Hope Rekindled

by Tracie Peterson

  Euphanel smiled. “Just another week—and then you two will have the rest of your lives together.”

  He nodded. “I hadn’t known a week could last so long.”

  Arjan moved to Euphanel’s side and put his arm around her shoulder. “We’d best let these two say their good-nights, Wife.”

  She smiled up at him and nodded. “I suppose so. Be careful on your ride home, Christopher. I wouldn’t want anything happening to you.”

  He chuckled. “If I get hurt, I understand there is a fine woman doctor in these parts. Well, I suppose she’s not a full-fledged doctor . . . yet,” he said loud enough to catch Deborah’s attention, “but I understand she’s quite capable.”

  “That she is,” Euphanel said with a quick glance over her shoulder. “That she is.”

  Christopher waited until Euphanel and Arjan had gone before approaching Deborah. He pulled her into his arms without warning and captured her lips in a lingering kiss. Deborah melted against him and sighed. Just another week and she’d be his. A few more days. Part of him longed to change his mind and stay the night—if only to be that much closer to her.

  He felt Deborah’s fingers on the nape of his neck toying with his hair. He would have to get a trim before the wedding, he thought. He touched the soft skin just under her ear and thought of what it would be like to place kisses there.

  Pulling away, he grinned like a mischievous child. Deborah arched a brow in question, but he only laughed and dropped his hold. “One week, Miss Vandermark. A week from tomorrow—you will be mine.”

  “Why did we decide to wait so long?” she asked with a pout.

  He roared with laughter. “The date was your idea. As I recall you wanted spring flowers and warmer weather.” He walked to the door and lifted his hat from a nearby peg. “I would have married you last fall without flowers or warm weather. I would have married you during the awful cold months of the winter when all of the plains states were buried in snows and hideous cold. I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d just say the word.”

  For just a moment, he thought she looked tempted. Then she squared her shoulders and stepped forward. “Good evening to you, Dr. Kelleher. I will see you in one week, at which time I will say the only words necessary to seal our arrangement. Until then, enjoy your inventory.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a cruel woman.”

  She gave him a wink. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  Deborah stood on a dining room chair while her mother and Sissy pinned a hem in the white silk of her wedding gown.

  “I can hardly believe it’s the same dress,” Mother declared. “I remember when the huge hooped skirts were all the fashion, and now this.” She motioned to the straighter sleek lines of the gown.

  “It was made good,” Sissy commented. “Easy ’nuf to work with quality.”

  “I’m still amazed. It looks so much like the one in the magazine,” Deborah commented, gazing down at the delicate silk.

  The original gown had been skirted with three tiers of lace flouncing over white China silk. Mother and Sissy had crafted those flounces into a waterfall draping the bustled back. They modified the belled skirt to fit with the fashion of the day, which gave women a sleeker, more slender appearance—at least in the front. The back was another story. Voluminous amounts of material were fashioned over what seemed to be larger and larger bustles. Deborah was glad they’d chosen only a modest bustle. Anything bigger would have made her feel even more self-conscious. Still, she would have worn a bustle three times larger if required. She was marrying Christopher, and the gown was perfect. She felt like royalty—at least what she imagined royalty would feel like.

  Deborah had always planned to wear her mother’s wedding gown, and with the need to conserve money these days, it fit their plans all the better. Thanks to her mother’s and Sissy’s skill and the latest copy of Godey’s, the masterpiece looked as if it had come from an expensive shop in Paris.

  “Now turn and let’s see if we have the hem pinned straight,” Mother commanded.

  Deborah took hold of her mother’s hand and carefully turned on the chair. She let go and gripped the back of the chair as she made a full circle.

  “It looks perfect.” Mother sounded quite satisfied. “The train is so lovely.”

  “Won’t be no problem to finish it up in time,” Sissy said.

