Page 39 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 39

W HIRLWIND ROMANCES WERE NOT JUST things of fiction. Four months into courting Abraham, Lydia had already planned their wedding details with the Guardians, chosen her wedding dress’s design, and hired someone to begin making it. Now all she needed was for the man to actually propose. Given the not-so-sneaky behavior of Theresa, Nora, and Flossie, Lydia suspected Abraham had a plan for that, either for Christmas or the new year.

She bounced her knees in excitement as she finished wrapping Abraham’s Christmas present—a bottle of French eau de cologne. It was a perfect blend of lemon, bergamot, and rosemary, with no association of rotting corpse. She’d rather not have the moment of his proposal tainted by flickering memories of the murders guided by her pen.

It was a bit early to exchange gifts, but they’d decided to do so today in an attempt to brighten what was sure to be a difficult afternoon. The trial for Talbot Lawson had concluded, and a swift guilty ruling was expected. Of course, with Lawson’s connections to people in high places and his past as a respected detective, there was no telling what would actually occur. Whatever the jury’s decision, Abraham would take it hard.

In the days, weeks, and months following the revelation that Lawson was Billy Poe, Abraham had noticeably wrestled with his decision to remain a police officer and detective. On many occasions, he’d brought her into his wrestling. Why was he doing this job? Did it even matter when evil won so often? How, as a Christian man, was he supposed to forgive these people who were so deranged and immoral? Should he quit and find a new occupation before he turned into Detective Lawson—a good man whose heart had been seared by the darkness with which he interacted?

They were hard, vulnerable questions. They’d spent many walks together tackling the concepts of mercy, justice, and judgment. In all honesty, she had needed the conversations as much as he had. Her writing had exposed her to the darkness of the world. She’d not witnessed even a fraction of the depravity Abraham had seen as an officer of the law, but she’d condemned without a second thought those she’d deemed deserving.

Yes, their struggle was the same. As Christians, they were called to leave the judgment of others in God’s hands while personally upholding justice and mercy. How did one balance their life with that? She still wasn’t sure.

Her fingers were itching to pick up a pen and explore the idea through story. But how could she after all that had happened? She’d promised God she would walk away from writing, and so far, she’d stayed faithful to it. She glanced at the notebook lying on the corner of her desk. It was filled with random thoughts and story tidbits that wouldn’t release her from their hold until they’d been committed to paper. It was both the bane and blessing of an author to be driven by story and characters that didn’t really exist. She rubbed the two divots in her arm, reminders of that folly. Detective Darcy could never come into existence beyond the scribbles in that notebook.

Papa rapped on the doorframe. “Are you ready? The jury has made their decision.”

While she would not be allowed in the gallery to hear the ruling, she’d promised Abraham she would be waiting outside for him when it was finished.

She and Papa made their way to the courthouse, where they chose an outdoor bench near the entrance. It was a sunny, temperate afternoon. Unless the weather took a sharp turn in the next week, a white Christmas was unlikely. Less than a quarter hour passed before the doors pushed open and reporters raced to their offices to be the first to get the news printed in an extra or the evening post.

Mr. Clemens spotted her as he exited and redirected his steps. “He’s been found guilty and sentenced to a hanging,” he informed them quietly. “Not even his connections could save him this time. They were too afraid that anything less would lead to an actual riot.”

How could she respond to that? There was no simple answer. She felt brokenhearted by the man’s downfall and coming judgment. Glad that justice was being upheld. Guilty that her stories had pushed him into the insanity of Billy Poe.

Perhaps that last one most of all.

At her lack of a response, he drew a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, you know.” He looked away but kept speaking. “I hate that you wrote Shadow in the Night , and I initially blamed you for the deaths, but Lawson’s decisions were his own. You didn’t make them for him. If I no longer hold you responsible, then you shouldn’t hold yourself responsible either.”

Lydia wasn’t sure what to make of his consolation. She was grateful, but it did seem odd coming from him—like she was missing an important piece of information.

