Special Delivery (The Great Outdoors Book 4)

by Shayne McClendon

  Shania sat back against the seat in turmoil. Her fingers tapped maddeningly against her thigh.

  The one time a person needed a sketchpad…

  The Bishop Legacy – Part One

  June 1931

  Raisa Krupin was the only member of her family to survive the clash of German and Russian forces that descended on her small farming village in 1914.

  Her beauty spared her from death by the soldiers but not from the horrors they visited on her.

  Raisa and another girl escaped into the forest after several weeks, hiding and unsure where to go. The kitchen girl died from exposure on the third day and Raisa buried her in a shallow grave with a whispered prayer.

  She didn’t know how far she walked, dashing for cover at every noise. She was unaware when her body quit on her.

  Andreas Spencer Bishop, a young captain with the British Army, ordered his men to stop as they passed Raisa’s crumpled form half in the road.

  Wrapping her in his coat, he took her with him with plans to help her locate her family.

  He couldn’t save every victim of the war but he could save one who literally appeared in his path.

  When she woke and their eyes met, Andreas knew Raisa would be his wife. In 1915, a woman used and abused as she’d been didn’t dare hope for a normal life.

  He was insistent she would have one.

  It took a year of gentle words and firm assurances before she admitted her love. It was another year before she consented to marry him.

  After the war, he returned with his new bride to his family estate in England and lived with her in a distant wing of the sprawling home. With exception to his father, his family was cold, bordering on cruel, but he insulated Raisa from it.

  They maintained their own residence and she gave birth to their first and only child in 1920.

  Happy and in love, despite the screaming nightmares that sometimes visited his gentle wife in the middle of the night, he worked tirelessly to improve their future.

  Andreas hired several of the servants to help him create clothes and goods for the local farmers. He filled several pages of the journal his father gave him with ideas, calculations, and plans.

  * * *

  February 1933

  Their son grew quickly even as his beloved father’s health declined.

  Confined to his bed, Raisa sat with him during the day while she crocheted. Young Spencer translated for her and held lengthy conversations with his grandfather while completing the work assigned by his tutor.

  Andreas joined them in the evenings and they ate dinner at a small table pulled near the bed.

  Softly, his ailing father told him, “You’re a dreamer, Andreas. You follow your heart.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you married for love. Well done, lad. It will keep you happy.” He gestured weakly at his grandson. “Teach your boy to do the same.” Meeting his son’s eyes, he told him, “Get my cigar box.”

  Andreas returned with the unusually heavy wooden box and lowered to the side of the bed. Smiling, he said, “I’m unsure your doctor would agree with a cigar, Father.”

  “Turn it over.” He carefully turned it upside down. His father’s finger tapped the wood. “Slide this.”

  The opening revealed many gold coins.

  Andreas’ eyes locked with his father’s. “I cannot…”

  “As my youngest, you were doomed not to inherit. There was nothing that could be done no matter how I wished it. However, every year, I’ve given you money and I know you saved it.” Andreas nodded. “You’ve always been such a bright boy. Each year, on your birthday, I placed a gold coin in this box.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Father. I’ll be alright.”

  “On the morning of your forty-third birthday, the pain in my chest struck me for the first time. I placed more coins in the box.” His smile was sad. “I knew I wouldn’t see you grow older.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t say it, Father.”

  “Nonsense. It’s the truth.” He pointed at the gold. “These will be worth more in America.” Andreas’ eyes went wide. “I know you’ve waited to leave.”

  “It’s no hardship to stay with you.” He smiled. “How bored you must be in this room day after day.”

  Ignoring the words, his father told him, “You must go immediately, Andreas. Your mother and brother will make your life unnecessarily difficult without my presence to temper them. My will mentions a stipend for your family but I think we both know you’ll never see a farthing.”

  To Raisa, his father ordered, “Into your sewing box, quickly.”

  “Are you certain, Father?”

  “I said quickly, Andreas.” He upended the small treasure into the woven basket and closed the panel, returning it to the dresser across the room. “I feel better now. Will you read to me, child?”

  Spencer climbed up to sit beside his grandfather as other family came and went. Even as his nurse tended him, the young man didn’t stop reading until his grandfather took his last breath.

  Their little family were the only ones who mourned his loss.

  Though they’d lived in relative peace, the death of his father changed everything rapidly. His oldest brother’s ascent to head of the family brought creeping financial ruin. He no longer hid his disdain of Raisa or his jealousy of her obvious love for his younger brother.

  Calling him into the study their father had inhabited all their lives, Andrew looked at him smugly. “What’s your plan now? You won’t be supported by me.”

  “No one has ever supported my family. When I returned, I spoke to Father about my plans and offered a tenant situation. He agreed. I have taken nothing from this house or your inheritance.”

  Clearly unaware of the countless conversations he’d held with their deceased patriarch, Andrew’s expression tightened. “You wish to remain my boarder then?” He chuckled. “She may be beautiful, little brother but you cannot change her low birth. Rid yourself of her and marry an heiress.”

