Love Finds You in Bethlehem, New Hampshire Page 3

  “Your mama is in heaven, Sara. She would be glad you have this opportunity for a new life. And you can write to me. I’m sure a learned man like Mr. Haskins will teach you how to read better as well as write.”

  “I still don’t understand why he wants me to come. What can I do there? Care for his home? His children? Is he married?”

  Mrs. Whitaker laughed heartily and ventured forward to embrace Sara. “That’s the whole reason for the ad. He’s looking for a wife. I thought I told you.”

  Sara’s mouth fell open. “A wife? You mean me? No!”

  Mrs. Whitaker stepped back, the merriment disappearing from her plump face. “What do you mean?”

  “He—he can’t marry me.”

  “Why can’t he?”

  Sara shook her head. “Look at me, Mrs. Whitaker!”

  “I am looking at you. And I see someone beautiful—a young woman that God created in His image. Caring, merciful, with talents all her own. Why shouldn’t the good Lord arrange for you to be happy? To live the rest of your days in a beautiful place in New Hampshire as a man’s wife?”

  The word marriage rang in her mind like a tolling bell. “But have you told him who I am?”

  “Just as I said. And every word is true.”

  “Did you also tell him I’m poor? That I own nothing to my name but a teacup and some pictures?”

  “Why should he know all that? He is not marrying your possessions—just you.” Mrs. Whitaker took the money and held it before her eyes. “At least you need to find out, Sara Elisabeth. Find out if this is the Lord’s will for your life. Find out if He has called you to marriage with this man, to a better life than the streets of New York City. Is that so awful to consider? Will you throw away this wonderful opportunity because you doubt who you are?”

  Sara stared at the money resting in her hand. What an opportunity it was, indeed. If only she looked as radiant on the outside as she sometimes felt on the inside. Slowly her fingers curled around the money. She brought it to her heart and nodded.

  “Good! I’ll write Mr. Haskins this very evening. We will buy your train ticket and have you there by October.”

  Just a few weeks… My life will change forever. How would she ever be able to say good-bye to the city and embrace a stranger’s life by the mountains? God will help me. If what Mrs. Whitaker says is true and this is God’s will, then He will provide the way. Somehow.

  Sara returned that night to her home in the basement. But this was no ordinary night, thinking about what tomorrow would bring on the streets of New York City. Nor did she think about her next meal. In fact, she’d forgotten to buy the cheese she’d planned for this evening. She couldn’t eat anyway. She only felt numb inside. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts about this man named Thomas Haskins, this artist in New Hampshire, and what would happen when she stepped off the train in a town called Bethlehem. But she had no choice. She’d given Mrs. Whitaker the money to buy the ticket. It was done.

  “Oh, dear Lord, what am I doing?” Sara mourned aloud. She took up the picture of her mother. “Do you see what’s happened, Mama? Some stranger in New Hamp–sher wants me to be his wife, a man I don’t even know. Can this happen to someone like me? Or will it be the worst decision of my life?” She shook her head, trying to quell the doubts. “Make me strong, Lord, strong enough to do Your will in this. Help me be ready in mind, spirit”—she glanced down at herself—“and body as well. Oh, dear Lord, I’m so afraid.”

  Chapter Three

  He’d done it. Tom contemplated his deed inside the sitting room of his stately home.

  He had written the ad and, with trepidation, sent it along with Edward and Margaret. They were happy for him, confident it would lead to success. Tom needed success in both life and love. Just the other day, he’d met up with Lawrence near the mercantile as Lawrence and his wife, Loretta, were shopping for a new hat for her to wear to the Coaching Parade.

  “You need a wife to spend money on, Tom,” Lawrence had mused.

  Tom whirled in a start, wondering if somehow his friend had been made privy to what he’d done, submitting an ad for a bride. Tom nearly mentioned it but did not. Now was not the time or the place. Especially if things didn’t work out as planned.

  “When are you going to make room in that busy life of yours for a wife?”

