The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “But what if someone can’t—I mean, someone tries but someone just can’t—get over that hurdle of a heart that doesn’t accept?”

  “You could talk to Him. Just talk. You can talk out loud or in your heart or however it works the best for you. Just talk to Him. Tell Him your doubts, your fears. Trust me, Thomas, it’s nothing He hasn’t heard before.”

  “You named me well. Doubting Thomas.”

  “Ah, but remember one thing about him. He overcame his doubt and believed in the risen Lord. Thomas put his hand in the nail-scarred hands and pierced side of our Lord and believed. You can do that, too. Just talk to God and then do one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Listen.”

  Sleep was elusive, and Francie found herself at the tiny window again, watching the moon’s dreamlight play across the garden as she relived each thrilling moment of the day. The dinner had been more scrumptious than anything she’d ever tasted, and although Middle Meg hadn’t been able to have dinner with them, she’d visited the kitchen and sampled the menu.

  The evening attire had been splendid. Luxurious satins and fancy clothing, jewels and gems and gold and silver draped over the guests like expensive tinsel.

  She would never forget a single moment of the day.

  Francie sighed happily and yawned. Maybe she could sleep after all.

  As she stood up, a movement in the garden caught the silvered light, and she realized she was not the only one awake at this late hour. She picked up her sketchbook and traced out the mysterious figures as they glided toward each other, filling the last moments of the magical day with romance. Their presence in the garden was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  “Good night,” she whispered to the figures. “Good night.”

  Chapter 8

  Thomas heard their voices before they came into view. “I can’t go to the fudge shop again,” Francie protested as she and Marie approached Sea Breeze. “I’ll be the size of—oh, look! Isn’t that Thomas on our porch?”

  “Hello!” the cousins chorused as they came up the steps, the morning sunshine gleaming overhead, but the smile on Francie’s face faltered when she looked at him.

  “I’d like to talk to Francie,” he said. “Alone.”

  Marie didn’t say anything but slipped inside the house hurriedly.

  “Thomas, what’s this about?”

  “This.” He stood up and held out her notebook. “This is yours, I believe.”

  “Yes, it is. Why?” Her chin lifted proudly.

  His heart and his head were in the midst of a furious war. Let it go, his heart told him. Take care of it, his head argued back. He took a deep breath and plunged forward.

  He opened the book and fanned through the pages. “I’ll tell you what’s my concern. This—and this—and this. What do you know about the mysterious figures in the garden? How could you, Francie? What if they’re dangerous? They could be robbers, thieves, murderers!”

  She snatched the sketchbook from him. “Robbers, thieves, and murderers don’t embrace each other.”

  In the back of his anger, he recognized that she was telling the truth, but he forged on. “By your silence, you’ve been abetting them. This isn’t something that your imagination created. Those shapes are real people.”

  “Not if you believe Grandmama Christiana.” Her tentative smile died on her lips.

  “That’s not funny. You’ve romanticized what is very probably a perilous situation.”

  “I can’t believe that I’m about to say this to you, Thomas Carlton, but be logical.” Her blue eyes turned as cold as Lake Huron in November. “Think about this. Do criminals act like this, meeting in gardens and embracing? Night after night, do they do this? You pride yourself on your orderly thinking, but you’ve got this into a twisted mess in your mind.”

  He had to stop this. “Francie, I—I am—I—”

  He wanted to say he was sorry, but fury was like a cold stone in his throat, blocking the words. She snatched the notebook from him and snapped, “Go.”

  Blindly he stumbled down the stairs and left, hating love, hating himself.

  The rest of the day hadn’t gone much better. Francie’s soup had spilled on her new dress at lunch, and she’d knocked over Marie’s embroidery bag, sending threads and needles skittering across the floor. Then she’d gone out to the garden to draw, and Emerson, the big yellow dog, had joined her.

