait to see whom God would bring.
Sara sighed. Dearest Lord, I pray that You would show me what to do in this matter of the heart. Make it clear to me which path I should take. And help me to not become bitter over Tom’s decision.
Meanwhile, another snowstorm doused Bethlehem, adding six more inches to the total they had already received. Sara had never seen so much snow in all her life. Occasionally New York received a few snowstorms, but not one after another like this. And there were many months left before spring graced the land. She wondered what the White Mountains looked like in the spring and summer. She’d seen Tom’s paintings and others in the Maplewood Hotel that displayed the beauty of other seasons. At that moment, her heart suddenly yearned to see spring come to this place. How can I leave? she mused. Even if Tom and I must go our separate ways, Bethlehem is now my home.
The next day, Sara rose to dress as usual. Today was her day off, but she had agreed to help Mrs. White, her former proprietor, with some duties. The woman had stopped by the Turners’ and asked if Sara might do a little work for extra pay. Sara obliged when she heard that other boarders had come in for the Christmas holidays and Mrs. White was beside herself with everything that needed to be done.
“How could you move away and leave me at a time like this?” Mrs. White moaned when Sara arrived. “I’m so glad to have your help.”
The home was fairly bursting, with visitors roaming about. One gentleman, an older man, stopped in the hall when she entered. He immediately swiped off his hat and bowed. Sara remembered him. He was a visiting lawyer from Boston whom she had met when she lived in the guesthouse.
“Miss McGee, a pleasure to see you again. I hear from Mrs. White that you’re now living elsewhere.”
“Hello, Mr. Dickerson. Yes, I found a place with a nice family, though today I’m helping Mrs. White prepare food for her guests.”
“I see.” He hesitated. “I would love to have an escort while I’m here this time, to show me the sights of Bethlehem. Perhaps you would do me the honor? We were unable to meet the last time I was here, as I was too busy with my clients. And I regret it.”
Sara’s face grew warm with his suggestion. “But I’m new here, too. I’ve only lived here since October myself. The only places I know are the depot, the store, and the Maplewood Hotel. And the café in town.”
“Then perhaps we should discover it together. And I will even treat you to dinner afterward at this café.”
Sara felt her face grow even hotter. “I—I shall think about it, Mr. Dickerson. Please excuse me.”
He nodded and moved off. Sara watched him slowly ascend the steps, stiff and formal, so like a fine gentleman. But he was much older, with gray in his sideburns. She knew little about him except that he was a lawyer from the city. But what harm was there in finding company on a cold day in Bethlehem? It would do her good to get out rather than stay home and mourn for a relationship that would never be.
Sara climbed the steps after him, preparing to agree to Mr. Dickerson’s offer, when a voice called to her from below. “Sara!” She turned to see a tall figure in a black coat. A familiar set of brown eyes stared at her. She started and nearly slipped down the stairs. “T–Tom, what are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Turner said I could find you here. I’m so sorry I was unable to walk you home these past few days. Claire took sick, and I felt it unwise to leave her. Did you get my message?”
“No.” Once more, a worker at the hotel had failed to give her a much-needed message. Sara scolded herself for having thought he’d abandoned her and even guiltier for nearly accepting a stranger’s company rather than the man she yearned to know with all her heart. “Please don’t apologize for not coming. Is Claire better?”
“Yes, much, and she all but ordered me to find you. There’s a painting I must complete today, but it requires a trip to Franconia Notch. Are you free to go with me, or do you have plans?”
“Actually, I’m doing work for Mrs. White.”
His face fell with a disappointment she had never seen before. Just then Mrs. White hurried into the hall to discover who had arrived in her home. When Sara told her about Tom’s invitation, the woman smiled. “Oh, you must go, Sara. If you can stay until noon, that will be enough.”
“Are you certain?”
“We all need a day to refresh ourselves. It’s a beautiful afternoon for a sleigh ride…and with a fine gentleman, too.”
“Then would you do me the honor?” Tom asked in eagerness. “I would very much enjoy your company.”
“All right, I’ll go with you.”
He smiled, and when he did, his white teeth stood out in sharp contrast with the dark appearance of his clothing and dark brown hair. He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you at noon, then.” Tom excused himself to perform errands in town.
Sara scurried to finish the tasks for Mrs. White, feeling giddy for the first time in her life. Once or twice she caught sight of Mr. Dickerson in the drawing room and thought of Tom’s invitation. She should feel honored that two men desired her companionship. What a distant cry from the days when she first came here and received those jeers. Have I changed t
hat much? Perhaps in appearance, but that same spirit to survive, to make it day by day, to be the woman God wanted her to be, that had not changed.
