A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  Helen’s gift was the smallest. It fit perfectly in a foil-covered box with a hinged lid. And he knew the item nestled in the velvet interior would deliver a message directly from his heart to hers. His fingers trembled as he tied a bright red bow around the box. Only two more days, and he’d make one more trip in the darkness of night to leave gifts on the Wolfe family’s porch. Then, on Christmas evening, he’d visit to share his plans. And after that, he’d leave.

  Pain stabbed. It would be hard to leave them, but it was the right thing to do. His country needed him. And he was leaving his shop in good hands. God would carry them through. Bernie had no doubt.

  Chapter 10

  Lois and Carl awakened Helen early Christmas morning, bouncing on the bed and squealing for her to get up now! Although Helen would have considered it a gift to sleep in a bit on her one day off, she stifled a groan, tugged on her robe, and allowed the rowdy pair to drag her to the parlor, where they’d decorated the tree the evening before. Their cries of delight at the sight of the packages she’d tucked beneath the sagging branches of the little tree chased away the vestiges of sleepiness, and she instructed Carl to fetch Henry so they could open their gifts.

  Although the presents were simple and mostly practical, the children raved anyway, pleasing Helen. How proud Mom and Dad would be of them—so unspoiled, so unselfish. Despite her misgivings and stumbles, they were growing up just fine. She whisked a prayer heavenward in gratitude to God for working in their hearts, even when she’d wished to refuse His presence.

  Henry bestowed Helen with a package marked “To Helen from all of us,” and Helen pretended great surprise before removing the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside she found a neat stack of yellowed music sheets—hymns and ballads and even a couple of haunting spirituals. The desire to burst into song exploded through her chest as she fingered the music. Someday, God, I know You’ll let me use my voice again. She thanked her siblings enthusiastically, giving each of them a heartfelt hug, and then they trooped to the kitchen for a Christmas breakfast of pancakes with globs of strawberry jam.

  When they’d finished, Helen shot an impish grin around the table. “All right, are we ready to deliver our Christmas surprise?”

  Carl and Lois cheered, and Henry pushed away from the table. “Let’s go!”

  “Dress warmly,” Helen admonished as the trio raced for their bedrooms. She followed, trying to imagine Bernie O’Day’s face when they showed up outside his shop. Over the past two weeks, they’d practiced Christmas carols in three-part harmony, with Henry singing baritone in his newly discovered man’s voice, Carl and Lois sharing the alto line, and Helen carrying the melody. Although they had no other gift for Bernie, she was certain he would accept their offering with much appreciation. His kindness knew no bounds.

  Carl led the family out the front door, but he came to a stop just over the threshold, causing Lois to slam right into his back. Henry—hunched over Lois’s short frame like a gargoyle in his attempt not to run her down—scolded, “What’re you doing, Carl?”

  “There’s stuff out here,” Carl bellowed.

  Helen peeked past her siblings and gasped. Stuff indeed! Their gift elf—whoever he was—had outdone himself this time. She couldn’t believe the bounty! They dragged everything inside and then spent a happy half hour examining it all. Helen watched her siblings with the little box bearing her name on it held between her palms, unopened.

  When the clamor died down, Lois pointed at the red-ribboned box and said, “Aren’tcha gonna open yours?”

  Curiosity battled with apprehension. The box—the kind of box that held jewelry, specifically a ring—certainly would reveal their unknown benefactor. She knew who she wanted it to be. Her heart nearly twisted in agony, hoping. What would she do if it turned out to be Richard once more trying to manipulate her into bowing to his will?

  “Open it, Helen,” Carl prompted, and Henry and Lois added their encouragement.

  Painstakingly, Helen removed the bright red ribbon and set it aside. Then, holding her breath, she eased back the lid of the box. Gold glinted at her. With a gasp, she snapped the box closed and shoved it in her pocket.

  “Helen!” her siblings protested, but she jumped to her feet and urged them up from their spots on the rug. They had a concert to deliver. When it was over, she’d share the box’s contents with them. But not until she’d had a chance to look into Bernie O’Day’s face and find the truth in his hazel eyes.