  Deborah allowed them to help her from the chair. She ran her hands down over the overlaid bodice and basque waist. “I feel like a queen.” She went to the cheval mirror they’d brought into the dining room.

  Gently plucking a piece of lace that had twisted on the sleeve, she set it right and smiled. “I have never seen anything more beautiful, and just knowing that you wore this gown first . . .” Tears came to her eyes as she turned to face her mother. “I’m so very blessed.”

  Mother embraced her gently. “As am I. I can hardly believe this day has come.”

  Deborah pulled away and gave a light-hearted laugh. “Neither can I. It seemed forever in arriving.” She gently touched the modest sweep of the scooped neckline. In just a couple of days, she would be Mrs. Christopher Kelleher. Dr. and Mrs. Kelleher. She giggled. One day it would be Dr. and Dr. Kelleher. Or maybe just “the doctors Kelleher.” She giggled.

  “You are getting giddy,” her mother teased. “Let’s get you out of the gown before you do something foolish.”

  “I wouldn’t be so silly.”

  “Oh, look at you!” Lizzie and Jael declared as they entered the room, each carrying one of Lizzie and G.W.’s twins. Rutger wanted out of his mother’s arms the moment they stepped into sight of his grandmother, however. At nine months of age, Rutger and Emily Ann, or “Annie” as she had quickly been dubbed, were getting into everything and charming everyone.

  “I swear, they grow by inches each and every day.”

  “I agree with that,” Lizzie said, wrestling her son. “Especially now that they eat from the table, as well as nurse. I can hardly believe they’ll soon have their first birthday. Here it is the end of March; June isn’t that far off.”

  Jael cuddled the calmer Annie. “I certainly wish I had a baby so sweet.” Annie laughed and reached up to take hold of Jael’s chin.

  “Maybe you and Deborah both will have a baby this time next year,” Lizzie said, her face revealing her delight at such a thought. “Then all of our children could be close in age and play together.”

  “I doubt we’ll even be in the area,” Jael said sadly. “Stuart doesn’t like the influence you have over me. He’s jealous of how close we are.” She sighed. “He wouldn’t be if it weren’t for all his revenge nonsense.” She shook her head and shifted Annie in her arms. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “But it’s the truth,” Lizzie said. “I’m afraid our lives will never be the same because of my bad decision to leave him.”

  “Leaving Stuart at the altar wasn’t a bad decision,” Deborah countered. “You should never marry someone you don’t love, and I know you don’t regret doing otherwise.” That comment brought to mind the fact that Jael had married Stuart for less than love. She hurried to redirect the conversation. “Are you both as impressed as I am at what Mother and Sissy have done with this gown?”

  “It’s remarkable,” Lizzie said, walking a few steps to see the back. “I can scarcely believe it’s the same piece.”

  “We have the hem and waxed orange blossoms yet to sew,” Mother said, “but I’m quite pleased with how it’s turned out.”

  “Did the waxed blossoms survive the train trip?” Jael asked.

  “They looked perfect,” Mother replied. “The florist in Houston packed them quite carefully. They will make a grand finish to the dress.”

  A loud knock on the front door caught everyone’s attention. Rutger immediately wanted to investigate and Lizzie battled to keep him in her arms.

  “I’ll get it, since Rutger seems to insist,” she told them.

  “Come, let’s get you out of this gown,”
Mother said to Deborah.

  Deborah nodded and followed her mother from the dining room. They were in the hall near the front foyer when she recognized the sound of Christopher’s voice. Sissy turned, eyes wide.

  “Groom ain’t supposed to see you in your weddin’ dress afore the ceremony.”

  Deborah froze in place, uncertain what to do as Christopher came into the room. Sissy tried to shield Deborah from sight. “Bad luck for you to be here, suh,” she told Christopher.

  “I’m afraid bad luck has preceded me.”

  Deborah moved from behind the older woman. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He noticed her gown and his frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

  She touched his arm. “What is it, Christopher? What has happened?”

