Finding Hope (17 page)

She leaned her forehead against his chin. “Oh, Charlie, we're a ridiculous pair, aren't we? The man who could never fall in love and the woman who would never marry!”

He kissed her ear. “Well, I've definitely fallen in love. So the only question is—are you going to get married?”

His mouth was still against her ear, so Hope knew he was holding his breath again. She wondered how long he could do it, but this was probably not the kindest time to experiment. She'd have the rest of her life to learn that about him, wouldn't she?

“Yes,” she whispered. “I'm going to get married.”

He sucked in a breath and let it out in a sigh, warm and shivery against her ear. “Oh, God—thank You,” he breathed.

She pushed him away a little. “As for the rest, Charlie—I need some time.”

“Of course you do,” he agreed. “I won't pretend that I'm not eager. But I want you to know this—your acquiescence is never going to be enough for me. I won't marry you until I believe you want it as much as I do.”

She was coming closer with every heartbeat.

He kissed her temple. “I should go now.”

She wound her arms tightly around his neck, oblivious to the pain the movement caused her. “No, not yet!”

“Hope,” he said reasonably, “you're exhausted.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “I want you to rest for a while. Please? I'll come back later. But right now I have to call the hospital and I want to see Tom.”

A fresh surge of joy overpowered her as she thought of Tom. He would be ecstatic over this news.

Charles smiled tenderly. “Will you pray with me?”

She trembled in his arms. “I'm too excited to think of anything to say!”

Still careful of her ribs, he moved closer, whispering against her hair. “Well, couldn't we just tell Him that?”

 

Charles meant to pay attention, he really did. He was a brand-new Christian and here he was in church, hearing a sermon meant to instruct him in living a godly life.

His eyes were fixed on a water spot on the ceiling of the small sanctuary.
Surely you understand that I can't concentrate on a sermon when my heart is doing these cartwheels,
he said to his God.
First You thaw my heart and draw me to You, then you give me the woman I love more than my own life. And You have captured my brother's heart, as well! Who am I that You would do all this for me? I'm afraid I will burst from the joy of it!

Hope leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. The service was only half over, but she was already tired.

She'd come home from the hospital just yesterday, and Charles had strongly advised her to skip church this
morning. He understood what it meant to her, going to church with him and Tom and her mother, but it was still a bad idea. Then he'd seen the disappointment in those lovely sapphire eyes and he'd given in. Had he ever been able to say no to Hope?

Yes. In fact he had done it twice. But yesterday afternoon she had commanded him never to think about that again, so those times didn't count.

She'd wanted to sit in the comfortable padded pew, so Charles had parked her wheelchair and scooted her in between her mother and himself. He was glad of that now because when he slipped his arm around her, she moved closer to his side and rested her hand just above his knee. He wondered briefly whether it was proper to sit so close in church, but Hope's mother had seen the move and was smiling indulgently.

He whispered in Hope's ear. “I can't concentrate on the sermon at all.”

“I can't, either!” she shot back.

His eyes strayed to her mouth as she spoke and he was immediately sorry he'd looked. He turned his head and caught his bottom lip sharply between his teeth. Here he was in church, supposedly listening to a sermon, and all he could think about was covering that luscious pink mouth with his own.

The Sunday bulletin slipped out of Hope's open Bible and floated to the floor. Tom leaned forwards and picked it up, handing it back to Charles with a smile. “I'm so happy,” he whispered. “For all three of us. And for Susan.”

Charles nodded, blinking moisture from his eyes as he stared at the bulletin he grasped between his fingers and thumb. Something in bold print caught his eye. “Flowers have been placed on the altar today by the children of our late brother John Seltzer, in honor of his birthday.”

Susan wasn't the only resident of heaven Charles was eager to see again. He looked forwards to seeing Gramps because he had a question for the man:
How did you know?

 

“I think we'd better skip Sunday school,” Charles said to Hope as the church service ended.

“Yes,” she agreed, sounding as exhausted as she looked.

They took her home, and after Grace helped her undress and get into bed, Charles went in to wish her sweet dreams. When he leaned down to kiss her lightly, she favored him with a sleepy smile. His heart lurched and he wondered how he'd managed to make himself believe for so long that he didn't love her.

Her eyes closed but he couldn't bring himself to turn away from her. He shrugged out of his coat and yanked off his tie, carelessly tossing both at the rocking chair by the window. Then he slipped off his shoes and eased himself onto the bed.

Sitting with his back against the headboard, he adjusted pillows until Hope was in a comfortable position and he could put his arm under her head. She barely opened her eyes, but she made a soft sound of contentment and snuggled close. When her breathing was deep and regular Charles leaned his head back, absently watching the slow-moving ceiling fan as he gave thanks to God.

