Love's Story (51 page)

The color drained from Chase's face as he thought of his beloved Henry leaving. He wasn't certain of the boy's salvation, and Chase felt that vital matter was his responsibility. Harold had asked him personally upon his deathbed to see to it. Now, the opportunity was being snatched away before he had a chance to fulfill his promise. He loved Henry like his own son, and it pained him to think about Henry leaving.

Gretchen led Chase into the front parlor and set a silver tray of pie and coffee before him. Chase looked with apprehension at the fuss she had made and knew Henry's words had been the truth.

“Before you say anything, I think you should know Harold had always intended for us to live in town, in Redwood. When he died, I forgot all about those plans. I've been concentrating on other matters up until now.” Gretchen made no attempt to hide her past plans to attract Chase's affections. “And now I think it's best for Henry. He'll still see you often enough, every time you're in Redwood, I would think.”

“Gretchen, I just don't understand. There's so much Henry and I planned. We haven't even gotten to ride the railroad yet.”

“Chase, there are no opportunities for us here. Harold left us very well off, but I'm just withering away in Searsville, from boredom and a lack of purpose. And, quite frankly, I don't like the person I've become here.”

“Please don't take any offense at this, but what makes you think things will be any different in Redwood?” Chase asked.

“I don't know that they will. I just need to try something different. Mrs. Williams, your friend who's staying with Mrs. Hopper, has offered me a job.”

“A job?” Chase said incredulously.

“Believe it or not, I'm a very capable woman. Before I married Harold, I ran a highly recommended restaurant in San Francisco,” Gretchen said defensively.

“Gretchen, I never meant to imply… I only meant, why would you want to work when—”

“The only thing I've accomplished here is the occasional quilt and a great deal of trouble. Redwood will provide more stimulation for both Henry and me, and, hopefully, I'll learn to keep my mouth quiet.”

“Have you prayed about this?” Chase asked.

“What is it with you and Robert Lathrop and
that
question?”

“I just don't want you to make a mistake with Henry.”

“The fact is, I'm human and I'm bound to make a mistake or two, but I feel the need to get out of Searsville. We're planning to move in the spring, when Mr. Williams is finished with the hotel.”

“Gretchen, is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

“I don't think so,” Gretchen said slowly.

It was a pleasant Saturday in February, and Rachel sat along the lakeside with her Bible open to Proverbs. It was her favorite book; she felt God must truly have had a sense of humor, encapsulating so much wisdom in such short passages. She came to chapter six and read with great interest:

“‘My son, if thou be surety for thy friend, if thou has stricken thy hand with a stranger, thou art snared with the words of thy mouth…. Do this now, my son, and deliver thyself, when thou art come into the hand of thy friend; go, humble thyself, and make sure thy friend.'”

Rachel wasn't sure why, but she read the words as a commandment. On deeper evaluation, she felt God telling her to reconcile with Gretchen Steele. The very idea appalled her, but she knew God's gentle reminders would not go away until she'd put an end to the strife that was between her and the young widow. She must make it right, even if it was a one-sided effort.

Rachel closed her Bible and prayed for wisdom. Then she rose from the lakeside, dusted off her skirt, and began walking along the path toward the towering Steele home. As she stood on the front walk, her knees buckled at the thought of entering the house. The last time she had been in the home had been the night of the sewing circle, where she had heard the vicious lies about Maria. Rachel also knew that the following week must have been when the rumor about “her” baby had been circulated.

Rachel held her Bible close to her chest and continued to stare blankly at the front door of the home. Suddenly the door opened and Gretchen Steele appeared with a small rug in her hands. She began to beat the rug over the front porch banister before noticing Rachel's presence.

“May I help you?” The widow asked scornfully.

“Mrs. Steele, I think we need to talk.”

“I can't think of anything I have to say to you, Miss Phillips,” she said, while attempting to close the door.

Rachel's stomach churned with nervousness, but she clung tightly to her Bible, praying silently, and continued to move forward, pushing the door open with her hand. “Well then, maybe you might listen for a change.”

“I beg your pardon,” Gretchen finally managed.

“Mrs. Steele, I really think we ought to go inside. This is not a matter of public interest.”

Gretchen Steele dropped the rug over the banister and motioned for Rachel to enter the house. The widow glanced about to see if anyone had witnessed the exchange and then followed the teacher into the house quickly, closing the door hastily behind her. Rachel wasn't invited in, so the two stood facing one another in the foyer.

“Miss Phillips, if this is about Chase Dylan, I can assure you I have nothing to do with the fact that he has no interest in you whatsoever,” she snippily commented.

“This has absolutely nothing to do with Chase Dylan. I haven't even seen the man since the New Year's Eve service.” Rachel was surprised that the attack didn't sting; in fact, it had caused the exact opposite reaction than what had been intended. Somehow, Rachel felt an overwhelming emotion of mercy. All at once she saw Mrs. Steele for the broken person that she was: a woman terrified of living in the rugged logging territory without the husband she had loved and unable to share those fears with anyone. No one seemed to truly care about the woman except her son. The only people who were on speaking terms with her seemed to be Chase Dylan and the small circle of quilting party members who met at the general store to gossip. Rachel was filled with sadness.

