“I’d hoped you’d stay for a little while. I could use a nap.”
He hummed against her side. “But if I let you nap, you’ll sleep until dinner.”
The scurrying in her tummy moved to the left, where Nicholas’s rumbling voice vibrated against her skin.
“I think he knows your voice.”
Nicholas pressed his lips against an elbow or a knee to talk against her stomach. “Hello, princess.”
Lydia tensed against a kick. “Prince.”
“We’ll see.” Nicholas murmured silly sentences against her stomach until her insides were nearly bruised.
She slipped a hand in between Nicholas’s lips and the battering ram inside her. “Oh, stop, love. He’s going to bruise me from the inside out.”
The door chimes trilled. Nicholas gave her hand a quick kiss, then groaned as he pushed himself up. “I’m too old to be on the floor.”
“You get no sympathy from me.” She held out her hands for him to help her up, but once she was on her feet, he pulled her against him and nuzzled below her ear in the way he knew made her shiver.
She felt the heat rush up to meet his lips against her neck. “Caroline could usher the guests in any minute.”
“They won’t mind.” He trailed some more kisses along her neck. “Too much.”
She pushed him away and smacked him with a light hand. He caught it, kissed it, then escorted her into the entry.
Bernadette and Pastor Wisely stood arm in arm by the fireplace.
“Bernadette?” Lydia looked to Nicholas to see if this was the couple he meant. “Are you here to . . .”
The older woman swept over and kissed her on the cheek. “You look radiant.”
“If radiant is the new word for tired, I’ll admit to it.”
“Well, then, I think it’s time we stepped in and helped.”
Nicholas beamed, looking less stressed than he had in weeks. He held out his hand. “Meet our new house parents.”
“Really?” Lydia squeezed Bernadette’s hand and looked her square in the eye. “I don’t want you to compromise your convictions just because we’re having trouble finding someone.”
“I thank you for being one of the few who’s been gracious to me as I’ve struggled, but I’m ready to do more than just help around the church now. Besides, Evelyn wants to do this as well.”
“Evelyn?” She frowned, but then saw the pastor’s daughter in the foyer talking with Robbie. She’d squatted down beside him to talk to him. “Is she going to live here too?”
Bernadette nodded, a slight frown on her face.
Lydia couldn’t help but frown along with her. So Mr. Patterson hadn’t interested her? Lydia doubted any man could deserve a woman as sweet as Evelyn, but she’d hoped the new druggist would have caught her fancy, especially since he was at least four inches taller than Evelyn, and she’d certainly seemed to have caught his eye.
When would Evelyn have the time to find a husband if she worked here? “But this isn’t a small project, it’s a dawn-to-dusk project.”
“I’ve never been against doing something huge but rather doing things just because they were expected, or for any reason that wasn’t for the Lord. God has given me this desire, and so He’ll provide . . . as long as I don’t abandon Him. I know He won’t abandon me.”
“But your congregation?” She looked at Pastor Wisely. “Some of them have never accepted what we’re doing. Are you planning to quit the ministry?”
“This is ministry, no matter what anyone says, but no, I still intend to pastor.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “I’ve watched Bernadette during the time she’s been questioned and even shunned for following her convictions, and yet she’s grown in her faith in the Lord—into a woman I couldn’t be more proud of. If I lose a congregant or two, well, the Lord will have to deal with them.”
“But I don’t think we’ll lose that many.” Bernadette smiled at her and Nicholas. “The change in opinion and hearts you two have started in this community, even within us”—she nodded toward Pastor Wisely—“is not insignificant.”
“And we’ll still be around to help.” Nicholas’s hand squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.
Lydia looked up at her husband. They would still be around?
Was it wrong to crave time alone with her new family without the drama that went on here?
Heat pressed against the back of her eyes, an all-too-common reaction to disappointments and worries lately.
Nicholas pressed his lips against her ear. “It’ll be all right.”
Evelyn walked over with a huge smile on her face. “Robbie is an entirely different boy than the mute, downhearted child we used to know.”
Lydia looked out the windows and smiled at a glimpse of him running past the windows. A year ago, Robbie’s first words were nothing more than a request for juice, but knowing he’d finally felt comfortable enough to use his voice . . . even Nicholas had been moved to tears.
Pastor Wisely rubbed his hands together. “Well, don’t let us keep you. I know you’ve got plans.”
“Plans?” Lydia looked to Nicholas. “Please tell me our plans involve a nap.”
“I’m sure you can sneak one in.” Nicholas put his arm around her waist and then shook the pastor’s hand. “We are blessed to know we’re leaving these children in the hands of a family we can trust.”
“I only hope they don’t wear us old people out before you’re ready to return, especially if Evelyn leaves us any time soon.” The pastor cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Now, exactly how many children were you two planning to have?”
Lydia put a hand to her hot cheek, but before she could reply, Nicholas shuffled her out the door and into the awaiting carriage.
