Destination: Romance: Five Inspirational Love Stories Spanning the Globe Read online

  He lifted his hand and tucked her breeze-tossed hair behind her ear, then let his thumb trail along her jaw. “I want to get to know you. Really know you. Because I think God has something special in store for the two of us. I—”

  “Hey, mon!” Manny stood beside the table with his hands on his hips. “You gonna eat or not?”

  Tamiera burst out laughing. She cupped her hands beside her mouth and hollered down, “Save me a corn-on-the-cob. We’ll be right there.”

  Manny gave her a double thumb’s up and plopped back into his chair.

  She turned to Joe. Sunlight brightened the green flecks in his eyes and put a gleam of copper in his dark hair. She really needed to add Drop-dead hunky to her list and then put a big checkmark beside it.

  She caught his hands and held tight. “I want to get to know you better, too. Whatever God’s will is for us, I trust Him to make it known.”

  He nodded, kissed the back of her hand, and then aimed her for the rise. “Let’s go enjoy our picnic before Manny finishes it all.”

  Hand in hand, they ran down the hill, their laughter adding harmony to the song of the sea.

  SUFFICIENT GRACE

  Constance Shilling Stevens

  To Judy Meyer

  My friend, my prayer partner, my encourager. You have been such a godly example of grace.

  “And He said unto me, ‘My grace is su fficient for thee; for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’” 2nd corinthians 12:9a kjv

  CHAPTER 1

  Pine Ridge, Georgia, 1888 Nora Courtland slowed her steps. The normally sleepy town of Pine Ridge buzzed with excited voices as people hailed each other along the street. The unusual activity pulled her brow into a puzzled frown. What in the world was going on?

  “Nora.” Felecia Puckett, the proprietor of Puckett’s Cafe, scurried in Nora’s direction. “Have you heard the news? Well, of course you have, being the clerk at the courthouse and all. Isn’t it exciting?” Felecia squeezed Nora’s arm.

  Nora glanced past Felecia where the pastor of their little church spoke with a couple of local farmers in an animated manner, obviously pleased about whatever had the town humming this morning.

  She returned her attention to Felecia. “Isn’t what exciting?” “You’re so silly, Nora. The new mill, of course. Everyone’s talking about it.” The woman fanned herself with her apron. “Just think what it will mean to Pine Ridge to have our very own mill.” She leaned closer to Nora and lowered her voice. “Maybe I can contract with the people building the mill to provide meals for the workers.” Her eyes sparkled. “Prosperity is right around the corner.”

  Felecia hurried toward the cafe, leaving Nora standing, open-mouthed, on the street. Yes, she knew about the new mill, had briefly met the man who planned to build it. Asa Bennington and his assistant, Donovan McNeary, had spent considerable time with Mayor Jarvis Gilbert over the past month. But no official announcement was to be made until the purchase of the land had taken place and the details were finalized. How did Felecia—and apparently everyone else—find out about it?

  Mrs. Hollstead from the church choir, Mr. Deifendorffer from the feed and seed, and Udell Adler, one of the local farmers, all accosted Nora with similar questions, each one urging her to divulge information she was obliged to keep confidential. She begged off, saying she was not authorized to discuss anything.

  Before she could reach the courthouse, Pastor Parkin approached with a broad grin. “The building of the mill is wonderful news for our little town. Families will be moving to the area. More commerce always brings in new folks. The church will grow, more souls will be won…” He rubbed his hands together.

  Nora bit her lip. “Pastor Parkin, I’m really not supposed to talk about—”

  He nodded. “Oh, I know. But it’s hard to keep great news like this quiet. I’m gathering the church elders to make plans for meeting the needs of our growing community.” He waved as he lumbered down the street, whistling “Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow.”

  How on earth did this get out? As the county clerk, Nora was well aware of the need for privacy until those in authority were ready to release the information to the public, usually by way of a headline story in the local newspaper. She increased her stride, hoping nobody else would intercept her before she could reach the courthouse.

  She slipped in the door and blew out a breath of relief, only to draw it sharply back in. Myron Snead, publisher of the Pine Ridge Register, rose from his seat on the short bench outside the mayor’s office when Nora entered. He pulled a notebook from his brown tweed coat and a stubby pencil from the graying fluff behind his ear.

