August tipped his hat to Cliff as he passed the gatehouse on the way out of the camp. The mid-morning sunlight burned a path along the road, guiding him back to the home he’d left the night before.
His smile stilled before spreading fully. A part of him wished to savor the sweet camaraderie of last night’s dinner with the Rosses and the Carters, but another part accepted the untimely reality of his departure from Hot Springs, a truth carving away at his good intentions and dreams.
The news had been announced this morning to the whole camp: Next week, the deportation of the sailors to Oglethorpe would begin, and he wielded no power to stop it.
He wasn’t so much concerned about finishing the chapel. It would only be a few more days and that piece of his heart and hard work would remain a fixture in these mountains. A reminder to the Carters of him, he hoped.
But what about Jessica? He’d been foolish and selfish to attempt to win her affections when the inevitable fog of departure lingered over each day. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, pausing at the crossroads of town.
He knew the answer. It was time to begin the process of distancing himself and his emotions from Jessica and the Carters in preparation for the final split. An ache, deep and raw, started with the announcement and only intensified as he stared down the street, a path as familiar to him now as the honeysuckle air.
With a hesitant sigh, he accepted his decision. Create distance to the ones he loved to ease the pain of leaving. And love them, he did. As certain as the hues of blue in the surrounding mountains and the shades of reds and pinks in the wild roses along his path. He’d found a home, and now... he was ripped away from it again.
“I see they’ve let the traitor out of his cage again.”
Jasper Little sauntered across the street toward the crossroads, his hand tucked in his pocket, his broad smile plastered with insincerity. August cloaked his expression. There was little benefit in nursing a confrontation in the middle of the street, despite the certain satisfaction for August in besting the man.
“I see no point in conversation that starts with accusation, Mr. Little. Good day.” August turned toward the Carters in an attempt to create space between him and Mr. Little.
“I’ve heard about your little letter exploits. So this façade you present to the people of this town will be uncovered. Your people have no place here.”
August pivoted on his heels and faced the vile man. “Despite how badly you wish to instigate a confrontation, you will not find one here. With me. Your personality might hold a melodramatic bent, but I care more for the eyes watching how gentleman behave than I do in creating a theatrical.”
“I think you’re concerned they’ll hear the truth. That you’re an imposter.”
His voice took on a different quality, fluctuating between two styles. English and American. Warning replaced the flint of jealousy. Jasper Little was not at all who he seemed.
August examined the man with fresh eyes, taking in the subtleties. He stood with the posture of a soldier, so that part of his story was most likely true, but an Englishman?
“I’m not certain I am the one who is an imposter, Mr. Little.”
The man’s gaze flickered to the camp and then back to August with renewed fire. “Are you nervous at my accusations? Turning the blame on me, an innocent bystander to your treachery.” He closed the gap between them, a snarl his companion. “What do you have planned next for the people of this town?”
His volume grew, drawing attention from passersby, which was no doubt his intention.
August stared at the man, declining to dignify his accusation with a response but refusing to back down. Mr. Little sent another glance over his shoulder, ensuring his audience stayed within earshot, but August was done.
“Mr. Little, our conversation is over. Good day.”
The man spouted off something else as August strolled down the road, making certain his usual stride kept in step with his convictions. He had nothing to hide, and if he knew most of the people of Hot Springs well enough, they’d see Mr. Little’s accusations for what they were. Pure drivel.
But something worse lured beneath the exchange. Why was Mr. Little pretending to possess an English accent, and why was he really in Hot Springs?
***
August had slipped into the barn, taken his usual tools, and disappeared into the forest without one ‘hello’ to Jess’ family... or her. She’d watched from the kitchen window, waiting for his usual greeting to make them aware he was working. Of course, he didn’t have to tell them, but he always did.
Except this time.
Her father had followed down the chapel trail about half an hour later, but Jess couldn’t shake the fact that something was wrong. She frowned at the forest, as if it hid a secret to her quandary. This concern, this need to make certain of August’s well-being, annoyed her because, despite her best efforts, it proved she cared about him.
She sat down on the porch steps, watching David play with Addie while Jude and Sylvie attempted to help. A faint breeze warded off the promised heat of the day and clouds gathered overhead, hinting at an afternoon rain. She hoped the summer thunder stayed away, but the rain would cool off the day.
“Jude and Sylvie seem to have Addie well in hand.” David approached, joining her on the step, shoulder-to-shoulder. “He’s a good lad, Jess.”
“That he is. His mother couldn’t give him much, but she gave him the most important thing. Love.”
“And you’ve taken up her mantle beautifully. You’ve always loved ferociously.” David nudged her shoulder with his own. “Stubborn to a fault.”