  Tom’s gaze darted to Loretta, who acknowledged him with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. “He has time, dear husband.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s forgetting about time. The years are slipping away. I see you’re already getting a bit gray around the temples, Tom.” Lawrence chuckled, even as Tom smoothed down his hair. “Better find a wife quick before you start bending like a cane.”

  Again Tom nearly told him he was attempting to do just that.

  “Oh, Lawrence,” chided his wife, “he will have someone well-seasoned and full of wisdom. Not to mention a house full of paintings. Now we should go before you say anything else foolish. Please excuse him, Tom.”

  “Another reason to find an excellent wife—to stop one from making a fool of himself,” Lawrence added with a grin, patting his wife’s hand.

  Tom watched them stroll away. He’d seen the telltale signs of the years catching up to him in the mirror one day. And he refused to hold the title of long-standing bachelor of Bethlehem. That was why he’d taken the advice of Edward and Margaret Newkirk and placed the ad.

  It soon proved fruitful. In a matter of a few weeks he’d received a reply from a woman named Sara McGee. He felt an initial joy at such a quick answer, but since then, Tom had found his creativity stifled like fire silenced by a bucket of water. Wasn’t a wife supposed to help with his artistic endeavors and open new doors? Instead he sat by a view and did nothing. All the waiting and wondering was cluttering his mind. Wondering if he had made the right decision to place an ad. Wondering if he had done the right thing in answering the first letter that arrived. But this Sara seemed perfect. Accomplished. Loved life and children. Worked hard. And possessed an adventuresome spirit to leave everything she knew to come here.

  He stirred in his chair, brushing his face with his hand as if to clear the cobwebs he felt. He’d trusted God with everything else; surely he could trust Him with this one rather important detail of life. And yet he fretted. He must turn away from an anxious spirit and embrace peace.

  Tom now took up the paper lying on a stand—a notice for the upcoming Coaching Parade held annually in Bethlehem. The parade was gaining respect in New England, as various carriages and coaches, bedecked in splendid array, competed for prizes. Each year Tom stood by his display of paintings and sold them to the throng of visitors who came to Bethlehem to watch the parade. He would be glad for the festivity this year. It was something to occupy his mind rather than waiting to see what kind of woman arrived from the big city.

  Again he wiped his face. It felt warm to the touch. He dismissed his apprehension for now and moved to look over his selection of paintings. Tom examined an older painting he’d done last year, one of a man and woman enjoying a picnic on a bright autumn day. The woman carried a parasol to protect her features from the harsh sunlight, and the man wore his Sunday best. The steep mountains of Franconia Notch framed the background. It was the perfect portrait of humanity he’d talked about with Mr. Astor. His thoughts centered on that picnic, and suddenly he imagined himself in the scene with the woman from New York. He was in his suit, she in a lovely gown. The parasol protected her from the sun. Her lily white hands were covered by gloves, and a large hat decorated her head. He thought of them sharing their daily bread while talking about their lives. And then would follow a kiss, so natural and wonderful in God’s perfect setting.

  His heart quickened when he realized how desperately he wanted companionship, to live the very scene he painted. Could such things happen by way of a simple ad placed in a city paper? Though the letter he received encouraged him, he still knew so little about Sara McGee. To pledge his life and love based on a few sentences scrat
ched out on paper hardly seemed the right thing to do.

  But look at Edward and Margaret. God blessed them. Why can’t I receive it, too? I need to be confident of it. Walk by faith. Allow the Lord to lead my actions and my heart as He did with them.

  At least he had the parade to occupy him, rather than these questions. He would enjoy the many tourists and the people of Bethlehem on this special occasion and sell whatever pieces he could. And he would wait for the next letter detailing Sara McGee’s arrival and giving more clues about her.

  The day of the Coaching Parade in Bethlehem dawned sunny with a clear blue sky, despite the rain that had fallen overnight. Tom had awakened to see splatters of raindrops on the windowpanes and hoped it would not dampen the day’s festivities. But, like many storms in this place, it came and went, and so too would the storms of life. He felt relieved in the morning to see sunlight gleaming through the house as he packed up his paintings. Thank you, Lord, that You remain on the throne. Help me take this day by day and leave the rest in Your care. Amen.