  “Miss Nora, what can you tell me about this new mill? What is the name of the developer? Where’s he from?” He furrowed his brow. “He a carpetbagger?” He licked the tip of his pencil and held it, poised and ready, over the notebook like a vulture over a critter breathing its last. “How many jobs is this mill going to bring to the area? And what about property taxes? If the mill raises property values, taxes are sure to follow suit. I heard—”

  The front door slammed and for one split second, Nora didn’t know whether to jump or feel relieved at the interruption. She jerked her head toward the welcome intrusion. Mayor Gilbert’s beady black eyes glared at Mr. Snead.

  “Myron, if you have any questions of an official nature, you ask me, not my clerk.” The mayor huffed across the room as if he’d had to escape the same town folk who had pelted Nora with questions. He nudged Mr. Snead toward the door to his office. “The Register is the only newspaper in the county. You’re going to get the exclusive story anyway, so just wait until—” Mayor Gilbert’s voice faded as he closed the door between his office and Nora’s.

  Nora sank into her desk chair as muted voices rose and fell behind the mayor’s door. She sorted through the dealings of the past few weeks in her mind and kept returning to same determination. Nothing was finalized yet.

  “So why does half the town know about the mill?” She could only be sure of one thing—she hadn’t uttered a word about the tentative deal to anyone, not even to Grandpa. Failing to exercise discretion could result in immediate dismissal, and she needed this job.

  Had Mayor Gilbert already discussed the coming mill with area business people? Surely he wouldn’t do that if the deal wasn’t near completion. Truth be told, she was as excited as everyone else. She tucked her lower lip between her teeth. Without having seen any final documents, she was obliged to keep quiet, despite wishing she could dance on the rooftop.

  Donovan McNeary guided the carriage bearing his boss, Asa Bennington, and himself past the “Welcome to Pine Ridge” sign. Weathered buildings in sad need of paint and a main street lined with ruts recounted Donovan’s original opinion of the town formed a month ago—unremarkable. Chattanooga or Atlanta would be a better location for the mill, but Mr. Bennington didn’t pay him for his suggestions.

  Bennington pulled the stub of his cigar from his mouth and used it like a pointer to gesture toward the town. “Look at this, McNeary. These people need us. They may not like northerners, but they’ll sing a different tune when we bring jobs and business opportunities to this place.” A snide laugh punctuated the man’s comment. “You see the way they live. We won’t encounter any opposition here.”

  Donovan slid his glance to catch a sideways look at his boss. Hair slick with pomade, belly straining the gold buttons on his fancy brocade vest, and an ever-present arrogant smirk defined the man. Donovan swallowed back the resentment he held for men like Bennington—men whose goal was to line their own pockets by working their employees fourteen hours a day, six days a week, for low wages. Bitterness filled his mouth. Would his parents be alive today if they’d not worked themselves to death in the factories up north, fearing to take time off when they were sick, lest they lose their jobs?

  Bennington flicked his cigar ashes. “I hope the mayor has twisted the arm of the owner of that tract of land. He said they haven’t lived here in years, so they�
��ll surely be anxious to sell.”

  You mean they’ll surely accept your ridiculously low o ffer. Bennington’s shrewd business practices were laced with greed and disregard for sentiment. Being employed by such a man soured Donovan’s stomach. He wished he had the nerve to quit, but as Bennington so often reminded him, there weren’t many employers willing to hire an Irishman.

  Donovan halted the carriage in front of the town’s only hotel and hopped down. He grabbed the two bags and followed Bennington inside. Donovan recognized the short, skinny clerk with his pencil thin mustache from their previous visits.

  “Morning. Mr. Cordell, right?” Th e clerk nodded. “Henry Cordell, at your service. You gentlemen want the same rooms you had when you was here a couple o’ weeks ago?”

  Bennington snorted. “Can’t you do any better than that?”

  Mr. Cordell glanced from Bennington to Donovan and back. “I’m sorry, sir, those rooms are the best we—”

  Bennington snatched the pen, dunked it into the inkwell, and scrawled his name in the register. “McNeary, bring the bags.”

