Hope between the pages, p.16
Hope Between the Pages, page 16
But my throat refused the words access.
“It’s all right, Sadie. Whatever you have to say, it will be all right.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Her gentle words nearly unlocked my waiting tears. “You cannot know how much I appreciate your kindness to me and my family all these years.” I swallowed through the lump gathering in my throat. “And I’ve loved having the opportunity to step into my mother’s position and enjoy the service and treasures of your library.”
“Loved?”
I smoothed my hands over the letter and steadied my attention on the grand lady. “With heavy heart, I’ve come to resign my position at Biltmore.”
The only reaction from Mrs. Vanderbilt was a barely audible intake of breath.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice broke and I pinched my lips closed, lowering my eyes.
“What has brought about this decision? Has someone treated you unkindly?”
“No, ma’am.” I looked back up at her. “Biltmore has been a wonderful place to work, but I find that my future lies elsewhere.”
“I see. I’m sorry to hear you’ll be leaving us.” She folded her hands together, head slightly tilted as she studied me. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Sadie? You know I am willing to help you if I can.”
My throat closed with tears. “You are all kindness, ma’am, but I… I am in no trouble.” Or at least, not yet, but with an ocean to cross and a soldier to marry, the future hung with as much shadow as light. “I am leaving to take an…opportunity.”
“An opportunity that keeps you nearby?”
I hesitated before answering. “No, ma’am.”
Her gaze steadied on mine, as if reading every worry line on my brow. “An adventure far away then?”
“Yes, ma’am.” There was no point avoiding the truth. She’d learn soon enough. “Very far away. Across an ocean, even.”
Her gaze sharpened and then her attention dropped to the paper in my hand, comprehension dawning. “Oliver Camden.”
It wasn’t a question. I lowered my gaze. “Yes.”
The silence dug into my confidence and I pinched the letter more tightly.
“How soon?”
“My ship leaves in a week, and, if I might be so bold, I feel as though Laura would be an excellent replacement for me. She has no idea of my plans, but she loves reading and has a quick mind.”
She studied me, the tension in her expression thawing into a sad smile. “You’ve been planning this since he left?”
“Hoping for it more than planning, ma’am.” I jolted pencil-straight in my chair. “But, please know, I didn’t pursue anything with him. I give you my word. It all happened—”
She raised a palm to stop me. “Knowing Mr. Camden as I do, I
have no doubt he set his cap at you. He’s not one to stand with protocol or expectation that he deems unimportant.” Her smile bloomed. “Oliver is a smart enough man to love with much more than his eyes or his purse, but with his mind and his heart. From the first time I saw the two of you engaged in conversation, I realized Miss Withersby didn’t stand a chance.”
My face must have reflected my surprise, because she chuckled. “I have eyes everywhere, Sadie. Haven’t you learned that by now? Most of the time, they’re my own.”
My cheeks flamed hot. Did she have spies in the garden, particularly near a certain weeping willow?
“But your secret is safe with me until you choose to share your story. He is a good man. And Miss Withersby has happily found her match in the young and melancholic Mr. Dasher.” She placed her palms on the desk and leaned forward. “I shall miss you. Like your mother before you, you have been an excellent member of my staff.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It has been my honor.”
“And before you leave, I wish to give you this.” She brought out a little item wrapped in paper from a drawer in her desk. “I’d planned to give it to you at the Christmas party, but it felt too intimate for such a time.” She placed it on the desk within my reach. “This was something I meant to give to your mother last Christmas, but she passed before I could. I’d like for you to have it.”
The paper fell away to reveal an ornament.The intricate orb glowed with red-and-golden blown glass, and carved in the center lay an open book. One of the open pages held the scripted words Read a story and on the other open page, Live a story.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, brushing away a tear.
“You’ve spent years reading books and helping others fall in love with stories.” Mrs. Vanderbilt’s gaze softened with her smile. “Now it’s time for you to live one of your own.”
A bruise darkened Lark’s cheekbone, even though she’d attempted to disguise it with powder. But with a turn and the way the lantern light hit, I saw. That paired with the dullness in her eyes and the way she diverted questions gave me all the information I needed.
“He’s hitting you?”
Her body stiffened but she didn’t look up from her tea. We’d chosen to meet at the bakery where Lark had worked, but it had taken her until my final day in Biltmore to schedule a time.
“You still haven’t told me why you spent the money you’ve been saving to update your wardrobe. Is it because of this Oliver fellow?” Lark waved toward my simple but new green day suit. “Or are you just jealous of my excellent style?” She laughed a hollow sound.
I smoothed the sleeve of my jacket. Oliver had sent a ticket and transportation money to cover travel costs, but, as was likely the case for a man, he hadn’t considered that the only clothes I possessed were hand-me-downs or servants’ attire. And since I’d learned that Brick House had been recently purchased, I’d taken out my disappointment on shopping for my trousseau. Items I’d always wanted, but never dared buy. Nothing outrageous, but things I thought Oliver would like and items that would hopefully disguise my class difference.
“You didn’t answer my question, which provides more confirmation than not.”
