After Henry read the final sentence, he straightened the pages, squaring the corners with the worktable’s edge. He looked at his scarred hand and rubbed its sore palm. His missing fingers were no excuse for his inability to open his heart to Hannah. Nor was his desire for perfection. No matter how honest he thought he’d been, his claim of being incapable of loving well was a lie. And finding faults in others was a flimsy front.
Hannah’s excellent story should be printed, if not only for her and her father, for the settlement, for the students, and for the generations to come.
He thumbed through the manuscript, counting the pages then made calculations for printing and binding four copies. Why four, he didn’t know. She might not want that many copies, but he would give her the option.
He checked the calendar that hung on the wall beside the window. Two weeks until Christopher Vestal’s birthday, which was when Hannah had wanted the bound book. Three weeks until the settlement’s eighth anniversary celebration, which was when the New Testament project was due.
He noted the days on his paper and calculated the pages. It would not be easy to finish both in time; in fact, his calculations proved it impossible. But Gabe had been right: he needed to put off his pride and give himself up for Hannah. He loved her and had to try to meet her needs, even if it meant not finishing the elders’ assignment and ruining his chance at having a village-supported trade.
As he glanced at the calendar once more, movement outside the window caught his eye. The village elders and their firstborn sons were walking from their homes toward the chapel for the weekly meeting. He checked his pocket watch. It was time for him to join them.
His father was standing on the road, speaking with Mr. Foster. Christopher Vestal was walking with Mr. McIntosh. David Vestal was trailing behind them, looking sullen. When he spotted David alone, he rummaged through a stack of papers on a shelf by the letterpress and found the anonymous notes of warning he’d received earlier in the summer.
Once he and Hannah had stopped speaking, the notes had stopped showing up. Still, he’d never confronted David, and if he was going to try to win Hannah back, he didn’t want to worry about her petulant brother causing them grief.
A quick turn of the lantern’s dial put out the flame. He pulled the print shop door closed behind him. With a careful turn of the doorknob, he left its mark so he would know if anyone entered while he was away, though he hoped a conversation with David Vestal would end such intrusions.
“David,” he called out as he crossed the street.
The young man looked up. So did Mr. Vestal and Mr. McIntosh, but both of the older men looked away as they continued their conversation and walked toward the chapel.
David didn’t advance to meet Henry in the road, as any considerate man might do, but at least he stopped where he was. He furrowed his freckled brow. “What do you want?”
Henry stopped within arm’s reach of Hannah’s brother. He kept his voice quiet enough not to be heard by the other men, but forceful enough to let David know he was serious. “I need to speak with you about Hannah.”
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
He had to ignore the young man’s insults if he was going to be heard. “I care about your sister very much.”
“Did you care about Cecelia Foster too?”
How did everyone in the settlement know about his failures? He drew a long breath. “I cared about her, yes. Still do, but not in the way I care about Hannah. Your sister is very special to me.”
“Then why did you hurt her?”
“I never meant to, and I will make it right.”
“So?”
“So, you should know I have your father’s blessing to court her.”
“Well, you don’t have mine.”
He almost chuckled at the young man’s ignorance. “I don’t need yours.”
David propped his fists on his hips and leveled his gaze but said nothing.
Henry opened the folded notes. “I know you don’t think much of me, and I don’t need you to. But trying to threaten me with these notes won’t make me ignore the fact that I love Hannah. And it will only upset her if she finds out you’ve been doing this.”
David scowled at the notes as he read them. “I didn’t write that. I don’t like you, but I’m not a coward. I don’t write notes. I agree with whoever wrote them though. You should stay away from her. You aren’t any good for my sister. I’ve told her so.”
Henry stared down at the slips of paper and slowly folded them. If David hadn’t written them, who had?
He stuffed the notes into his shirt pocket along with his calculations to print her story. “I will make things right with Hannah. If she will have me, I’ll spend my life devoted to her happiness. I will love her until the day I die.”
David’s brow relaxed. “She deserves that. But she’s busy raising the girls. She promised our mother she would take care of them, and you’d be a selfish fool to keep her from it.”
The other men were filing into the chapel. Henry needed to join them, but not as much as he needed to make his point. “I will not lead Hannah to do anything that might hurt her family—and that includes you. I know you depend on her, but do you expect her to live with you forever?”
David pushed a hand through his hair and looked at the sky. Finally, he returned his gaze to Henry and shook his head. “No. She deserves to have her own family, but only with a man who is good enough for her.” He took a step toward the chapel and pointed at Henry as he passed. “You have a long way to go to prove you’re that man.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Before daybreak, the glow of morning light turned Hannah’s bedroom curtains from a neutral tan to a warm rose. The house was quiet. She tossed off the bedclothes and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser. There beneath her woolen shawl was the handwritten copy of her story she’d wrapped in a scrap of muslin fabric and tied with ribbon.