  The clerk fetched the keys and handed them to Donovan. “I reckon you fellas must be the ones buildin’ that new mill everyone’s talkin’ about. Seein’ as how this here is the third time y’all—”

  Bennington spun around so sharply, the clerk took a startled step backward. “What do you know about our business?”

  Mr. Cordell’s eyes widened. “I—I don’t kn-know your business. But like I said, everyone’s talkin’ about it, so I just supposed…”

  Donovan picked up the bags. “Thank you, Mr. Cordell. If we need anything else, we’ll let you know.”

  “Yessir.” The clerk tugged a frayed handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

  Bennington scowled before preceding Donovan up the stairs. The worn carpet, wobbly banister, and faded curtains echoed the same impression he’d formed when they arrived. The town could do with a little prosperity.

  As soon as they reached their side-by-side rooms, Donovan set Bennington’s fine, tooled leather valise on the bed and turned to leave, but Bennington slammed the door, rattling the pitcher and bowl on the washstand.

  “This deal hinges on putting every detail in place and pushing the paperwork past these ignorant, backwoods hillbillies before they can figure out the land is worth three times what I’m offering for it. Furthermore, I don’t want to be delayed by having to negotiate. Absolute discretion is necessary.”

  Donovan wondered if Bennington’s bark could be heard all the way to the lobby. “I assure you, Mr. Bennington, I have no idea how the hotel clerk learned of the mill. I haven’t spoken a word about this transaction to anyone outside your offices.”

  Bennington jerked the straps that held his valise closed, pawed through its contents, and withdrew a flask. He removed the stopper and took several gulps. “Must have been that stupid mayor.” He sat on a threadbare chair and kicked off his boots. “Go to the courthouse and tell that idiot to come here. Until the ink is dry, we can’t risk being overheard.”

  “Yes, sir.” Donovan turned toward the door.

  “Don’t forget who pays you, McNeary. And don’t forget who it was that hired you when nobody else would.” Bennington took another swig from the flask and belched before muttering a disparaging remark about Donovan’s Irish heritage and waving him out of the room.

  Donovan dropped his own bag in his room and hurried to do Bennington’s bidding. The county clerk greeted him when he entered the courthouse.

  “Good morning, Mr. McNeary.” The young woman with hair the color of polished walnut glanced down at a paper on the right-hand side of her desk and frowned. “Was Mayor Gilbert expecting you? I don’t see any appointments on his schedule.”

  Donovan waved his fingers. “We arrived a day early, Miss—” How embarrassing. She remembered his name, but he couldn’t remember hers.

  Her dark brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. “Courtland. Miss Nora Courtland.”

  Donovan gave a slight bow. “Miss Courtland. Is the mayor in?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not. But I’ll give him a message as soon as he comes in.”

  Donovan glanced to make sure nobody overheard, and lowered his voice. “Please ask the mayor to come to Mr. Bennington’s hotel room at his first convenience. Room twelve.”

  He allowed his eyes to linger a few extra moments on the lovely young woman. “If I may be so bold, may I ask you to accompany me to dinner one evening this week, Miss Courtland?” Her company would be a welcome improvement over Bennington’s.

  Her eyes widened for a moment before she responded. “I take care of my elderly grandfather.”

  Was that a refusal? He lifted his shoulders. “What do people do for amusement in Pine Ridge?”

  A blush pinked her cheeks. “There is a fellowship dinner coming up at church.”

  Church? A bitter twinge bit his gut. “If you’ll excuse me, my boss is waiting.” He lit out the door without pausing to bid her a good day.

  CHAPTER 2

  Nora gave the pot of soup one last stir, then bent to pull the pan of cornbread from the oven. Soft humming floated in through the back door that she’d propped open to allow the breeze to cool their small house.

  “Grandpa, supper’s ready.” A minute later, the old man shu ffled in from the back porch with bits of wood peelings clinging to his faded shirt. He gave Nora a peck on the cheek. “Can I help?”

  Th e weakness in his voice made Nora cringe inwardly. “No, everything’s ready. Have you been carving again today?”