  Bernie sat at his little table tucked beneath the front window and sipped his third cup of hot black coffee. He looked at the clock—10:35 a.m. Only ten minutes had passed since he’d last peeked at the round face. He’d told himself he wouldn’t intrude on the Wolfes’ Christmas until evening, but the day stretched endlessly before him. How could he while away the hours? Before he settled on a suitable pastime, something reached his ears.

  Music. Voices. Sweet voices, the highest line delivered so beautifully gooseflesh broke across his arms. Feeling like the man in Clement Moore’s “ ’Twas the Night before Christmas,” he threw the sash open. Cold air blasted him, but he stuck his head out the window and looked down at the street. His heart galloped happily in his chest—Helen, Henry, Carl, and Lois stood in a half circle on the pavement below, their faces lifted toward him and “Joy to the World” pouring from their throats.

  He couldn’t stop a joyful laugh from escaping as he peered downward. They finished the carol then launched into “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” followed by “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” By the time they finished with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” tears stung Bernie’s eyes. He’d never received a sweeter present.

  When the last note trailed away, he waved his hand and called, “Wait right there!” He nearly skidded down the stairs in his eagerness to get to the door, his slippers treacherous on the slick stair treads, but he made it without mishap and flung the door open, nearly bopping Carl, who stood too close. Laughing, Bernie ushered them inside then stood staring at them with a goofy grin on his face and his hands shoved in the pockets of his sloppiest pants.

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. O’Day,” Lois chirped, and Carl and Henry echoed the sentiment.

  “Merry Christmas,” Bernie said, bouncing his smile across each of the younger Wolfe siblings before allowing it to rest on Helen. Her sweet face, bold pink, wore the most tender smile he’d ever seen. Her blue eyes bored into his, shimmering with a myriad of emotions. Looking into her eyes, Bernie found it difficult to draw a breath.

  Then, without speaking, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a little foil box. She held it aloft on her mitten-covered palm, giving it a gentle bounce. “All this time, it was you.”

  Bernie gulped. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded, aware of three pairs of eyes looking back and forth between Helen and him in curiosity.

  Helen tipped her head, her brown curls brushing the shoulder of her plaid coat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged slowly. “Didn’t want you to thank me. Wanted you to thank …” Would she understand? Would she accept the gifts once she knew?

  Understanding bloomed across her face, her rosy cheeks deepening. “I do thank Him.” She swallowed, tears winking in her eyes. “Mostly I thank Him for bringing you into our lives.”

  Bernie forgot all about Henry, Carl, and Lois. He lurched past them, reaching, and moments later he held Helen in his embrace. Cold air scented her hair, and he buried his nose in her curls, savoring the aroma of Christmas. She laughed against his chest, the little box digging into his back where she clung to him. But he didn’t mind. Not at all.

  “Merry Christmas, Bernie,” she whispered, her breath caressing his cheek.

  “Merry Christmas,” he replied. How he longed to press his lips to hers, but whispers and soft giggles reminded him they had an audience. With reluctance, he released his hold on her and stepped back. “I was going to come see you all this evening, but since you’re here, should we go upstairs? There’s somethin
g I need to tell you.”

  The four of them preceded Bernie up the stairs to his apartment, Lois and Helen in the lead with Henry and then Carl trailing. Bernie resisted the urge to hurry Carl—the boy’s gaze bounced here and there, taking in every detail of the shop. Now that the time had arrived to share his plans, Bernie experienced a sense of urgency. What would he do if Helen said no? He pushed the anxious thought aside. God had planted this idea in his heart, and he’d prayed about it. If it was meant to be, Helen would see the sense and agree. He needed to trust.

  They entered the big room that served as sitting room, dining room, and kitchen. Bernie pointed to a long, low settee, and the four of them lined up on the peach-colored cushions. Bernie took his father’s overstuffed chair across from the settee and rested his elbows on his knees. For the next several minutes, he spilled his intentions to enlist in the army and his hopes that Henry and Helen would assume management of his pawnshop while he was away. They were silent and attentive as they listened, eyes wide.