“Must be why you fell in love with Catherine.” She grinned, nudging him back. “You’d gotten used to stubborn, headstrong women.”
“I don’t know that any other woman could have managed the difficulties we’ve faced over the past few years and come out stronger for it. She’s remarkable.” He looked over at Jess, tenderness in his smile. “As are you. That is why these children are in good hands.”
His strong voice sounded more certain than her inward one, but she’d trust that this God she knew as a child kept his promises. He had to. She needed him to keep his promises since nothing else in this crazy world held fast and sure.
She watched Jude and Sylvie bring dandelions to Addie, entertaining her as they blew the flowers into hundreds of white, flying wisps. Her laughter trilled toward the house and nestled around her heart in a sweet warmth.
“How are you doing? Really?” He turned to face her, his eyes examining her face as he measured her well-being. Ever the doctor, but even more the brother. “Coming back from the war, to this? It can’t be easy.”
She stared off into the horizon and breathed in a pine and honeysuckles. “The nightmares are fewer. And I’m finding new thoughts and memories to replace the haunting ones. It’s just been difficult and slow.”
His hand covered hers and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course. Time is undervalued in its ability to heal.” He released her hand and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I suppose there is mercy in my head injury because I don’t remember many things about serving at the Front.”
She pinched back a cringe at the memory of her brother, limp and lifeless in her arms, and offset the ghost with a grin. “Granny would call that a blessing dressed in suffering.”
“And she’d be right.” His smile responded.
“Have you recovered most of your memories?”
He nodded and returned his gaze to the children. “I have pictures in my head of my wedding to Catherine and flickers of our time together before the war, as well as a few scenes of being at the Front, but otherwise, they’re like shadows.”
“And you’re fine with those lost memories?”
He shrugged. “I must be fine with them.” His grin turned roguish. “Besides, Catherine has more than made up for any memory loss.”
Jessica hit his shoulder with her hand, warmth rising all the way to her hairline. “Clearly, your wife’s influence is rubbing off on your boldness.”
“And I’ll share another bold declaration, though it’s a secret. Catherine means to announce it tonight at supper.” He leaned close, lowering his voice. “We have another little Ross arriving in the New Year.”
Jessica laughed and threw her arms around her brother. “Oh, how wonderful! What a wonderful surprise.”
“Yes, though Catherine touts her skills as a mother—and she is a wonderful mother—she’ll be pleased to return to Beacon House and enjoy the help of our small group of servants. They dote on Addie and I’m certain will be a great help with our newest addition.”
Catherine and David’s solid relationship still amazed Jessica. For David, the quiet, gentle, bookish sort, and Catherine, the witty, dramatic, passionate sort, stood out as opposites, and yet complimentary in a beautiful... She sighed, accepting the link. Divinely appointed way.
Her gaze drifted back to the forest. How could she relinquish this fear to a possible romance? It ate at her, memories crashing into the scars and reopening them in the silence of the night. Lt Snyder’s hands, rough and strong against her skin. His hot and hard mouth her only comparison to a kiss. She flinched, tamping down the grief. Her mind knew it was different between two people who loved each other, but her heart stumbled against experience. Raw, stolen experience.
“Mr. Reinhold seems a good chap, Jessica. I don’t know why you leave the man in such uncertainty about your regard.”
She shot her brother a frown since he’d jumped into her thoughts unwelcome. “My regard?”
“You may not wish to care for him, but it’s clear to me that you do.” His sly grin slid into his profile. “You’re a fighter, I know, but you don’t have to fight so hard. Sometimes, it’s okay to let your emotions win.”
If she released all of the emotions she pinned down into her gnarled heart, she’d likely explode and take a few people with her. “David, you ought to count yourself blessed to not remember the Front. I almost watched you die. In my arms. After we’d been tortured and forced to serve Lt. Snyder for months, barely being fed.” She pressed her fist into her chest. “I have so many emotions right now that they’re tearing me apart inside, like they’re already winning.”
He took her fist into his hand and rubbed his fingers over her knuckles. “I’m sorry for the hurt you remember which I cannot. I know the stories you told. I’ve seen the grief you bear. And in some way, I understand that fear, because when I awoke from the haze of my head injury to a world I didn’t understand, filled with irrational fears and explosive anger, I wanted to crawl inside myself and hide.” He squeezed her hand. “But... I needed help to find my life again. To gain strength and faith I’d lost in the suffering. There is no weakness in letting others help you heal. I can’t imagine my life if Catherine hadn’t been there to love me through my injuries. Of course, I had you and Father, but there was the special connection she made with my wounds that somehow helped me be brave and heal faster than I could have in the hands of anyone else.”
Jessica’s grin twitched alive on one side. “Not even your amnesia was going to stop Catherine. I’m sure the wounds bowed to the power of her wrath and passions in complete terror.”
