Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “Surely you must have felt that way when you were with Annabelle, didn’t you?”

  She saw his hands tighten around the reins. Immediately she regretted her words.

  “I had no such feelings for Miss Loving. And if I did have any, they were shallow at best. She may have wanted me to feel differently, but it was not meant to be.”

  “Did you ever take her to see the Old Man?”

  “No. This was our trip of discovery, Sara. Ours alone.”

  Sara couldn’t help but agree. The Old Man had been wonderful, but so, too, was the kiss…only now, she wondered what would come of it. Surely the contact spoke of a turn in their relationship. A distinct change. She didn’t know what to think or even say—so she said nothing. She just listened to the sound of the horses in the snow and felt the cold wind that numbed her face and waited on God for an answer.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tom relished the tender time they had shared at the Old Man as he drove the sleigh back toward Bethlehem. It was more wondrous than he had ever expected. He’d never considered kissing Sara until the moment when he saw her in the sleigh, her red lips inviting, her head tilted back. No, the kiss had not been proper, as she said. He should have restrained himself. But maybe it spoke more than words could ever do. That he cared. That love was overcoming whatever obstacles they had faced in the past. That he wanted them to take the next step.

  But for now his thoughts turned to the trip home that was taking longer than expected—especially with the clouds gathering from the west and, with it, darkness seeping across the land. Snowflakes soon fell and the wind began to pick up. He felt a shiver race through him and wondered about Sara. “Are you cold?” Tom called above the wind that howled through the mountains flanking both sides of the notch.

  Sara said nothing at first as the wind drove through them. She huddled beneath the blankets. “I’m all right,” her voice trembled.

  Her feeble response concerned him. “I wasn’t expecting a storm to blow in like this. I should have been prepared. Here in the White Mountains, we take nothing for granted, especially the weather.” He shouted his observation in competition with the howling tempest.

  “How far are we from Bethlehem? Can you tell?”

  The lantern flames flickered in the wind and suddenly went out. Tom drew the horses to a stop. “I’m not sure. The wind is picking up, as is the snow.” He tried to halt the fear rising within. Caught in a snowstorm in the midst of the mountains and with a woman he was responsible to protect, anxiety tried to assail him. He calmed it with a silent prayer, knowing he must remain clearheaded.

  “You do know where we are, don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer but searched through the driving snow for a recognizable landmark. He rarely traveled this route in the daylight, though, much less in the ravages of a winter storm and during the night. “We shouldn’t have left so late in the day,” he muttered.

  “I had promised Mrs. White my work, and…”

  “Sara, I’m not blaming you. It’s my fault. I should know that storms tend to come in later in the afternoon. I should have picked a day when we could have left in the morning.” He heard her sniff then and felt the touch of her hand on his arm.

  “I–I’m sorry, Tom. We just have to make the best of it.”

  “It will be all right. We’ll be home soon. I promise.” Though at that moment, home seemed very far away.

  He urged the horses onward, praying to God for help. Tom dearly wanted Sara to find comfort in his confidence, but right now, he lacked what he needed. He was an artist—not a skilled mountaineer used to being in these conditions—with a sleigh that didn’t belong to him and a woman who had just begun to trust him. Tom could only hope that somehow they were still on the road to Bethlehem. He knew there was one turn left to make before reaching Bethlehem proper. If he missed it, they could find themselves in the midst of the mountains without knowing exactly where they were. And they could not spend the night like this in the sleigh, exposed to the elements. They would freeze to death.

  God, help us through, he thought silently. He wiped away the snow that had gathered on his face. Even the horses struggled to keep their footing in the wind. He tried to keep his frustration at bay. It had been such a perfect day before the Old Man, too, and then the feel of Sara’s lips on his…. The bond between them had strengthened, and so, too, had their trust in each other—until now, when everything teetered precariously on a snowstorm. Was this God’s test for them? To weather life’s storms so they came forth even stronger?

  “Do you know where we are yet?” asked Sara’s feeble voice from beneath the blankets.

