The Timeless Love Romance Collection

by Dianne Christner

  “Do you need some help?” Hank called from the back steps. “I may be one-legged, but I can grab an end of that rug.”

  “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  He hobbled toward her. “From the frown on your face, it must not be pleasant.”

  She shrugged and forced a smile. “I’m amazed at the way you always think of others before yourself.”

  “If you knew me, you’d know that’s not always the case.” He moved toward her.

  “You don’t give yourself credit for your fine qualities.” She continued to stare into his kind face. Something about his eyes always drew her to him.

  He leaned on his crutch and grabbed a corner of the rug. “I thought we started talking about you.”

  “Ah, a sly one you are.”

  “If I can help you with something, you know I will.”

  She nodded. “You are so easy to talk to, as though I’ve known you all my life.”

  Hank glanced at the frayed corner of the rug but didn’t respond.

  “Anyway, I’m concerned about Mrs. Weaver’s health, but that is in God’s hands.”

  “And I know there’s more.”

  She laughed to keep from crying. “Oh, James asked me to marry him again.”

  “He’s a fine man.”

  “Indeed. I believe the time has come for me to leave Charles behind and step forward.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t done that already.”

  “Hope, I guess. You see, they never found Charles’s body, and I wanted to believe that one day he’d return to me. Guess I’ve gone all these years believing in fairy tales.”

  Hank lifted his gaze. His eyes watered, and he blinked. “He’d have wanted you to be happy.”

  “I know. I’ve told myself a thousand times that it’s wrong to linger on false hopes. The man is gone, and it’s taken me all these years to accept it.” She paused with a little sigh. “Charles made me complete. But he was not my savior. That role is for Jesus alone.”

  “Sounds like you’re thinking it through.”

  “I’m trying. For certain, I’m not doing a thing until I hear from the Lord.”

  “I’ll pray for you, Miss Maime.”

  The intensity of his words nearly startled her. “What would I ever do without you?”

  “Oh, you’d get along just fine. I’m sure there’s a two-legged cook out there who’d love to have my job. One of these days the Depression will be over, and then you can hire a proper cook.”

  They walked toward the door. “Hank, you dwell too much on what you’ve lost and not enough on what you give to others.” She laughed. “I sound like Lucy lecturing me. But I am serious. You are a gift from God.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t you ever think of running off. I’d send the sheriff and the best huntin’ dogs in the country to track you down.”

  Hank chuckled. “There’s always the train for me to jump onboard. Besides, you’ll be singing a different tune the next time I burn corn bread or add a tad too much salt to something.”

  Maime shook her head. “Please, I couldn’t take another heartbreak. Make this town your home, Hank. We need you. I need you, even if my reasons are selfish.”

  She peered into his eyes, and her heart did a little dance. Ignoring the strange sensation, she glanced away, a little flustered. Together they brought the dining room rug into the house.

  Lucy appeared at the backdoor. “You should have called for me, Maime. This rug weights a ton.”

  “Hank and I are doing fine, thank you.”

  Lucy grabbed part of Hank’s end. “Mercy, how did you get this out here and on the line?”

  “Mr. Weaver helped me—while watching for the enemy.”

  The threesome carried the rug into the dining room and placed it over the polished wooden floors in the center of the room. Moments later the table and chairs sat perfectly beneath the chandelier. A white crocheted tablecloth spread over the ends of the table, and a pair of candlesticks stood like guards saluting the ceiling. Between the candles, Maime set a bowl that James had given her. He’d gotten it by purchasing gas for his truck. Actually, he’d given her several pieces of the inexpensive glassware.

  “If you ladies don’t mind, I’m going upstairs to speak with Mr. Weaver. Mrs. Weaver doesn’t need him pestering her with nonsense. I’ll bring him outside into the fresh air. Probably have him help me pick a few cucumbers and tomatoes.”

  “Thanks, Hank. Good luck with it, though,” Maime said. “I tried earlier to have him help me beat the rug after we carried it out, but he insisted upon staying right by his wife’s side.”

