Love's Story (26 page)

Thatcher chuckled. “You should know by now that I need all the help I can get.” He artfully arranged their blanket and food, talking as he worked. “I've done nothing but bumble our relationship from the start.”

Meredith settled in beside him, setting her gaze on the river, wishing he could convince her of his loyalty. They enjoyed the picnic, and Thatcher continued to woo her throughout, making it one of the happiest moments of her life.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly.

“I feel so helpless,” he said.

“Why?”

“I care so much about you, and I feel you slipping away. Our time is so short. I don't have the finesse to do this right. Can you forgive me for all my clumsiness?” He reached out a finger and traced her cheek, her chin.

She leaned into his touch. “It's not been all your fault. We have wasted time, haven't we?”

“Oh yes,” he said.

She wanted to ask him,
What now?

His soft suede eyes drew close, and he tipped her chin. She felt his sweet breath before his lips tenderly kissed her. And then she knew that she could never go on in life without him. Her hand went up to touch his face. When they parted, he searched her face and murmured those words she longed to hear.

“I love you, Storm.”

M
eredith floated through breakfast and later floated over the town's new boardwalks. She was in love with the most wonderful man in the world. She had no idea love could be so wonderful. They had not made any plans, but Thatcher promised to call midweek. He said he would follow her to the East Coast if that's what it took to prove his love sincere.

She stopped humming long enough to open the door to the general store, where the post office was located. The owner knew her quite well by now. “Good morning, to you,” he said. As he nodded, his glasses worked forward on his nose, and a quick swipe of his hands set them back in place.

“Anything for me?”

“You must be expecting something good. You sure look happy this morning.” He handed her an envelope, and the door swung open again.

“Thank you,” she said, leaving him to help the next person. As she moved back outside and her boots hit the taut wooden sidewalk, she was reminded of the recent repairs and let her eyes fall across the walkway.

A shadow fell across her path. The sun had moved behind a cloud. She glanced up.
Hope it doesn't rain. Nothing could ruin this day.
And she even had a letter from Asa.

She slit it open with her fingernail and pulled it out to read as she made her way to the newspaper office. She blinked. Her steps faltered. Unconsciously, she reached out for a nearby post. She leaned her shoulder into it and blinked back tears as she let each word sink into her mind.

Family scandal, ran out on a woman.

Instantly, the photograph came to Meredith's mind. He had told her about his father, but what if he weren't telling the entire story, but only the parts he wanted to tell. What if he had run out on a wife? What other explanation was there if his own father was searching for him? It was not the woman who had run off, it was Thatcher. And, it was not his friend's problem, it was Thatcher's. Of course, this explained everything.

Why had he turned against his own wife? Did he truly love Meredith? It mattered not. He was married. He had many responsibilities.

Somehow, Meredith floundered through the remainder of the day. And the next day, with a desperate resolve, she threw herself into her work to wrap up all loose ends. If only Charles would arrive early. She wanted to leave today, now. But it was impossible.

Thatcher would call on her midweek. He would break her heart again. In the days that followed, she nursed her hurts and rehearsed what she would say to Thatcher.

Midweek finally rolled around. Meredith was working in the newsroom. Her editor walked into the room with an intense expression on his face.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“I figured out what Ralston had against you,” Charlie said.

Meredith turned full around in her chair. “Oh?”

“Seems he had a bad record with his past employers.” Charlie gave a sheepish look. “When he arrived, I was so hard up for help that I didn't check his references. I was curious after he left and made some inquiries.”

“I don't understand.”

“He's been fired before, and I think he was just plain worried about keeping his job.”

Meredith shook her head. “I feel sorry for him.”

“I don't. You ready to quit for the day? I've got a banking errand here for you, if you are.”

“Sure.”

Meredith left the newsroom, glad to be able to put the mystery of Ralston behind her, but troubled over the impending situation with Thatcher. She stopped in at the bank to make the deposit for her employer, her mind mulling over her problem.

“You look preoccupied,” Herbert Bloomfield said. “Working on a problem?”

“That's what Jonah always says to me. I must be a mirror.”