The scruff of Nicholas’s beard scraped Lydia’s temple as she nuzzled closer. She groaned. Every inch of her body reminded her how she never could get comfortable anymore, though her muscles complained more than usual at the moment. She yawned, keeping her eyes tightly shut, but the scent of sandalwood, horses, roses, and Nicholas wouldn’t let her go back to sleep.
Wait, horses?
In her bedroom?
The white of Nicholas’s work shirt and the shadows of the carriage interior were definitely not the green duvet and lacy curtains she’d expected when she opened her eyes. She blinked and tried to sit up. “How long have I been asleep?” Where was he taking her again?
“About an hour.” He squeezed her against him, rubbing her arm.
“It took us an hour to get here?” Oh, if only her brain wasn’t so fuzzy.
“No, about ten minutes. But I liked holding you—and it was quiet.” He sighed. “Haven’t had much quiet since we’ve been married, have we?”
She stretched and winced at the agony screaming in her lower back. “How long until the Wiselys take over? According to Dr. Lindon, we’ve got two months before we’ll have a baby stealing whatever peace and quiet we find.”
“Very soon.”
She rubbed at her eyes, trying to force herself awake. “Maybe no one will bother us if we move into the basement, set ourselves up in the room beside the pump room. No one goes in there.”
“How about a different house entirely?” He opened the door and waited for her with open arms. “Want to see it?”
“House?” She stepped down from the carriage and blinked against the sun. “You didn’t ask me about buying a house.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll buy you another one.”
She shook her head. She was still adjusting to having the means to do such an unnecessary thing. “I’m sure I’ll love whatever you’ve found for us. You’re too detailed to not have thought it through.”
“I love that you trust me.”
“Because you deserve it.” She kissed him lightly on the lips, then looked around the construction site she’d seen many times in the past year. The massive un
finished stone-and-brick structure with floor-to-ceiling windows along the front sat amid a newly sodded lawn. “We’re going to live in the new library? Did you include an apartment that I missed?”
“No, but I figured a short walk from our new house to a building full of bookshelves would make you happy.”
She squeezed his arm, purposely keeping her eyes off the lovely two-story Queen Anne complete with a three-story turret and wraparound porch she’d envied as it had slowly taken shape over several months. “Short walk to which house?”
“The one you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of lately.”
She wiped away a tear. He’d been building it for her this entire time without even a word? She gave him a peck on the cheek before he led her across the road. “I don’t suppose you put an elevator in there, because lately I’ve been really fond of the elevator.”
“Sorry, but that would be a little more ostentatious than I’d be comfortable with in a normal-sized home.” He helped her up the wide porch stairs and fished a key out of his pocket. “I did redraw the library’s plans to include an elevator though. If we can ever get Theresa out of bed and into that wheelchair we gave her, she can choose books for herself from either level of the library.”
“She’ll feel terrible not using an elevator you put in for her.” Lydia kissed his cheek. “An excellent, sneaky plan.” Over the past year and a half she and Nicholas had visited Theresa and Alec many times. Nicholas had been relieved that their friendship survived after he’d come clean about who he was, but the couple resisted handouts more now than ever.
Nicholas’s mischievous grin—the one she now recognized he’d given her back when she’d handed him those fated three wishes—made her sigh. How had she ended up with such a handsome man?
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing your ego needs to hear.”
“Hmmm, I love you too.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before opening the door.
He pulled her inside and turned a switch. The lamps along the wall lit. “No fancy Tiffany gasoliers or Italian marble or hand-painted walls, but then, this house was built for you.”
She sighed as she took in the white wallpaper patterned with pink roses framed by glossy walnut trim and the plush blue carpets on the hardwood floors in the empty rooms off the small entryway. “It’s beautiful. I hope I remember how to keep house, though. The mansion staff has spoiled me.”
“No need.” He grabbed a letter off the solitary table next to one of the frosted windows that butted up against the front door. “This is from Sadie. Unfortunately, that fever Josephine had been struggling with in the last letter won out. Sadie asked if I might have work for her to do. Evidently she doesn’t enjoy Montana’s winters, so she willingly accepted a position as our housekeeper.”
Lydia swiped at the tears in her eyes as she read the last lines of the note.
I can’t think of a job I’d rather have than being able to care for Mrs. Lowe. Without her, I’d be nothing. Of course I accept. Thanks for taking a chance on me despite how young I am. I’ll make you proud, Mr. Lowe.
She placed the note against her chest and sniffed. “Any day I think I couldn’t be any happier with you, you do something like this.”
“Oh, I’m not done yet.” He took her hand and pulled her down the hallway.
“Did I forget my birthday or something? Why am I getting such special treatment?”
“It’s not your birthday, just our anniversary.”
“No it’s not . . .” But it was, almost. “Nice try. Tomorrow’s our anniversary.” She wouldn’t let on that her brain was too hazy to have remembered on her own. She took a deep breath, hoping to keep herself from crying over losing her mind with this pregnancy. She was all cried out . . . or should be! “There doesn’t happen to be a bed upstairs already, is there?”
“Yes,” he purred.
“Good.” She cut her eyes toward him. “I’d like to finish my nap.”
