Releasing Yesterday Page 18

  Though little chance of no suite being available, there rose within him such a choking urgency—Joseph fisted his hand, staring unseeing from the cab window at the faceless passersby on street and sidewalk. So many explanations were left unspoken, left to the shadows of regret and an illusion of helplessness. The only path left to him now was, in itself, a shadow. But it had to be spoken. An action had to be taken—any action.

  Even if that one action be a surrender.

  "I will give her up to You," he mumbled, throat collapsing in on the whispered vow.

  But what else could be done? In truth, what did he know or understand about the history which now echoed within her memories? They had touched the images of her heart and soul into the sketches and paints which now entranced the world. He did not stand in those memories as anything more than a person absent from influence.

  "I'm sorry, Mary. This might be the one battle I will not win." But she would understand. As Ann had in her last moments. As Sara might, even still. "Lord willing."

  The cab rumbled to a stop outside a brick facade, the bold white letter of Pickering Tours momentarily drawing his gaze from the cabbie fetching open the door. How many more tours would he suffer through if the end result of this was nothing? He scoffed, the rough bark inviting a twitch of the horse's ear as he clamored from the cab, tipped the cabbie, and then navigated the shallow steps to the office door. For him the future was not yet set, and acting as if it were doomed him to the same mistake.

  ~**~

  Christopher watched Sara hover near the front entrance of her one-time home and felt another twinge of helplessness. But, again, he set the chill aside, using it, instead, as a motivator for prayer. No, he did not fully understand the doubts and regrets that raged at her, but their Lord did, and only He could guide the voices and actions of her friends. It was the only truth he could trust in that moment. He turned and helped his daughter from the carriage, holding tight to her small hand to prevent her from charging ahead—as she was wont to do.

  Gwyn squeezed his fingers, a slight tug drawing him into a crouch. Her emerald gaze flickered from Sara's hesitant form at the faded color of the door. "Could I ask her to show me her home?"

  The whispered inquiry invited a smile. "Of course, Angel Girl. Perhaps that will make her feel better. Yes?"

  The girl nodded, eyes wide with the prospect of a hundred different possibilities. In all honesty, he began to understand how little he knew of what tumbled within his daughter's mind on the deeper troubles their small, new family faced at the moment. But the Lord would utilize them all when the proper moment presented itself, of that he had no doubt. How much had Sara already benefited from his daughter's spirit?

  Christopher urged Gwyn forward, giving her a wink and a smile when her features twisted up in a slight expression of uncertainty. Gwyn's countenance cleared, the eagerness sparkling in her eyes as she dashed forward and grabbed onto Sara's listless hand. Sara's features brightened as she focused on the girl, fingers teasing a curl at her temple as she listened to Gwyn's question and reason rolled into one, long sentence. Yes. His daughter would be yet another key to the aching heart Sara hid beneath her quiet exterior.

  He released a deep breath, whispering a prayer for wisdom as he navigated the short walk to Sara's side. "Shall we?"

  Sara kept hold of Gwyn's hand as she met his gaze and offered a small smile and nod.

  "Excellent. Then, let us enter the fray." He fumbled with the key and lock.

  Gwyn giggled. "Papa’s so silly."

  "If I was not, I wouldn't be as amusing to you, I imagine. Ah. There we are." He opened the door and stepped within, taking up the matches from where he had left them the day before and lighting the lamp sconces on either side of the door. They spluttered to life, stronger still once Sara secured the door. Shadows from the late morning clouds danced along the wooden flooring and the faded coloring of the walls.

  Gwyn pinched her nose. "It smells like the attic."

  "Hm. I don't re—I mean, so it would seem" Christopher cleared his throat, unable to prevent the glance toward Sara. Her cheeks flushed as she kept her gaze carefully focused elsewhere, her fingers teasing the edge of her cuff. "That musty odor will be gone soon enough once we have people here on a regular basis. Remember how the Manor smelled when we stayed with Nana and Pop-Pop for that summer? It's much the same as that, Angel Girl."