At noon, as she was preparing to leave, Mr. Dickerson intercepted her. “Have you considered my offer, Miss McGee?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dickerson, but I have another errand to run today.”
“Let me come along, then.”
She nearly laughed. “I’m sorry, but I’m accompanying Bethlehem’s famous artist, Mr. Haskins. He needs to complete a very important work. Would you excuse me?”
She hurried into the hall and found Tom waiting patiently for her. She followed him outside, where a sleigh stood and horses exhaled clouds like smoke into the frosty air. “There are plenty of wool blankets here to keep us warm,” he told her. “Lawrence made sure we had enough.”
“So you were able to borrow it from him without any trouble?” She climbed aboard the sleigh and arranged the blankets across her lap.
“He’s offered it to me many times, actually. But I’m thankful I could have it today. I must get this last painting done for Mr. Astor. I only hope my paints don’t thicken up in this weather, or painting will be difficult.”
“I’m sure the work will be excellent all the same, Tom.” She enjoyed saying his name, and he appeared to like hearing it—at least the small smile on his rugged face said so.
Tom flicked the reins, and the sleigh moved easily along the snowy street. They rode for a time before he inquired, “So who was the gentleman you were talking to in the parlor?”
“The gentleman?” Sara caught her breath, realizing that he had seen her with Mr. Dickerson. “You mean Mr. Dickerson?”
Tom nodded.
“He’s a guest of Mrs. White. A lawyer from Boston, I think. I met him while I was staying at the house.”
“A lawyer, eh? He seems quite taken with you.”
It was a simple statement, yet a revealing one. “I…well, perhaps. He wanted someone to show him around town, but I know so little about Bethlehem. I know the train depot and the Maplewood Hotel. Besides, I’d prefer a nice sleigh ride on a fine winter’s day.”
He sighed. “Good. I’m glad to have you.”
It never dawned on Sara that Tom might be jealous of her contacts with other men. The thought rather pleased her. She then remembered how she felt seeing Tom with Annabelle Loving and the attention they gave each other. Perhaps she and Tom were more alike than she had considered.
“Something is making you smile,” Tom noted. “What is it?”
“How similar we are, you and I.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Really. How so?”
“We would rather be in each other’s company than someone else’s.”
“I’m glad you prefer my company,” he said, so softly she could barely make out the words above the swish of the sleigh in the snow and the snort of the horses. “I’ve given you little reason to, after all.”
“Why do you say that now? You’ve been a fine and considerate gentleman. Anyone who would accompany a tired spinster night after night from her duties at the hotel is worth high praise.”
“Sara, what you are doing at the hotel is just as worthy as if you were keeping house. You’ve worked hard all your life. You survived both New York and the unpleasantness of living here among society. When we begin to make comparisons about those who are worthy and unworthy, it’s when we fail to see the true worth of the person within.”
“Maybe I’m thinking this way because my time here didn’t offer much hope for anything else. Until lately, that is.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. But I hope you’ll be able to rise above it and one day find it in your heart to forgive my stupidity of those days. Please know that I very much admire the woman within and without.”
Sara burrowed deeper into the blankets, considering the sincerity of his words. Yes, she did need to forgive. The conversation pointed to wounds that still existed over past hurts, even here in Bethlehem. The jeers of the men when she arrived…the looks of disgust at her unseemly ways at the café and the dinner table…the contempt in Annabelle’s eyes…Tom’s indifference until something stirred him to life.
“Do you realize, for instance, that our Lord would rather invite guests in rags to His wedding feast than ones finely clothed?” Tom confirmed. “That He gave them wedding garments to wear when they arrived?”
“Yes, but…”
“Many people of means feel they are above the call to come and dine. But without the riches, there are no such pretenses. You’ve needed to rely on the Lord for your provisions, for helping you day by day in New York. Even here, by finding a job and a place to live, and in helping a little boy in need. You’re far richer than anyone I know, Sara. Including me.”
His words jarred her. “I—I never considered that. Here in Bethlehem, it’s so easy to overlook the simple things when you’re surrounded by wealth.”
“It’s all fleeting. But some things are not.” Tom nodded toward the scenery of the chain of mountains appearing before them. “See that? Think of the way God made His creation, so rich and interesting. The mountains. Deer and birds. Even the flowers, which the Bible says are more finely clothed than Solomon, who was a wealthy king.”