  “I’m sure this is the road to Bethlehem,” he answered, though he wasn’t certain about anything. All he saw was white without any discernible markings. He knew there was a dilapidated wooden sign at a road crossing, pointing the direction to Bethlehem…if only he could find it.

  “I can’t feel my feet or hands,” Sara complained. She shifted about and pulled the blankets closer.

  “We’ll make it. Hold on.” He wished he had more words of hope to offer. He needed to get Sara before a warm fire, and soon. But time seemed to go so slowly, which often happened in a crisis.

  “I—I don’t know how m–much longer I can be out here, T–Tom.” Sara’s voice grew fainter each time she spoke.

  “Sara, just keep talking to me. It will keep us both warm and alert. Tell me how you met Mrs. Whitaker. She’s a kind woman who cares so much about you.”

  “I—I don’t want to. I’m so tired, Tom. I’d rather sleep.”

  He panicked when he heard these words. Sleep was one thing she could not do in this weather, for that meant her body was getting too cold. He shook her with his free hand. “No, don’t sleep, Sara. Tell me about New York.”

  “I—Mrs. Whitaker is such a fine person. She—she found me on a stormy night when it was raining. I had no coat. I was so cold.” Her voice drifted away.

  Tom looked down to see her nodding off. Fear gripped him with a heavy hand. What am I going to do, God? Again he shook her. “Sara? Wake up!”

  Suddenly, through the whirl of snow, he caught a glimpse of a strange light off to the right. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if it was real, but he turned the sleigh toward it. As he drew near, he made out the image of a cabin tucked away in a grove of pine, and he thanked God for the shelter.

  Bringing the sleigh to a stop, he flew out of it and fell into a snow drift. Snow covered him from head to foot. He stood and stumbled his way to the door, pounding on it. “I need help! Is anyone here?”

  The door creaked open. Through bleary eyes, he saw a weathered man with a beard hanging down to his chest. “What do you want?”

  “Please, sir, my—my fiancée is freezing. I need to get her into shelter.”

  The grizzly man grabbed for a coat made of animal skin and followed Tom to the sleigh. With effort, he and Tom managed to carry Sara’s still form into the cabin.

  “She’s out,” their rescuer said matter-of-factly.

  Tom piled blankets upon Sara as she lay still in the bed, her head tilted to one side, her eyes closed. “Sara, please wake up. You have to wake up.”

  “Give her time to get warm.” The man added a log to the fire and stirred something in a large iron kettle. How could the man be so calm with Sara lying at death’s door? Tom stroked her damp hair, murmuring a prayer for her. He began to shiver himself, realizing how cold he, too, had become in the storm.

  “Go grab yourself some stew,” the man said. “You look like you need it. I need to get your horses to shelter. And don’t worry, she’s gonna be fine. She’s just sleeping now.”

  Tom moved to the fire, warming himself by the flames, thinking on the day that had begun so wonderfully and now ended with such grave uncertainty. He then remembered the painting still in the sleigh, likely covered in snow. All his hard work could very well be ruined by the elements. Tom looked in on Sara and saw her moving about, her
eyes flickering.

  “Sara?”

  “Tom. Tom, are we safe?”

  “We’re safe. Are you all right?”

  “Just sleepy. Can I go back to sleep?”

  He nodded, stroking her hair while telling her he must leave for a moment to rescue the painting from the snow. He went for his coat and wet shoes and headed out to see the older man walking about, carrying a lantern.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “My—my painting,” Tom’s voice shivered. He groped around in the back of the sleigh until his cold fingers touched the square package; the picture was encased in leather skin to protect it. He thanked the Lord he had thought to keep it wrapped, as he stumbled back to the house, barely able to keep upright in the wind. He then felt the grip of the man’s hand on his arm, leading him. He shivered so much, he could hardly move. His fingers were numb once more. But he managed to unwrap the painting and found it intact, having suffered no damage in the storm.