  Holding out a telegram, Christopher’s gaze never left her face. “I’ve had bad news. Apparently something has happened to my family.”

  Deborah took the telegram and read it. The message was short and yet sent a wave of icy cold through her body. “ ‘Family tragedy.’ ” She looked up. “What kind of tragedy? It says nothing about the cause—about what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know. It was sent by the neighbor who lives across the street from my family. She and my mother are good friends.”

  Glancing again at the telegram, Deborah suddenly grew fearful. The second part of the message was simple.

  Come quick.

  Mother came to her side. “Do you have any way of contacting the woman to learn what has happened?”

  “No. Not really. I could send her a reply, but I’m certain this must have cost money she didn’t have. Even if she got the money from my folks, telegrams aren’t cheap. They could never afford to send a lengthy explanation.”

  Something in his expression caused her to tremble. He was going to postpone the wedding. He was going to leave her and go to his family. She braced herself and waited.

  “I . . . I have little choice . . . but to go.” The look on his face seemed to plead with her to understand. “I . . . I’m so sorry.”

  Light-headedness washed over her. She wondered if Christopher would change his mind if she fainted dead away.

  The twins began to fuss, and Deborah heard Lizzie suggest that she and Jael take them to the kitchen. Mother and Sissy offered to help, and before she knew it, Deborah was alone in the foyer with Christopher. A part of her wanted to break into tears and cry aloud at the unfairness of it all. Here she was, just days away from her wedding, and the groom was leaving her at the altar. Well, not exactly.

  She thought of Stuart Albright and how he would most likely find this news quite satisfying since she’d played such a big role in ruining his wedding. Perhaps it was justice. Perhaps God was getting her attention—reminding her of the pain she’d caused when she encouraged Lizzie to leave Stuart.

  That’s not how God works, she told herself, trying to gather her wits. God is just and righteous, and even now, I must see that He is in control of the situation.

  “Deborah?”

  She lifted her chin ever so slightly. “When will you leave?”

  Christopher reached out and cupped her quivering jaw. “I’m hoping to catch the train tomorrow. If not, I’ll take my horse to Lufkin and catch another there.”

  Deborah nodded. “I understand.”

  He studied her intently. “Do you?”

  She blinked several times, hoping to keep her tears at bay. “Your family relies upon you. What choice is there?”

  “You could come with me to town. We could have Brother Shattuck marry us now,” he said. “I’m not running out on you. I will return as soon as humanly possible.”

  His words offered little comfort; dread gripped her like talons. She wanted to believe that everything would be all right, but nothing seemed further from the truth.

  She toyed with the idea of a rushed ceremony, then dismissed it. Mother and Sissy had worked so hard on the dress and other preparations. Surely the wedding would only be delayed a short time—a week, maybe two. It would be pure selfishness to demand Christopher marry her in a rush.

  “You won’t be gone for long,” she said, trying to convince herself more than him. “I can wait.”

  He shook his head. “But you shouldn’t have to, Deborah. I feel that I’ve put my family before you, and that’s not at all what I want to convey. If I thought I could easily exchange telegrams with Mrs. Maynard, I would. It’s just that I know the financial situation—my mother barely runs the household on what she gets. There’s no money for such things.”

  “I understand.”

  “And I don’t know anyone else who could afford to act as messenger and shoulder the cost until I could reimburse them.”

  “I understand,” she repeated softly.

  “I’ve thought about this all the way out here, and I don’t know what else to do but go and see for myself. Perhaps my father has died—or maybe one of the children. If that’s the case, then I’ll have to help with the funeral expenses, and that will take the money I’ve put aside for our trip to Galveston.”

  Deborah lifted her finger to his lips. “Christopher. You must go. It’s all right.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “But I don’t want to. I’ve looked forward to our wedding day, just as you have. I’ve longed to make you my wife, to share my life with you.”