After a quick change into her day dress, she left the bedroom and carefully closed the door, hoping Doris wouldn’t awaken. She stood still for a moment and listened for any noise in the house. No one seemed to be stirring.
If her siblings knew she was giving her father a story for his birthday, they would surely ruin the moment. David would mock the gift. Wade would get angry but not say if it was at her having their father’s approval or at David’s jesting. Doris would fill the air with her romantic suggestions without knowing the storyline. The twins would probably ask for paper so they could quickly scribble out a story and give it to him too.
Hannah had worked too hard on granting her father’s request to have her efforts minimized by sibling rivalry. She hid the wrapped manuscript under a tea towel and set it in front of her father’s place at the kitchen table. Wanting today to appear like any other morning, she began her kitchen work by lighting the woodchips that waited in the stove’s firebox.
A few minutes after sunrise, Christopher’s bedroom door creaked. He padded into the kitchen, hoisting his suspender straps over his shoulders. “Good morning, Hannah.”
“Happy birthday, Father.” She lifted the tea towel and pulled her father’s chair out, inviting him to sit. “I wanted to give you your present now. Hopefully, it will start your birthday off right.”
“How kind!” He grinned boyishly and hurried to the chair, sitting slowly with a stiffness that attested to his age. He rubbed his hands together rapidly and glanced at her over his moving fingertips. As he opened the cloth and revealed the manuscript, his eyes widened. “Hannah, is this your—”
“My story. Yes.”
He picked it up, his mouth agape. “You finished it.”
“For you. Happy birthday.”
“For me?”
“And Mother.” Emotion broke her voice. “I wanted to honor her memory by finishing it and honor your strength and compassion by giving it to you on your fiftieth birthday.”
The tip of his nose and his eyelids reddened. “Your mother was so proud of you.
She would be delighted to see the woman you have become.”
That commendation meant more to her than any other. Her father sniffed and blinked rapidly as he trailed a finger over the title page. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Between Two Moons. How did you come up with that title?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “During an important scene, the main character, Adeline, is sitting beside a pond at night, alone and confused. She looks across the water to see someone who cares for her coming toward her. The moon is shining brightly in the sky above him, and it’s also reflected in the water in front of him. For a moment it looks to her as though he is standing between two moons.”
Christopher drew his head back slightly. “You have put a lot of thought into this story.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Only about eight years.”
“God makes all things beautiful in His time.” He covered her hand with his. “Does your story have a happy ending?”
“You must read it to find out.”
He squinted, still grinning. “Not even a hint?”
“No. You’ll be the first person to read it straight through without having read a previous version, without remembering all my wrong turns.”
He leaned back in his seat, gazing proudly at the manuscript. “This is wonderful. I look forward to reading it. And,” he held up a finger, “I know how important your privacy is, so I will keep this gift to myself.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll go tuck it under my mattress now.” He re-wrapped it in the cloth but handed her the ribbon. “Thank you, Hannah. I know how hard you worked. And it wasn’t easy with a house full of mouths to feed, but you succeeded. You have seen how others can affect your work. I hope you will see how your work might affect others. And I still think you should use your talents to bless this community, not just me.”
She ran the silky ribbon between her fingertips. “I’m thinking so too. I’d like to write stories for the library and the school. It might take me a while with a household to tend to but—”
“It’s time we divided your chores between your sisters.”
She shook her head. “I promised Mother I’d take care of everything.”
“Which I believe included teaching the girls how to manage a household.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle. “Your mother didn’t mean for you to be stuck here forever. She would want you to move forward in life. It’s time.”
Her heart thumped in her chest, excited over words she never thought she would hear. “Time for me to move forward?”
“You have done a beautiful job with the girls and the house and me.” Christopher relaxed his wise brow. “It’s time to see what else God has for you in life.”
Footsteps moved about in the upstairs bedroom. Christopher glanced at the ceiling and tucked the manuscript under his arm. “Let the girls do more of the housework and you spend that time writing. If you find a new life presenting itself, you are free to pursue it.”
She thought of Henry and his unreadable expression when she’d given him the completed manuscript. It didn’t appear they would have a future together, but maybe someday they could work together to produce books for the settlement. Or she could write the stories and give them to Olivia to use in school. Maybe a new life was presenting itself.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Henry lifted one of the four printed and bound books on his worktable. The binding stitches were perfect, the pages precisely cut, and the tanned leather exterior beautifully embossed with gold leaf. He traced a finger over the title. Between Two Moons.
The urge to flip through the pages tempted him to open the unread books, but he wanted Hannah to be the first to have that honor. After carefully wrapping each volume in a sheet of paper, he slid them one by one into his satchel then checked his pocket watch. Eight o’clock in the morning seemed too early to visit her house, but he wanted to deliver the books soon so she could give one to her father for his birthday. He slung the satchel over his shoulder, keeping his arm across it to guard its precious contents.