Grace looked in. Her eyebrows went up a little, but she smiled. Charles spoke softly. “I'm not budging, Grace. If you insist on chaperoning, pull up a chair.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, I think I can trust you.”

Yes, she could trust him. He would die before he'd ever hurt Hope again. He would wait for her, and even if their wedding day never came, he would have no
grounds for complaint. Because he didn't deserve her, never
could
deserve her. That she loved him was pure grace—an unmerited gift. Like the salvation God had granted him, it was completely unearned, absolutely undeserved. But, oh! It was so gratefully received!

He spent almost two hours in prayer and meditation. He needed to make a number of changes in his life, he knew. There were so many things he wanted to do differently now, for God and for Hope. He couldn't wait to get started.

She stirred in his arms and her eyelashes fluttered. She gave a small sigh of pure pleasure. “Am I dreaming?”

He offered to pinch her.

She yawned. “I'd rather have a kiss, if you don't mind.”

He didn't mind a bit.

Her hands cupped his face for a moment before her fingers wandered into his hair. “I want to marry you, Charlie,” she said against his mouth. “Next month, okay?”

No. He was prepared to wait for her, however long it took. He would show her how gentle he could be, how patient. He would make her understand that she was worth waiting for. “I thought we agreed that you needed some time,” he countered.

“Oh, I've had enough time.”

“Yes, a whole day.” He laced his words with gentle sarcasm.

She snuggled closer. “Did I kiss you just now?”

“Um…” He pretended to think about it. “Yes. I seem to recall something along those lines.”

With one finger she traced his bottom lip. “Was it nice?”

She had to be kidding. A kiss like that was worth dying for. “You
know
it was nice,” he murmured.

“Did my kiss seem at all ambivalent?”

He didn't see where this was going. “Not to me, it didn't. You appeared to be extremely interested in what you were doing.” He fingered a lock of her dark hair. “Just what are you trying to say?”

She tilted her head back and gave him a long, steady look. “I'm not afraid of you, Charlie,” she said, her bright blue eyes shining with confidence. “Not the tiniest bit.”

He noted that her gaze didn't falter. “There's no reason for you to be afraid,” he said, dropping a butterfly-soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “I am a Charlie, after all.”

“A Charlie among Charlies,” she corrected. “Do you believe it now?”

He buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair. “Hope, I'll believe anything you tell me to.”

“W
hat kind of wedding do you want?” Charles asked Hope as they swayed gently on the porch swing. She pursed her lips and stared at him, considering.

She sat sideways with a large cushion behind her back. Charles held a pillow on his lap, her broken foot resting on top of it. Her right foot was flat against the seat of the swing, and Charles was using her raised knee as an armrest. They'd been sitting like that for half an hour, both of them too comfortable to move.

It was early Sunday evening and more dark clouds were moving in, dropping the temperature. When a fresh breeze ruffled Hope's hair, she shivered and Charles yelled, “Hey, Mom! Bring us a quilt, will you?”

“Coming,” Grace Evans sang cheerily. A moment later she arrived with the quilt and arranged it over Hope. “Will there be anything else, Your Majesties?”

Charles smiled up at her. “No, I think we're perfectly content, thanks.”

Hope smiled dreamily. She
was
perfectly content. She closed her eyes and once again gave silent thanks to God.

“So, what kind of wedding?” Charles asked after Grace had gone back inside. “If you really want to be married next month we'd better start making some decisions. And will you have any objection to my paying for it?”

“None at all,” she said slyly. “Just as long as you're willing to make the same deal we did for my evening gown.”

“That was nothing. Let's make it a little more interesting, shall we?”

Hope loved this game. “
How
interesting, exactly?”

“You tell me.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Charlie, you know I'm going to milk you for every penny I can get to send to mission organizations. So why don't you just tell me what you can afford?”

The light in his eyes died suddenly and was replaced by his old wary look.

“Charlie, what is it?” she asked urgently. A nameless fear tightened her throat.

He hesitated. “I never actually spelled it out for you, but I thought…” He shook his head. “Hope, I have a
lot
of money,” he said carefully.

Of course he had a lot of money. He was a brilliant surgeon who probably pulled down more green stuff in a single year than she would see in—well, a whole
lot
of years.

Not only that, but his family was loaded. He would come into a bundle someday, and although she knew without a doubt he'd disregard his parents' wishes and split that inheritance with Tom, there would still be enough money to scare the socks off Hope, judging solely by that monster house the Hartmans lived in. “I know you have money.”

“No, you don't,” he argued. “You don't know that I inherited a considerable fortune from my aunt.”