  Hank grinned. “I’ll tell him I need a guard.” He hesitated. “Don’t ever think I’m mocking him. In his mind, he needs purpose, and still living the war accomplishes that.”

  “We understand,” Maime said. “Hurry on. I sure hope he still plans to go fishing with you and James tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do my best.” With those words, Hank limped toward the stairway.

  Maime watched him maneuver the stairs until he disappeared. She turned her attention to Lucy, who studied her in a most curious fashion.

  “Is there something wrong?” Maime said.

  “Not sure.” Lucy slipped a loose strand of dark hair behind her ears. “Can we talk in the conservatory where we can have some privacy?”

  Maime smiled. “Must be serious for you to want to move into my favorite room.”

  “Serious and reflective.”

  Had the young woman decided to quit after all? Maime trembled. The thought meant more than the loss of seeing her friend every day; it meant finding someone who loved the residents, and they loved her in turn. “All right.”

  In the conservatory, the two women scooted close together on an empty section of a plant-covered bench. Maime pulled a dead leaf from a vine and mentally noted that she should cut back a purple passion plant that had draped halfway across the floor.

  “I saw something today,” Lucy said.

  Maime’s mind flitted from one matter to another. “With the residents?”

  “No, with you.”

  “Lucy, what do you mean? Have I offended you? Been negligent? Are your parents pressing you again? Is there a problem?”

  Lucy shook her head and laughed lightly. “No, Maime. I made my decision to stay with you regardless of what anyone says. I watched you with Hank, and I saw a light in your eyes that’s never been there before.”

  At the mention of Hank’s name, her pulse raced. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think you’re falling in love with him.”

  Maime startled. “Surely you must be mistaken.”

  “Am I? Since Hank has started working here, you’re happier, your cheeks are rosier, and you have more energy than two other women combined.”

  Maime allowed Lucy’s words to settle. “He reminds me so much of Charles.”

  “But he’s not your husband.”

  “I know. Hank is a kind man—but that doesn’t mean I have a silly schoolgirl infatuation.”

  “My mama says love can come at any age.”

  “Well, I don’t think this is true for me.”

  “What if you do love him? What if God has placed Hank in your life for this? To love again like you loved Charles?”

  Maime glanced away. “I don’t … know. I suppose it’s possible.”

  “More probable than possible. I think you’re fighting what he’s doing to your heart. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I think his heart has been touched, too.”

  Maime didn’t respond. “But what about James? How would he feel if I … you know, if you’re right.”

  “The question is what about you? What does your heart say?”

  Maime released a sigh. “Must you answer a question with a question?”

  “When it calls for it.” Lucy leaned in closer. “James is a fine man, and I daresay he’d not want you as his wife if you didn’t love him. And if you’re thinkin
g this is all about my attraction to James, it isn’t. This is all about you, my dear friend, whom I believe has found love in Hank Carter.”

  Maime rubbed her palms together. Could this be true? Her mind slipped back to the past several weeks with Hank. She did seek him out in the mornings and look for reasons to talk to him. His attentiveness to her and the other residents made him even more endearing. He prayed with them, and in the early mornings when she had her quiet time with the Lord, he brought her coffee and asked her what He had said to her. They talked about the Bible and its lessons.

  “Lucy … if you are right, what am I to do?”

  “Put Charles to rest. Cultivate the future, like you do these plants.”

  “Not sure I can.” Maime repeated Lucy’s words in her mind. But I want to.

  Chapter 6

  Hank listened to James talk about the afternoon’s grand fishing.

  “Now, how did you know this is the best fishing hole along this part of the Mississippi?” James pointed to Mr. Grayson’s line. “Look, he has another bite. We’re going to have to dig more worms. From the size of that line of stringed fish, we have enough to feed the whole town.”

  Hank grinned. “I had a feeling. That’s all. Must be the cloudless sky, a good sign the fish are hungry.”