He stood there, awkwardly silent, staring down the street but not appearing to see. Whatever thoughts had dragged his attention away, he shook them loose. When he turned her way, an energetic smile stretched across his face. “If you should ever decide to write again, Miss Pelton, stick to romances and happily-ever-afters.”

“Life is more complicated than happily-ever-afters. I don’t see myself writing ever again, but should I pick up the pen, I want to write about light, truth, and hope, even in the face of darkness, evil, and loss.”

“Can there really be hope in the face of such darkness?”

“I believe so. If you want to know, look in your Bible. Jesus is Hope and Light. In Him, there is no darkness, and from Him, all darkness will flee.”

“I’m a man of logic. You can believe what you want, but religion isn’t for me. At any rate, I’m afraid I have a rather dark story to write for tonight’s paper. Good day, Miss Pelton.”

Mr. Clemens strode away, leaving behind a sorrow and compassion Lydia had never expected to feel for the reporter. Nothing she could say to him would change his mind, so she did the only thing she knew to do: pray.

Lord, may You get hold of his logical heart and show him how You are the Creator of logic and not confined by it. Help him to see there is no greater comfort than having You as we face the injustice and evil of this world.

“What did he want?” Abraham’s gruff voice drew her attention. He stood with hands jammed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, defeat marring his face. The poor man.

“He told us the verdict and ruling. I’m sorry, Abraham.”

Papa stood to clasp Abraham’s shoulder. “It’s a hard profession we’ve chosen, but not everyone who chooses it turns into Lawson. We need good men like you to stay and minister to those who walk in the dark. Who knows? You could be the light that guides them to the path of change.”

“That sounds rather utopian, sir.”

“It’s only utopian if you believe you can save everyone. Our job is to shine the light. People must choose for themselves whether to walk toward or away from it. We can’t force them, but we can offer truth.”

Abraham nodded. “Thank you for that perspective. I’ll give it some thought and prayer.”

“Good.” Papa stepped back, rubbing his hands together. “Now, if you promise to behave with my daughter, I have some urgent Christmas shopping to complete without prying eyes.” The meaningful look he sent Lydia only made her grin.

Just this morning, he’d found her snooping through Momma’s hiding place for presents.

She plunked her hands on her hips in mock frustration. “What’s the point of a mystery if you can’t sniff out the clues?”

“Presents are surprises, not mysteries, dear.”

“But there’s more joy in the figuring out of a gift than the receiving of it.”

“Are you saying that you’d rather guess what I have in this box than receive it?” Abraham pulled a small jewel box from his pocket.

Saucers could fit inside her eyes for as wide as they felt. Was he going to propose, right here in front of the courthouse, just after hearing Lawson’s sentencing?

She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or appalled.

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” Papa dipped his hat and strode away, a chuckle following in his wake.

She jumped for the box, but Abraham pulled it out of reach, a broad smile on his face.

“What’s your guess as to what’s in here?”

“It’s a ring box!”

“It could be earrings.”

It could, but he was having way too much fun for it to be something like that.

“You, Theresa, Nora, and Flossie have been sneaking around for weeks. It has to be a ring, and I expect a proposal with it as well.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” He shook his head and lowered the box to within reach. “In that case, I suppose I have no choice but to follow through now, rather than with the surprise I had planned.” He lowered to one knee and lifted the closed box. “Lydia Pelton, you would make me the happiest of men if you would do me the honor of agreeing to”—he opened the box, revealing a square piece of confectionery—“eat this piece of chocolate.”

“Abraham!” She swatted his arm and, at the same time, nabbed the chocolate. “You’re such a scoundrel.”

“But you had everything figured out. I couldn’t very well give you what you wanted.” He plucked the chocolate from her hands, split it, and popped one piece into his mouth, offering the other to her.

“So you are planning to propose.” She tossed the chocolate into her mouth and gave him a saucy grin.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He kissed her cheek and slipped her arm around his. “Come, I’ve been at the courthouse since breakfast. I’m famished.”