  As she was confiding her sorrows to the animal, he’d jumped up and placed a dirty paw print on her drawing of a dragonfly with a snapdragon pocketbook.

  She was glad to see the day come to a close, but she couldn’t sleep. Finally she crept to her secret dormer window and looked out on the darkened garden. She smiled as she saw a familiar movement on the path, but her smile faded when she realized it was not one of the usual visitors.

  This shape didn’t tiptoe. Instead, it slunk along the edge of the path, furtively slipping from shadow to shadow.

  Perhaps Thomas was right!

  She pulled her clothes back on with shaking hands and slipped down the stairs. Grandmama Christiana was already asleep, and Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Leonard sat in the living room. Their backs were to her, as she silently sped past them.

  Middle Meg wasn’t in the kitchen, and Francie raced out the back door and down the path.

  She sneaked up behind the figure in the rose bower, but a twig crackled under her feet, and the specter turned to face her.

  “Francie?”

  “Thomas?”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he began, “so I decided to stand guard.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t have a rifle or a saber,” she said, still rattled, “or you’d be dead.”

  “Francie, I’m sorry.” His words tumbled over her apology.

  “Thomas, I’m sorry, too.”

  The words weren’t as important as the way their hands touched or the manner in which their eyes met. At last, they moved toward each other in unspoken agreement and kissed under the rose bower.

  As their lips touched, a sound in the far reaches of the garden broke them apart, and they both sank back into the shadows.

  The ghostly figures were back, gliding toward each other.

  “There they are!” he said in a husky whisper, and before she could stop him, he dove toward them.

  “Thomas Carlton, are you out of your mind?” Marie’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Leave us alone!” The male voice was familiar, and Francie gasped as she recognized it. It was the fellow in the cart who had called her cousin “Princess Marie.”

  Francie ran out of the bower. “Marie, are you all right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

  “Francie, you’re out here, too? No, Thomas didn’t hurt me.” Marie glared at him.

  “Not Thomas. This man.” She pointed at Marie’s companion.

  “Edward? Oh, my dear, no. Edward wouldn’t hurt me. Edward and I—” Marie smiled up at him. “Edward and I are in love.”

  “I know you,” Thomas said accusingly. “You’ve been staying in the guesthouse behind our cottage. You worked building the Grand Hotel.”

  It all made sense. “That’s why you’ve been so diligent with learning embroidery—so you could see him, right?” she asked.

  Marie nodded. “My early morning walks were excuses to see him. I didn’t lose my embroidery bag that time either. But I have to steal time to see Edward. The hotel is done, and—”

  Francie knew what wasn’t said. The match was socially unacceptable.

  “Don’t tell my parents or Grandmama Christiana,” Marie said. “Please don’t.”

  A light flickered on in the house, and Marie and Edward vanished into the shadows.

  “She should tell them,” Thomas said to Francie. “Any relationship that is built on deception will falter.”

  “I know, but it’s still kind of ro
mantic,” she protested. “Don’t you see it?”

  He paused, studying her. “No, I don’t. I guess I’m not romantic enough for you, Francie. Not at all.”

  He stalked out of the garden, and Francie sadly trailed back inside Sea Breeze, fighting tears.

  She didn’t bother to turn back the coverlet on her bed but instead lay on top of it in the dark, thinking about how the day had gone.

  “Francie, are you awake?” Marie whispered. “Can I come in? Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” Francie sat up and made room for Marie.

  “I want to be with Edward, but he can’t stay here now that the hotel is finished. Francie, he’s asked me to marry him! I love him so much, and I can’t bear to think of life without him. What should I do?”

  Francie blinked back the tears that threatened again. “Oh, Marie, I don’t think you should sneak off with him. Why can’t you tell Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Leonard?”

  “They’ll never understand.”

  Francie thought of the looks that passed between her uncle and aunt, the silent messages that only two deeply committed people could share. “I think they will. They’ll understand love.”

  “Pray with me, Francie? Please?”