  James glanced skyward. “I never heard the sky had anything to do with fishing.”

  “Me either, but it sounds good.”

  “You got me there, Hank. I’ll get even.”

  “Yahoo!” Mr. Grayson pulled on his pole. “You’d better get busy, Weaver. I’m one up on you.”

  Mr. Weaver ran his hand over his age-speckled head. “You forget I’m looking out for the Germans while you have a good time.”

  Mr. Grayson laughed. “I haven’t seen any Germans. You must have scared them off with your complaining about me catching more fish than you.”

  Hank listened to the old men banter back and forth. Many times he envied their ability to leave the real world behind.

  “James, the residents need to spend more time fishing. Even the women. I haven’t seen these men this happy since I’ve been here.”

  “You’re right. As long as I can get you to help me, we can do this on a regular basis. There’s always work to do on the farm, but slipping away now and then is good for me, too.”

  Mr. Weaver grabbed Mr. Grayson’s pole. Each man proceeded to tell the other how to bring in the fish—a huge catfish. But when the pole jerked with the weight of it, they worked together to land it. When the two sat exhausted on the riverbank and both claimed ownership of the catch, Hank laughed until his sides ached.

  “Fellas, why not split that catfish in half?” Hank finally said. “It took both of you to hold the pole.”

  The two men stared at each other. Mr. Weaver reached out his hand, and Mr. Grayson grasped it.

  “It’s a deal,” Mr. Weaver said. “Makes up for the fact you beat me in horseshoes.”

  “He remembered the Fourth,” James whispered. “It still amazes me how he can forget his own name and then recall something.”

  Hank nodded. “Of course, the horseshoe game could have been twenty years ago with someone else.”

  “True.” James studied him. “Have you decided to stay on at Cranberry Hill?”

  Hank tugged on his ear. “I can’t. Gotta be moving on.”

  “Why, Charles? Does it hurt that bad to be with us?”

  Hank swallowed hard. His whole body chilled while heat flamed his face. “I believe you called me by the wrong name. It’s an honor to remind—”

  “I don’t think I made a mistake. You’re Charles Bradford as sure as I know my own name.”

  Hank attempted to shake off James’s words with a nervous laugh. “I think you’ve been spending too many hours at Cranberry Hill. Or the sun’s gotten to you.”

  James picked up a rock and sent it skimming across the water. “Charles, you were my best friend. I knew you long before you and Maime started making eyes at each other. I see it in your eyes, your mannerisms, especially in the way you pull on your ear when you’re uncomfortable. And today you walked right to this spot, the one you and me used to come to when we went fishing together.”

  Hank didn’t know if the right words were inside him to state what he truly felt. Over the years he’d twisted and turned everything he remembered about life before the war until he was certain his choices had been the best for his wife. A part of him feared the future because of the information James now had. A part of him sensed relief that the truth had surfaced.

  “I don’t know what to say except I’m convinced I did the right thing.”

  James nodded. “Let me say that I understand why you couldn’t come back to Maime. I served in the war, too. I lived the same nightmares. Still do.” He gestured to Mr. Weaver and Mr. Grayson. “They haven’t been able to hold on to their sanity with the war and the Depression, but you and I are different. We lived it and survived. I was afraid to come back to Ivy. Afraid I’d be a man she no longer recognized, a horrible killing monster who sent far too many men to their death.”

  The two sat in silence. Hank fought the sights and sounds of the war that still roared in his ears. He longed for hope like the catfish flopping on the riverbank ached to be back in the river.

  Hank hadn’t talked to another man about why he couldn’t return home, only to God and now James. God responded in ways that often made him angry. Go back to Maime. Live your life for Me in Hannibal. James made him wish for Maime in his arms and not as his employer.

  “I couldn’t come back to Maime without a leg, with my face cut up, and with the things I’d done,” Hank said. “She stood for all that was pure and good in my life. I’m dirty, vile, unworthy of her love. Strange, I believed God had forgiven me, but I couldn’t ask my wife to do the same thing.”