  Grandpa moved to the table. “Of course. Never let it be said Hosea Courtland sat idle.”

  Nora set the crock of butter where Grandpa could reach it. “Nobody would ever say that about you.”

  She sat and took Grandpa’s hand while he prayed over their simple meal. As he slathered butter on a piece of cornbread, Nora watched his hands. They weren’t as shaky today.

  “Did you finish any pieces?”

  He poked a bite of cornbread in his mouth and nodded. “Finished another jewelry box. That makes six now. Me ’n’ the Lord started workin’ on a chess set.”

  Grandpa always carried on a running conversation with God while he worked his carving knife. The thought brought a smile to Nora’s heart.

  Grandpa blew on his soup before slurping it from the spoon. “Pastor Parkin stopped by today. Word around town is there’s gonna be a new mill built right here in Pine Ridge. A lot o’ folks’ll be happy about that, the farmers in partic’lar. Preacher’s happy ’bout more people comin’ to settle here and the church growin’.”

  Nora couldn’t fault the pastor or her grandfather for talking about the new mill. She supposed there wasn’t anyone in town who hadn’t heard about it by now. Still, she side-stepped the topic.

  “Did Pastor Parkin take your finished pieces with him?”

  “Yep.” He wiped his mouth. “His son-in-law’s goin’ to Atlanta end of the week. He’s got a buyer down there for ’em. Preacher said if I finish that chess set by next month, he’d make sure it gets to Atlanta.”

  They finished their meal and Nora brought Grandpa a cup of coffee and two of his favorite oatmeal cookies. While he munched, she cleared the table and tackled the dishes, noticing the faraway look in his eyes as she worked.

  “What’s on your mind, Grandpa?” As if she couldn’t guess.

  A small smile tweaked the corners of Grandpa’s mustache. “Reckon we can go out to the river Sunday afternoon? I’d like to have a visit with Eve.”

  Nora knew Grandpa’s heart called him to return to the burial place of his love. Grandpa’s Cherokee bride, his Eve, rested beneath a simple mound of rocks along the riverbank. The passage of fifty-two years hadn’t erased Grandpa’s grief. Nora heard his heartache every time he talked about raising their young son, Nora’s father, alone.

  Nora fixed her scrutinizing gaze on him. “If you feel up to it.”

  He flapped his hand toward her. “I’m jus
t fine.”

  He’d never admit to the progressive weakness that was stealing his vitality. The walk wasn’t easy for him, even if they took the buggy as far as they could. But if she tried to suggest he shouldn’t go, she knew he’d just go by himself. “We’ll go, Grandpa.”

  As with every visit she could remember from the time she was a child, they’d sit while Grandpa “talked” to his late wife. Then he’d reminisce and tell Nora stories—most of which she’d heard many times before—about when he was a young man and fell in love with a Cherokee girl, and the animosity and bigotry they faced. Even after his wife died and the Cherokees were removed by way of what some called the Trail of Tears, many people still treated Hosea Courtland with disdain over the years.

  “We’ll make sure nobody sees us.”

  The painful thoughts must have shown on her face. Grandpa rose from his chair and brought her his empty coffee cup. He squeezed her shoulder. “Nora girl, it’s been more’n fifty years. Most folks’ve forgotten all about those times.”

  She slipped her arms around his neck. “But you haven’t.”

  “No.” Grandpa’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll never forget.”

  He walked over to his rocking chair by the fireplace and settled himself while Nora finished cleaning the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and came to sit near her grandfather while he read their evening scripture out of Second Corinthians.

  His eyes softened when he read of God’s mercy and faithfulness. “And He said unto me, ‘My strength is sufficient for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

  Guilt pricked. Trusting in God and resting on His all-sufficient grace is what Grandpa had lived all his life. Nora dropped her gaze to her folded hands in her lap. How she wished she had the faith to do the same.

  Nora picked up a stack of papers to be filed and rose from her desk just as the front door opened. She looked up. Donovan McNeary stepped in, his sandy brown hair slightly askew from the brisk breeze. When his eyes connected with hers, her breath caught.