  “Of course. Dearest God, we ask Your guidance for Marie and for Your peaceful understanding to touch Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Leonard. Please lead Marie and Edward in a way that is pleasing to You. And, God, thank You for Your gift of love that elevates us all. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Marie whispered. “Amen.”

  Thomas walked along the path toward Arch Rock. He rarely went to that part of the island, but tonight the stark beauty of the curved rock called to him. He wouldn’t run the risk of meeting someone on the way and having to be sociable, not at this time of night.

  He walked along, his hands shoved into his pockets, mulling over the terrible day. Why had he argued so much with Francie? In retrospect, it seemed that he’d been purposely starting battles with her.

  He knew the answer. He was afraid of loving her.

  Thomas sank to his knees near the arch and opened his heart. He couldn’t pray as his father did, or even as simply as Francie did. He simply pushed aside his doubts and let faith take over—let his heart speak in its own language.

  A calm came over him, like restful sleep for the exhausted body, like cool water for the thirsty soul. And he knew.

  He had his proof. He’d had it all along. He belonged to God. It was that simple.

  A sound broke his reverie. He opened his eyes and smiled. Emerson was sprawled next to him, his head resting on his paws and snoring softly.

  Chapter 9

  I’m going to be as round as a pumpkin by the end of the summer,” Francie objected as she and Marie headed for the fudge shop. “Already my dresses are straining at the seams.”

  “Oh, be quiet,” her cousin chided. “It’s just for the summer and—say, I think that’s Edward down by the dock. Oh my, will you look at that! Thomas is with him.”

  “That can’t be, not after last night,” Francie said, “but it certainly does look like them.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  Thomas and Edward were in deep conversation when they arrived, and they looked up in surprise when the women greeted them.

  Thomas drew himself up straight. “I apologized to Edward, and I’d like to apologize to both of you. I was acting like a goon yesterday, and I promise that it won’t happen again. Or if it does, you have my permission to bring me back to reality as directly as possible.” He grinned.

  Francie smiled back and turned to Marie, but her cousin was ashen. “Edward,” she said in a low voice, “is that a schedule in your hand? Are you leaving the island?”

  He took her hands in his. “Marie, if you don’t tell your parents, there’s no reason for us to go on. I respect them, and I won’t do this behind their backs. We’ve been deceptive too long as it is.”

  “They’re home now,” Marie said.

  “I’m ready if you are.” Edward gave her a reassuring smile. “Shall we all go to Sea Breeze?”

  Francie sat on the sofa next to Thomas. She was too nervous to move as Marie and Edward told her parents and grandmother of their romance.

  “And this is why I would like to marry your daughter,” Edward ended.

  “I see.” Uncle Leonard leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I see. Well, Dorothea, what do you think? Should we let this young man take our only child?”

  Aunt Dorothea turned her head away from the couple and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook.

  “Mama—” Marie rose to go to her, but Aunt Dorothea held up her hand to ward her off.

  “No. No, Marie. No.” Her voice was muffled and the words broken.

  “Papa?” Marie went to her father and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Papa?”

  He, too, looked away. As he did, Francie saw emotions twitching beneath his stoic facade.

  Grandmama Christiana thumped her cane. “Leonard, this young man may not be the most appropriate match, but truth be told, this girl is no spring chicken. He’s probably the best she can do.”

  Francie tried not to gasp. This wasn’t going at all the way she’d expected it would, and from the horrified expression on Marie’s face, she was equally flummoxed.

  For a moment, all was silent. Even the sounds of Middle Meg puttering in the next room stopped.

  This has to be a bad dream, and I’ll wake up any minute, Francie told herself.

  Then Aunt Dorothea raised her head. “We are a dreadful bunch,” she said, and Francie realized that she had been laughing, not crying.

