Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire

by Lauralee Bliss

  “Don’t be too quick to judge. Give Sara time to recover. She’s not going to refuse a future with you just because you were caught in an unexpected snowstorm. She will see God’s hand of protection and His guidance. After all, you did take care of her—found her shelter from the storm, got her warm and kept her alive…. She’s not going to forget that. A woman wants a man to protect her, to be her hero. And you did just that.”

  Tom hoped her words were true. Only time would tell. “Christmas is coming, too. Have you invited her to spend the day with us?”

  He shook his head. “I mentioned it once a few days ago, but I think she said she’s busy. I didn’t think to ask again…and now with everything that’s happened…”

  She patted his hand. “Think nothing of it. I’ll take care of asking her. Sara will be here, rest assured. We’re like sisters, you know. Everything will be fine.”

  Tom did not doubt Claire’s determination and was thankful for her faith. He, too, needed faith to smother the doubt and reach for the future.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Soon after the harrowing trip to see the Old Man, Sara was surprised to find Claire one day on the doorstep of the Turner home. She stood bundled in her coat, her dark eyes so like Tom’s, staring at her in quiet thoughtfulness. Sara immediately invited her in, where Adelaide and her girls greeted Claire and promptly served her tea and Christmas cookies.

  “What a sweet household you live in,” Claire said. Sara wondered if Claire was disappointed that she’d chosen to live here instead of in Tom’s home. She considered all the effort Claire had put into tutoring her and making her feel welcome.

  They talked with the Turner girls about sewing and literature. Sammy told them about sledding down the hill near Mount Agassiz. And Sara again shared her experiences of being lost in a snowstorm and meeting the hermit who lived in the woods.

  When Claire was ready to leave, she asked, “So, can you spend any of Christmas Day with Tom and me, Sara?”

  Sara glanced over at Adelaide, who nodded, even though Sara had said she would spend the day with the Turners. “I can come for a little bit, thank you. I’ll look forward to it.”

  When Claire left, Adelaide shut the door, turned, and looked at Sara with compassion, not unlike a mother had for a daughter. “A nice woman, but she seemed sad.”

  “We were like sisters. But a situation forced me to leave.”

  “What situation was that? You never did tell me.”

  Sara hesitated. But under Adelaide’s sweet and caring countenance, she told her of the first few weeks in Bethlehem and all that had happened. And when Tom and Annabelle Loving had become a couple, she felt it wise to venture out on her own. “I originally planned to return to New York, but somehow God has kept me here. And now Tom is coming back into my life. He said goodbye to Annabelle, and since then, God has been drawing us closer.”

  “Probably more than you know. I once watched my husband fall for another before we were married. But I prayed and never lost faith, and God brought us together in His timing.”

  “But I don’t know if Tom and I are supposed to be married. It’s why I originally came to Bethlehem, but now, being out on my own, the answer isn’t so simple anymore.”

  Adelaide patted her arm before rising to gather the teacups. “God will show you, Sara. I know it.”

  Sara considered the words shared in light of the recent events. From the moment she saw the Old Man, to Tom’s kiss, to the snowstorm that nearly took her life, Sara tried to make sense out of it. If Sara could trade thoughts for fruit, she would have a basketful to eat. Each day brought more contemplation about life and the future. Oh, dear Lord, show me what to do. I’ll admit, I’m anxious. I’ve never been through anything like this. Show me Your will, dear God. She wished Mrs. Whitaker was here to tell her what to do. At least she had the friendship of Adelaide Turner, who seemed to understand. Sara sensed that Adelaide wanted her to succeed not only in life but also in love. And with Tom stopping by daily, love appeared to be blossoming. If only Sara knew how to receive it with a peaceful heart.

  For the rest of the day, Sara labored with Elisa, trying to finish a shirt for Tom’s Christmas gift. She’d learned much about sewing from Claire when she first arrived, but it was Elisa who helped her with the finer stitching needed to create the garment. Her fingers began to hurt from needle pricks, and when the needle lanced her finger for the umpteenth time, she recalled Elisa’s talk of machines that did all the hard work of the needle and thread. How wonderful it would be to have a machine take away the hours of careful stitching, along with the painful needle pricks.

