by Linda Ford
Jake squeezed Hannah’s hand, silently assuring her of his intention to honor the ‘til-death-do-us-part words.
“Do you Jake take this woman—?”
Suddenly, the vase of flowers at Pastor Rawson’s side crashed to the floor soaking the poor man. A few splashes hit Hannah in the face and she wiped them off.
Luke shoved Sammy to the floor. “It’s your fault. You pushed me.”
Sammy came up sputtering and flailing his arms. “Did not.”
“Boys,” Audrey warned.
Harvey, Jake’s best man, grabbed for Luke but the boy skidded out of reach and raced down the aisle, Sammy hot on his heels.
“They’re your boys,” Audrey muttered to Harvey. “You go get them.”
Hannah giggled. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jake’s mother press the back of her wrist to her forehead. Mrs. Sperling caught her watching and looked embarrassed before she sat up straight and ignored the screaming pair of boys. Hannah glanced at her grandparents who smiled widely and likewise ignored the commotion.
Jake drew her closer and leaned over to speak so the pastor could hear. “Let’s get this done before they bring the place down around our ears.”
So amidst the sound of two rambunctious little boys, the embarrassment of a set of parents and the obvious glee of her grandparents, Hannah and Jake promised to love and honor until death.
Sneak peek of Chastity’s Angel
Chastity hesitated. As much as the sight of her mother in pain frightened her, a tremor of anger passed through her. How could Mother so blithely ignore the doctor’s warnings to let her hip heal before trying to use it?
The woman shifted and flinched.
Chastity turned and hurried down the hall toward their private suite. The pill bottle stood on her mother’s bedside table. She shook a tablet into her palm and hurried back, pausing in the kitchen long enough to fill a glass with water. “Here, take this.”
“Merci, my dear.” The woman tipped her head back and swallowed, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the burgundy wing chair.
Slowly she opened her eyes, focusing them on something to the right of her daughter.
Chastity turned to follow the direction of her mother’s gaze and saw the delivery boy standing a few feet away. She swallowed a gasp. This was no boy. He had a thick mop of blond hair dipping over one eye. Dark blue eyes returned her stare. Chastity’s cheeks grew hot, but she couldn’t stop staring.
“Why, it’s Adam, isn’t it?” Her mother’s voice shattered her trance, and Chastity pulled her gaze away. “Adam Silverhorn.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So you finally decided to return.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He grinned at her.
“About time, I’d say.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He chuckled. “I kind of thought so myself.”
Chastity studied him openly. The last time she’d seen him, he was a scrawny youth with a habit of plunging into trouble. Then he had up and disappeared, following the gold rush to the Klondike, or so the story went. She tried to think if she had heard where he’d been since then.
“So where have you been all this time?’ her mother prodded.
Again Adam chuckled. “How long do you have?”
“Why don’t you take tea with us and tell me?”
Chastity jumped to attention. She had forgotten tea.
Behind her, Emma groaned. “The dearies will be here expecting everything to be ready.” She hastened to the door. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“I’d better hurry,” Chastity muttered and, turning to leave, stubbed her toe on the statue. She leaned over to set it upright.
“Let me.” Adam bent over at the same time. Their faces were so close she could see the glittering streaks in his irises.
She let him straighten the heavy statue. Suddenly she began to laugh. Adam regarded her with raised eyebrows. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother’s startled expression.
“Did I miss something?” Adam asked, looking at her.
Chastity pointed at the statue. “It’s Mother’s protecting angel.” Made of rough white pottery, the statue was an angel with wings folded at his back, a sword resting on the ground at his feet. She grinned. “Perhaps he was sleeping,” she said to her mother.
“Away with you. You couldn’t blame an angel for an old woman’s foolishness.”
Adam smiled at the woman. “Now, Miz LaBlanc, you don’t look a day older than when I last saw you ten years ago.”
Mother narrowed her eyes. “And I’m thinking you’ve developed a silver tongue to go with that last name of yours.”
Chastity headed toward the kitchen, scooping the teapot off the floor as she left.
Emma, busy placing china teacups on the big tray, turned as Chastity hurried into the kitchen. “So that’s Adam Silverhorn.” She pressed her palm against her chest. “Be still, my racing heart.” Fixing her eyes on Chastity, she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me he was so dreamy looking?”
Instead of answering right away, Chastity washed the teapot and warmed it with hot water. “Put some cookies on the flowered china serving plate.” She scooped a handful of tea leaves into the warmed pot and filled it with boiling water. “I remember him with a nose that seemed too large for his face and arms too long for his sleeves.” Her cheeks warmed again as she thought how she had stared unmercifully at the poor man. “He seems to have outgrown all that.” She nodded. “I expect he’ll set your poor young heart all aflutter.”
Emma sniffed. “Oh, you old grandma. I declare. I don’t know how you manage without your cane.” Her voice wheezed and wobbled. Then she glared at Chastity. “I am eighteen, you know. You make six years sound like a lifetime.”
Chastity sighed as she arranged the serving tray. “It feels like it sometimes.”
Beyond the far door, hinges creaked, and a shuffling sound started down the hall.
“Hurry. Take in the serving tray.” Chastity grabbed the teapot and followed Emma’s heels to the sitting room. They set up tea on the small table reserved for this ritual. “You look after things while I get Mother.” She hurried across the hall to the dining room, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene.
Adam had pulled a chair close to her mother’s side and, leaning back, spoke to the older woman.
“It was like nothing you could imagine. In fact, if I didn’t have the photos and drawings to prove it, many people would call me a liar.”