“Well, what are you doing here then, Miss Phillips? My son will not be attending your schoolroom next year, so I hardly think we have anything to discuss.” Gretchen sounded incensed, and Rachel knew her presence in the woman's home must have been painful.

“Mrs. Steele, I have come because I believe I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” The other woman asked. Rachel thought she noticed guilt flash momentarily across Gretchen Steele's face.

“I think I need to sit down. Do you mind?” Gretchen led Rachel into the front room, motioning for her to sit down in a high-backed chair, upholstered in a formal burgundy red-and-white print.

“Mrs. Steele, as I was saying, I really must apologize for my reprehensible behavior toward you. In addition to changing the dress size on your catalogue order for the Thorne wedding, I have been rude in your presence. And, I'm sorry to admit, I have also spoken about you harshly behind your back. Regardless of what you may have done to or said about me, I do not have the right to speak ill of you. As a Christian, God asks me to forgive, and that's what I must do. I should have come to you long ago, before this got out of hand.” Rachel stopped and waited, unsure if she should rise to leave or not.

“What did you say about being a Christian? Are you implying I'm not a Christian?”

Rachel's heart raced; she hadn't been prepared for this. She thought Mrs. Steele would just rant and rave, asking her to leave. She silently asked for God's words, and continued cautiously. “In the Gospel of Saint Matthew, Jesus says, ‘That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.' I knew when I read that and another scripture from Proverbs that I needed to apologize to you.”

Gretchen stood, wringing her hands nervously, and looked at Rachel, unable to speak. Suddenly, Rachel was given an uncommon boldness. “Mrs. Steele, have you ever asked Jesus into your heart?”

“I think you should go now, Miss Phillips.” Rachel got up slowly, hoping the widow might change her mind. Mrs. Steele stepped purposefully from the room and climbed the stairs, leaving Rachel to wonder what she was thinking. Disappointed and frustrated, Rachel let herself out.

Gretchen remained on the landing after the schoolteacher left and spoke aloud to herself, “Have I ever asked Jesus into my heart? Maybe not, but it's certainly no business of yours, Rachel Phillips.”

It was a pleasant March afternoon following church service, when Rachel, sitting in the front parlor with a book, heard voices on the porch.

“Perhaps, we should have asked if this afternoon would be a good time.”

“Perhaps we should have, but we didn't, so go ahead and knock. You owe those women an apology, and it's long overdue.”

Rachel opened the door and was shocked to see Mrs. Williams and Thelma Hopper standing there on the porch with smiles on their faces and two fresh lemon cakes in their hands. “Mrs. Hopper, Mrs. Williams, what a pleasant surprise. Won't you please come in.” Rachel stepped back and waved the women through to the parlor. She took the cakes from them and called for the rest of the household. “Robert, Seth, we have visitors. I'm sorry, but Mrs. Lathrop is in isolation until the baby comes.” The women nodded knowingly.

Seth was the first to race to the parlor, followed by his father. When everyone had gathered, the silence became apparent, and Mrs. Williams was the one who broke it.

“Miss Phillips, I hope we're not intruding. We baked these lemon cakes yesterday, and thought we might drop them by as a sort of peace offering.”

“Peace offering?” Rachel inquired.

Thelma Hopper took over. “Yes, a peace offering for the injustice I've done to you and Mrs. Lathrop. Mr. Lathrop, I hope you will convey my deepest apologies to your wife for me. When she is up and around, I will be sure to do so myself.” The older woman looked to her friend for support and went on. “Miss Phillips, you and Mrs. Lathrop have both been the victims of such terrible gossip. I hate to even mention it, for fear of bringing more pain to you. But I need to apologize for my part in the evil—for listening to it in the first place, and, most of all, for acting on it by shunning you both and by asking you to leave my house, Miss Phillips. I'm afraid I did you both a serious grievance.”

Rachel felt tears coming on, and did her best to stifle them, but there was no stopping the emotion, and soon her tears flowed freely. She had been vindicated. Maybe it was only one member of the community, but it was an answer to prayer nonetheless, and for that she was overjoyed.

“Mrs. Hopper, thank you,” Rachel said, wiping away tears. “I know this must have been very difficult for you. It isn't easy to admit when we've made a mistake.” Rachel moved forward and embraced the older woman. Thelma stood stiff with surprise at first, but then warmed to the hug, returning it.

“Enough of all this, let's have some cake,” Mrs. Williams said, breaking the intensity of the moment; excited chattering began. Seth raced to the kitchen at the promise of cake, and Rachel prepared coffee and the dishes for a pleasant afternoon visit.

C
hase Dylan eyed Searsville with pleasure. Over two months had passed since he had seen Rachel. Gretchen had sent Henry to stay with him on Sundays during the winter months, and Jeremiah had handled things in Redwood, so there had really been no reason to visit town. No reason, that is, except Rachel Phillips. And after her blatant refusal of his Christmas gift, he saw no good reason to pursue that alliance in the future. His heart plummeted at the very thought.

Chase approached Davenport General Store and was about to enter when he noticed Rachel Phillips strolling into the post office with a young man. A tall, sturdy young man. His pulse quickened and his jaw clenched in jealousy as he realized with annoyance that his desire for Rachel had not ended. He stopped abruptly at the store's entry and resolutely walked to the post office instead, determined to let Rachel Phillips know what a spectacle she was making of herself.