  "Oh." His daughter's long-voiced acknowledgment rang with understanding and strategies soon to come.

  He restrained a smile. "Now." Christopher shifted his focus to Sara and offered a bow. "Where do you propose to begin our tour? We await your good humor, Mrs. Lake." How wonderful the phrase tasted on his lips.

  Laughing, Sara shook her head. "I would be discovering it the same as you and Gwyn here. There are no' many memories to help me along with a tour."

  "Fair enough. Then we shall do the discovering on our own and see what stories can be found in the dusty little corners. You would like that, wouldn't you, Gwyn? Making up memories and pictures?"

  Christopher watched Sara's expression soften as she interacted with his daughter's exuberant affirmative, immediately folding as Gwyn grabbed up her hand and began prancing from one room to the next. It didn't matter that Sara didn't have time to answer one question before another followed in its wake. She was content, both of them were, to share this aspect of her history.

  He followed silently behind, watching, praying, and filing away observations when Sara's gaze would drift to a particular location—be it a piece of furniture or an unassuming dent in a wall. She began to recognize hints and whispers of this cottage on a stronger level, that fact stood out as a painful truth. The unknown was how it affected her within. Would their presence serve as a help to the burden, or a hindrance to the release?

  He clenched his jaw, pressing the questions heavenward and following them with yet another prayer for wisdom and guidance. One moment at a time; that is what he would devote to her. Gwyn caught up his attention as they climbed the narrow stairs of the cottage, dancing up and down the stairs between Sara and himself until she laughingly scolded Gwyn of tempting the fates. Christopher chuckled. Motherhood fit the woman like a custom-crafted glove.

  "Gwyn, unless you want to discover how quickly you are able to roll down the stairs and break your pretty head, I suggest you listen to her suggestions." Christopher pat her head. "Excitement is hard to contain, isn't it?"

  "Come along, Poppet." Sara offered forward a hand and a comforting smile. "We have but a few rooms left, and then your father and I need to reason what to do."

  "What to do?" Gwyn blinked up at her. "Don't you want to live here?"

  Sara gazed down at the girl for a long moment, the smile wavering before she sat upon the top-most stair and urged Gwyn upon her lap. She drew her close. "This cottage carries so many memories, but it is not my home. England will always be special in my heart, but Lake Manor, with you and your Papa, that is my home now. You are where my happiness is found."

  "But..." Gwyn's fingers lovingly stroked Sara's arm, not pausing even as Christopher sat close beside them on the stair. "But what about... the memories? You aren't going to give those away to a stranger, are you?"

  Sara met Christopher's gaze. He smiled and gave Gwyn's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I hoped to invite other artists to stay here as we try to give them a new start."

  "Like we did for Sara?" Gwyn blinked at him, eyes wide and voice hushed.

  "Why, yes, very much like that, as a matter of fact. This cottage will be their safe haven to discover who they are, or who they want to be. This will be their refuge, and all those pleasant memories will be inspiration to their new future. What do you say about that?"

  Gwyn's eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands together. "It will get a new future, too!"

  "Indeed it will, and just imagine how many people will leave their own memories inside these walls for others to benefit through the years?" He met and held Sara's gaze, uncertain whether the de
licate smile meant approval, or courteous delay until a later discussion. Christopher cleared his throat, his fingers absently teasing the fabric of his slacks. "But, of course, whether or not we move forward will be completely dependent on Mrs. Lake."

  Gwyn's eyes widened as she shifted her focus from him, squirming around until she faced Sara and Christopher both. Sara's smile did not lessen, and her eyes brightened as she watched his daughter's mind work.

  Sara reached out to tease a rebel curl from the girl's forehead. "What question dances in your eyes, Poppet?"

  "Are you... will you let Papa use your pretty house?"

  "Do you think I should? It may make more work for your Papa, and more visits here to England. More parties. More time away from your home, and perhaps even more time away from you."

