Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

Yours,

Oliver

I wiped the tears from my cheeks as I placed the letter on my bed and brought the package into my lap. With careful fingers, I peeled back the paper and opened a small box. The silver gift blurred in my vision as something between a sob and a laugh escaped my lips. A simple note sat atop a beautiful charm bracelet, each charm carved with intricate detail. The note read, A hundred memories for each charm.

I drew the bracelet from the red paper and wiped at my eyes again. Each little charm held rich meaning. A teapot, a book, a weeping willow, a fairy, a goblin, and a castle. I rubbed my finger over the dainty spires and smiled. I’d never possessed anything so precious. What could I ever give him that he didn’t already own?

I placed the bracelet on my lap and drew up the other letter, carefully breaking its seal. It was much shorter than his usual notes and the script looked hurried. I smoothed back the page as if to calm his hand.

December 15, 1915

My dearest Sadie,

It’s impossible to keep my mind on my studies, especially with so few of my classmates returning to university for the spring term. The war’s casualty list continues to grow and I am here, waiting. I must join. I must do the duty of an Englishman for his country.

My stomach curled into a knot. I knew it had to come at some point, but now? When we were so close to a future together?

I will understand if you do not wish to become the bride of a soldier, if you cannot travel to a whole new country to marry me only to have me leave for war. I will bear no hard feelings toward you, my dear girl, if you cannot embrace the future uncertainties that this choice brings us. I will still love you for as long as I live.

Not become his bride? I quivered at the very idea.

It is too much to ask, to expect, and yet…if you are willing to join me, I will count it the greatest honor of my life, apart from the grace of God.

I await your reply.

Yours,

Oliver

If I left my world, my position, all I’d ever known and joined him, only to have him gone for years or even die, what would happen then? In a place of strangers, could I make a way? Find a way, as he fought in a distant land?

I could stay here. Release him to the war and even continue to write to him as he fought for his country, but he offered me something beautiful. The chance to be his. Even if war separated us soon after, I could belong to him in every way for whatever time God allowed.

I closed my eyes, a prayer pulling up from my soul. Did love make me brave enough? An answer pooled through me before I finished my wordless pleas. I knew my answer.

Western Union:

DECEMBER 20, 1915

OLIVER,

WHEN YOU SEND FOR ME, I WILL COME.

SADIE

Chapter 14

The long front attic room on the second floor of Camden House had a window on either side, but Clara would never have known it at first because of the massive amount of boxes and furniture packed in every nook imaginable. Plus, there was no ventilation, so despite the wintry chill outside, the room held the stuffy combination of stale air, old furniture, and lots of dust. She did happen to uncover an excellent vase, two pristine and antique Chippendale chairs, and the most extraordinary ceramic bowl with hand-painted scenes from an Asian-esque landscape.

None of the items had any obvious connection to the Camdens, but for some reason, even in the short time she’d known Gillie Weston, Clara had a feeling they’d matter to her.

After four solid hours of rummaging through the first third of the room, Clara emerged into the second-floor hallway and breathed in the scent of fresh baked bread wafting up the open stairwell from the kitchen. Her stomach growled in response and she laughed. How on earth could she be hungry after eating the massive breakfast Camden House offered? Bacon, or as Gillie called them “rashers,” eggs, toast, pastries, jam, fruit.

But even at the thought, Clara’s stomach gave another groan. She slipped to her corner room, washed up, and changed into a fresh outfit, one of her favorites for winter because it afforded her the opportunity to wear her burgundy cloche hat. Of course, she adored winter hats of all sorts, but her dad had bought her this one, so it came with its own special magic.

Clara cast a glance over the gray countryside out of her doubledormer window. The morning rain brought out the green tints in the hills all the more and gave the lake a mysterious stormy hue. Perhaps she could go for a walk before delving back into her dusty exploration.

She took the stairs toward the buttery aroma, slipped by the grand Christmas tree decorating the corner of the massive dining room, and passed a beautiful sitting room and an elegant breakfast room which had been turned into a tearoom. The scent led her to the back of the house, where an indecorous kitchen enveloped Clara in its delicious warmth. A small table stood to the far side of the room with four simple wooden chairs surrounding it, the place where Clara shared meals with Gillie, Dora—the cook—and any other staff.

Gillie and Dora stood with their backs to the door, their merry laughter bringing Clara fully into the room. The whole inn exuded a sense of joy comparable to the glow of the season, kind of like the way Clara hoped Blackwell’s shone in its little corner of Asheville.

“It smells delicious in here.”

“Well, here you are.” Gillie turned and stepped forward, an apron wrapped around her thin frame. “I wondered if you’d find your way out of the cluttered tower.”

“I can’t believe