  “This is looking nice,” Elisa commented. “You’ll have it done by Christmas for certain, Sara.”

  “I hope so. It’s only two days away.” Sara bit off the thread to begin another line of stitches. “Elisa, you’re about my age, aren’t you?”

  “I think so. I’m nearly nineteen.”

  “So am I. Can I ask, then…were you ever in love?”

  Elisa blushed. Then her eyes glistened in remembrance. “Yes. My fiancé, Joseph, was a good man. At first. Then something changed in him. He never said what it was. He—he left me and moved away.”

  “My goodness, I’m so sorry.” Sara bent her head. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”

  “Of course you should. I can see what is happening. You and Mr. Haskins remind me some of Joseph and I. Has he asked you to marry him?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She thought about the kiss by the Old Man. No longer was Tom a guardian, as he was at first. Or a famous artist. Or even an escort walking her home in the evenings from the Maplewood Hotel. He was someone altogether different. Could this be the beginnings of love? And the coming of a proposal?

  “Mama cautioned me about Joseph, but I wouldn’t listen. You see, she and Papa weren’t happy that we had pledged ourselves to wed. They thought we didn’t give ourselves enough time to get to know each other. And looking back on it, I have to agree. You’re young like me. There are so many wondrous things in life to experience. Maybe if I hadn’t been engaged so soon, I wouldn’t have to bear this sorrow now. Don’t rush love, Sara. If there’s any doubt, heed it.”

  Sara pondered that last bit of advice. She’d had plenty of doubt, from the moment she stepped off the train at the depot that sunny day in early October. So much had happened in such a short time. But Elisa was right. She did not want to rush. There was no reason to hurry love. She would be patient. After all, wasn’t patience a virtue? And she didn’t want to make the same mistake as Elisa and find her heart and her hope crushed again. She could not bear it. She inhaled a sharp breath and vowed to wait.

  Christmas Day arrived and, with it, a house full of Turner relatives from Bethlehem and Littleton, all laughing and sharing in the joy of the day. After the flurry of morning activities, Sara was glad to escape for a time from the company of strangers. She dressed carefully in a dress of robin’s egg blue that she’d purchased with money earned from her work at the hotel. She felt rich indeed with the ability to afford the garment that marked a fine lady. Never before did she have that kind of money to spend on a dress. The storekeeper sensed her excitement and assisted her in picking out a suitable dress. She liked the puffed sleeves, and the lace about the neckline lent a look of elegance.

  Brushing out her hair, Sara stepped back to marvel at the transformation. How different she looked from those days fresh off the streets of New York, wearing tattered clothing, with snarled hair and nothing to her name. She liked feeling and looking pretty. And deep in her heart, she hoped Tom would find her attractive. But not too attractive, she cautioned herself. She remembered Elisa’s words of wisdom and her own determination not to fall headlong into something she was unprepared to face.

  “You look wonderful,” Adelaide said with a smile. “Have a good time.”

  “Thank you for everything.” Sara picked up her wrapped gifts— the shirt for Tom and the new sewing needles and scissors for Claire from the
glass case of the mercantile, recommended by Elisa. The day was pleasant for a walk up Main Street, free of snowstorms and fierce wind. Here she was in Bethlehem on Christmas morn, finding acceptance and even love. Her heart rejoiced to be in such a place synonymous with the Savior’s birth. She had spent time reading about the miracle of Christmas the evening before, reminding her that she must thank Claire for helping her learn to read.

  Sara slowed her quick pace when she turned onto Congress Street and neared Tom’s house. A large evergreen wreath decorated the front door. Pine garland encircled the porch railings in a festive array. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She trembled, wondering what the day would hold.

  She walked up to the door, ready to knock, when it flew open. She stepped back with a start. “I saw you from the window,” Tom said with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she managed to say. The look he gave bore deep into her, seeking out that special place in her heart she fought to conceal. She quickly averted her gaze.