  Sitting up, Bernie heaved a sigh. “That’s about it, I guess. I know I’m asking a lot. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone—I’m praying the war won’t drag on, but I don’t reckon any of us can know for sure. But while I’m away, whatever the shop brings in, it’ll be yours. I won’t have need of anything while I’m off fighting. And—if something should happen and I don’t come back—I’ve already drawn up papers to transfer the shop to Henry.” Warmth filled Bernie’s chest as he gazed at the serious-faced young man seated so straight between Lois and Carl. “I know I couldn’t place it in better hands.”

  Henry swallowed twice, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “I won’t be taking it, Mr. O’Day,’cause you’ll be back. I know you will.”

  Helen added, “We’ll all be praying for your safety every day. You can rest assured of that, Bernie.”

  Both Carl and Lois nodded, adding their agreement.

  Helen still clutched the little box in her hand, and she now placed it on her knee. She opened the lid and withdrew the gold coin she’d brought into his shop only four months ago. Such a short time, but such a changing time. Bernie felt as though his life had turned completely around since the afternoon she’d entered his shop, breathless and needy. She held up the coin, and the gold glinted as brightly as the twin tears shimmering in her eyes.

  “Bernie, you’ve showed me that love—God’s love—never fails. You’ve taught me to trust again, and for that I will be forever grateful.”

  Thank You, Lord. The words sang from Bernie’s heart. His life had changed but so had hers. God had answered his prayers.

  On January 3rd, 1942, Helen and the children accompanied Bernie to Grand Central Station. Snow dusted their caps and froze their noses, but she was determined to keep a happy face for Bernie’s sake. They’d spent part of each day since Christmas together, and in those precious hours she’d grown to love him more than she’d thought possible. It hurt to send him away, yet pride filled her as she thought about him serving his country. Everything about Bernie—his kindness, his strength, his steadfastness, and mostly his love for God—pleased her.

  As they walked hand in hand along the boarding ramp with Henry, Carl, and Lois trailing behind them, she inwardly prayed for God’s protection over him while they were apart, and she knew he prayed the same thing for her and her siblings. Their hearts were in one accord, just the way God designed them to be.

  At the end of the ramp, a cluster of men in matching green blouses and baggy trousers with duffel bags lying in piles around their black boots, waited in a noisy throng. Henry pointed. “Guess they’re all goin’, too, huh?” A thread of longing colored Henry’s tone.

  “Guess so,” Bernie said. He curled his hand over Henry’s shoulder. “But don’t be thinking their job is the only important one. Taking care of your family—that’s your job, Henry. I’m trusting you to work hard in school and keep the shop running.” A lopsided grin climbed Bernie’s smooth-shaven cheek. “Gotta have something to come back to, y’know.”

  “Yes, sir.” Henry stood straight, his chin high. “You know I’ll see to everything.”

  “I know you will.” Bernie turned from Henry to deliver hugs to Carl and Lois. The pair clung hard, their fingers catching handfuls of his shirt fabric. He held them as long as they wanted while Helen battled tears, waiting her turn.

  Finally the two stepped back, rubbing their noses. They shuffled over to Henry, and Bernie reached for Helen. She held on to him as tightly as Carl and Lois had. Maybe more tightly. It didn’t seem fair to have to let him go after only just finding him—this man she loved and trusted, with whom she longed to build a lifetime of memories. But she respected his desire to go, and she wouldn’t stand in his way.

  He cupped her face between his palms and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss sweet and warm and rich with feeling. A whistle blared, and he stepped back. Although his arms hung at his sides, he caressed her with his eyes. “That’s my cue,” he said, his tone gruff.

  She nodded.

  Henry darted forward, his hand extended. “Here, Bernie.”

  Tears distorted Helen’s vision when she recognized the object Henry pressed into Bernie’s hand.

  Henry said, “My grandma held on to this as a promise. Now I want you to hold it as a promise from all of us”—he gestured to Carl, Lois, and Helen by turn—“to you. That we’ll be here waiting when you come back.”

  Helen closed her hand over Bernie’s, the coin pressed between their palms. “And on that day, we’ll take a picnic to Central Park.”