  A knock came on the door. He fumbled to open it, with paintings tucked under each arm. Lawrence greeted him with a smile. “This is your day, my friend. Have I a surprise for you!”

  “You’re just in time.” Tom handed him several paintings. “Take these, will you?”

  “Yes, you’re in luck, my friend,” Lawrence continued. “Remember our talk not long ago about how you need help in certain areas of your life? I, as your best friend, have taken matters into my hands. I’ve come up with the very solution to your problem.”

  Tom barely heard the words and, instead, mused over what he needed for the day. Paintings. Wooden display stands. I should bring my easel and paints, also.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Oh, what problem is that in particular?”

  “Your bachelor status, of course. We talked it over, Loretta and I. And we have the very solution. Loretta’s cousin has just arrived from Boston—Miss Annabelle Loving. You would make the perfect couple. The talk of the town.”

  Tom froze. With his thoughts centered on the parade, this news was akin to dunking him in a horse trough. “I don’t understand.”

  Lawrence laughed. “You will. Come. Let’s set up your booth, and I’ll tell you all about her.”

  “Lawrence…” Tom paused to retrieve his hat and one last painting that was leaning against the wall. “That’s kind of you, but I have other matters to tend to right now. We’ll need to make several trips from the house to carry the wooden stands and my paints, as I’ve decided to set up my easel.”

  “You always have matters on your mind, except what’s important. That’s why I took it upon myself to help you in your time of need. And you, my good man, need to find a wife. So says scripture.”

  Tom wanted to tell him that he had already solved the problem by way of the ad but dismissed it as they walked out the front door into a cloud of excitement. Crowds were gathering along the street, anticipating the parade. And from where he stood, Tom could see a variety of booths set up along the walkway, from food booths serving cakes and pies to other artists such as weavers and sculptors and authors selling books. He found a place among the hustle and bustle to set up business and asked Lawrence to retrieve the wooden stands.

  “She’s beautiful,” Lawrence stated once he returned. “Annabelle, that is. I know you will like her.”

  Together they erected the wooden stands to display Tom’s paintings for curious browsers. “Where do you want this one?” Lawrence held up the painting of the young couple picnicking.

  “Here is fine,” Tom said absently, trying to focus his attention on his display. He wished the man would not waste time with his matchmaking. He wanted the man’s help in organizing the sale. “Don’t worry me, Lawrence. It has been dealt with.”

  “Yes, it has, and…” Just then a band struck up a merry tune. “I love a good parade. When Annabelle comes, I will gladly watch over your booth while you two attend the parade and get to know each other. I hear the carriages this year are extraordinary.”

  Tom halted. “What?”

  “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Annabelle Loving, Loretta’s cousin from Boston—she’s here. And she’d like to meet you. I told her all about your work, and she’s fascinated. She was also quite taken with the paintings we have displayed in our home, like the one you did of the Old Man.”

  Tom cherished that scene, too—the man’s face outlined in rocks and poised at the pinnacle of a mountain in Franconia Notch. Tom found the natural stone image a true wonder. Many artists sought to create it on canvas, and many buyers desired to have the scene displayed in their homes. “I should paint the Old Man again sometime,” he mused. “It would sell quickly.”

  “Annabelle would buy it for certain,” Lawrence said. He left for a few moments and came back with a small wooden folding chair and Tom’s painting supplies. “I must leave you now, my friend. I will see you shortly.”

  Tom thanked him for his help and wished him a good day. He studied the canvas before him, grateful that he had already begun a penciled outline of a new creation—the sunshine he so admired that morning. He mixed yellow and orange paint onto the palette. It would do better for sales, he reasoned, to show his talent to the roving masses. He looked at the sketch on the canvas and the colors on the palette. Yes, a day of sun, of God’s glory, will do well. He took up the brush and painted long streaks of gold and orange.

  “What will that be?” a young voice inquired.