  He closed the door carefully behind her as she made her way into the parlor. In the corner stood a fine spruce that reached the ceiling. The heavenly aroma of the rich New Hampshire woods filled her being, reminding her of the scented forests on their trip to see the Old Man. And the same forests where Tom had kissed her….

  “The—the tree is beautiful,” she said, handing Tom the gifts.

  “Thank you, Sara, but you didn’t need to bring us anything.” He placed them under the tree and then came and stood beside her.

  Sara wondered what he was going to do. Take her hand in his? Embrace her? Surely not kiss her… He pointed to her coat, offering to take it. Her face flushing, she handed it to him, avoiding his gaze once more while she went to examine the fragile ornaments hanging on the tree. The delicate balls looked as if they might shatter with just a touch of her finger. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Last Christmas in New York, she’d decorated a small tree in her makeshift room with paper cuttings of snowflakes and hearts. Mrs. Whitaker had a beautifully decorated tree in her home, but Sara had not been allowed to celebrate with the family. Now she was here, enjoying a tree bedecked in fine array with people who cared about her.

  “Sara…you look absolutely beautiful,” Tom said, standing once more beside her. “The dress you’re wearing is exquisite. Is it new?”

  “Yes. I—I bought it with money I earned at the hotel…which reminds me.” She looked about. “Inside the coat pocket is an envelope. I want to pay back the money for the train fare.”

  “Keep it. I’ll admit I regret ever giving it to you. Not for giving you money, of course, but for giving you the notion that I ever wanted you to leave Bethlehem. Believe me, I did not. But I didn’t want you to feel you had to stay here either. I wanted it to be your decision. And despite my many mistakes, I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  Sara stood still, flustered by his remark. His gaze grew tender as he stepped forward. She sensed the attraction and then saw the look on his face. His head tilted to one side, his dark eyes softened, and his arms slowly extended. He was going to kiss her…and she wasn’t certain how to react or what to do.

  Claire’s cheerful greeting broke the scene. Tom retreated and looked away, pushing back locks of his hair. Claire raced up to her with her arms opened wide. “Sara, dear Sara! You look wonderful! Is that a new dress?”

  “Y–yes.”

  “And your hair is beautiful. How did you get it to shine so?”

  “Elisa Turner said to wash my hair with egg whites. I didn’t believe her at first, but…”

  Claire clapped her hands. “That’s it! I shall wash with egg whites tonight, and you can help me, Sara.” She took her hand. “I’m so glad you were able to come and be with us today. It’s an answer to prayer.”

  Sara saw the tears in her eyes and then the look on Tom’s face that mirrored a similar feeling. She never considered that she might be an answer to anyone’s prayer. But they were an answer to prayer, too…giving her a home…teaching her…sharing their knowledge and their friendship. She tried to thank them for these things, but the words remained caught in her throat.

  “We have a great deal to be thankful for,” Tom said, “but before we do anything else, I have one small request.”

  Sara looked at him, waiting and wondering.

  “I don’t have a particular present under the tree yet, Sara, because it hasn’t been made. That is, I’ve owed you a present since the day you arrived here in Bethlehem. And I thought, what better way than to ask if I might paint your portrait this afternoon. Or at least begin it.”

  Paint my portrait? A painting of me? Sara froze. “But I thought you only did landscapes.”

  “I can think of nothing better to help test me in this new area than by painting your portrait, if you would do me the honor. I think the dress you selected is a sign also. It’s perfect for it. Would you be willing?”

  “I—well, I suppose so.”

  Tom escorted her to another room, where an easel stood waiting along with a chair positioned before it at an angle, as if he knew she would agree. And why not? What woman would refuse to have her portrait painted? It was the epitome of her entrance into the world of fine ladies.

  “I’m honored to sit for such a work by Bethlehem’s famous painter,” she said with a smile, taking a seat before him.

  He laughed. “Rather, I’m the one honored, madam.” He began mixing the paints. “Little do you realize how you’re assisting me in a new adventure. A turning point in my career.”

  “I only hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “If I am, then it’s my own doing. But if I can do at least partial justice to your beauty, it will be exquisite.”