David’s full smile responded and the glow and the gentle light of his love for his bride both pained and soothed Jessica heart, and burst wide the ache in her soul from something so sweet.
Her brother’s face sobered, his gaze growing intense. “Love heals, Jessica. Catherine couldn’t bring back the memories I’d lost. I’ve recovered lots of them but not all of them. And there are wounds inside of you that no one but God can fully heal. Scars remain. But those scars are reminders that we’ve survived, and that we fought to survive. Those wounds only overcome us if we forget that He’s held us through all these trials and brought us out to the other side. Safe. And stronger than we were before.”
And she had. She’d pushed beyond her fear on hundreds of situations to use her God-given smarts and will to survive. He’d strategically placed people in her path to help her, guide her, and sometimes, remind her of whose she was and His ever-present hand even in the storm. Now, her heart pushed her yet again, trembling and uncertain on the precipice of a place she’d never been. A hope she’d pushed beneath her pain, justified by her disabilities, and closed off with her fears. A leap? A fall? One step across a threshold where she willingly offered her dreams, failures, and hopes to another person?
David seemed to read her thoughts. “Sometimes, God sends a special someone along to love us in a way that mends our scars and our hearts as none other can.”
She tugged her hand free from his hold and swiped a rebel tear from her cheek, sending her brother an annoyed smile. “Do I hear you joining the ranks of everyone else who thinks this August Reinhold is the one who will help me heal? For goodness sakes, you’ve been here a grand total of three days and everyone’s already sorted out my future?”
He chuckled. “It does seem a rather large consensus, doesn’t it? But I will not choose your future. You’re smart enough to figure it out on your own, and you’re brave enough to risk whatever you need to make it yours.”
“I’m also stubborn enough to let it pass.” She pinned him with a look. “Which might be the smarter choice.”
He lifted a challenging brow. “Or the more cowardly one.”
***
Cowardly? Oh no! She may be a great many flawed things, but cowardly wasn’t one of them. She marched through the forest, leaving Jude with a laughing David and Faith with a curious granny. August Reinhold wasn’t a man to inspire fear, and she’d prove to everyone she was quite capable of managing herself with him... maybe even take a baby-step toward this tremulous attraction.
Maybe.
But she wasn’t afraid.
Her steps faltered as the chapel came into view. August’s modification involved a small steeple with a new cross-shaped hole near the top that he hadn’t filled yet, but she could see from the sides as she approached that he’d placed the windows, three on each side of the small wooden building.
The thrum of male voices rumbled from inside, an odd mixture of cultures echoing off the bare walls in chorus. Her father’s deep and pristine English accent and August’s smooth baritone flavored with German tones, all set in a little Appalachian chapel.
Who says God doesn’t like variety?
The internal declaration pegged her brother’s previous conversation with added punctuation. She paused in the doorway, watching the two men, their backs turned toward the dark, stained altar. August had added intricate carvings along the curved back wall surrounding the altar, scenes engraved into five wooden sheets and then nailed into the wall to create the chronological story of the five days leading up to the resurrection of Christ. He must have kept them at the camp and brought them to the chapel when he’d finished as a grand unveiling for the simple country church.
“Fine job.” Her father nodded. “And you’re adding the beams this week?”
August looked up to the ceiling. “They were in the photos I saw. I’ve placed two in already and hope to add two more, today along with a surprise gift for your daughter I hope she will like.”
“If you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a huge fan of surprises,” Jessica said, crossing her arms but allowing a smile to contradict her stance.
August turned, his gaze taking her in from head to toe. His smile slid from one side to the other and captured her completely. Her skin lit with a responsive flame.
Okay, maybe she was a little afraid.
“But you are a woman who appreciates advancement. Certainly, you can progress to take some pleasure in them?”
His verbal dip into her history of women’s rights piqued her smile despite her best efforts.
Her father patted August on the back with a laugh. “Well said, August. It’s good for Jessica to see men who appreciate the former plight of women’s rights.” Father turned to her. “Since she’s won her right to vote, now perhaps she’ll enjoy her right to live well?”
“I’ve always lived on purpose, Father.”
He walked toward her, his emerald gaze showering her with a paternal radiance. “Perhaps it’s time to live with joy too.” He turned and tipped his hat to August. “I have to send a telegram in town, so I will be off, but I appreciate the tour of the chapel. Stellar work.” He winked at Jessica. “And I can’t wait to learn of this surprise.”
And with his exit, leaving her alone with August, her father gave his stamp of approval. He trusted August... with her?
She looked across the chapel to him, pale light straining through the glass panes dusty from woodwork. August stared back, his hair windswept and his strong, lean body posing a striking figure at the center of the chapel.
