Sara choked a happy sob, drawing him close as she whispered “Yes, Christopher. Yes, yes, yes, forever and ever yes!” in a voice that sang.
He pressed his lips against her hair, reveling in her choked whisper of love as his arms finally embraced the woman from his dreams. God had presented a better tomorrow, giving Christopher a place to rest, supported and secure, within the arms of his Lady of Charcoal.
Epilogue
The woman stood misty and faded, vibrant green eyes twinkling with her smile as she kissed a young girl’s forehead. The girl looked up, an expression of quiet knowing on her face. The woman offered her a soothing smile and brushed the blonde hair from her cherub-face with a somewhat trembling hand.
“You know I can’t come anymore, Gwyn?”
Gwyn nodded. “I know, Mamma. Sara’s going to be mamma now. Like you said she would.”
“That’s right, sweet darling. You be her Angel Girl now.”
Gwyn nodded again. Then she gave her mother’s hand a tight squeeze. “I will always remember you, Mamma.”
Carla Lake lowered herself onto the side of the bed again, enveloping Gwyn’s little hand in both of hers. “As long as you live, Gwyn, you’ll remember me. My face might not be bright in your mind, and my voice might not be clear in your ear, but you will remember me. Like a whisper. Or a bit of a favorite song.” She leaned down to once more kiss her daughter’s forehead. “You will always remember me.”
Gwyn wrapped her arms tight around her mother, tears escaping. “I love you, Mamma.”
Carla returned the embrace. “I know you do, Angel Girl. I love you, too.”
Gwyn sniffed as she pulled back, tear-filled green eyes meeting her mother’s. “Tell Baby Andrew I love him.”
Carla touched her daughter’s nose. “I will, darling.” Then she urged Gwyn deeper under the covers and tucked them tightly around her. “Sweet dreams, Angel Girl.”
“Sweet dreams, Mamma,” the little girl whispered.
Carla offered her daughter another smile before standing from the bed and exiting the room, walking the halls and the stairs she remembered from another life.
Then, quiet and serene in expression, she paused outside her one-time escape, the room of flowers, scents, and blooms which held so many pleasant memories. Softly smiling, she rested her hand against the warmth of the glass. “May the Lord’s blessings always be warm within your heart. May love never be far from this house. And may warmth and laughter always surround you.”
Then she lowered her arm to her side, pausing a moment more before turning to move away, fading to her new home within memories; his searching finally ended.
Coming in 2013
Releasing Yesterday
Heart of the Blessed | Book Two
Christopher Lake accepted his hat and coat from the elderly gentleman who had been with him since before he could remember. “I’ll be back later today, Harold. Likely with my father and mother in tow.”
“Yes, Mister Christopher. Oh. A letter from a Mr. Conklin came in the post last night. I’ve put it into your overcoat pocket for reading on the way to Miss Sara.”
Sara. Christopher smiled and nodded, hazel eyes twinkling with the welcome hiccup of expectation as he adjusted his overcoat and buttoned it up. “Thank you, Harold. If Roger Whitaker calls, give him the Donovans’ number. Paul and Dix are leaving for England this next weekend, remember, and I need to touch base with Roger to inform him of the new plans.”
“Yes, Mister Christopher.”
Christopher took the armful of collected newspapers and quarterlies from Harold’s hands and turned to step outside into the early morning dimness. He took in a deep breath and smiled heavenward. It felt ages since the last time he enjoyed a morning. Now he saw inspiration and brightness in everything around him. Teddy Parker, longtime friend from college, would have scoffed and made some sadistic remark about killing someone with sickeningly sweet sentiments of happiness.
Chuckling, Christopher boarded the carriage after bidding Patrick good morning. Then the carriage was off toward Monument Avenue and his sister’s home. Christopher set his mound of papers beside him and searched within his pockets for the mentioned letter.
Chris,
I apologize, but an unexpected trip to England will make contact regarding the joint displays between our galleries impossible.
My business in England couldn’t be put off. In fact, this particular trip has been several years in coming. When I return, I hope to plan a meeting between you and myself so that we can discuss details of the joint display, as well as the possibility of something on a grander scale. My own gallery hasn’t had the influx of new material yours has been blessed with, but only due to a secondary issue that has demanded my attention. An issue soon to be resolved, prayerfully.
On another note, enclosed you will find a business card of a Mr. Leonard Johnson, Attorney at Law. I have contacted him with explicit instructions to give you whatever help is needed regarding the articles published in the ‘Chronicle’. Correspondence has also been forwarded to the editor there, requesting a retraction of the slanderous suppositions as well as a formal apology to yourself and Miss Kreyssler, as well as S. A. L. If no retraction is posted by a set date, Mr. Johnson will be contacting you regarding further steps to be taken.