  Tom glanced behind him and saw a boy standing there, licking a peppermint candy stick. “The sun, for now.”

  “I want to paint. Can I paint something?”

  Tom hesitated. “You’re welcome to paint a few streaks of yellow on the canvas, if you wish.”

  The youngster yelped with glee and laid his candy stick on the ground, unconcerned about the dirt and the bugs rapidly covering it. He took the paintbrush Tom gave him and, as carefully as he could, painted several stripes of color across the canvas. He then handed the brush back to Tom.

  “Very nice, young man. You should do more painting.”

  “Thank you.” The boy picked up his candy stick and flicked off specks of dirt and crawling bugs before popping it back into his mouth. “I’ll tell Pop about you. He wants a painting for our house.” The boy took off, calling for his father.

  Tom focused on the painting, amazed by the careful attention the boy had shown. The young lad had treated the opportunity quite seriously, reminding Tom of his interest in paints at that age. He did pictures in many mediums back then, using brushes, sticks, sponges, even his fingers. His parents were none too pleased, either, that his fingers were always stained the colors of the rainbow. But to Tom, it was glorious fun.

  True to his word, the boy returned, pointing out to his father what he had done on the canvas. The father smiled, thanked Tom for sharing his talent with his son, and bought one of the larger paintings in his stock. Tom glowed. This is going to be a fine day, he decided, barely able to contain his excitement. He readied the brush to paint more splashes of sunshine to match his mood.

  “So this is the famous painter my cousin’s husband speaks so highly of.” A feathery voice greeted him. He glanced up to find a figure dressed in pure white and wearing a large hat decorated with blue ribbons. Tom caught his breath. She looked like an angel. He immediately laid down his brush and stood to his feet. “Hello, Miss…”

  “Annabelle Loving,” she said, extending her gloved hand for him to shake. “And you must be Mr. Haskins. I am Loretta Boshen’s cousin from Boston.”

  “Yes, yes indeed, Miss Loving. I’m Thomas Haskins, a resident of this town.”

  Annabelle chuckled before turning to view each of the paintings on display. She paused before the one of the couple sharing the picnic lunch. “Why, she looks like me,” Annabelle said with a laugh. “She’s wearing the same dress! Have you been painting my portrait when I’m not looking, Mr. Haskins?” She laughed once m
ore.

  It was all Tom could do to stand still. He felt hot all over. “It was quite some time ago when I painted it…,” he began.

  “Goodness, can’t you tell when I’m teasing?” She patted his hand. “I’ve never been to Bethlehem, you see, so it can’t possibly be me. Unless you saw me in a dream.” She stood tall, with her head tilted to the sky. The sun cast fiery rays on her pale complexion, igniting her hazel eyes so that they appeared like fine emeralds. “It is beautiful here. I think I would like to stay for a long time.”

  “Yes, Bethlehem is a fine place. Plenty to see and do. That’s why we have visitors here most times of the year and why we have so many hotels, as well.”

  She lowered her gaze to meet his. “I would love to have an escort show me everything about Bethlehem. And you seem the perfect gentleman for such a job. I would like us to get together soon, I think. In a day or two, perhaps?”

  “I…,” he began and hesitated. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

  She smiled, nodded her head, and began to move off down the street. “Oh, and Mr. Haskins,” she added, turning back. “Please put aside the painting of the picnic. I would like to buy it. Lawrence will come by later to pay you and pick it up.”

  “Yes, yes indeed. Thank you, Miss Loving. Good day.” He watched her walk down the street, her white dress like a beacon of heavenly light that mesmerized him. Only when he sat back down in the chair and stared at the canvas of yellow and gold did he consider what had transpired. Why all this attention now?

  He sighed in frustration. God’s blessings indeed came in abundance, but now he sensed his quandary. He knew nothing about Miss Loving, yet he had agreed to go on an outing. He knew nothing about Sara McGee, yet he had invited her to come to Bethlehem as a potential bride. What was he doing? His actions of late even made him dizzy. Were they only the responses of a desperate man?