She squeezed a breath into her lungs and raised a brow to show she was still in control. “So, about this surprise?”
He took a few steps forward, his attention never leaving her face, and then, as if his thoughts turned into less pleasant realms, he frowned and stopped. “I must speak to you.”
“Then speak.”
“The camp is moving next week.”
Her forward momentum died with a sudden sickness in her stomach. “Please tell me that’s not your idea of a surprise for me.”
A smile softened the tension on his face. “I may have a thick head”—he tapped his forehead—“but it is not that thick.”
The levity took some of the sting from his announcement. “I’m sorry, August.”
He tilted his head, captivating her with his searching gaze. “Are you?”
Her gaze faltered under his and she took another look around the chapel. “Of course. You don’t expect me to know how to finish this chapel, do you?”
“I suspect if you put your mind to it, you could accomplish almost anything.”
Her attention shot back to him and she suddenly recognized one thing among many she’d failed to see during their acquaintance. He saw her as the woman she desperately wanted to be. The woman she thought she’d once been before war and betrayal weakened her from the inside out.
“I’d rather not resort to such extreme measures if I don’t have to.” She steadied her palms on her hips. “So, what if we get to work?”
He took another step closer, his beautiful smile returning to entrance her all over again. Perhaps having courage also meant utter lunacy because she suddenly had difficulty keeping her mind clear of periwinkle eyes, strong shoulders, and a dashing smile. What had become of her sensibilities?
“Your answer deserves the surprise. Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for her to answer but almost ran to a small door in the chapel she hadn’t noticed. It stood at the steeple’s base, and from Jessica’ quick view, it led to a small stairway with a skeleton of a spiral staircase twisting the one story upward to the steeple—and the mysterious, framed cross-hole.
With careful movements, he drew something from the shadows of the closet and carried it to her. At first, she couldn’t make it out, but as he neared and the fading light reflected off of his cumbersome package, Jess recognized it. A patchwork cross? Dark wood framed a cross shape filled with tens of small, colorful shards of stained-glass pieced together like a puzzle in the form of a cross. August bent beneath its weight, the window a little over half his height. The mingling shades all merged into one setting and cast rainbows against the chapel floor in a myriad of faded and beautiful hues.
“Where did you—” She gasped. The treasure hunts? Digging through the muck and remains the flood left behind to retrieve lost pieces of the church’s former stained glass windows? She grappled for her voice, for words. Some response to match the beauty of this gift. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”
“Nothing is too broken that it cannot be restored with the proper care.”
He spoke to her at the soul level, guiding her from the cocooned safety of her cage.
She met his gaze, trying to absorb this growing awareness, this tenderness. He was everything he appeared to be and so much more. Her breath shallowed, and her heart took a tremulous response forward. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head in acceptance, looking up through those luxurious lashes and spiking her pulse into arrhythmia. “My pleasure, Miss Jesse.” He gestured with his head toward the steeple. “Are you ready to set it?”
Her shoulders relaxed from the tension, the awkwardness of embracing emotions she’d tied off like a tourniquet, and embraced the distraction of work. “Yes. Please.”
The work moved forward in companionable silence and with a great deal of distraction in the form of her work partner. Suddenly, her senses came to life with everything about him... his breathing, the way he turned his body to keep sawdust from falling toward her, the spun gold links within his blond hair, the cleft in his chin. And the one feature which was quickly growing to be her favorite—his ready smile. She’d always thought people who smiled too much or too quickly held secrets, were false or oblivious, but August carried a genuine joy ready to emerge to the surface in a beautiful, breath-altering smile.
Her newfound fascination with him was her only excuse for ignoring the signs—the scent of wet trees in the air, the coolness of the advancing breeze, the darkening sky. They’d barely placed the stained glass cross securely in its new home when the first burst of thunder nearly toppled her from the stairway.
August steadied her, but she jerked free, stumbling down the remaining stairs until she reached low ground. Her pulse stampeded in her ears, competing with the thunder. The chapel walls closed in as the thunder intensified, calling her back to exploding shells, dismembered bodies, and fiery, hate-filled eyes.
She paced the perimeter inside the chapel, prowling like a cat for a hiding place.
“I will get you home.”
“There’s no time,” she shot back. “No time. The storm is already here. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere. I’m caught. Trapped. I can’t hide. I can’t.” She placed her hands over her ears as another blast drew closer, shattering through her until she stumbled.
“No.” August’s arms enveloped her in warmth and pine-scent. He swept her off her feet, cradling her against his strong chest, and marched across the chapel to the tiny stairwell closet. “You cannot hide. But you are not alone. I will be with you through this storm, Mause. I will not leave you alone.”