  “So is that what you do?” he asked, acknowledging Tom’s work. “You’re one of those fancy artists? I’ve seen them around these parts, looking to paint the Notch.”

  “Yes. A gentleman from New York requested it as a Christmas gift. I have one day left before I must send it to him. That’s why we were out today, so I could paint the scene.”

  “Needs some more work, but I’d say you’ve done a good job. You make the Old Man proud.”

  Tom nearly chuckled at the thought of the stony face congratulating him for the image he’d painted. “I never did get your name, sir.”

  “Harvey Spears. Lived here all my life.”

  “Tom Haskins. I have, too. But Sara here,” he said, pointing to her as she slept peacefully, “she just came from New York City a few months ago.”

  “You two plan to get married soon?”

  Tom eyed the sleeping Sara once again. “I’m not sure. I want to, but I don’t think she’s ready. I wish she was.”

  Harvey laughed as he lit his pipe and relaxed in a chair positioned by the fire. “No one is ever ready to marry. Save yourself plenty of trouble, friend, and live alone.”

  “I’ve often thought of that.” But being with Sara, enjoying the day at Franconia Notch and enduring near calamity with her in this snowstorm, he only felt an urge to love and protect her. To keep her from harm. To make a home and a family with her. But did she desire the same thing?

  “She’s had herself a good sleep,” Harvey observed as Sara stirred in the bed. “Told you she needed to get warm. Go get her some warm stew.”

  Sara’s eyes flicked open, the blueness of them reflecting the soft glow of the lamp that stood on a nightstand. “Tom? Is that you? Where are we?”

  “I found a cabin in the woods, Sara. Mr. Spears was kind enough to take us in.”

  She struggled to sit up until her gaze fell on Harvey, who sat calmly by the fire adding some more wood. “Thank you so much, sir.”

  “Well, glad my cabin was here. Don’t think you two would have made it much farther. And it would not have been pleasant to find you both frozen solid out there tomorrow. Gotta respect these mountains here. Too many fancy folks go riding around and then the storms blow up.” He paused for a moment. “I lost my son in a storm.”

  Tom whirled to look at the man. “What?”

  “He was an adventurer, that boy. He went climbing Mount Washington a few years back. He never got over his mother’s death. Anyway, he was looking for a good trail to climb up there, and he fell into a ravine.”

  Again, the man seemed matter-of-fact about it all, but Tom knew it was more than that. Loss was difficult. And certainly the loss of a son must have been devastating. When he looked back at Sara, her blue eyes glimmered with tears. “I’m so sorry to hear this, sir,” Tom said.

  The man shrugged. “It was his choice. I warned him not to do it, but he had to. That’s why you need to know what you’re doing out here. With you being a painter, I know you’ve seen it. The mountains are pretty and all to look at, but they hold something wild, some power that can take over a man’s soul and kill a man, too.”

  “I was sharing with Sara about Daniel Webster who said the mountains are where God makes men.”

  “Yep, He can make men. And He can take them away, too.”

  Tom came to Sara’s side to see if she needed anything. She only buried herself in the blankets, her blue eyes wide with anxiety. “Must we stay here, Tom?” she asked in a worried voice. “I want to go home.”

  “We’re safe and warm here, Sara. By tomorrow the storm should be gone, and we can find our way back to Bethlehem then.”

  “I don’t know…. For all my wandering in a big city like New York, this is the first time I’ve really been frightened.” She paused. “H–he’s right, you know. The mountains are wild and unpredictable. And they can kill. I never realized that until today.”

  Tom wondered if Sara’s fear also led to doubt about staying in these mountains. She had seen how they could be beautiful but also deadly. “But God watched over you, Sara. There’s nothing to fear.”

  “He sure did, indeed,” Harvey said. “Like I said, if you hadn’t seen the cabin here, there’s no telling what might have happened. And you were sleepy, miss. That means you were on your way to freezing to death.”

  Tom closed his eyes, wishing the man wouldn’t say these things. Sara was struggling as it was with what happened. Now other things were grabbing hold of her heart. Fear, worry, doubt… It will be better come morning, he reasoned. When Sara sees the sunrise, it will be a new day. She will forget this. He prayed it was so.