She shook her head. “All right, but since you’ve been such a scoundrel, you’re getting your present now, and I’m going to tell you it’s because I’m tired of you smelling like Florida Corpse Water.”

He laughed as she thrust the wrapped cologne at his chest. “I suppose I had that one coming.”

“Yes, you did.”

They strolled to a restaurant far enough away from the courthouse to be free of the hungry crowd of trial observers. The food was delightful and the company even better. At the end of the meal, Abraham pulled a long rectangular box from his pocket and set it in front of her.

“It’s still not a ring, but I’ve been praying about something regarding you, and something your father said the other day confirmed it. Maybe for both of us. Open it, then I’ll explain.”

She squinted suspiciously at him before flipping it open. A simple fountain pen lay atop a sheet with the verse 1 Peter 4:10 written beneath it. She read it aloud. “‘As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.’”

Abraham took her hand in his. “God has given you a passion and a gift for writing. I don’t think you should set it aside forever. Your writing is an opportunity to minister to others. You might have gone about it poorly in the past, but when God places a story that honors Him on your heart, I think you should write it.”

She gaped at him. The story that wouldn’t leave her alone? Was he really saying she should write it? Was God? Even after the heartache and terror her stories had wrought? “Do you really?”

“Yes. I’ve seen your longing as you scribble notes when you think no one is looking, and then your heartache as you set them aside.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Write that story you’ve been trying so hard to deny. There is no need to write in secret anymore.”

She bounced up from her chair and circled around to hug and kiss him. Who cared if it was an unseemly display of affection? The place was nearly deserted anyway.

He laughed and allowed her only a respectable peck. “If I’d known it would make you so happy, I would have given it to you in the privacy of your parlor. What do you say to a stop at the confectionery before heading home?”

“But I’ve already had chocolate.”

“Half a piece, and are you actually going to turn down an opportunity for more?”

“No.”

“Good.”

The moment they entered the store, Lydia knew something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Nothing about the small space looked amiss. The trays of chocolates were mostly picked over, but that was to be expected with it being minutes before closing time. The owner’s face had lit up, and she’d perhaps seemed a little too excited to see them, but maybe she’d been lonely. Abraham and Lydia quickly made their selections, and the woman placed them into a box with a bow attached to the top.

Once Abraham paid, he handed Lydia the box. “Which one should we eat first?”

His twitching lips and failure to stay nonchalant immediately made her suspicious.

She pulled off the lid, and in the center of their eight pieces of chocolate was a gold band with a small garnet in it. In her periphery, Abraham dropped to one knee.

The triumph on his face at having caught her by surprise was clear. “Well, Lydia, this is the second time you’ve had me drop to one knee today, but this time, I’m asking the question I think—or at least hope—you were wanting to hear. Will you marry me?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The man had gone to such extreme lengths to twist her expectations.

“Did you have this planned the whole time?”

“Do you have an answer for me?”

“Of course, you daft man. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“We’ve already got the details planned out. All we need is a date.” Theresa came out of the back room. Nora, Flossie, Papa, Momma, Madelyn, Clara, Jake, and Abraham’s parents trailed behind.

Evidently Abraham wasn’t the only one capable of surprising her. “How on earth did you all fit back there?”

“We didn’t. It was awful,” Madelyn complained. “Can you kiss him so we can go home now?”

Abraham arched a brow at Lydia. “Should we, with such an audience?”

“Absolutely.”

Abraham’s arms wrapped around Lydia’s waist as he leaned down and gave her a kiss that made her weak-kneed and dizzy.

She lifted her feet, forcing Abraham to hold her up. “I believe you’ve done it. You’ve finally knocked me off my feet.”

Making it literal might have required a little dramatics on her part, but what good was a whirlwind romance without a bit of theatrics? After all, he had to know what he’d gotten himself into: a lifetime of practicing kiss scenes for her next romance novels, featuring none other than Detective Darcy.