“Most women are. Speaking of,” his head motioned in the direction of his home, “the wife has some news she wants to share with you. I know that she would love it if you stopped in.”

Meredith needed to stay busy. She certainly wouldn't need any time to primp tonight. She wasn't even going to change her clothes. And if Thatcher had to wait on her, all the better.

“I'll stop in now. Thank you.”

She made her way past the few buildings down to the end of the street and turned the corner where the Bloomfields lived, ill prepared for what she saw: Thatcher's horse. Should she retreat? She felt adrenaline pulse through her veins; her anger surfaced.

She would get this over with, once and for all. She marched forward with purposeful steps and tapped on the door. Beatrice greeted her with a hug.

“I wanted to see you. Sit down. I have something special to tell you.”

She gripped the back of the chair instead. “Is Thatcher here?”

“Well, yes.”

“In there?” She nodded toward the back parlor.

“Yes, but…”

“I'll just be a moment, if you don't mind.” Meredith tossed her head and started toward the sitting room.

Beatrice followed close behind.

What Meredith saw caused her to halt. A wave of nausea swept over her. Thatcher and the woman of the photograph were wrapped in each other's arms. Her mouth flew open to spew out hateful accusations, and then she remembered that this was Thatcher's wife. She snapped her mouth closed and turned, running headlong into Beatrice.

Thatcher looked up and released Colleen, as if she were live coals. Instantly, he moved toward Meredith.

“Storm.”

“Stay away from me!”

His arms extended toward her.

“And keep those filthy hands to yourself.”

“Meredith, wait. It isn't what it seems.”

“It seems,” she spat, “that you're going to be a daddy. Congratulations.”

With that she pushed past Beatrice and fled out the door. She heard him call out her name again. “She's my friend's wife. Listen to me.”

Meredith kept walking.

“I have to leave for a while. I'm taking her to San Francisco. But I'll be back for you. I'll find you if I have to search New York City every day for the rest of my life.”

“Let her go,” Beatrice said. “Meredith won't listen now. She's too angry. Maybe I can explain later. Come back in, Thatcher.”

Thatcher knew Beatrice was right and returned with reluctance. Colleen needed him. Meredith hated him.

Meredith broke into a run and burst into the Cooper home in a flood of tears.

“Whatever's wrong?” Amelia asked.

“Leave me alone!” Meredith pushed past Amelia and ran up the steps to her room. The door slammed.

“What's wrong with her?” Amelia asked. “She's acted so strange all week.”

Jonah frowned. “I would imagine it has something to do with Mr. Talbot. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he and Meredith would have a hard time of it. They fell for each other from the start.”

“Lover's quarrel?”

“Probably.” He made his way toward Amelia and laid his hand upon her shoulder. “Speaking of love. I think it's time we had a talk of our own.”

Mrs. Cooper's eyes flew open, and Jonah led her toward the nearest chair.

“Amelia. I have a great admiration for you. Would you allow me to court you?”

The older woman swallowed then lowered her eyes. “I believe I would.”

“I only hope we don't have as much trouble as that pair.” His eyes looked toward the stairway.

“I don't expect we shall,” she replied.

M
eredith threw herself on her bed and cried out to God.

“Help me. O God, help me.”

She continued her tantrum for a few minutes more, but as the supplication kept pouring from her lips, a peace flooded over her. Meredith recognized it as God's love. He loved her now, when she needed Him most.

“Forgive me, Lord,” she prayed. “You are the one I've been searching for. It is You whom I need.”

His love enveloped her, and it was as if new pages of Meredith's mind were turned, and all of this understanding floated off the pages and into her heart. Every part of her knew that she had been going about everything the wrong way, making all the decisions, pushing, pushing, pushing. She'd been trying to control her father, trying to make love happen or not happen.

“I've not kept my eyes on You, Jesus. Forgive me. Your peace and love are better than any earthly person's. You are all I need. Thank You for showing Yourself to me.”

She would survive. Her God would never forsake her, though she turned back and forth to Him like an old toy. In an ongoing prayer of praise and confession, Meredith finally dropped off into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke, God's name remained on her lips. “You are still here. Live in me. Then I can live,” she prayed.