  Sara blushed and dropped her head. Her heart thumped even louder in her ears.

  “Please, try to sit perfectly still. Keep your head upright if you can. Maybe look at the pitcher that’s sitting over there on the bureau.”

  Sara fought to keep still as Tom began to create the work. But the mere thought of him observing her every feature, the curve of her face, the lines of her dress—it made her feel warm. How would it look once he finished? Would it be like the paintings she had seen in prominent places within the Maplewood? Of famous dignitaries looking stiff and formal?

  Her extremities felt weak. The air grew thick with the aroma of paint. She began feeling light-headed. It must be the excitement of the day, she reasoned, along with the thought of Tom studying her every feature. She was glad she’d chosen the dress she did and allowed Elisa to help with her hair. But soon the room and its contents began to waver like ripples on water. How strange.

  “Sara, are you all right?” Tom was peering at her from behind the easel. “You look pale.”

  “I—I think so,” she whispered. She heard her name called from afar. Hands reaching out to hold her close. And then darkness surrounded her.

  Her vision was hazy at first, wrapped in a cloud. She tried to open her eyes and found herself fighting to regain a foothold into consciousness when she smelled a pungent odor. She jerked and called out, pushing the offense away. Through the haze she saw a man’s face, tender and kind, his deep voice calling her name. She felt a cold, damp cloth on her head. And then the touch of hands cradling her and soft lips bestowing a kiss on her cheek.

  At last her gaze focused on the ceiling above. When she turned, she saw the face that had been staring into hers now clearly defined. Lines of worry were etched into the masculine features, and dark brown eyebrows had drawn together in concern. “Sara, I was so worried. We nearly went to fetch the doctor. I’m glad the smelling salts worked.”

  “I’m all right,” she said, struggling to sit up. “I must have fainted. How silly.”

  “She’s awake,” Tom called to Claire, who bustled in with a pitcher of water.

  “Oh, thank You, dear Lord.”

  Sara felt her forehead, damp from the cloth, and felt a pounding headache at her temples. “I don’t know what
happened.”

  “It must have been the paint,” Tom said sadly. “I suppose this means I should continue with landscapes, since I have my client fainting on me.”

  “You were in a small room,” Claire said matter-of-factly. “The paint is enough to cause one to faint. If you were able to do it outside or even in a larger room with the window cracked open, I’m sure it would have been fine.”

  Tom poured Sara a glass of water, which she took with grateful thanks. Sara could see Tom’s strained face. She sipped the water while studying his discomfort. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I must have weaker blood than I thought. Don’t give up on painting portraits just because of me. You have a gift, and you should use it. Though maybe a different model will do better.” She chuckled, hoping to draw out a smile on Tom’s face.

  “I shouldn’t have put you through that on Christmas Day. I thought it would be a nice gift.”

  “I know, and I do want the gift of your painting. Though I would be quite happy if…well…if you were to paint a landscape for me like you did for Mr. Astor. One of the Old Man would be nice. We could return in the spring, and you could paint it then. It would look beautiful with the new leaves.”

  “I can certainly do that. You would prefer it done in the spring?”

  “Spring is nice. I’d like seeing the leaves come from buds on the trees and the spring flowers.” Sara slowly came to her feet, trying to settle the pounding of her head and the dizziness that overtook her. She grabbed Tom’s arm to steady herself. “I still feel weak. And foolish.”

  “I’m sorry I did this to you,” his voice crooned in her ear. He then kissed her lightly on the cheek and helped her to the parlor.

  The gifts remained under the tree. A fire burned merrily. Claire bustled about setting out cups of Christmas punch and plates of food. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but it might help,” she offered.

  Sara helped herself to a bit of fruited bread. Despite her queasiness, she forced a smile to her lips and engaged in the feasting and the gift exchange. Tom exclaimed his delight over the shirt she had sewn while Claire cherished the sewing accessories. Sara unwrapped a new hat, shoes, and a bag. “You gave me too much,” she confessed. “But oh, how I love it all!”