His voice was low and lazy yet filled with a melody that told Chastity whatever he was talking about gave him pleasure and excitement.
Mother turned and saw her daughter. “It’s teatime, Adam. Do join us. You can tell me more.” She nodded toward Chastity. “Get my cane, will you, Dear? I think I left it in the hall.”
Chastity retrieved it from outside the door. “I can’t imagine what Doc Johnson is going to say when you have to explain you decided you could get along without this.”
Her mother leaned forward, one hand on top of her cane. “Never you mind, young lady. I’m not going to cry over spilt milk. What’s done is done. I’ll just be more careful from now on.” She reached a hand for Adam’s arm. “If you’d be so good as to assist me to the other room—”
“My pleasure.”
Chastity grinned. Her mother had a way of bringing out the best and the kindest in people.
Following them to the sitting room, she glanced around. Mrs. Banner had eased into the armless padded chair where she always sat and peered over her glasses as the trio entered the room. Her head bobbed up and down as she watched the procession.
“Marie.” She focused on Mother, then tilted her nose to study Adam. “Who is this young man?”
Mother lowered herself into the rocking chair across from Mrs. Banner, murmuring her thanks to Adam, and waving him to the chair at her side.
“Ida,” she leaned toward the older woman and raised her voice, “you remember Adam. Adam Silverhorn.”
/> Mrs. Banner drew back in the chair. “Pshaw. Why would I want corn? This is teatime,” she said with a huff.
“No, no.” Mother’s voice grew louder. “Not corn. Silverhorn.”
Mrs. Banner pulled her handkerchief through her fingers. “I don’t care if it is summer corn. All I want are tea and cookies.” She looked down her nose at the other woman. “Now who is this young man?”
Chastity turned away, hiding a smile. Sometimes there was simply no way of getting through to Mrs. B, but Mother never seemed ruffled from trying.
“Adam. Adam from the store.”
Mrs. B bobbed her head, several gray hairs straying around her face. “Why didn’t you say so? Now where’s that girl with the tea?”
Emma set the cup at her elbow.
Even though Chastity knew exactly what Mrs. B would want, she played out the ritual, carrying the creamer and sugar bowl to the regal lady. “Would you like milk or sugar?”
“I do believe I’ll have a little of each. A rounded spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk, if you please.”
Chastity knew without looking that Emma would be silently mouthing the words, and she lowered her head to avoid the girl’s knowing wink.
“Adam, would you like tea?”
His eyes flashed with bright spears of silver. For a moment his look seemed to isolate the two of them.
Emma shoved the plate of cookies under his elbow. “Cookies, Adam?”
Chastity turned away, setting the creamer and sugar bowl on the tea table.
The clock on the mantle bonged three times. Chastity straightened, listening, and met Emma’s eyes. Upstairs a door closed with a muted thud, and footsteps could be heard crossing the length of the hall and descending the stairs.
Emma waggled her eyebrows. “You could set your clock by him.”
A stiffly upright man stepped through the door, his gait measured and precise.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Elias,” Mother murmured. “Tea is ready.”
“Good afternoon.”
His nod included them all. He took the cup Emma offered and sat ramrod straight on a hard wooden chair, the light from the window glistening on his head.
Chastity sat on the overstuffed green sofa and glanced around. This was her home—the only home she had ever known and certainly a home like no other. But despite its unusual nature, she had been surrounded by love here. Every aspect of her life had been overshadowed by the knowledge of God’s love. She turned and met her mother’s gaze and smiled.
This ritual was almost as old as she was. Afternoon tea—punctually at two fifty-five. Over the years some of the regulars had gone, while others had come to take their place—some for a short time; others, like Mr. Elias, for longer periods. Mrs. B had been there longer than Chastity or even her mother.
They each had their special chair—not by right of ownership but by silent consent. Teacups were arranged in their own fashion—her mother’s on the stool at her knee; Mrs. B’s at her elbow on the skirted round table; Mr. Elias’s balanced in one hand.
The room itself was as unchangeable as the tea ritual. The same burgundy drapes were fastened back with the same faded wine-colored rope. Despite her subtle attempts, Chastity had been unsuccessful in changing a single feature. Every knickknack was quickly returned to its original position as soon as she left the room, each chair shoved back to its precise placement. Even the angel picture hanging over the fireplace had remained unchanged since before her birth. She looked up at it. A kind-faced angel robed in a white gown caught the fingertips on the out-flung hand of a child stepping on rocks as she made her way across a swiftly flowing river.
Indeed, the only thing different was Adam’s presence, and every eye sought him.
“Mr. Elias,” Mother said, her voice soft and gentle, “this is Adam, Ed Silverhorn’s son.”
Mr. Elias nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Pleased to meet you.”
“He was telling me about his trip to the Klondike.” She tilted her head to Adam. “And where else did you say?”
Adam stood and shook Mr. Elias’s hand, returning to his seat before he answered. “I spent three years in the Klondike and two more in Alaska. From there I explored down the coastline and among the Gulf Islands. After that I spent some time in the interior of B.C.” He shrugged. “Then I decided I was heading in the right direction and came home.”
Chastity let her breath out in a little whistle. “All that in ten years!” She shook her head. She had been no further than the edge of town. “Did you find gold?”
He chuckled. “No. Found something better, though.”
She squinted at him. “Better than gold?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I found life.”
She studied him. Life was what you made of it. Life was here and now. It was found in making wise choices and adjusting. It was in being content where God put you. There was no need to chase off to the ends of the world to find life and live it, and his suggestion of it made her want to argue.
BUY NOW
Copyright © 2017 by Linda Ford
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