Releasing Yesterday Read online

  Releasing Yesterday

  Heart of the Blessed, Book Two

  ~**~

  Releasing Yesterday | Heart of the Blessed, book two

  By Nona Mae King

  Published by Nona Mae King [Angel Breath Books]

  Smashwords Edition

  2014: First Edition

  The Library of Congress Copyright Office

  Registration Number: TX 8-159-869

  Discover other titles by Nona Mae King at Smashwords.com:

  Fantasy:

  To Save A Soul

  Fantasy Romance:

  My Fair Princess

  The Story

  Romance:

  Heart of the Blessed:

  Searching for Sara

  Releasing Yesterday

  Broken Angel

  FanFiction:

  Mists of Destiny

  The Terra Saga

  A Rose By Any Other Name

  The Bookworms and Booya! series

  The Reluctant Knight

  Few Words

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  ~**~

  Dedicated in loving memory to Mother.

  Lynna Kreyssler Johnson

  May 9, 1946 ~ December 15, 2014

  I love you, Mamma. Please be proud of me.

  ~**~

  Table of Contents

  The Beatitudes

  Chapter 1 – Dared Dreams

  Chapter 2 – Beautiful Folly

  Chapter 3 – Revisited Journeys

  Chapter 4 – Rings and Shadows

  Chapter 5 – A Proper Proposal

  Chapter 6 – Life Lessons

  Chapter 7 - Returns

  Chapter 8 – Arrival

  Chapter 9 – Revelations

  Chapter 10 – Truth’s Shadow

  Chapter 11 – Truth’s Dawning

  Chapter 12 – Truth’s Torment

  Chapter 13 – Hearing Future’s Whisper

  Chapter 14 – Seeing Truths

  Chapter 15 – Life's Blessed Struggles

  Chapter 16 – Softened Shadows

  Chapter 17 – Future’s Strength

  Chapter 18 – History’s Blessing

  Chapter 19 – A Choice

  Chapter 20 – Releasing Yesterday

  Chapter 21 – A Waiting Tomorrow

  The Beatitudes

  Blessed are the poor in spirit,

  For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  Blessed are those who mourn,

  For they shall be comforted.

  Blessed are the meek,

  For they shall inherit the earth.

  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

  For they shall be filled.

  Blessed are the merciful,

  For they shall obtain mercy.

  Blessed are the pure in heart,

  For they shall see God.

  Blessed are the peacemakers,

  For they shall be called sons of God.

  Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,

  For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  ~Matthew 5:3-10 (NKJV)

  Releasing Yesterday

  Heart of the Blessed, Book Two

  One

  Dared Dreams

  17 July, 1894

  I have never been in a position such as this before, Lord. A man has never seen me as anything more than a pretty face or an arm with a tray. But affection glows in his eyes and I feel no fear. All that swells within me is warmth. Trust. Safety.

  Sara lowered the pencil, cheeks flushed as she heard again the velvet softness of Christopher's confession of love. Hidden behind the lush blooms and greenery of the conservatory, had Christopher truly asked her to be his wife? Was it truly three months since the whispered words of his proposal? Three months of such happiness that each morning she suspected she remained trapped in a dream in the upstairs servant quarters of Mr. Brockle's estate?

  The lavenders and blues of the rising sun drew her dark gaze. She shifted her position upon the chest at her window. Mahogany-brown waves tumbled down her back as she set aside her journal and rested her chin upon her knees, her arms tightening around her legs. Even so surrounded by a euphoric sense of family, something nibbled at her heart. A hint of tears she didn't understand. A hesitation.

  "One agonizing day after another is how I lived until this wonderful morning," she whispered, her voice catching on the burning tightness. "Each new sunrise I trusted to Your plan for it, though I thought You were no' acting at all toward what I needed. But each new morning You proved me wrong and asked me to wait. To trust. I had but to look for the lace in the rags."

  Sara brushed the tears against the coolness of her arms. "Now for what do I pray? You gave me the workings of a family, a sister and brother in Dix and Paul, friends in Amy and Teddy, and a new beginning with a hero of a man and his angel of a daughter. But what else waits? What is this bit of hesitation I feel, biding its time? Can I no' be done with the testing and learning about myself?"

  An ache of exhaustion seeped into her soul. How much longer must she seek the lesson from each challenge as she stepped into the next morning? She wanted this new dawn to be filled with peace and joy. Was that dream too much to hope for?