  Bernie winked. “What if it’s October?”

  Helen thought she might cry, but she managed a smile instead. “Is there some rule that says you can’t have a picnic in October?”

  Bernie laughed—the sound like music. He pocketed the coin and gave a nod. “You got a deal. We’ll meet at the bridge.”

  “And throw bread to the ducks,” Helen said. Tears filled her eyes, making his image waver.

  The whistle blasted again, and the men at the end of the ramp began boarding. But Bernie didn’t move. Then Carl let out a huff. “Mr. O’Day, if you don’t leave, you can’t come back. So would’ja please hurry up and get goin’?”

  Her brother’s petulant query was just the splash of humor Helen needed to cast aside her doldrums. Rising up on tiptoe, she planted a kiss on Bernie’s cheek and gave him a little push. “Go, Bernie. God be with you.”

  “And with you.” He offered a quick salute, yanked up his bag, and trotted to the train car. Just before stepping inside, he looked back and lifted his hand in a final wave. And then he was gone.

  Helen remained with her arms around Carl and Lois’s shoulders until the train rolled out of the station with a screech of wheels on iron and mighty huffs of steam. Lois sniffled and Carl stood with folded arms and distended lower lip. Beside them, Henry held his chin high and proud, his fingers on his brow in a salute until the train disappeared from sight. Then he lowered his arm and turned to Helen.

  “Well, guess it’s time to get busy. Got a shop to run.”

  Helen nodded.

  Henry’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll be all right, you know.”

  Again, Helen nodded, a smile growing on her lips without effort. “We will be. God will carry us through.”

  Together, they turned toward home.

  KIM VOGEL SAWYER,

  Kim Vogel Sawyer, a Kansas resident, is a wife, mother, grandmother, teacher, writer, speaker, and lover of cats and chocolate. From the time she was a very little girl, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and seeing her words in print is the culmination of a lifelong dream. Kim relishes her time with family and friends, and stays active in her church by teaching adult Sunday school, singing in the choir, and being a “ding-a-ling” (playing in the bell choir). In her spare time, she enjoys drama, quilting, and calligraphy.

  A Living Doll

  by Cathy Marie Hake

  Chapter 1

  Virginia—January 1941
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br />   Paul Kincaid paused outside the sanctuary as the bells pealed an invitation to worship. “Mrs. Ainsley, you’ve been busy.” He smoothly robbed the old woman of the blue-and-lavender-striped afghan she carried and used his other hand to brace her elbow.

  She grinned up at him. “Knittin’ for Britain.”

  “This is nice and warm. Someone will be glad to receive it.” He patiently helped her up each of the shallow marble steps. Last night’s rain had left them slick, and he didn’t want her to take a tumble.

  “It breaks my heart,” she murmured, “thinking of those poor folks over in England, doing without.”

  Beneath his fingers, her coat was threadbare. The contrast between her thin, old coat and the thick, soft afghan bothered him. She’d spent money she could ill afford on yarn. “I can’t knit, Mrs. Ainsley. What if I donate some yarn?”

  “Why, that’s a generous idea!”

  “I’ll need specifics—or better yet, why don’t you tell Abel Nannington what you’d like?” Paul opened the church’s heavy oak door and helped her across the threshold. “He can deliver it with your groceries this week.”

  “Yes, yes, we could do that.”

  Paul escorted her over to the donation box. The women of Gethsemane Chapel had been busy; dozens of multicolored afghans spilled over the brim. Mrs. Ainsley ought to have the joy of adding hers on top, Paul thought. He handed the afghan to her, glanced up, and did a double take.

  Rosemary Fulton walked by. This time it wasn’t her stunning Nordic blond hair or serene smile that captured his attention. The basket on her arm did. In that moment, Paul felt a bolt of sheer relief. God, is that Your answer to the problem?

  He slid into a pew and tried to still his thoughts and prepare his heart for the message. As the congregation worshiped, the Lord seemed to be speaking directly to him. They sang “A Charge to Keep I Have,” and Rosemary Fulton’s grown daughter sang the solo “Children of the Heavenly Father.”