I have no tolerance for slander and suppositions that do nothing but encourage the idle wagging of gossip mongers’ tongues. I have found both yourself and Miss Kreyssler to be charming individuals with a genuine care for each other as well as a passion for those you come into contact with. I will not stand idly by while those reputations are sullied and abused. Hence my forward action.
Once I return from England, I will immediately contact you, Miss Kreyssler, and Mr. Johnson regarding this issue and others.
With regard,
Joseph Conklin
Christopher smirked and tucked the letter away. Again I see why Sara likes him. Especially with the way he seemed to have adopted the two. Christopher laughed. “No one has ever taken me under their wing before. Well, not since Paul gave me the attention with the display in London when I was just out of college. Even now I wonder if it wasn’t just to have a second honeymoon with Dix.” Christopher chuckled while admitting it felt nice to have the added support.
The carriage rumbled to a stop outside the Donovan’s home as Christopher again gathered the newspapers and quarterlies. “Patrick, can you hold these while I step down. I don’t think Sara would appreciate a broken fiancé.”
Patrick chuckled and accepted the armful of papers, giving Christopher the needed extra balance in order to step safely down from the carriage.
Christopher accepted back the articles. “Thank you, Patrick.”
Patrick tipped his cap, revealing thinning silver hair. “You be needing me to stay around, Master Chris?”
“If you could. I’m sure Gregory won’t mind you hanging around the kitchens for some cider or coffee.”
Patrick grinned and tipped his cap again. “You have yourself a good morning, Master Chris.”
“I will, Patrick. Thank you.
Christopher ascended the stairs, his expression softening to a different smile as the door opened to reveal Sara’s bright face and slender form. She wore a blouse and skirt of ivory and cornflower blue, and the sunlight set her mahogany-brunette hair aflame. Each time he saw her he was amazed at her grace and beauty, as well as her welcome resemblance to his Lady of Charcoal. God’s perfection of timing in revealing the fact still awed him.
He crested the stairs and returned her softly quiet welcome of “Good morning.”
Once inside, she freed the papers from his grasp. “How are you this morning?” she asked, her voice wonderfully hushed.
Christopher shrugged out of his overcoat as he watched her watch him. “Good. You?”
If it was possible, the expression within her blue eyes softened. “Happy.” The confession brought a flush.
One side of Christopher’s lip
s tilted upward. “I see that.” He tossed his hat onto the hall table and took the stack of papers back from her. “I’m glad to see I still have that affect.”
Sara giggled, encouraging a wider smile from Christopher, and then guided him farther into the house. “Are those the articles about your display?”
“About yours as well, and anything relating to the gallery. I thought we could go through them and make a scrapbook.”
Sara gasped, her dark blue eyes wide.
Christopher chuckled along with the spark that lifted the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I hoped you would like the idea.”
“My mum and I made scrapbooks all the time. We would use flowers from a walk, or bits of material or a program from a play. I loved making them. It was such an adventure.”
Christopher watched the memories dance across her face as she spoke, wishing he could have seen some of those moments of her life. To try and understand a bit more how she could be so firmly grounded in a faith that he had turned from in his strongest time of need.
“I...” Sara’s expression darkened. “I wish I could show you one,” she confessed.
Christopher gave her arm a slight nudge with his elbow. “Stories will be enough. And with your sketches?” He nudged her again, and this time she flushed. “It will be as if they were done then and there. Better even than some of the photographs and tin-types I’ve seen.”
“I have never had my photograph taken,” she admitted. “It sounds as if it might be fun.”
“It isn’t. You must stand quite still.” Christopher winked toward her, the sound of the staff setting breakfast onto the table in the breakfast nook growing in volume as the couple approached. “Gwin hasn’t mastered it yet.”
Sara giggled.
“We’re determined to try again for Christmas this year. Hopefully being six this coming July will give her the needed . . . inspiration.”
Sara muffled her louder giggle with a hand over her mouth as her eyes twinkled up at him, crinkling at the corners. A growing desire nearly choked him as he smiled down at her. He enjoyed the attraction and the pursuit of a more intimate knowledge of Sara and her past.
“Your childhood photographs were adorable,” Sara was saying. “You looked so serious.”
Christopher’s ears reddened, and he looked away as he adjusted his hold on the papers in his arms. “Dix promised she wouldn’t ever show those.”
“But why not? They’re wonderful.”
When he glanced toward her, he noticed her expression blossomed from curiosity to a soft smile as she stared ahead.
“I love looking at them. It is like watching you grow up.”
She sighed and lowered her gaze, and the action of wrapping her arm around his seemed almost . . . absent-minded. Natural. Christopher watched her profile as she continued forward, slowing their pace and deepening his examination. He wanted to understand why he had this almost instinctual friendship with her. Why they ‘clicked’ so much differently than he had with Carla. Why he began to feel as if he had known her for years rather than months.
“I did no’ ever have a true childhood friend,” she confessed. “Not one to grow with. My mum and I moved a bit too much for that, I suppose. But seeing so many in your photographs and paintings made me more able to know what it would have been like. I almost lived it with you.” Sara released another breath, but this time she glanced toward him to meet his soft scrutiny. She flushed.