He playfully swatted her. “Not until you see the garden, sleeping beauty. It’ll be too dark once you wake up again.”
Their footsteps echoed through the house as they made their way to the back door. She caught a glimpse of the black-and-white-tiled kitchen before the overwhelming scent of flowers stole her attention. Nicholas held the door open, and she stepped out into a backyard surrounded by a wall of pink damask roses. A concrete bench sat in the middle of the yard, one solitary rose bush beside it. “It smells like Mama.” She bit her lip to keep from crying—she probably wouldn’t stop at all today if she started again.
“Fifty-one bushes—one for each year of your mother’s life.”
She gave in and let the tears fall as he led her to the concrete bench. “Are you trying to turn me into mush today?”
“Yes.” He sat down beside her and kicked out his legs in front of him. “I’m hoping for another kiss.”
“Another?”
“Do you recognize this bench?”
She ran her hand along the back and was about to make an excuse for her brain’s lack of mental power, but then she remembered. She cuddled up into his side as if those cold December snowflakes were once again shimmying under her collar, her tears freezing on her face, and her heart galloping faster than any horse’s hooves. “Our first kiss.”
“I couldn’t leave the bench behind.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers travel down her neck, his thumb riding against the length of her collarbone, his eyes glued to her lips. “And so, how much do you love me now, my fair Lydia?”
“More than then.”
“Show me.”
She wiped her tears and slid her arms around him.
That night in December, she’d proven she had a bit of her gambling father in her. She’d gone all in, kissing Nicholas with every ounce of desire she’d been trying to ignore. Only hours before that kiss, her life had fallen into shambles, and she’d figured if she were going to lose, she might as well lose big.
But she hadn’t lost at all; she’d won a prize so great she was still counting her winnings.
Now, without any hesitation, she placed her lips against his and didn’t stop showing him how much she loved him until he swooped her up and took her inside.
Author’s Note
When researching how red-light districts and prostitution were dealt with back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, I found it sad how nearly hopeless it seemed for those women. It didn’t matter how they got caught up in prostitution, the hope of getting out and being accepted back into good society was near nil.
Unfortunately many churches failed to offer much practical help, and the social mores of the day kept some churches from helping at all. One program that had some success—after which I patterned my hero’s attempt to help his ex-prostitute maids—was one set up by the Roman Catholic Sisters of the Good Shepherd in St. Paul, Minnesota. Prostitutes wanting to leave their life behind could live in a religious community created specifically for them by these Sisters, yet it required them to be completely separated from society, denying them ordinary life and social experiences. Very few felt they could live that way until death, and some who tried—despite what awaited them outside of the Sisters’ protection—returned to the world.
If interested in reading about that niche in history, Daughters of Joy, Sisters of Misery by Anne M. Butler was one of the books that gave me a ton of insight on the history of prostitution and, unfortunately, how the churches could have done better at that time.
Today, I’m very thankful for the churches I’ve had the privilege of being involved in, knowing how welcoming they are to people who’ve messed up, and messed up big. After reading about the churches that failed to extend the love of Christ to those who were in desperate need of it, I don’t take my wonderful church family for granted!
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is such a monumental task, and I rely on so many people for help. Of course, all faults are my own, but I’d like to tha
nk Naomi Rawlings and Glenn Haggerty for their excellent help in catching the big problems I start off with. Especially now that I seem to throw huge chunks at them to critique quickly. They are invaluable.
I’d like to thank Karen Riekeman and Andrea Strong for beta reading along with Cara Grandle, who came out of nowhere to lift me up.
I thank my mother-in-law and her quilting group for helping me get the quilting details right.
Thanks to my agent, Natasha Kern, for being willing to tell me the truth—though this time it had nothing to do with the book, but with the spiritual pit I found myself in while working on this story amid life’s numerous curveballs.
I consider working with Raela Schoenherr and the Bethany House team a tremendous blessing that I don’t take for granted. And with the absolutely gorgeous cover they commissioned for this book, how could I possibly forget how blessed I am!
The people who pay the most for my books are my husband and children. I’m so very blessed by the sacrifices they make so I can write. Their pride in my books warms my heart.
I really don’t know why God has blessed me with these books, but I hope to glorify Him with my stories for as long as I am able.
Discussion Questions
In chapter five, Lydia desires meaningful conversation. In our present day, with distracting technologies, how have you successfully cultivated meaningful relationships? See Colossians 3:12–14. List things that hinder deeper bonding according to Proverbs 11:13, 18:2, and 1 Corinthians 3:3.
In chapter twelve, one scene involves a temperance serenade. Carrie “Mother” Nation was a well-known woman who toured Kansas in this time period serenading and protesting—even smashing bars with her hatchet in demonstrations later called “hatchetations”—in an effort to bring sinners to repentance. We cringe at the thought, but what are some present-day church practices that might make future generations cringe? Consider 1 Peter 3:15 and 1 Corinthians 9:19–23 and discuss biblical principles for evangelism and effective ways of changing people’s minds.
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