  The chest creaked as she leaned for her journal, tearing a blank piece from the back to add another jagged bit of emptiness. But then a face danced before her eyes, coaxing a smile and tremble to her fingers as she guided the pencil across the page.

  Dearest Christopher, I wanted to write you a short note of 'good morning.' But though she wanted to write of her excitement and happiness, she could only stare at the salutation. One she never dared dream to have as her own, even as she again felt a cold whisper. She crumpled the note and set it upon the windowsill next to its fellows. So many notes never finished nor delivered.

  Her gaze shifted to her journal, her grip white-knuckled upon the pencil before she closed the book and again stared out at the splashes of color of the early morning sky. Wondering if he watched the same sunrise. If he also prayed for their morning. If he thought of her as she thought of him. It was then something pressed her heart into a corner, causing a shift to the wonder.

  She shook her head, banishing the shadow as she rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. He loved her and she him. These past three months proved those feelings as truth, and what of their pending engagement party in New York City? What more proof could she ask for? There was nothing to fret about, and Christopher would ask if she let herself be troubled.

  A smile softened the wrinkle of her brow. She released a slow and deep breath, pressing her forehead against her arm and relishing the coolness as well as the joy bubbling within her spirit. He welcomed her into his family, into his close circle of friends. Sought her council. Smiled in a way that drew her very breath from her lungs. He viewed her with respect and adoration. He treated her with tenderness and deference.

  'Do you have any idea how much I love you?'

  No, she had none at all, but if the storm of emotions in her own heart were any similarity, she understood the confusion o
f his tone. How could someone possibly love as deeply as she loved him and lived to tell the tale? It was a tale for fiction and poems not real life, and certainly not her life.

  But here she was, staring at the vibrant colors of a new morning while thinking of a man who had begun to piece together her finish. It seemed too much to hope, but she couldn't help but believe.

  "Thank You," she whispered.

  Her Lord, as always, knew how to draw her from the shadows of worry to the vibrant hope of a new dawn. The journey would no longer be a solo venture. Christopher would be next to her, comforting and consoling, offering his strength and wisdom where, before, she could only pray she acted with obedience to what the Lord had awaiting her.

  Yes, she could still feel the chill of a coming challenge against her heart, but Christopher's hand upon her shoulder sang of assurance. He would not leave her to her own devices. Not only was he her sponsor, he was her beau. Her friend. Her mentor.

  Her throat shuddered with a sudden sob, one she hoped of happiness. After so many years of being alone, the relief overwhelmed her to the core. How could she not face her new future with such a family at her side? Inspiration tugged at her fingers, pushing her from the chest to seek her portfolio and pencils.

  Two hours later, Amy found Sara still sprawled upon the lush rug at the foot of her bed, pages upon pages of sketches littering the space around her.

  The maid's brown eyes twinkled. "Heaven above, you're fairly glowing, you are. I don't think we need the candles or lanterns it's so bright."

  Sara laughed and helped Amy gather the sketches into some semblance of order. "I am no' too late for breaking my fast, I hope, Amy?"

  The young woman waved it aside. "I'm onto your ways. I came along to make certain you weren't in naught but your underthings, what with Mister Christopher likely on his way, and it appears I made good time! Oy." She pulled a letter from her apron pocket. "Another letter from Mr. Conklin." Excitement sang in her whisper.

  "Oh! I wonder if he is free to come for tea as he promised?"

  Amy rested a hand on Sara's shoulder. "I will leave you to your reading while I see to your bath."

  "Thank you, Amy." Sara tore open the letter, eagerness nearly causing a tear of the letter itself. The post-mark showed London, and with a date of nearly two months!

  Her eyes scanned through the letter, reading of the sights and sounds of her old home which brought back such mixed emotions of freedom and sadness. But how odd that he should write of her old home in such a way--as if he also had a personal connection with its flavors and aromas.

  "Such a dear man." One who held a heart toward art and artist the same as her Christopher.

  Sara set aside the letter for a future, more in-depth reading and hurried for the connecting bath, her imagination running away with the prospect of more sketches of her home, both old and new.

  ~**~

  "I'll return later today, Harold." Christopher Lake accepted his hat and coat from the elderly gentleman who had served his family since childhood. The constant connection to the past kept him humble and permeated the air of Lake Manor with a wave of home and familiarity.