  Grandmama Christiana’s wrinkled lips curled into a soft smile. “I had the love of a lifetime with your grandfather. He was a good man, not afraid of work and ready to serve the Lord with his every action. Dorothea had to remind me that I had concerns about her, too, when he started courting her.”

  “You did? You never told me—” Uncle Leonard began, but she cut his words off.

  “No parent would let a child go blindly into love without doing everything in his or her power to ensure that it was God’s will.” She turned to Marie. “We’ve known about this all along. We’ve just been letting you have some room to let your love grow and blossom, like one of Dorothea’s flowers.”

  Uncle Leonard pretended to glower at Edward. “All the time, we’ve been monitoring it, though. Don’t think for a moment we’d let our daughter run wild.”

  “But how did—I mean, if you—if we—” Marie stammered.

  “People in love are transparent,” Grandmama Christiana said. “You have no secrets. We simply wanted to make sure that you two know the love we have.”

  Aunt Dorothea stood and hugged them both. “We’re very glad for both of you. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a wedding to plan!”

  Francie and Thomas left the living room and went to the garden. “That was amazing,” she said to him. “They knew!”

  “Do you suppose they also knew the mysterious visitors to the garden were Marie and Edward?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “You’re so right. Sometimes we just need to stop analyzing and let love be love, don’t we?”

  Whatever Francie was about to say was interrupted by Thomas kissing her. As she moved into his embrace, she noticed the flutter of a curtain in Grandmama Christiana’s window, and she understood. The family must have known who the specters were, but they chose not to destroy the magic of the moonlit garden, where love blossomed in the glow of dreamlight.

  Epilogue

  A year later

  The wedding guests moved through Aunt Dorothea’s garden, commenting on her skill with the blooms. Middle Meg, wearing her Sunday best, made sure that everyone had a slice of Mackinac Island fudge with his or her tea. Early afternoon sun poured over them, drenching them with golden light.

  Francie, though, couldn’t keep her eyes off the new addition to her left hand. The wedding ring was simple yet beautiful, and even
in the warmth, it was cool and smooth.

  It had been the wedding of her dreams. The small church had been filled with guests and the sweet smell of Aunt Dorothea’s flowers. Reverend Carlton had performed the wedding, with Marie and Edward as the attendants. Even her parents had come back from Brazil.

  They sat on the bench, leafing through her sketchbook. “Which ones are going to be in the book?” her mother asked her.

  “I’ve selected thirty-two of them. I can’t believe that Francie’s Fancies is going to be a children’s book.” She smiled to herself as she thought how much pain the name had once caused her, but now it fit the drawings in the notebook. They were her fancies, born of the imaginative mind God had given her.

  “We’re so proud of you.” Her father beamed happily. “God has done great things for you.”

  Uncle Leonard and Aunt Dorothea joined them. “How are you two enjoying staying at the Grand Hotel?” Uncle Leonard asked her parents. “It’s quite the attraction.”

  Before they could answer, a yellow dog bounded into the midst of the party. Teacups and plates were righted just in time as the animal headed straight for Francie.

  “Emerson, you silly dog,” she said, leaning over to rub his head. “Were you feeling left out?”

  Thomas laughed. “Did you marry me for myself or for my dog?”

  “I said yes to you before the stableman said you could have Emerson,” she said as she stood up and took his hands in hers, her heart bubbling with joy, “but I’m glad to have you both.”

  They stood under the bower, their fingers entwined, until Grandmama Christiana’s voice broke the trance. “Does Francie know that beast is eating her veil?”

  In first grade, JANET SPAETH was asked to write a summary of a story about a family making maple syrup. She wrote all during class, through morning recess, lunch, and afternoon recess, and asked to stay after school. When the teacher pointed out that a summary was supposed to be shorter than the original story, Janet explained that she didn’t feel the readers knew the characters well enough, so she was expanding on what was in the firstgrade reader. Thus a writer was born. She lives in the Midwest and loves to travel, but to her, the happiest word in the English language is home.