The road north was empty, save for a family of songbirds pecking at a pile of seed that must have spilled from a wagon bed. Warm sunrays danced between the trees as Henry shuffled down the road, whistling. The birds launched into flight as he passed their buffet, but he didn’t miss a note of his happy tune.
It had been too long since he’d engaged in such a jovial activity as whistling, but everything about this morning, his future, and life in the Land stirred music in his heart. The tunes themselves came from something much deeper than the fine morning: they flowed out of an overwhelming sense of freedom. He was free to do the work he enjoyed and do it on his terms. He was free to build his home when and where he wanted or sleep in the corner of his print shop if he chose. And, most importantly, he was free to love the woman who had captured his heart.
As he neared his family’s home, his mother was sweeping the front porch. When she saw him walking down the road, she leaned her broom against the railing and dashed into the house. A moment later she returned to the porch with Ellenore and Hazel. As Henry passed the house, his mother and sisters smiled and waved, giggling with the knowledge of where he was going and why.
“Good luck!” Ellenore called from the porch. She blew a kiss.
He flashed them the confident grin they were hoping for then returned his focus to the road ahead. His self-assurance came not from the hope that Hannah would accept his apology but from his belief that even if she didn’t, he was doing the right thing.
Since the Vestals’ home was the farthest from the center of the settlement, the sandy road dwindled to a thin path as it veered away from the meadow and toward their house. The perfect rows of stately fruit trees set Mr. Vestal’s orchard apart from every other farm in Good Springs.
Movement between two of the rows caught Henry’s eye as he passed. At first, he thought it was David mowing the grass around the trees. When Henry got a better view, he realized it was Wade.
The young man stilled his scythe, and a disapproving expression puckered his face. He dropped the tool and marched toward Henry. “What are you doing here?”
Henry halted on the path. He thought of the anonymous notes he’d received that warned him to leave Hannah alone. Shifting his satchel, he withdrew the folded scraps of paper from a side pocket. “I believe these messages were from you.”
Wade stopped his hasty approach and leaned his palm against the trunk of the last tree in the orchard’s row. His cheeks flushed and he narrowed his eyes. “But you ignored them and you hurt her, didn’t you?”
Henry stuffed the notes into his shirt pocket. “You’re right, and for that I have come to apologize.” When Wade’s expression lightened, Henry held up a finger. “To her. Not to you.” The scowl returned, so Henry continued. “You cannot expect a man to obey an anonymous note that is tossed into his workplace tied to a rock, can you?”
Wade’s face relaxed so that he no longer looked like he’d licked pinesap. He crossed his arms over his chest. The young man wanted to be seen as a hulking man, but the gesture did nothing to increase his stature.
Henry stepped forward. “Hannah and I have had our differences, but I’m here to do my best to make it right. Do you find something ignoble in that?”
Wade crinkled his brow. “Are you going to tell her you’re sorry?”
He almost grinned. “Yes, and I brought something that I hope will rectify the situation.”
“Will it make her happy?”
Henry patted his satchel. “I believe it will make her very happy indeed.”
The young man lowered his arms, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I want her to be happy.”
“Me too. I care about Hannah very much. I can’t promise that we will never argue again—in fact, that’s half the fun—but I will strive to always treat her kindly.” Henry stepped closer, seeking to build camaraderie with the young man who, as a second son, must have felt left out among the village men. “If she is able to
forgive me, might you be able to as well?”
Wade shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose, but you better not hurt her again.”
“And since you have shown the courage to warn me in person, man to man, I shall take your warning to heart.” Henry straightened his hat as if on his way to official business. “Now if you will be so kind as to let me pass, sir, I must pour my heart out at the feet of the woman I love.”
Wade laughed once. “Are you going to say that to her?”
“Probably not.” He grinned at Wade. “Unless you believe it will help my chances of winning her back.”
“No, I want to be there to see it if you do.”
He patted Wade’s shoulder as he passed. “I’m sure you will have ample opportunity to laugh at my blunders in the future.”
As Henry cut across the yard, one of the Vestals’ yellow dogs ran beneath the clothesline with four puppies following it. The last puppy turned toward a tablecloth that wiggled in the wind. The puppy caught the edge of the cloth in its teeth and tugged playfully.
“No, no, no!” Hannah yelled at the puppy as she stormed out of the mudroom to the clothesline.
The puppy continued having its fun with the cloth until Hannah scooped it from the ground and opened its furry jaw. As soon as she’d freed her laundry from the puppy’s mouth, she hugged the dog to her chest. “My laundry is not a toy for you, understand?”
The puppy licked Hannah’s chin and she smiled.
Henry was only a stone’s throw behind her when she looked back. Her gaze traced the length of him, from the top of his felt hat down to his polished boots and back up, finally settling on his face. She cradled the puppy with one arm and petted its head with the other hand.
All Things Beautiful (Uncharted Beginnings Book 3) Page 16