“‘My dearest, bravest Florence,’” Kathleen read, “‘The rumors are growing stronger. Someone has been asking pointed questions about the women who have passed through Sapphire Bay. I fear our time may be running out. Please, let me come to you. We can face whatever comes together. I have loved you for seven years, through danger and secrecy, and I will not let you face this alone.’”
The final letter in the bundle was dated only two weeks before Florence’s death. As Kathleen read it aloud, the tragedy of what had unfolded brought tears to her eyes.
“‘Florence, why haven’t you answered my letters? I know you received the medical supplies I left, but your silence terrifies me more than any threat. Please, my love, send word that you are safe. If you will not let me help you, at least let me know that you are alive and well. Every day without word from you is agony.’”
Kathleen set the letter down with shaking hands, and Patrick reached over to pull her close. The story they’d discovered was about two brave women who had helped desperate mothers, and a love story that had sustained Florence through the darkest and most dangerous work imaginable.
“I wonder if she was able to answer James’s last letter,” Kathleen said, leaning into Patrick’s embrace. “He might have spent years wondering if she’d simply stopped loving him, not knowing that she’d died protecting the women they had both served.”
Patrick sighed. “Chloe said that Miriam lived for another ten years after Florence died. I’m sure she would have contacted James.”
“I hope so.” Kathleen wiped her eyes. “Miriam must have been heartbroken. She wouldn’t have been able to help anyone else after Florence died, but she kept the letters and journals. Even when she knew it was dangerous, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy them.”
“Maybe she knew someone would find them someday,” Patrick suggested. “Perhaps she wanted the world to know that Florence hadn’t only sacrificed herself for her work, but she’d been deeply loved while she did it.”
As they sat in the office, Patrick thought about his relationship with Kathleen. They had the luxury that Florence and James had been denied—the chance to love each other openly, without secrecy or fear.
“Thank you,” Kathleen said softly, interrupting his thoughts.
“For what?”
She turned in his arms. “For coming back. For choosing to be here instead of in New York.”
Patrick cupped her face and kissed her gently. “Once I realized what I’d be giving up if I stayed in Manhattan, it wasn’t a difficult decision.”
As they carefully repacked Florence’s love letters in the wooden box, Patrick reflected on the gift they’d been given. In discovering Florence and James’s story, they’d found a piece of hidden history and a reminder that love—real, deep, transformative love—was worth any risk, any sacrifice, and any leap of faith.
Chapter 30
Patrick stood in his truck at the end of Kathleen’s driveway, watching the early morning mist rise from the lake. In the passenger seat beside him lay a manila folder containing sketches, plant lists, and carefully researched historical information about 1880s medicinal gardens.
His heart hammered against his ribs with a nervous energy he hadn’t felt since he was a young man asking Mary to marry him.
The memory of reading James Whitman’s love letters to Florence had haunted him for days. The tender words and the way he’d supported Florence even when it put them both at risk reminded Patrick of what real love looked like, what it demanded, and what it inspired.
He thought about Kathleen’s face as she’d read the letters aloud, the way her voice had caught with emotion at James’s declarations of love and protection. She’d been moved not just by the historical significance of the discovery, but by the profound love story they revealed. Patrick had seen something in her eyes then—a longing, perhaps, or recognition of what she’d been missing in her own life.
That’s when the idea had struck him.
Kathleen, in her own way, was just as brave and devoted as Florence and Miriam. She’d opened her home to preserve a legacy, endured unwanted media attention, and made difficult decisions about sharing a story that wasn’t entirely hers to tell.
Patrick couldn’t change the media circus or make her decisions any easier, but he could show her that she wasn’t alone. He could create something beautiful for her, something that honored both Florence and Miriam’s memories, as well as Kathleen’s own strength.
The sound of an approaching truck made him look up. Jack’s familiar red pickup rounded the curve, followed by Noah’s newer black one. Behind them came a small convoy of vehicles. Emma’s SUV, Pastor John’s sedan, and vehicles belonging to other members of what Patrick had come to think of as their impromptu construction crew.
His grandsons had embraced the project with an enthusiasm that reminded Patrick of why he loved them so much. When he’d explained his idea over dinner at Jack and Emma’s house three nights ago, the response had been immediate and wholehearted.
“Like an old-fashioned barn raising,” Jack had said, his eyes lighting up with the same energy Patrick remembered from when Jack was young and they’d worked construction projects together in Manhattan.
“But for a garden,” Noah had added, already pulling out his phone to make notes. “We’ll need to research period-appropriate plants and source authentic materials for any structural elements we’ll need.”
Emma had been the one to suggest involving the whole community. “Florence and Miriam meant something to this town,” she’d said quietly. “People have been talking about their story ever since it became public. This would give them a way to celebrate their lives while doing something special for Kathleen.”
Now, as Patrick watched his family and friends gather in the early morning light, he was more anxious than when he’d overseen major construction projects. The difference was that this time, the stakes felt personal in a way that went beyond business or even family obligations.
Jack approached his truck, coffee in hand and a grin on his face. “Morning, Granddad. Ready to build something beautiful?”
Patrick climbed out, grateful for the crisp morning air that helped clear his head. “I hope so. I just keep thinking about what Kathleen will say when she sees what we’ve done.”
