“Shall we?” He swung his arm towards the door. “I believe I’ve eaten a sufficient amount to keep Betsey from spoon-feeding me by force.”
Half a smile lifted her lips, and though he wished to restore her happiness in full, it was at least something.
She led him to the sitting room, where she sank onto the sofa. His step hitched as his gaze landed on the chair Colin used to occupy during his daily visits, then again as he strode by the table that formerly housed Peckwood’s machine. All that time and discomfort wasted now.
Bypassing such melancholy memories, he sank beside Amelia.
“That looks well loved.” She nodded at the cracked-leather cover on the book in his lap.
“More than you know. It was my mother’s Bible, and it is my great regret I have not loved it half so well myself.”
She reached for his hand, her fingers soft against his. “It appears you are on the way to doing so or you’d not have brought it here to share with me.”
Ahh, but he’d never tire of the warm encouragement in her voice—totally undeserved on his part. He shook his head. “Why do you do that?”
Her nose wrinkled, far too adorably. “Do what?”
“Believe the best of me.”
“Because you’re a good man, Graham Lambert.” She reached up and smoothed back his hair, her touch a sweet torment. “A bit worn and weary, but a good man.”
He caught her hand and pressed his lips to her palm, wishing to God he could kiss more than that. But now was not the time to take advantage of her emotional state. Or his. Still, such knowledge didn’t make it any easier for him to release her.
He flipped open the book cover. “My mother, God rest her, took the time to write me a list of verses for when life turns hard. I thought that perhaps, after everything that has happened, that you…that we could…well, I was hoping it might help,” he ended lamely. Maybe this wasn’t as good an idea as he had originally thought. “Of course, we can wait until later if you—”
“What’s the first verse?”
Heart swelling, he stared at her. How like this woman to hear the hesitation in his voice when he was the one trying to bring her some comfort. Leaning closer to the book, he peered at his mother’s spidery handwriting. “Nahum 1:7.”
He began paging through, but Amelia immediately stopped him, a curious gleam in her brown eyes.
“‘The Lord is good,’” she said simply. “‘A strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.’”
“How do you know that?” He gaped. “I hardly know where to find the book of Nahum.”
A sad smile whispered across her lips. “After many days of trouble with my father, that is one verse I have memorized. But, please, do not let me stop you from reading it for yourself.” She pulled her hand away. “You’ll find it toward the end of the Old Testament, between Micah and Habakkuk.”
Ashamed she knew more than he—why had he spent so much time in those blasted medical journals instead of in God’s Word?—he thumbed to where she indicated, then frowned.
“What’s this?” He pulled out a folded slip of paper…but not just any paper. A banknote for five pounds. Sinking back against the sofa cushion, he stared at the thing. How in the world had that gotten tucked inside?
“That’s quite a surprise,” Amelia murmured. “You said this was your mother’s?”
He nodded, still at a loss for words.
She reached for the Bible. “Do you mind?”
Absently, he shook his head. “Not at all.”
Graham scanned the currency, dissecting every word and number, holding it up to the light, even testing the paper for its durability with a few quick tugs. This was no jest. No counterfeit. Where had his mother gotten such a sum to squirrel away?
“Graham, look.”
He glanced at Amelia, who held up one more five-pound note. “Another?” He shook his head. It made no sense.
“I suspect there’s more.” Despite the grief yet shadowing her eyes, a slight twinkle lit her gaze. “It appears your mother left you a treasure in more ways than one. See for yourself.”
She held out the Bible, and slowly at first, then faster with each successive find, he worked his way through the list of verses, each one containing yet another sum of money.
