Hope Between the Pages, Pepper Basham [best ebook reader android .txt] 📗

The scenery ushered her toward the lake Gillie referred to as Derwentwater. The mountains surrounding the lake were called things like Great Gable and Scafell Pike. She grinned. Definitely magical.

A gray stone steeple rose above the tree line on a hill ahead. A chapel, barely half the size of All Souls in Biltmore Village back home, but beautifully fitting to its surroundings. Two massive oaks rose into the blue afternoon sky, towering on either side of the steeple. Gravestones littered the grassy hill as if tossed in haphazard fashion.

She skimmed over the legible names on the smaller stones as she climbed the hill, some of the dates on the graves over four hundred years old. Nearest the church, stood three very different graves than the rest: two larger headstones, a decorative headstone featuring a Celtic cross, and in between them, a monument.

The towering memorial displayed one word. Camden. With careful steps, Clara rounded the monument to view the front of the cross headstone. Two graves rested beneath it, both marked with the symbol of a World War I soldier.

Clara bent to read the first.

ROBERT LAWRENCE CAMDEN

5th LANCERS

10 NOVEMBER, 1918

26 YEARS OLD

Was this Oliver’s brother? Clara slid her attention to the neighboring grave, her breaths growing shallow, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She knelt to brush loose leaves from the stone, and the name materialized.

OLIVER CHRISTOPHER CAMDEN

FIELD ARTILLERY, YORKSHIRE REGIMENT

25 MARCH, 1916

22 YEARS OLD

Here he was. The man so intricately connected with Sadie Blackwell, yet still such a mystery. How had they known one another? Had Sadie grieved his death?

Mrs. Carter’s Biltmore letter was dated November 1915, so four months earlier, he’d been alive. Six months earlier, he’d been at Biltmore. She trailed her fingers over the lettering of his name, pushing back some of the dirt. Why did it feel as if she knew him?

Just letters on stone, but they stood for a person. A soul. A young man with a story, with hopes. Maybe even with someone who’d loved him.

Had Sadie been that someone? The realization emerged like the solution to a mystery. Could Oliver Camden be Clara’s great-grandfather?

A twig crunched to her left and she turned to find Max nearby. He stood, hands in the pockets of his brown jacket, his profile turned away from her. For some reason, she’d expected him. He didn’t speak, almost as if he embraced the reverence of the discovery too.

She traced over the name again before breaking the silence. “I know it sounds strange, but do you think the lives of people in the past can reach through time and touch us in the future?”

He didn’t answer right away. The wind rustled through the trees. A cow lowed in the distance.

“I think there are certain stories that leave a more timeless impression than others. Yes.”

“Those men who fought.” The reality of their plight, the utter loss pressing in on her. She waved toward their headstones. “Twenty-two years old. Twenty-six?”

She looked up at him, searching his expression and finding, no, more like feeling mutual understanding. “I wonder if we even understand what it’s like to be brave nowadays.” She brushed back a small branch from the headstone. “Oliver was brave.” The bookshop came to mind. “Sadie was brave too.”

Silence whispered between them again.

“Perhaps we have to look a little harder for the brave ones, for the courageous, in our time, but I believe they’re still alive and well if we know how to search for them, how to see them.” Max offered his hand, and something in his simple gesture solidified his statement about modern-day heroes. With a slight hesitation, she slid her fingers into his and he pulled her to a stand.

“You’re right. We just have to look for them.” She turned back to the graves and snapped a few photos with her phone.

“Perhaps, on our way back to the house, you can tell me this story of Sadie Blackwell?” He fell in step beside her as they weaved their way back to the path. “It sounds like a tale I ought to know.”

Chapter 15

Ihesitated before knocking on the door of the Oak Sitting Room. Walking through that door set in motion a chain of events that would change the course of my future forever. Not only would I forfeit this coveted position at Biltmore and leave the world I’d always known, but based on the letters and conversations I’d had with Oliver, Mrs. Camden wouldn’t be particularly accepting of her son’s choice of a wife. Yes, he was sacrificing his status in society to marry me, but I had a feeling he may be relinquishing even more. Both our dreams hung on a precipice.

I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes, whispering one last prayer for strength. Courage wasn’t courage without fear, and as my heart trembled from the uncertainty of the great unknown, I held to God’s assurance. Whatever the future held, He was already there.

And whatever waited for me, I wanted Oliver to be a part of it.

My knock resounded with the finality of my choice.

At Mrs. Vanderbilt’s invitation, I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped forward. Her look of welcome began to dissolve as I approached. Perhaps it was the way I clutched the letter in my hand, as if a lifeline, or perhaps she read my intention well before I spoke, but whichever the case, she gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, ever gracious.

But my throat refused the words access.

“It’s all right, Sadie. Whatever you have to say, it will be all right.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Her gentle words nearly unlocked my waiting tears. “You cannot know how much I appreciate your kindness to me and my family all these years.” I swallowed through the lump gathering in my throat. “And I’ve loved having the opportunity to step into my mother’s position and enjoy the service and treasures of your library.”

“Loved?”

I smoothed my hands over the letter and