“You have this all planned, I
see.”
“Subject to your approval, of
course.
This is just my first draft.”
“Oh, it sounds heavenly.
Except for one thing.”
She lay back beside him, her head over his
heart.
“Yes?”
He closed his eyes, sighing in complete
contentment.
“All with red hair like their
father.”
Next in the
Miracle at Valley Rise Series
Entreat Me Not
Chapter
One
The house seemed small and still and for
the first time in her life, being alone made Emily uncomfortable.
After New York’s never-ending bustle of
traffic and noise, the heretofore welcome silence of home was stunning.
More than once, she found herself staring out
the windows, longing for something other than a bird or squirrel to move across
the dead winter lawn.
Always a haven
filled with more than enough to keep her busy, the house had become a series of
empty rooms waiting for something to happen.
Haunted rooms, at that, where at every turn she encountered Stani’s
tenderly smiling ghost.
Flashes of fantasy erupted even as she
forced herself to focus on daily chores.
She had John Kimble to thank for planting the idea that persisted in
spinning impossible daydreams.
Had he
known that morning before her departure that his suggestion would erode her
determination to be content during the months Stani was away?
Had he intentionally set these images in
motion, hoping she would eventually succumb to temptation?
Or was she the one who, against her better
judgment, had seized on the possibility of such an impractical and utterly
romantic adventure?
Looking back, she wondered if John might
even have invented the distraction that took Stani from the room for those few
minutes.
He said there was a call for
Stani in his suite, that he would help Emily finish the last of her
packing.
Stani was no more than through
the door before John had produced a copy of the itinerary for the tour, every
stop, every hotel with addresses and phone numbers.
He had underlined in red the stop in Berlin.
“Just in case you wanted to surprise
him.
That’s the end of the first
half.
We go to London and join up with
Milo after that.”
When she’d answered
with only a questioning look, John had gone on, “Silverman is meeting him
there, some big Mendelssohn thing.
With
the maestro there too, it should be a good show.”
She’d taken the bait.
“Even if I wanted to
surprise
him, as you say, how would I ever manage to arrange such a
thing?
I don’t even have a passport, you
know.”
“Just send me a telegram.
I’ll take care of everything, send you a
plane ticket, put you up in the same hotel, all expenses paid, of course.
But you will have to get the passport on your
own.”
She thought she detected relief in
his eyes.
Intrigued by the fantasy of such a
thing, she decided to play along.
“You
can do all that?
You wouldn’t have to go
through Milo?”
“Oh no, on tour, I have carte
blanche.
Milo can’t be bothered with
day-to-day details.
I’m the one
responsible for seeing to Stani’s every need.
Just like here, really, only in a different city every night or so.
In his case, bodyguard is just a glorified
title for valet, secretary, and mother rolled into one.”
He grinned, and she realized that he actually
thought he was making headway.
“It’s a lovely idea, John, but
completely out of the question.
I could
never do anything so daring.
Germany is
a long way from home.”
“Not as far as you may think.
Just let me know if you change your mind.”
Stani had returned then, grumbling that
the party had rung off before he reached the phone.
“Who was it anyway, John?”
“No idea.
Sounded German, though.”
Emily had been sure John winked at her before
he turned away.
After two days at home, she found herself
at the post office, filling out a passport application.
She would need one by September, she told
herself, as the wife of a touring concert artist.
Only practical to go ahead and get it
now.
She casually asked Myrtice how long
it generally took, and promptly provided the required photograph.
No rush, she assured the postmistress, but no
reason to drag out the process either.
And no, she said with a smile, she didn’t have any plans to travel any
time soon.
It was just something she’d
been meaning to do, in the event she had the opportunity someday.
She left the post office with the unsettling
thought that the whole town would know that Emily Haynes had applied for a
passport, and most likely, no one would be surprised.
Her next stop was the parsonage, but
when no answer greeted her repeated knock on the back door, she turned to the
little stone church in search of either Pastor Mike or Sara.
She found them both in the church office,
Mike perched on a ladder attempting to access the highest shelves of his
library, and Sara on her knees sorting Sunday School books into stacks on the
floor around her.
Emily had to
laugh.
“Looks like at least one of you
could use some help!”
“Emily!”
Sara struggled to her feet, stepping over the stacks to offer a
hug.
“How was New York?”
From above, Mike chuckled softly.
“More to the point, how was New York with
your ‘very good friend’?”
Emily blushed.
“
It
was wonderful.
And
he
was wonderful.
He wanted
me to tell you he’s been studying hard.
He found all the books you recommended and he’s already quoting
scripture to me.
That’s wonderful too,
isn’t it?”
Mike came down to floor level and gave
her shoulders a fond squeeze.
“It
is.
He’s really intent on making this
journey, you know.
And he means to make
it with you, I’m sure.”
The blush deepened.
“But that can be our secret for now, can’t
it?
We’ll tell the world, but not until
the time is right.”
As they often did, Sara’s eyes glittered
with tears.
“Your parents would be so
happy for you, dear.
And so will
everyone else, when they know.”