The pair came to a stop just shy of the entry to the breakfast nook, Christopher turning more to face her. His lips tilted higher. “Don’t let those photographs and paintings fool you. I didn’t have many friends growing up. Yes, I had a pack of fellows to run around with at church brunches and museum events or picnics, but they went home and so did I. Paul and Teddy are my only true friends.” Christopher nudged her arm with the stack of papers and guided her into the breakfast nook. “And you.”
The glow in her blue eyes shifted, settling into a calm smile that stole his breath. He pressed his lips lightly against her forehead, his ears reddening with the action. Then he took back the quarterlies and papers, giving her a wink that had her blue eyes twinkling. “These will wait for later. After breakfast, but before Dix and the rest get back from the station.”
Handing them off to Gregory with a direction to put them safely into the front observatory, Christopher offered her his arm and escorted her to the table. “Do you realize this is the first meal we’ve had to ourselves since I proposed?”
“Is it?”
“Indeed.” Christopher pulled out her chair. “I think Dix is getting back at me for something I don’t know I’ve done.”
Sara softly laughed. “Oh Christopher. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Christopher reached across the table to cover her hand with his and give a gentle pressure. When he did, her bare ring finger dragged his focus. His smile wavered as he gaped at it. Chris! You didn’t get her a ring?
“Christopher? What’s the matter?”
His face reddened as he met her gaze. “I just realized I didn’t get you a ring.” But he hadn’t expected to propose at the time.
Sara’s expression softened. “I do no’ need a ring.”
“You deserve a ring, Sara.”
Pulling his hand from hers, he retrieved the chain from around his neck. Christopher stared down at the pair of rings dangling from the chain before undoing the clasp and dropping them to his palm. He retrieved one with a slow motion, looking within at the inscription before reaching out to take Sara’s hand.
It fit as if fashioned for her.
He fingered the ring with his thumb, still holding her hand. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Sara stared down at it for a long moment before releasing a long breath. “Christopher.” She slipped off the ring and tucked it into his palm, folding his fingers around it. “Christopher, I am not trying to replace your Carla. I am Sara, and I love you. And I love your Gwyn. And I will marry you, if you will have me as your wife.” She clasped his hand within both of hers and very slightly shook her head. “But the good Lord would never ask me to try to be your Carla.”
“Sara, I don’t want anyone supposing anything as what the Chronicle did. A ring protects your reputation.”
She brushed the hair at his temples with a gentle touch of her fingers. “Dear Christopher...” Then she again covered his hand with hers. “Carla’s ring is Carla’s ring, and I have no right to wear it. I love you the more for the reason behind the offer, but in my heart of hearts . . . I could no’ do such a thing.”
“Sara—”
Sara shook her head, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I can wait for the ring I am destined to wear, Christopher, just as I have waited for you.”
Setting the rings and chain onto the table, he could only stare at her in shock as she continued to smile. Again and again she made her own place in his life, as well as in the lives of those around him. Again and yet again she never attempted to take Carla’s place. She allowed him to love and remember his first wife without a reason to feel guilt because of it.
“Sara.” But what else could he say to this woman that understood things he didn’t know needed to be understood?
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she voiced a quiet, “I know,” before focusing on the plate before her.
Lowering his gaze to his own breakfast, he could only stare down at it, his appetite suddenly lost. When he felt her sidelong glance, he cleared his throat and forced a smile as he met her somewhat dark blue eyes. “I love you,” he found himself saying. He blinked and then laughed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I intended to say at all,” he confessed while giving the back of his neck a scrub. You what? “Oh, erm, not that it isn’t true. It was only . . . um . . . Well, I um—” Blast it all, Chris!
“Dear Christopher.” Smiling, she motioned to his coffee cup. “You haven’t yet had your coffee. Have some and settle your nerves.”
Tension drained f
rom his muscles and he rested an elbow onto the table, chin in hand. “I’d rather watch you eat breakfast,” he heard himself informing her, immediately feeling the red reach his hairline as he kept himself from reacting to it. You’re making a fool of yourself. But when she laughed, he found he didn’t care.
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About the Author | Nona King
Writing has been Nona King’s passion since childhood. She began writing young adult novels as a teen, graduating to inspirational and suspense romances in college. She also wrote and co-directed full-length plays for her home church, Canby New Life Foursquare.
In 2006, Nona moved to Washington State from her home in Oregon and married Michael King, a fellow writer, and continues to pursue a career in writing as an independent writing and editing professional for Angel Breath Books. She specializes on novels of romance and adventure. All the novels focus on faith, honor, respect, and the importance of communication in our relationships.
Connect with Nona Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/writersprite
Facebook: https://facebook.com/NonaKing
Book site: https://nonaking.com
Writer blog: https://wordobsession.net
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