him. “Mr . . . I mean, Sam . . . this is just grief talking. You’ll regret giving this away someday. It’s an expensive heirloom. It’s a piece of your daddy.”
“Yeah, but it’s not a piece I ever want to remember.”
Nelly stayed quiet for a while as if working out a debate in her head. Then she smoothed the folds in her black dress. All right.” She reached out and accepted the glassed-in flag. “I think I’ll hang it over my bed.”
Sam grinned. “That’s not what I expected you to say. Why would you want it over your bed?”
“As long as this flag was flying in the South, we had little control over our lives. What one man thinks is freedom can be another’s man prison. But now, to have this over my bed, well, it’ll be a fitting reminder that my new boss stands for a true spirit of liberty. I’d be most pleased to come work for you . . . Sam. No matter where you choose to live.”
“That’s good news, Nelly, on such a terrible day. And by the way, I wanted to tell you that you’ll be receiving a piece of my father’s inheritance. I’ll make sure of it. As a thank-you. You see, the fact that you stayed all these years, taking care of him the way you did, well, you’re a bit of a hero to me too.”
Mist swam in Nelly’s eyes. “Thanks, Sam. Those words mean more to me than the money.” She tipped her head. “But the money is mighty nice too.” She chuckled. “Well, I think I hear the doorbell. I best get it and not make the funeral parlor folks wait.” Nelly rose from the couch. “I’ll have some coffee ready in the kitchen in case they’d like some before they go.”
“Thanks.”
Nelly scurried toward the bedroom door as if grateful to be leaving the room, but under her arm, she still clutched the framed Confederate flag. Once in the doorway she turned back to face him. “I’m glad you came home to stay, Sam.”
“I really appreciate that, Nelly.”
On that note, she vanished around the corner.
Nelly had made him feel welcome. The locals who remembered him seemed pleased to see him too, and he was glad to be away from the city, back in Middlebury. But he’d never imagined how hard it would be to watch his father die and how difficult it would be to see his first love again—Charlotte Rose Hill.
God help me. Was he having second thoughts about marrying Audrey? He still cared for Charlotte. There could be no denying it, and yet he cared for Audrey too. He didn’t think it sounded right or biblical or fair to anyone. Life, though, had never been just. Sometimes it felt like a jailhouse with only one key—death.
On the other hand, all those many years ago, Charlotte had refused him, plain and simple. She had let him go with no explanation or turning back. But that look in Charlotte’s eyes when he saw her in the tearoom just before he announced his engagement—that was not the look of mere friendship.
He rested his head in his hands. His father had died, and the men were coming to take his body away. Even with that disheartening thought he knew the real reason for his grief. “Charlotte.”
Chapter 8
8
Charlotte plodded down the outside staircase from her apartment above the tearoom and then sat down on the bottom step. After days of little sleep, Mr. Wilder’s funeral, the news from her doctor confirming early menopause, and the strain of helping Audrey plan the reception for Sam’s wedding, life did not feel as though it was coming softly in the night. It felt more like it was tramping squarely on her face! It felt as though God had erased her from his memory and his promise to watch over her comings and goings.
She placed her head in her hands and even though she wanted to weep, she didn’t. There had been enough tears and wrestling with God in her broom closet. She felt exhausted, and her eyes were puffy to prove it. She’d had to apply two slatherings of concealer to cover her swollen eyes and dark circles. Funny, she’d always thought tea could lighten the foulest mood, the bluest heart, but not today. Not this day.
Charlotte glanced around the gardens and the pathways to the other shops and homes. The area was shrouded in patches of heavy mist, which usually gave the cypress trees a fairy-tale look, but today it just seemed dreary. She was in need of a sunbeam—one of those great shafts of light that would unexpectedly burst through the clouds. It was a glimpse of heaven her grandmother had said, letting us, if only for a moment, imagine life beyond our world, believe in grander schemes and not just the piddling struggles of flesh and bone.
Guess she’d have to make do with the fog. She grabbed the railing, heaved herself up off the stairs, and tapped her cheeks. As sure as church bells on Sunday, her customers would be pouring in soon.
Charlotte opened the back door to The Rose Hill Cottage Tearoom and reminded herself why she was here on this earth—to serve. And on most days to serve the little town of Middlebury was more than enough bliss for one day. For one life. She smiled and walked through the door.
Lil greeted her first, “You look ghastly. Like one of those pale vampires all the girls are reading about these days. I think you should go right back to bed.”
Thanks, Lil. “I’ll be fine.” Charlotte peeked around the corner. “Anybody out there yet?”
“We have a sprinkling. Got that new pastor in from Middlebury Chapel sitting up in front. What’s his name?”
“Pastor Wally.”
“Unfortunate man.” Lil stopped her work at the counter. “What was his mother thinking with that name of his?”
“Now, now. His birth name was Wallace, but it sort of digressed into Wally. But I think it has a nice sociable ring to it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lil shook her spoon in the air. “To be trawled through life as a pastor with a name that either sounds like a fish or a child’s imaginary friend can’t be easy on the ego. I can tell you that.”
Charlotte chuckled. “I suppose it does lack a certain authority, but everyone already likes him.”
Lil went back to finishing two orders of chicken salad on greens. “Did a woman show up at the pastor’s table yet? You know, another blind date? I wonder if it’ll be that new librarian, that Boudreaux woman. Bless her heart. She’s a nice lady, but she’s got enough hair on her upper lip to compete with the pastor’s whiskers, and she’s tall enough to polish every man’s bald spot from here to Magnolia. I hear she sells lawn ornaments on the side. You know, those little rainbow pinwheels. I applaud the entrepreneurial spirit, but that profession is short-lived, since once everybody in town’s got a pinwheel, your career goes kaflewy.”
Charlotte chuckled to herself and cut through to the original question. “It doesn’t look like there are any blind dates for the pastor today.” She loved Lil, but sometimes she served up one too many helpings of narrative. “I have to say, Pastor Wally’s been a good sport about it.”
“Yeah, but I’m telling you, when you coerce a minister into too many blind dates it’s like putting sardines in a scone. It might look okay on the outside, but it isn’t going to smell right.”
Charlotte grinned. “What do you mean?”
“Pastor Wally is a grown man. He can surely choose a woman for himself!” Lil’s silvery waves bounced around