She
sniffed softly and chuckled.
“Right now,
there may be a few who are a little shocked.
Not only have you found a man, which you said you weren’t even
interested in doing, but you’ve found a man with long hair and a British accent
to boot.
That may take folks a while to
adjust too.”
She spent a half-hour visiting with the
two people who had given her a home when she’d suddenly been left alone and
facing a sadly uncertain future.
Mike
and Sara McConnell had been close friends with her parents from the time both
couples arrived in the little valley community.
Mike was not only her pastor, he was Emily’s friend; and in many ways
Sara had filled the maternal role after her mother’s death.
With Mike and Sara, her confidences would be
safe, she knew.
But even here, in the
sanctity of the cozy church office, there were things she wasn’t ready to share
just yet.
If she decided to go to
Berlin, the McConnells would be the first to know.
Leaving the church, she made a final
stop at Martha Jean’s Boutique to drop off a little gift for the shop’s
owner.
Martha Jean, who had been so
intent on seeing that Emily had the “right” clothes for her trip to New York
City, would no doubt be pleased with the collage of newspaper clippings she’d
put together.
In every one, she’d been
wearing something purchased from the little dress shop.
Stani had warned her they might be
photographed, but she’d been shocked by the number of appearances they’d made
in the city’s gossip columns.
And at the
wild speculation over the identity of Stani Moss’s “mystery woman.”
Martha Jean, as she had anticipated,
received the gift with characteristically vocal enthusiasm.
“Look at you, Em!
And look at
him
!
You make such a
beautiful couple.”
She studied the
pictures for a long moment, as if to reassure herself the clothes had indeed
been “right.”
“And you needn’t have been
so worried about being taller than he is.
Even in heels, you’re just about the same height.
Oh, Em, you look so happy!
And look at that absolutely adoring
expression on his face!”
She had decided not to reveal the truth
to Martha Jean.
In the shoes she’d so
carefully chosen for each outfit, Emily had towered inches above Stani.
She had not been happy at all; in fact she’d
been so unhappy that Stani had taken her shopping—for shoes.
He’d purchased obscenely expensive handmade
slippers, in which she was still a tiny bit taller than he; but at least he
hadn’t been forced to gaze
up
into
her eyes with that adoring expression.
The collage was prominently displayed by
the cash register, where she felt sure every woman in town would see it.
It was a small price to pay for all of Martha
Jean’s help, even if the very idea of so much scrutiny made Emily cringe.
And maybe it would serve to satisfy the
curiosity of at least some of the townspeople.
They all asked about him, where he was
and when she would be seeing him again.
In every shop on the courthouse square, even after church on Sunday
mornings, someone was sure to inquire.
They had different names for him, her red-haired beau, that musician
fellow, and the one she secretly liked best, that fancy violin player.
She fell into the habit of checking his
itinerary, now posted on the refrigerator, before each trip into town.
With a smile, in a practiced voice filled
with cheer, her answer to one and all was the same.
“Oh, in Venice right now, I think,” or “On
his way to Rome today.”
That often seemed to eliminate the need
for the next question, which was invariably, “Have you heard from him?”
She could at least count on Myrtice to
substantiate her claim that mail from “over there” was reliably
unpredictable.
In fact, she had received
several letters, each hastily written and filled with everything but details of
his whereabouts.
He wrote things no one
needed to know, how much he missed her, how he dreamed of her in his arms.
He catalogued her charms in typically
romantic language, the color of her eyes in candlelight, the timbre of her
voice when she told him she loved him, and the lilt of her laughter at his
pathetic jokes.
No, Mr. Brown at the
grocery, and Katie Malone at the flower shop would not appreciate those bits of
information.
Martha Jean might be interested, but
Emily would never dare tell her the details of Stani’s letters.
A word in Martha Jean’s ear was guaranteed to
reach Jack within the hour, and Emily was determined to keep Jack in blissful
ignorance as long as possible.
Sheriff
Jack Deem, her godfather, her third parent as she thought of him, was watching
her closely, she knew.
He would worry,
and being overly protective anyway, he might begin to question the wisdom of
her relationship with a man who traveled the world, leaving her sitting at home
cooling her heels.
Jack didn’t know that
man would be her husband by the end of the year, and she was not prepared to
tell him that yet.
They had agreed to keep it a secret—more
precisely, Stani had reluctantly agreed to honor her request to keep it a
secret—until he was back and they could tell everyone their plans at the same
time.
There were after all still
obstacles to overcome, not the least of which was Stani’s manager and mentor
Milo Scheider’s disregard if not outright disapproval of Emily.
And there was the matter of how they would
divide their time between Stani’s international career and Emily’s life here in
the valley.
Never in her wildest dreams
had she foreseen such a problem.
Her
carefully constructed plan had been for a solitary, simple life, supported by
her work as a nurse, and by the farm’s eventual return to productivity.
Now, all that would have to change.
But just what form the changes would take,
she had no real idea.
In the meantime,
she knew she didn’t want everyone here, not even Jack, putting in their two
cents worth, as well-meaning as their advice might be.