  “You have the assets but you certainly didn’t inherit Father’s manners or class.” He stood and added, “We leave in five days for London. Good day, brother.”

  Bowing, he returned to his wing and instructed his wife and son to pack their belongings.

  The Bishop Legacy – Part Two

  April 1934

  Arriving in New York City as a teenager, Spencer Bishop stared at the skyline in awe.

  Never had he seen buildings so tall.

  They waited in line for several hours and when they approached the immigration officials, Spencer spoke for his mother. Nervousness made it harder for her to understand English and it was crucial she not speak her native Russian.

  She presented her documents while his father held her other hand firmly. Andreas spoke to the agent with a relaxed expression.

  The man in front of them frowned as he reviewed Raisa Krupin-Bishop’s paperwork. Spencer held his breath and his mother gently touched his forearm to calm him.

  They left England with the understanding that getting Raisa into America would be their greatest challenge.

  After all, her documents were forged.

  When they left the home he’d grown up in, their family lived in London for more than a year in the cheapest flat that could be found. When his mother’s documents were ready, they booked passage on a ship bound for America.

  “What’s this then? Where are you from?” The immigration official jabbed at the paper with his fingertip. “It’s got burns on it.”

  “She barely escaped with her life as the fire from German invasion raged.”

  The man blinked and brushed his fingers over his bushy mustache. “Ah. Not a bloody German or a dirty Russian then?”

  “She’s Belgian…just a little girl during the war.”

  “Hmm. Alright then.” With a cursory glance at the males’ documents, he stamped all of them and murmured. “Ferry to the mainland leaves in thirty minutes. Welcome to America.”

 
; Walking to the dock in silence, the family huddled together on the windy ferry. When they disembarked, their feet touched the soil of America for the first time and they grinned at each other.

  His father lifted their biggest trunk and Spencer carried the smaller one. Raisa carried an embroidered bag with their necessities inside.

  They walked for a long way before they found a boarding house with a room to let. It was a large home surrounded by others similar to it. Some were well maintained and others looked as if they’d fallen into ruin.

  The elderly owner was suspicious of the newcomers but Spencer charmed her, offering to do odd jobs around the boarding house.

  “Alright then. I don’t like the walks dirty.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m happy to help.”

  She showed them to their small apartment. Once Andreas paid her for the first month, she gave him a key and departed with a nod.

  Glancing around the small but neat space, Spencer claimed a padded window seat as his bed and placed his small trunk beside it. He helped his father place their other belongings in the only bedroom.

  Raisa stood in the tiny kitchen with a smile. “Let’s see what is nearby our new home.”

  They locked up and walked to the street, glancing up and down the block. In Russian, Raisa murmured, “How big it is, Andreas. How small I feel.”

  Turning, he placed one hand on Spencer’s shoulder and cupped his wife’s cheek.

  “New York is big. However, my darling, you could never be small in comparison. This is a fresh start for all of us. I’ll make you proud, Raisa.”

  “You already make me proud. Come. You must be starving. Let’s find food and talk.” She smiled and the raven black hair she’d given to her son shimmered in the sun. “We have much to do.”

  Andreas ruffled Spencer’s hair. “Are you starving, son?”

  “I’m always starving, Dad.”

  “How well I know it.”

  It was their first day in America and after they’d eaten, Andreas immediately began searching for space he could rent. He refused to waste a moment.

  Within a few weeks, he used a small part of the inheritance his father set aside for him to open a mercantile and clothing factory in New York City.

  Rather than cater to the wealthy as most expected, the Bishops made a fortune making affordable, functional clothing for the poorer members of society.

  It would become a theme throughout the building of their empire.

  Andreas grew his small investment into multiple successful businesses and provided a stable life the three of them lived quietly. Despite the funds to move, they remained in the boarding house and when the owner grew too old to care for the place, he offered to buy the property from her.

  “I have nowhere else to go,” she explained.

  “You’ll stay here and we shall care for you.”

  The woman smiled and replied, “After the Great Crash, I bought this brownstone with my husband who was a gambler by trade. He died not long after we moved in and I didn’t know what to do. I started renting the many rooms.” Blinking, she added, “No one has ever stayed so long as your family. It’s been a great comfort to me.”

  “Let us help you.”

  Reaching out, she placed her hand over Raisa’s and smiled at Andreas. “Bring your lawyer. I’ll leave it to you in my will. I have no other family.”

  And so it was that when she passed away three years later, the Bishop family inherited the brownstone that would remain in their family for generations.

  Raisa commissioned a family vault in the back garden where her body was interred. She felt they could do no less for the woman who’d given them shelter and kindness.

  * * *

  May 1948

  Spencer Bishop remembered every lesson learned from his father and after returning from World War II, he started the first of many businesses in his own right.

  His mother questioned him daily about finding a wife. His answer was always a smile and a shake of his head.

  Sighing, he went to his dad’s right-hand man, Galen Reynolds to inquire when his father would return from his trip.