  Tom endured a fitful night on the hard floor, wrapped in a blanket. He waited for hours for the first rays of daylight to pierce the window. When the dawn finally came, he looked out on a world of pure white with a blue sky and bright sunshine. He thanked the Lord for life to enjoy another day. He and Sara would be able to find their way home now. He looked back to see Sara slowly awakening. She rose and joined him at the window.

  “My goodness, a lot of snow fell. Will we be able to find our way home?”

  “I’m sure Harvey can tell us where the road crossing is. It can’t be that far. Isn’t it pretty, though? See how the trees look?”

  She didn’t seem to care about the sight but only went to collect their belongings. “I’ve never seen anything like this in New York,” she admitted. “I’ve been cold and wet, but never was I so close to dying as I was yesterday. No one ever told me a place like this could be so dangerous.”

  “Don’t give up, Sara. Today is a new day, and the sun is shining.”

  “I’m not giving up, Tom. But I’ll be glad to get back to Bethlehem and the Turners. I’m sure they’re very worried.”

  Tom looked about the cabin, wondering where Harvey had gone. He helped himself to some bread and cheese laid out on the table. They ate quietly until Sara declared it was time to go. When they put their coats on, Harvey came back carrying a milk bucket.

  “Had to do the chores,” he said “Your sleigh and team are ready.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, sir.” Tom reached into his pocket for his purse.

  “No, I won’t take money. We need to help one another as the Good Book says. Just make sure you take care of each other. Don’t do what I did and let it all slip away.”

  “Thank you. Can you tell us where the road is to Bethlehem?”

  “Yep. Just continue down the road and make a right turn in about fifteen minutes. You weren’t too far from town, actually. Once you get to the road, you’ll see Mount Agassiz, and then you’ll recognize where you are.”

  “Excellent. Thank you again for everything.” He offered his arm to Sara, which she took, and he slowly led her to the sleigh. “Do you see, Sara? Everything is fine. And we weren’t far from town after all. He says we will soon see Mount Agassiz.”

  She said nothing as he helped her into the sleigh and tucked the blankets around her. If only he could read her thoughts and, most of all, calm the remaining
doubt about this place and about him.

  The ride was quiet—the only sounds made by the sleigh moving swiftly over the fresh snowfall and the labored breathing of the horses. When they arrived back in Bethlehem, Sara was once more numb from the cold. Tom insisted they stop at his house to warm up before he took her back to the Turners. She leaned on Tom, who guided her into his house where Claire had kindled a roaring fire.

  “Where have you been?” Claire asked. “I was so worried!”

  “We were caught in the storm. We found a place to stay with a kind man. Glad too, because Sara became ill from the cold.”

  “Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry. Sit here and warm yourself.” Claire drew up a chair close to the fire.

  Sara’s teeth chattered as she accepted the warm apple cider Claire brought. Tom found her another blanket. She sipped on the cider while Tom stood nearby, watching quietly.

  “Is everything all right?” Claire asked, looking between them. “You act as if something is wrong. Please don’t say you had a disagreement.”

  Sara shook her head, yet Tom knew she must be wrestling with many thoughts. It had been a confusing time, with the trip to the Old Man, the unexpected kiss, and then finding themselves stranded in an unfamiliar cabin in a snowstorm. No doubt she was trying to understand the meaning of it all, as was he.

  Claire motioned to Tom, and they walked into the kitchen. “What happened? Was it truly terrible out there?”

  “I’m afraid she’ll never want to stay here after what happened. It began so well, Claire, but a storm blew up. She nearly froze. She probably thinks I care nothing for her now, or that I take huge risks just to paint. And that the mountains are too dangerous.”

  “No more dangerous than New York, I daresay.”

  “This was different. She said she had never been that close to dying.” He blew out a sigh. “And what I thought would be a day for us to be together may have sent us in the opposite direction.”