Of course Tom had mentioned that inheritance, but Hope had assumed it was just a nice little nest egg. Now she began to worry. “You don't mean you're rich like your parents?” She shook her head as if that might convince him.

“Actually, I have quite a bit more than my parents do,” he apologized. “Tom made me buy technology stocks years ago, then he got me out again before that balloon burst. As I told you, he's a fiscal genius.”

Awestruck, Hope searched Charles's face for some sign that he was kidding. She found none. Her heart fluttered wildly and she raised her hand to her forehead. Her vision began to blur, so she closed her eyes.

She'd never really thought about his money. She knew he was “rich,” but to her that simply meant he never had to balance his checkbook or ask the price of anything.

This wasn't rich. This was something else entirely. Something frightening. How could she ever live in his world? In her mind she viewed a slide show of terrifying images: monster houses with elaborate security systems. Long limousines and heavy diamond necklaces and endless, mindless champagne-guzzling at charity galas. And bodyguards for the children.

She opened her eyes and was startled by the haunted look in his. He spoke softly, sadly. “Oh, Hope. Have we overcome the other obstacles just to get hung up on money?”

When she didn't answer, he raked his fingers through his hair and looked away from her. “Why does it worry you? I'm the same man I was five minutes ago.”

“But I never guessed you were that…rich.” She almost choked on the word.

“Please, Hope,” he said in a low voice. “Don't let the money make a difference to you. Why should it change anything?”

It would change
everything.
Didn't he see that? It would change
her,
and she didn't think she'd like the new, rich Hope. Maybe Charles wouldn't, either.

But God had done so much to bring them together. Couldn't she trust Him for this, too? “All right,” she said firmly. “It will take some getting used to, that's all.”

His head rolled back and he stared at the porch ceiling. “You had me scared for a minute. But after everything I've put you through, I could never blame you for turning your back on me.”

Compassion squeezed Hope's heart. Did he honestly imagine she could turn her back on him? Hadn't she proved her devotion?

A flash of insight told her deep wounds like his would not heal overnight, although the process had definitely begun. The doubts and fears he'd harbored all his life would require love and patience to dispel. But Hope had both. “Charlie, I won't turn my back on you,” she promised. “Not ever.”

Being careful of the cast on her foot, he moved closer. He kissed her so tenderly, she felt as if all the life had been drawn out of her body and replaced with his.

“To backtrack a little,” he said cautiously, “I was planning to make some substantial gifts in celebration of our marriage. Tom's researching a few mission organizations for me, but maybe you have some suggestions?”

Things were coming into sharper focus now. She ought to have known Charles would have better ideas than diamond necklaces and mindless champagne-guzzling. “That's wonderful, Charlie!” she said. “But I'll bet you give away a lot of money, don't you?”

“Well, I—”

“Charlie!” she interrupted. “It was
you,
wasn't it? You gave the last three hundred thousand to the building fund!”

He hurried to explain. “I only did it because I wanted to see your eyes shine when Pastor Bill announced the money had come in.”

“But you missed it! You were in Mexico when he announced it.”

He touched her nose with his finger. “And did your eyes shine?”

“Probably. I was deeply moved.”

“Well, I actually gave only two hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and fifty-eight dollars. That left a difference of—”

“Forty-two dollars!” Hope squealed. “So we did it together! Oh, thank you.” She sighed. “What else have you been doing behind my back, I wonder?”

“Before we get married we'll have some frank discussions about money,” he promised. “But right now I'd rather kiss you.”

She gazed into his calm eyes and shook her head helplessly. “I love you, Charlie.” Catching the faintest whiff of his spicy aftershave, she leaned closer to enjoy his scent. Nose-to-nose with him, she looked into his eyes and saw green flecked with gold, miniature Impressionist paintings. She told him that and he chuckled.

“You must be in love, kid.”

“Oh, I am! Didn't I say that just a minute ago?”

“I'm forgetful,” he lied. “Better tell me again.”

She wasn't in the mood to verbalize, so she showed him, instead.

“Wow,” said Charles after a few moments. He cleared his throat and stared at her. “Hope, that was…” He shook his head quickly. “We'd better get back to making wedding plans.”

“If you insist,” she said under her breath.

“I think I'd
better
insist,” he muttered. He cleared his throat again. “Where was I? Oh, yes—as for the guest list, there won't be too many on my side. My parents and grandfather, of course, although I'll be surprised if my parents come. We'll pray about that, shall we?”

Hope leaned against him and nodded. “Isn't God wonderful?”

“Yes. And I am profoundly grateful that He sent you to me.” Charles pushed her hair away from her neck, making a bare place to kiss. Then he whispered in her ear. “Thank you for smashing my taillight.”

“It was my pleasure, Dr. Hartman.”