  “Ah, young Mr. Bishop.”

  Grinning, Spencer replied, “Not so young anymore, Galen. How are the baby and Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Gerald grows like a weed, sir. The missus is right as rain once again. Your mother checks on them every morning.” The new father paused. “Your family is…uncommonly kind.”

  “I won’t bother her until she returns. My mother knows better what to say at this stage.”

  “Better than I, that’s certain. I’ve offended my darling countless times since she delivered our boy. She seems a natural at motherhood but most women do in comparison to the males in their lives.

  “Agreed.” Spencer headed for the door. “If Father returns, let him know I’ll be home for dinner.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He stopped at the front parlor to kiss his mother’s cheek and compliment the lovely blanket she was creating. He knew it was intended for their housekeeper and her new son.

  Feeling restless, he left the house without a direction in mind.

  Walking the streets of New York allowed him to disconnect and open himself to the energy of the city.

  Unsure how many blocks he walked, he was suddenly captivated by the fanciful front window display of a small shop. Most display windows were utilitarian, intended to be functional. The stationary shop decided to go with one that held an element of silliness and fun.

  Intrigued, he entered the shop to speak to the owner. A bell rang above him and a young woman glanced up at him with a welcoming smile.

  For just a moment, it felt as if his heart stopped before beating again as he looked into her eyes.

  “Good afternoon, sir. May I help?”

  “I…yes.” Feeling as if he moved in slow motion, he approached the counter. A mere two feet separated them. “I’m Spencer Bishop.”

  “Oh! I adore Bishop Books! How lovely to meet you.” She held out a slender hand and he took it. “Were you looking for something in particular?” Tugging gently, he realized he still held her hand.

  “Your window. I like it very much,” he managed.

  “Thank you. My elderly aunt tells me my head is full of stuffing but more customers stop in since I added some whimsical elements.”

  “Would you care to join me for tea?” The words were out before he realized he planned to say them.

  “Such a prim and proper invitation with your pretty accent.” She smiled and Spencer wondered if the punch it caused to his chest should be a cause for concern. “I’m afraid I can’t leave. The store doesn’t close for another hour and I’ll need to take Aunt her dinner.”

  For a long moment, he stared at her. Inhaling carefully, he placed his palms on top of the counter. “Then I’ll wait.”

  “Wait?” she said incredulously. “Why ever would you wait? I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

  “Never too busy to enjoy tea with a fascinating young woman.”

  Waving her hand, she laughed warmly. “Fascinating. I think not.” He didn’t look away and she rested her own palms on the other side of the counter, tilting her head in confusion. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “But…why?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you but it’s important.”

  “Mr. Bishop…”

  “Spencer,” he interrupted.

  “I couldn’t call you by your given name. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It’s perfectly proper.”

  “Not in my world.”

  “Then I think it’s time you joined me in my world.” Her bright blue eyes widened and he leaned closer. “Tell me your name.”

  “Genevieve Smith. E-everyone calls me Genny.”

  “Don’t be nervous, Genny. I won’t endanger your reputation.”

  “Sir, you might be threatening it just a bit by standing here.”

  “Tell me who y
ou are, Genny.”

  “I told you…”

  “No. Tell me who you really are…or who you want to be.”

  Blinking several times, she whispered, “No one in my life has ever asked me such a question.”

  “I’m asking it now…and I’m more anxious to hear your answer than you can imagine.”

  “Whatever for? I’m not anyone special.”

  Leaning forward a bit more, he told her softly, “Nonsense. You’re my future wife.”

  The words startled her badly and she gasped. “What game are you playing, sir?”

  “No game. Within three days, I’ll propose and you’ll say yes, Genny.” His smile was slow. “That’s why I want to know what you want out of life. I plan to make it a reality for you.”

  “Life isn’t a fairytale. Things like this don’t happen outside of storybooks.” She stared at the top of the counter, a blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks.

  “Look at me.” He could see how hard it was for her to lift her face. “This isn’t a book. This is a quaint shop. Something drew me here, encouraged me to come inside. Do you believe in destiny, Genny?” She shook her head slowly. “That’s alright. I believe enough for both of us.”

  “You’re a strange man.”

  “I’m a man who knows his own mind. I make decisions and act on them.”

  “You’re rushing to this decision, Mr. Bishop.”

  “I disagree. Now…tell me who you are, Genny.”

  “I-I’m just a shop girl. Maybe someday, I’ll be a mother. I like to help people. Aunt is usually in a foul mood but I don’t mind seeing to what she needs.”

  “She took you in when you were small?”

  Genny nodded. “My mum died when I was born. My father was killed in a factory accident before the war.”

  “You’ve grown up here, made a life in this little shop. Working below, living above. You greet customers happily and help them find just the right thing. You express your creative side by decorating your front window and perhaps design some of the goods you carry.”

  She frowned. “How do you possibly know that?”

  “Because I’m staring into your eyes and seeing the woman I waited to meet.”