“It is beautiful.” One after another the mountains grew before them until they flanked the narrow passage that became Franconia Notch. Sara gazed up at the craggy tops covered with snow. How steep and rugged they were, yet majestic, too. They did not compete for attention. They stood on their own merit, in their own beauty.
“Just you wait.” They continued until suddenly he brought the sleigh to a stop before a small lake. “Ahead of us is Profile Mountain.” He reached behind him to a sack of belongings and withdrew a set of binoculars. “Take a look at the side of the mountain before you.”
Sara brought the glasses to her eyes. “What am I supposed to see?”
He gently tilted her face and the glasses, bringing the mountain summit in view. “Do you see anything now?”
“Why, it looks like a man’s face made out of rock!”
“He’s the Old Man of the Mountain.”
“Oh, Tom. From here in the snow, he looks like Saint Nicholas.”
Tom laughed long and loud. “That would make a fine painting,” he said, rummaging for his supplies. “The Old Man as Saint Nicholas, for Christmas.”
“Is this the face you plan to paint for Mr. Astor?”
“Yes. And if it goes well, it might even be made into a Currier and Ives print. Mr. Astor has tremendous plans for my work. So pray that I can capture this scene to his liking.”
“Yes, I will. Oh, it will be grand.” Sara studied the face projecting outward from the side of the mountain. It looked as if the man of rock surveyed the land before him. The rocks were attached in such a way as to form the perfect image of a face. She had never seen such a sight. How she wished Tom could paint another picture of the scene so she might have it for her very own. But she dare not ask, as he had much to accomplish just in capturing this splendid scenery for his mentor.
Tom set up the easel in the snow and arranged the canvas. Sara helped him retrieve his paints and even held the containers so he could mix dabs of color on the palette with his brush. He made a simple sketch first and then began to fill it in with white and gray. Shades of blue followed, for the crop of winter sky and the lake below. It didn’t matter that the cold was steadily invading her feet and hands. Sara only watched in fascination as he captured Profile Mountain and then the details of the Old Man.
“I’ll make mostly an outline,” he explained as he painted, “and then fill in the rest of the color when I return to Bethlehem. It’s too cold to stay out here much longer.”
“You do beautiful work, Tom.”
“Long ago, Daniel Webster thought highly of the Old Man. You know how businesspeople put out certain signs depicting the work they do? Such as a tooth for an extractor, or a book for a printer?”
“Yes.”
&
nbsp; His hand flicked the paintbrush this way and that to create the rugged sides of the mountain and then dabbed a mixture of black and white to form the gray rocks. “Well, of the Old Man, he said that up in the mountains of New Hampshire, God Himself has displayed a sign that here He makes men.”
Sara gazed once more at the face of rock before her. God Himself had hung a sign for all to see; that these were His mountains and in them He establishes man. And yes, He could even establish the destiny of a lowly woman from the streets of New York.
“The clouds are coming in. It’s getting colder.” Tom cast a glance in her direction. “And you’re starting to shiver. We need to leave.”
“I’m fine. I’m trembling over what you just said. But I’m getting a little cold, too.”
Tom put down the brush. “This is good enough. I have the scene pictured in my mind. Come. We’ll return and get you before a roaring fire with plenty of hot tea.”
The mere image flooded Sara with a warm sensation. She folded up the small chair while Tom took down the easel. Her feet and fingers were clearly numb by the time they had everything packed away, but she would not exchange this time at God’s mountain for anything. “Tom, this has been wonderful,” she declared, snuggling into the blankets once more. She closed her eyes to envision it all. The snow-covered mountains, the Old Man, Tom painting so magnificently, when she felt an unexpected warmth. Flicking open her eyes, she saw Tom’s face over hers. His lips sought hers, and to her surprise, she responded.
Finally she drew back, breathless. “Tom?”
“You are so beautiful, Sara,” he murmured, his hand cradling her face. “Please, can I hold you once more?”
“Tom, we need to go back. We don’t have a chaperone….” She turned away. They were both vulnerable, alone in this country scene and in search of warmth that should not be kindled at this time, as tempting as it was.
He withdrew his hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You looked so beautiful against the backdrop of the forest.” He took up the reins and ushered the horses to the road. “I—I have never felt this way,” he confessed. “You’ve done something to me, Sara. I almost lost myself.”
Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 20