  “And you will . . . we will,” she murmured. Deborah held back her tears. She had to show Christopher that she could be the strong woman he needed.

  She let him hold her for a few moments, then pulled away. Stepping back, she held up her hands, as if to ward him off. “You’d better go.”

  Christopher looked at her for a moment. “You look beautiful. I can hardly wait to see you in that gown again.”

  She smiled, but felt no joy. “That day will come before you know it. Just hurry back to me.”

  He nodded. “May I kiss you good-bye?”

  She winced, but ducked her head quickly so he wouldn’t see. “I think it might be better if you just went. I have no desire to ever bid you good-bye.”

  “Deborah . . .” He let her name fade without saying anything else.

  She looked up and could see the battle raging inside him. “I’ll tell everyone that you had to go to Kansas City. Please let us know as soon as you can what has happened. And be confident that we will be praying for you and for your family.”

  “They are soon to be your family, too,” he said.

  “Yes. In many ways, they already are. I know that if the situation were reversed, you would understand. Family has always been important to us—and always will be. That’s one of the things I love about you, Christopher.”

  He stepped forward and pulled her back into his arms. He gave her a brief but sound kiss. “That wasn’t good-bye,” he said, turning to go. “That was a promise of my return.”

  Deborah kept a brave face all through supper and into the night, even while her family plied her with questions she could not answer. Now, however, in the quiet of her room—away from everyone else—fear overcame Deborah in a way that she had not anticipated.

  What if the tragedy were such that he couldn’t return?

  What if it wasn’t his father who had died, but rather his mother? After all, the neighbor had sent the telegram. Perhaps she had to do so because Mrs. Kelleher was dead. If that had happened, Christopher would be forced to make some sort of arrangement. After all, his father’s injuries from an accident in a rail yard kept him from working and Christopher’s younger siblings certainly couldn’t fend for themselves.

  Deborah rolled restlessly to her side and tucked her knees up to her chest. What if he had to stay there and help his family for an indefinite period of time?

  What if he never came back?

  Overwhelmed by the weight and fear that had settled squarely on her chest, she muffled her sobs against her pillow and tried to pray. Words failed her, however. And the comfort she often found in talking to God remained elusive.

 
“Deborah?” her mother’s soft voice called out.

  She hadn’t heard the door to her room open—hadn’t seen the glow of her mother’s lamp. Mother put the light on the dresser, then sat beside Deborah on the bed.

  “I’m so sorry that this has happened, honey. But take courage. Christopher loves you dearly. He will be back—of that I’m certain.”

  Mother stroked back damp hair from Deborah’s face. “I don’t know why it had to be like this, but the world is full of heartache and tribulation, just as Jesus said it would be. Yet He reminds us that He has already overcome the world.”

  Deborah shook her head. “But that’s because He’s the Lord. What does that mean for us? For me?”

  “I believe that because He lives within our hearts—because we belong to Him—we have victory. Satan would steal everything from us. He would take our joy, our hope, our contentment. He desires to destroy us, and what better way than by interfering in our lives and loves?”

  “But God has more power than the devil. You’ve often reminded me of that,” Deborah replied. “Why doesn’t God keep these bad things from happening to us?”

  Mother gave a sad smile. “Oh, how many times I’ve asked that very thing. Why did God give Satan power in this world? Why does God allow evil to corrupt and destroy the things He’s created?”

  “And what conclusion did you come to?” Deborah asked, sitting up. “What peace can you offer me now?”

  Taking Deborah’s hand in her own, Mother sighed. “The same peace that brought me through those long nights after your father’s death—the peace that comes in knowing that all of this is temporal. Nothing here will last forever. God gives us earthly life for a brief time, and while it is ours, we should cherish it as a gift. We should live life to His glory and love one another in the richness of the love He holds for us.

  “Christopher isn’t lost to you—he’s merely delayed. His love for you goes on, as does yours for him. This time apart is temporary. Use it for God’s glory and not your own sorrow.”