 

On Monday evening a new ring sparkled on Hope's left hand. As Charles and her mother cleaned up the dinner dishes, Hope sat at the kitchen table, absently twirling a lock of hair around her right index finger as she admired the twinkling blue stone on the third finger of her other hand.

Late that afternoon Charles had pushed her wheelchair into a private room in a jewelry store where an obsequious salesman tried to interest them in diamonds just a couple of sizes smaller than golf balls. Noticing Hope's increasing discomfort, Charles had asked the salesman to excuse them for a few moments.

When the man left, Charles turned to Hope. “What do you want, love?” he inquired softly, his marvelous hazel eyes full of tender concern. “Just tell me,” he urged, stroking her arm.

She didn't know anything about diamonds. She didn't know how to choose one. “I don't like all these big, flashy things,” she said, “and I—”

“It's okay,” he soothed, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Don't worry about what anyone
else expects. You don't have to get the most expensive thing in the store just because you can. Do you see anything you like?”

She did. She pointed to a ring in the glass case before them. It was an oval-shaped blue stone with a triangle of diamonds on either side in a simple gold mount. “I think that blue one is beautiful, and it's not so big that I'd be embarrassed to wear it. It's a sapphire, isn't it? Would that be all right?”

“It's lovely,” he had agreed. “Just the color of your eyes.”

Now Hope smiled at the ring on her finger. It was beautiful without being showy. Perhaps it wasn't the traffic-stopping sparkler people would expect a rich man's fiancée to wear, but Hope loved it.

Sneaking up behind her, Charles leaned down to nibble her ear. She tilted her head to one side so he could kiss her neck.

As he did she held up her hand and turned it, watching in delight as the six tiny diamonds flashed fire and the sapphire winked at her. “It's pretty, isn't it?”

Charles made a soft sound of agreement and she felt a delicious flutter of happiness in her chest. “You're not even looking at it,” she accused.

“You go ahead and admire your little treasure,” he said complacently. “I've got mine in my arms.”

She sat perfectly still, thrilled by the sound of his breath against her ear. It tickled her that he was a dedicated neck-nuzzler. She never would have guessed that testy Dr. Hartman, of all people, would turn out to be so affectionate. She told him that and he laughed.

“I never was before,” he asserted. “You did it to me.”

It was time for him to leave for the hospital, so he
kissed her one last time. “Give it back, will you, love?” he murmured. “I've missed having it.”

She didn't need to ask what he meant. She reached under the neckband of her T-shirt and grasped the braided silver chain. She pulled it over her head, then slipped it over his.

 

To help her handle the wedding expenses, Charles gave Hope a credit card and saw to it that her anemic checking account received a massive infusion of cash. She wasn't yet able to drive, but they'd been looking at new cars for her. They finally decided that she should have Charles's car, which felt safe and familiar to her. He would buy a new car for himself.

It was exciting to have money for everything she wanted, but Hope was still apprehensive about marrying such a rich man. She confided to her mother that she was worried about becoming a different person after she was married.

Her practical mother set her straight. “Sweetheart, you will face trials and temptations that I can't begin to imagine,” said Grace Evans. “Just keep your eyes on the Lord. And you can look to your husband for an example. Charles may not have been brought up in a Christian home, but somehow he has managed to acquire some very solid values. He doesn't live extravagantly, even though he could. That says a lot about his character.”

Fingering her lovely sapphire ring, Hope nodded thoughtfully.

Grace leaned forwards and patted her daughter's knee. “Don't you see? You're worried about living in what you call ‘his world,' but, sweetheart, he's not asking you to. Charles isn't interested in glitz and glamour.”

It was true. Charles didn't have an extravagant bone in his body. They weren't planning a three-month world
tour for their honeymoon—they were simply going to spend three days alone at his apartment. Then he'd go back to work and she'd finish her master's thesis and in a couple of months, they'd take two weeks off and go somewhere fun.

And they weren't going to live in a mansion, either. Charles had asked her to think about whether she wanted to build a new house or buy one with some history. She realized now that what he had in mind was not a monument to his vast wealth, but a real family home. Somewhere to hang a porch swing.

In the three weeks since they'd become engaged, he had not presented her with a Greek island or an emerald necklace. His gifts had been flowers and books of poetry. Yesterday he'd brought her a CD of romantic classical music. He'd even written her a love letter; late one night at the hospital he'd filled seven pages of a prescription tablet with professions of his undying devotion.

“As the wife of a very rich man you'll have a unique set of challenges and responsibilities,” her mother continued. “But I'm confident you'll bring honor to your husband and to God. Of course, Daddy and I will be praying for you. Trust God for everything, just as you have been taught.”