“Does it really matter, Sadie?” An edge tinged her words, her gaze locked with mine. “I made my choice. I wasn’t blind, but I chose to be. He gave off signs that I refused to see because the desire to live above the dust and bone-aching work we’ve come to know meant more to me than…” She raised her hand to her cheek. “Than this.”
“A man should never strike his wife.”
She stared at me for a long instant and then relaxed back into the chair. “He’s only like this when he drinks too much. Otherwise, he’s perfectly civil.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Sweet, even.”
“And with the way his business is going, do you think he’s going to be inclined to drink less or more?”
Lark’s face paled. She’d told me enough, and I’d read the papers enough, to know that Ralph’s bank wasn’t in the finest shape. She refused to answer.
“You cannot stay with him, Lark. It’s not safe.”
“Where else would I go, Sadie?” Her gaze quivered in mine. “Back to Aunt Elaine to live with nothing? A wife who left her husband because he secretly took out his anger on her? No one will believe me.”
“Then I will send for you.” I grabbed her gloved hand. “Once Oliver and I are settled, I’ll send for you to come to me. Ralph won’t chase you across an ocean.”
“Come to you?” She shook her head. “An ocean? What are you talking about?”
“It’s why I’ve been trying so desperately to meet with you.” I steadied my gaze in hers. “He’s sent for me and I’m going.”
“What?” Her bottom lip dropped. “To England?”
“Yes. I would have told you sooner, but—”
“You’re going to England?” The pitch in her voice rose with her volume. “Does Aunt Elaine know?”
“Yes, I told her last week.” She’d kissed me and cried on my shoulder but wished me all the joy in the world, although I felt certain she thought I would die aboard ship. “You may justify Ralph’s behavior all you want, but what will you do when there are children? And what if he becomes worse, Lark?”
A tinge of fear shimmied across her expression and my stomach sank. He’d already become worse. More than she’d imagined.
“If I send for you, will you come?”The words echoed with memory. Oliver. I almost smiled. He’d support my decision to invite Lark, to rescue her, whatever it took.
“To England?”
I nodded. “Oliver would agree with me. I know it.” I squeezed her hand. “You must write to me, Lark. Keep me informed.”
Her eyelids drifted closed, and when she opened them again, sadness dulled her eyes. “I will write to you. I promise to be a better sister, even as you leave to go thousands of miles away.” She drew in a breath and squeezed my hand back. “But it’s not your job to rescue me, Sadie.”
“Lark—”
“No.” She shook her head and pulled her hands away. “You’re making your choice. I made mine. We both must live with the consequences of our decisions. Whatever those may be.”
I waited for the seasickness, but, thankfully, it never came. For six days, as the steamship sped over the Atlantic, I mingled in a world almost as grand as Biltmore. The sea bathed me in salt air and crisp wind, beyond anything I’d ever read of, and yet, the descriptions in dozens of stories had, somehow, prepared me for the wild beauty and endless horizon. Waves spilled, one over the other, on some eternal race to the horizon, showcasing colors in every hue of gray, blue, and green.
The air tinged with promise, adventure, and, like the ornament Mrs. Vanderbilt had given me said, I embraced this moment of living my own story, even if I couldn’t see over the aqua horizon. God was there. And here. And all the places in between. Couldn’t I trust Him with the horizon as I trusted this ship to carry me to Oliver?
I’d researched the route and found several photo books showcasing steamships and Liverpool. I’d even sorted out how to transfer from the docks to the nearest train depot set for Fenwick, in the instance Oliver was delayed, but I shouldn’t have worried. I’d barely reached the top of the gangway when I heard my name shouted from the dock below.
At first, the crowds blurred into one conglomeration of joyful outcries, but then, from the center of the spectators, he appeared, waving his hat in the air, his smile wide. Every doubt, every little worry that had dogged me across the ocean, faded away. Some dreams were meant for us to carry alone. Others were made to share.
I’d barely made it to the bottom of the gangway before he swept me into his arms and peppered me with kisses, his laughter blending in with my own.
“You’re here.” He paused, his hands on my shoulders as he examined my face. “And you look even more beautiful than I remember, which is quite the compliment.”
I raised my hand to his cheek, touching him with the confidence and intimacy afforded an engaged woman. “I’m so glad to see you.”
His smile gentled and he kissed me again, this time lingering a second longer than the ones before. “I’m tempted to take you to the church straightaway instead of waiting until tomorrow, but that wouldn’t be very loving of me, would it?” He brushed back a loose strand of my hair and then braided his fingers through mine. “You deserve a good night’s sleep and some time to prepare, as any bride should.”
“I would marry you right away.”
“Oooh.” He narrowed his eyes and waved a finger at me. “Don’t tempt me, my dear girl. I’m trying to be unselfish and the very embodiment of a gentleman, and no reputable clergy would go against the rules of the marriage banns. But for now I’ll revel in having you within arms’ reach.” He laughed and pulled my arm through his. “First, we’ll gather your things and then ride to the station, at which time we’ll be able to happily converse during the long ride to Fenwick.” He pressed his hand over mine against his arm. “Or you can fall asleep and I’ll happily admire you resting beside me, even if you snore.”