  “Have you ever stopped to think how she felt?”

  “Not until I came back and saw she hadn’t married.”

  “And why did you come back?”

  “Couldn’t help myself. I had to make sure she was all right. I thought of her married to someone else, having a family. In the beginning I only wanted to see her, but the sign on the gate advertised for a cook. And one lie led to another. Every day I wake with the shame and guilt.” He paused to maintain control. “I’ve got to leave. If you figured me out, she will, too. I prefer to let her live in my memory than to know the despicable man before you today.”

  “You aren’t despicable, and I won’t listen to that kind of talk. If you fall under that category, then so do I.”

  Hank shook his head, emotion welling inside him like floodwaters seeping over the banks of the Mississippi.

  “I’ve asked her to marry me.” James’s words were soft, but they hurt nonetheless.

  “She told me. You’d be good to her. I’d be content knowing she was safe with you.”

  “But Maime’s your wife.” James’s voice rose. “How can you do that to her? How can you do that to me, your best friend? Would you let us sin that way?”

  For the first time, Hank peered into his old friend’s face. “It’s best I leave and let life take its course.”

  “I think you’re wrong, Charles. Tell Maime the truth. Let her decide the future, not you.”

  “She’d hate me. I’ve heard many times how she feels about Charles, her poor husband who died in the war. I’ve betrayed her. I deceived her. She’s opened her heart to me—Hank, the cook—and look what I’ve done to her.”

  “Doesn’t the Bible say something about the truth setting us free?”

  “What’s the point of being free, if I’m hated?” Hank flung the words like dirt.

  “Maybe you need to choose what’s the hardest to live with, hate or a lie.”

  Hank glanced down at the stump of his amputated leg. A lie had been his path for nearly two decades.

  “Charles, was it concern for Maime that kept you from returning home or your pride?”

  Hank sucked in a breath. Pride? How coul
d James say such a thing? Unless it was true.

  “No need to answer me,” James said. “But I sure would like for you to think on it.”

  “Nothing better than batter-fried catfish,” Maime said. For a moment, she started to say that Charles had fried fish as good as this, but that was in the past. “I’m going to send all of you fishing more often.”

  “Me and Grayson caught most of the fish,” Mr. Weaver said.

  She smiled. He recalled the day. Is he getting better?

  Mr. Weaver poked a generous hunk in his mouth then pulled out a bone.

  Maime gasped. She thought she’d done a better job filleting the fish. Perhaps she should go through what was on the residents’ plates in case she’d missed more than one. As if reading her thoughts, Hank picked up the remaining pieces on Mr. Weaver’s plate and began searching through them.

  “I’ll help, too.” James grabbed a plate on both sides of him.

  “I’m sorry.” Maime picked up the plates nearest her. “If the rest of you would stop eating for a moment, I’d be grateful. I see Mr. Weaver found a bone, and I want to check your fish, too.”

  “Pshaw,” the old man said. “A soldier like me can fight his way through a bone or two.” He stared at the empty chair beside him. “Isn’t someone supposed to be sitting here?”

  “Your wife,” Mr. Grayson said.

  “I am married?”

  Mr. Grayson blew out a sigh. “Yes, and she’s sick. Pneumonia, I think.”

  “Where is she?” Mr. Weaver scooted back his chair.

  “Mr. Weaver, Lucy is sitting with her while we eat.”

  “I will, too,” he said.

  Hank cleared his throat. “Tell you what. Let’s both sit with your wife, and let Miss Lucy enjoy her dinner.”

  “And I’ll finish checking the fish for bones,” James said. “Thanks, Ch—Hank.”

  Chank? Maime picked up Hank’s and Mr. Weaver’s plates and walked toward the stairs. The other residents returned to talking. Praise God for Hank and James. Sometimes Mr. Weaver became very agitated when his mind teetered between reality and the dimness of his mind. Already Mr. Weaver stood at the stairs.