  "But—" Gwyn's green eyes peeked toward Christopher, intercepting his wink and smile with little to no reaction before focusing whole-heartedly on Sara. "Papa could take me, and you, with him whenever he wants to. He told me that is why he likes owning his own art place."

  "And that is correct, but what if he could no' take you along because of where he would go? Or what he needs to do? You know your papa is quite busy when he does his little bit of making someone live in a happier place, yes Poppet?"

  Gwyn's nod had only just finished before her smile broke the serious expression. "I have a mama now. You can stay with me when Papa can't take me with him. He would be lonely, but when he gets distracted, he would forget to notice." She giggled, covering her mouth with both hands as her eyes twinkled with joy and happiness, delighted with the truth of her observation.

  Sara laughed and drew the girl close. "You doll. How right you are! You know your papa well."

  Christopher's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his new bride snuggle with his daughter. Lord, how can I possibly thank You for these blessings? It would take a lifetime and beyond, but he was more than willing to do so. To dedicate all the blessings and fortunes of his gallery and his very life's blood to paying forward the renewal he had found in the eyes and arms of this lovely spirit of a woman. He stroked her back, relishing the warmth and softness of her as she yet again met his gaze.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "My dear, for what are you thanking me?"

  "For your wonderful idea to bring joy back within these walls. To continue to help others who struggle to make their way, and to weave my life into that legacy." Her gaze caressed his face, eyes bright and smile overflowing with her usual quiet intensity. "Thank you, Christopher, for drawing me beyond my shadowed yesterday. For welcoming me into the safety of your family. I...." Sara shook her head, sapphire eyes shimmering with tears.

  "You, Sweet Sara Ann, will forever be welcome here."

  "Hooray! Wait until I tell Hank that I was right." Gwyn's bright voice echoed through the cottage, her arms flinging wide to encompass them both and draw out the happiness which drenched their faces.

  How long had it been since laughter caressed these walls? As a part of Sara's life, even in part, the cottage deserved a better future than its history. If this served as another key to distance her from a pain he could not bear for her, then he would take action—any possible.

  Gwyn shifted positions, turning her head enough to meet his gaze even as she continued to snuggle upon Sara’s chest. "What are we going to do first, Papa? Will we have a party here? It would like a party."

  Christopher caressed her blonde crown of ringlets. "A garden party in the summer might be just the affair, especially if there is a rather large garden hiding behind the foliage in the rear. We likely shouldn't schedule that event without first knowing who will be the first artist to call this home. Yes?"

  "Oh!" Gwyn sat upright, gaze clearly visualizing myriad of adventures in the cottage. "A welcome home party," she squealed. "It could be a surprise!"

  Sara gathered Gwyn's shining face in her hands. "What are you plotting, Poppet?"

  "We could have a contest for who will have this be home. They could write a story telling us why it should be their home and not someone else. Then the cottage could get to meet them, too!" Gwyn clapped her hands. "Oh let's! Let's have a contest!"

  "I suppose I will cease being taken by surprise by your strokes of genius, Angel Girl." He kissed her forehead. "We will sponsor a contest, and Mrs. Lake shall be the deciding vote. Then, in order to encourage suspense, the top three or five will be invited to the garden affair for an announcement of the winner. Yes?"

  "Hooray! A contest party!" Gwyn engulfed them in yet another exuberant embrace, her form trembling with delight at the prospect, regardless of the fact it would be several months down the road until it came to fruition.

  He caught Sara's gaze. "Before long, I will employ her as my entertainment liaison. How do you suppose Parker will take the news?"

  Sara laughed. "He will likely grumble about no' being of use any longer and secretly feel overjoyed that he can focus more on his sculptures."

  "Too true, too true. I can almost hear him. But now we must toddle along, my dear ones, and retreat back to our surrogate home before I decide to spend our remaining days within these walls. No, Gwyn, do not even attempt to bend my will to that end because the answer is a resounding 'no'. We must spend some time with Paul and Dix before they disown us all, to say nothing of the secret we must decide whether or not to tell them before our journey back to America begins."

