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

And with that, he drew me into a bedroom filled with fading light from the tall windows, and an elegant four-poster bed situated against the far wall.

“I have something for you.” He led me to the bed and gestured for me to sit, took an envelope from the side table, and placed it in my hand. “This is your wedding gift.” He shrugged. “Our future.”

I studied his face and then opened the envelope. A large iron key dropped into my lap as I drew out a piece of paper. “A key.”

“A key,” he repeated, sitting beside me on the bed, his grin twitching. “Now read the letter.”

As I sorted out the first paragraph of a letter from Mr. Long about the Brick House, Oliver’s intention became apparent. He’d purchased Brick House…for us. I blinked up at him. For me. “Oliver—” I didn’t trust my voice for more, but his broad smile proved he understood.

“I’ve made sure to have him include your name on the deed because…” His brow darkened for an instant. “If something happens to me, I don’t want anyone to take away our future. Once the war is over, we can start over together as ordinary bookshop owners with an extraordinary story of our own.”

I cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

“Grandmama helped purchase it as well. She liked you before she even met you.”

Because she loved him. What a remarkable feeling to be surrounded by love.

“I love you, Mrs. Sadie Camden.”

I didn’t answer with words, but I feel certain Oliver had no doubt of my appreciation, because he responded with similar enthusiasm, and that evening we showed each other the most beautiful expression of how two people from different worlds can become one in every way.

I would never be the same.

And I didn’t wish to.

Chapter 18

Three hours and nothing else?” Clara rubbed her tired eyes and followed Max from the sitting room of the gatehouse into the little upstairs bedroom. They’d uncovered an old newspaper from February 1916, a woman’s shoe, and two more books with Oliver’s name written in them, but nothing related to Sadie or a deed.

“We still have this room and the storage room beneath.” Max’s hopeful response pulled at her smile.

They’d worked through the “rubbish” as Max called it, in the kitchen, which revealed some old china and an exquisite teapot.

The sitting room offered even less, just a bunch of empty bookshelves. “You’d think they were trying to build their own bookshop in here with all the bookshelves.” Clara glanced behind her to the sitting room they’d just vacated and then nodded toward the other two bookshelves in the bedroom.

“Perhaps that was his plan.” Max lobbed a grin over his shoulder as he pulled open the wardrobe.

“A bookshop?” But the thought stopped Clara in her approach. What a wonderfully unique place for a bookshop. Inside a gatehouse! Especially a castle-looking gatehouse. She gave the room a look with that new perspective in mind. Had Oliver wanted to start a bookshop like Sadie? Was that how their acquaintance began? “Well, Fenwick didn’t have one from what I saw. Maybe he wanted to live more simply than an English gentleman?”

Max wrinkled his nose as he pushed through the sparse clothes in the wardrobe. Clara slipped around him to rummage through the dresser nearby. A hatpin and a woman’s hairbrush hid in the very back of the top drawer, a few dark strands curling from the bristles. She pulled her fingers away, feeling as if she’d just intruded on something intimate. What would a woman’s hairbrush be doing in Oliver’s apartment? Could it have been Sadie’s?

“Did you say the former owners never did anything with the gatehouse when they owned Camden?”

“No, it has been neglected since the early 1950s at least.”

She stared back at the hairbrush and then turned to the next drawer. Empty.

“Clara, look at this.”

She moved to Max’s side, where he pushed back the clothes to reveal a vintage blouse.

“A woman’s blouse?” His brows met.

“I found a woman’s hairbrush too.”

He didn’t voice the question in his eyes, but pushed back another clothing item. A suit jacket? “This is an Oxford jacket.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a special jacket students were given when attending Oxford. See the emblem of the school, there.” He gestured toward the right front of the jacket, which displayed a coat of arms. “Wait.” His hand slid over the inside of the jacket. “There’s something in this pocket.”

Clara stepped back, her whole body cringing at what might have found its way into that jacket pocket after all these years. Carefully, Max slipped his fingers into the inner pocket and then—

“Ahh!” He screamed and pulled back, holding his hand.

“What? What happened?”

His grin spread and he winked. “Nothing, just trying to lighten your mood a little.”

“Max Weston.” She slapped his shoulder. Of all the things she’d expected him to do, that definitely hadn’t been one of them. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Your face is rather expressive.” He raised his hand and revealed what looked to be a photograph. His eyes widened. “Clara, she looks like—”

“Me,” Clara whispered, staring at the woman not much younger than herself. She took the photo from Max and peered closer. Same dark hair, same nose and forehead. Her eye color wasn’t as pale as Clara’s, but the shape looked similar. Clara had only seen photos of Granny Sadie when she’d been an older woman. Never any of her this young but, even faded with age, she knew the face. The smile. “It’s… it’s a tintype photo. Cheaper and more common in the early part of the nineteen hundreds.”

“Is it Sadie?”

“I think so.” She swallowed a gathering lump in her throat. “The cloth of the jacket must have protected the photograph, you think?”

“Perhaps.” Max studied the photo, his shoulder pressed against hers. The welcome scent of earth and flowers and cologne edged closer. He stood at the