  "A letter arrived from a Mr. Conklin, Mister Christopher. I have 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 a message from Roger Whitaker or Paul arrives from England, send a messenger to me straightaway. I'm expecting ... news."

  "Yes, Mister Christopher."

  Both the investigative reporter and his brother-in-law should have made progress in their search for information regarding Sara's absent father. He felt eager to not only hear a positive update on the investigation, but to ease his mind regarding his agreement of sending Gwyn along with her Aunt and Uncle.

  Christopher received the armful of collected newspapers and quarterlies from Harold's grasp and stepped out into the early morning dimness. He breathed deep, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. It felt ages since the last time he enjoyed a morning. Now he saw inspiration and brightness in the life and stillness which surrounded him. Teddy Parker, longtime friend from college, would have scoffed and made some snide remark about needing to prank someone to counter the sickeningly sweet sentiments of happiness.

  Chuckling, Christopher boarded the carriage after bidding the driver a pleasant morning. Then the carriage lumbered off toward Monument Avenue and his sister's residence. Christopher set the mound of papers beside him and searched within his pockets for the aforementioned letter.

  Chris,

  I apologize to have been out of touch, but an unexpected trip to England made it impossible to contact you regarding the joint displays between our galleries.

  At present, though I have returned to the States, I have business in New York which cannot be put off. A return may be several weeks out, unless you and the talented Miss Little have plans to journey to New York City in the future? There are rumors of a party to be hosted by your gallery.

  I desire a meeting between you and myself if nothing else, so that we can discuss details of a joint display, as well as discussion of a more personal matter.

  With regard,

  Joseph Conklin

  Christopher smirked and tucked the letter away. "No one has ever taken me under their wing before." At least, not since Paul gave him the attention with the display in London when he was just out of college. He chuckled while admitting it felt nice to have the added support.

  The carriage lurched to a stop outside the Donovan home. Christopher once again gathered the newspapers and quarterlies. The driver opened the door. "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 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. It's particularly brisk this morning, isn't it?"

  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 smile softening as the door opened to reveal Sara's sparkling eyes and flushed face. Her slender form invited a long glance as his artist's eye committed the grace and curve to memory and a future canvas. She wore a blouse and skirt of ivory and cornflower blue, and the sunlight danced within her dark tresses delicately coiffed at her nape. His breath caught as he leaned in to caress her silken cheek with his lips. "Good morning," he said, the gruffness of his voice hardly unexpected.

  Sara smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes downcast as 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 thud to his heart. "I see that." He tossed his hat onto the hall table and retrieved the stack of papers from her. "I am glad to see I still have that effect on women. Well, you at any rate."

  Sara giggled, encouraging a wider smile. She guided him farther into the house. "Are those articles about your display?"

  "About yours as well, and anything relating to the gallery, past and present, as well as the most recent announcement of our pending trip to New York, thank you for agreeing to that, and the engagement party this weekend. I thought we could search through them and make a scrapbook." Sara gasped, lips parted in a delighted smile. He chuckled even as a spark lifted the hairs on his head. "I hoped you would like the idea."

  "My mum and I ado
red scrapbooks. We would use flowers from a walk, or bits of material or a program from a play--such an adventure, each one."

  Christopher watched the memories dance across her features as she spoke, wishing with a pang of regret that he could have witnessed those moments of her life. To try and understand a bit more how she could be so firmly grounded in a faith he had turned from in his strongest need.

  Regret darkened Sara's expression. "I wish I had one to show you."

  "Stories will be enough, Sweet Sara. And with your sketches?" He nudged her elbow, inviting a soft rose to her cheeks. "It will be as if I witnessed the event myself. 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 a bit of a lark."

  "It isn't. You must stand quite still." Christopher winked toward her, the sound of the staff setting breakfast onto the table in the dining nook growing in volume as the couple approached. "Gwyn hasn't mastered it yet." Sara giggled. "We're determined to try again for Christmas this year. Hopefully being six-years-old will give her the needed ... motivation."

  Those gem-like eyes twinkled up at him and set his chest afire. That wave of desire nearly choked him as he forced a calm smile. 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 seemed quite serious and intent on a perfect outcome."

  Christopher's ears reddened, and he dragged his gaze away as he adjusted his hold on the papers within his arms. They so longed to hold her slender form, to relish the warmth of her against him. "Dix promised she wouldn't show those. Ever."