I gave him a playful jab, and somehow it was as if all those months apart disappeared. And now, I was free to be his, in front of the whole world.
“I’ll escort you to Grandmama’s for this evening—as we planned— and then tomorrow, she has promised me that she will get you to the church, posthaste.” His smile faded from his profile as we walked along the dock. “But I must warn you, my beautiful dear, I have been unable to convince my mother to attend.” He paused and turned to face me. “You know I hoped she’d have a change of heart, but she won’t accept you apart from your class.”
A heaviness sank through me, for his sake more than mine. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”
“No matter.” He shook his head, renewing the walk. “I’ve disappointed her most of my life, but I didn’t want you to have to bear her disdain. What she misses from life due to her prejudice!”
“As long as I have your favor, I can bear whatever she launches at me.”
“Till death us do part, my beautiful dear.” His smile resurrected in full bloom and he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You can do no wrong in Victoria’s eyes, as well as my father’s, though he keeps his admiration quiet for fear of Mother’s wrath.”
I squeezed in close to him, admiring his profile and wondering at how all these beautiful feelings could fit inside without rupturing my chest. Tomorrow, I would belong to him, with him, forever, and I couldn’t imagine anything on earth so wonderful. Tears crept into my vision and my feet faltered.
He turned to me, his gaze sobering with concern, but I smiled. “I love you, Oliver Camden.”
And with that admission, he laughed loud enough to garner attention from those nearby, grasped both my hands in his, and brought them to his lips. “I will not take it for granted, Sadie. We are in this together, my dear girl. Whether wars or fiercely unhappy mothers or time itself, we can weather them all.”
Chapter 16
Nothing. Not one hint of Oliver Camden or a deed to Blackwell’s. Anywhere.
Clara stared out the attic window on the opposite side from where she’d begun. Maybe one more day of searching the attic and she’d finish. Then what? Where else could she look?
She reached her hand into her skirt pocket and her fingers slid around a key ring. Maybe all hope wasn’t gone.
Gillie had given her an old set of keys on her first morning at Camden House and suggested searching some of the outbuildings if the attic didn’t prove successful, but was the effort really worth it? Just because Sadie had some connection to an Oliver Camden over one hundred years ago didn’t mean any of this pillaging through decades of debris would provide any documentation to prove their connection. A century was a long time.
Clara dropped down on an antique rocking chair she’d uncovered and rubbed at her tired eyes. After her phone call with Mom last night, she really needed to return home. Uncle Julian had made an unwelcome visit, stirring up anxiety with his veiled threats and leaving Mom more rattled than she’d admit. Thankfully, Robbie had intervened, but the fact that Clara had been in England five days with nothing to show for it but a photo of a soldier’s grave didn’t bode well for Blackwell’s future.
Lord, I know that You are in control of everything, even the dead-end roads, but I could really use Your help right now.
“You look as though you need a break.”
Clara peered up to find Max standing in the doorway, his smile quirked with what she was beginning to recognize as his preferred expression. Bemused. He wasn’t wearing his usual brown gardening attire, but instead sported a pair of jeans and red fitted sweater, both of which accentuated the sturdiness his large jacket had cloaked that first day at the airport.
Clara looked away, blinking at the turn of her thoughts. She wasn’t currently searching for an Englishman. She stifled a groan. Well, to be honest, what American female avid reader didn’t daydream about an Englishman now and again?
But right now, she needed to find a deed and get back home. Besides, Max probably wasn’t even interested in some old-fashioned, daydreaming American woman who was very close to losing her source of income.
She breathed out a sigh and rocked back on her heels. “What did you have in mind?”
“A trip to Fenwick, perhaps?”
Clara pushed up from her crouched position and dusted off her skirt, casting him a grin. “Venturing away from the garden, Mr. Weston?”
“Only when absolutely necessary, you understand, and Fenwick isn’t really venturing far.” He patted the doorframe, scanning the room before his gaze returned to hers. “Besides, I’d be remiss in not introducing you to the village.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I believe it’s exactly your sort of place.” His brows rose. “Magical, even.” He stepped away from the threshold into the hallway as Clara met him. “Perchance, do you know how to ride a bicycle?”
She looked down at her plaid flared skirt and vintage-styled blue sweater. “A bicycle?”
He shot a grin over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairway. “You’ll look like one of the ladies from Call the Midwife.”
A laugh burst from her as she chased after him. “You watch Call the Midwife?”
“Only because I love my mother.”
Okay, maybe crushing on her current Englishman wasn’t such a waste of time after all.
A pair of old-fashioned-looking bikes waited at the front of the house. The one for Clara even had a little basket on the front. With the sky a gorgeous shade of blue and the backdrop of the evergreen hillsides, they took the mile driveway from the house, through the castle-like, if overgrown, gatehouse entrance, and down a winding road with stone fences framing either side.
“I can’t believe it’s December,” she called to him as they coasted along the narrow road. “It feels like autumn.”
He rode alongside on her left, the wind giving erratic tugs to his wild blond hair peeking from his derby. “I thought you might prefer this sort of outing rather than simply taking a car, and since the weather seemed to oblige…”