  He shook his head as he helped Gwyn to her feet without tumbling down the stairs. "Paul will likely reason it out regardless if we spend any time with him at all. Gwyn, did they mention whether or not they plan on staying in England over long?" Gwyn shook her head, her hand firmly clasped upon Sara's as she dutifully listened to Christopher's monologue. He smiled. "You are being overly attentive, Angel Girl. It causes me to suspect you are plotting something." She grinned up at him in silence.

  "You do no' truly believe they will take issue with our marriage, do you?"

  The hesitant whisper drew his attention and he forced a smile, though whether or not even he would be convinced was questionable. "No?"

  Gwyn grabbed his hand. "Aunt and Unca won't be angry."

  Christopher regarded his daughter's certain expression and gave her grip a return clasp. "Perhaps they will only be annoyed that they weren't included."

  "But they want you and Sara to be happy. Aunt and Unca said so."

  "I know, Angel Girl, but sometimes what we say and how we react to things are two very different truths. Do you remember what I've told you about intentions?" Her brow furrowed, focus retreating inward. Then, defeated, she shook her head. "Good intentions often litter the road to places we ought not go."

  The brows lowered yet again, inviting a duet of laughter from himself and Sara. "Never mind, Poppet," Sara offered, gathering up Christopher's free hand. She met his gaze. "Let us admit our secret before our tale is given to the public. They will be hurt otherwise, with all they have done for me."

  "True enough. I will send a cable to Father and Mother as well. And Teddy." Decision made, Christopher focused on the two and smiled. "So, let us venture forth, yes?"

  "Yes!" They all laughed, relishing the warmth of family as they navigated their way from the cottage.

  Eighteen

  History’s Blessing

  Joseph did not allow himself time to pause before navigating the front steps of the Trent's home and giving a knuckle-bruising rap upon the door. The moments before the response ached with each beat of his heart, sluggish and heavy very much like the sludge which currently silenced his thoughts.

  The click of the door jerked his mind to the task at hand and he swiped the hat from his head as the stoic-faced butler opened the door. "May I help you, sir?"

  "Yes, please. Are the mister and missus of the house in residence?" He knew the reputation that preceded his decided action, so the calm tone of his request both amazed and impressed his own self.

  "Indeed." The man stepped back. "I can take your hat and coat, sir."
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  Joseph offered forward the requested items as his gaze swept the front hallway for sights and sounds. The hint of china sounded from a room to the right.

  "If you would be so kind as to wait for a moment, sir, I will announce your arrival. Will you want tea?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  The man bowed and made his way to the entry of the far sitting room on the right. After a low, brief conversation, the butler signaled Joseph with a discreet nod before making his way to the kitchens. Joseph pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes unable to look from the artistic perfection of the decor as he gathered his thoughts into firm control. The balance of darkness and light seemed to settle his mind, the bright reds and golds of the floor rugs and wall tapestries drawing his steps toward the white-framed doorway of the sitting room.

  There would be no way to prepare for the questions and demands of the pending conversation, because Rachel and Robert Trent were devoted to the challenges society seldom spoke of. But progress toward any result needed to be made, and the Trents were simply another means to that end.

  To his surprise, Rachel Trent met him at the doorway, hand outstretched and features lovely in a practiced smile of welcome. Robert Trent stood by the mantle of the fireplace, cup and saucer close beside his usual pipe.

  "Mr. Conklin, it is a wonderful surprise to see you." Rachel motioned within as Robert shifted position from mantle to entry. "Robert was certain you would not accept our invitation."

  Joseph accepted Robert's firm handshake and followed Rachel's invitation to the welcoming arrangement of chairs and settees. "I did not expect to do so." With the Trent's reputation, absolute transparency would be the only way forward. Especially considering they did not yet have as close a relationship with him as with Christopher and Sara Lake.

  Rachel's eyebrow twitched upward as she sat across from him, fingers teasing the edges of a small, colorful fan within slender fingers. "What contributed to your change of heart?"