When she began writing, even as a child, simplicity had been her goal. And a sense of wonder at the hidden beauty in their world. She’dwanted to relieve her mind of stories that begged to be written, and then, in turn, write books of mystery and romance that reflected her faith. To give back this gift of writing to her Maker. Be faithful to His call.
Now, after three years, it seemed like God was giving her another story. If Clinton could sell this new one, like he’d sold her other books, she’d be able to keep her beloved home and continue visiting the cemetery and her beautiful lake. She would never have to leave Haven House.
Simon leaned forward as if he wanted to recapture her wandering mind. “Ruthie wasn’t much of one for study, but she embraced every hour that God gave her on this earth. And she happened to think that both romance and mystery were foundational to good theology.”
Olivia turned her attention back to the man in front of her. Even though he was more than a decade younger, they’d walked a similar journey. And it felt good to have someone step onto this messy path alongside her. Merge their stories for an hour of time.
“How long ago did you lose Ruthie?” she asked.
“Eight months.”
Yet he kept teaching, kept traveling even to lecture students at another college. She admired his tenacity and strength in the midst of what was clearly a heartbreak when she had struggled so hard to get back up again.
“I miss her every day.” His voice deepened with sorrow as if he’d plunged into the depths and didn’t quite know how to surface. “She was my world.”
“I understand.” Olivia had made no secret of her loss in the few articles that she wrote forThe Christian Observerafter Graham’s death. He had been the love of her life. The hero in all her stories. Now she wanted him to live on in book after book. Hero after hero.
If God continued to give her the stories, she never wanted to stop writing.
Simon nodded gravely. “I think you do understand, Mrs. Belle. More than anyone else in my life.”
“Please, call me Olivia.”
He crooked his head with curiosity. “Not Via?”
“That’s my pen name, but no one I love—” The word crashed like a tidal wave over the table, and she wished she could roll it right out the front door. Talking of romance with a widowed man and now implying of her love. Her aunt would be appalled. “It’s all confidential, of course, but none of my friends call me Via.”
“Olivia,” he said slowly as the wave of her strange words seemed to flow right around him, not even shifting the sand. “It suits you well.”
“Thank you.”
“Would it be too intrusive to ask about your surname?”
She had used her maiden name for her first articles and kept the name Via Belle when she began publishing fiction. She’d liked the way it sounded and how it reminded her of her daughter. Now, all these years later, something as rudimentary as a name held the keys to her privacy, but she had no reason to withhold this information from him.
“My maiden name was Belle, and I kept it as my pen name. When Graham and I married, I wanted to keep my life as a Reverend’s wife separate from my author world.”
“Did you succeed at the separation?”
“It was a naive endeavor.” She sighed. “Graham rarely read my books, but he was exceedingly proud of them. He couldn’t resist telling the congregation about my work, and they all knew my married name.”
“I’m glad the love between you and your husband endured for so long.”
And it had. Twenty-two happy years and one daughter they’d both adored. A family that she’d wanted to love for a lifetime.
“Olivia?”
She blinked. While she was supposed to be enjoying a pleasant dinner with a new friend, a friend whose grief was much fresher than hers, she kept derailing the conversation.
“I’m sorry your years with Ruthie were short.”
“I count each one as a gift,” he said. “Or a treasure. Nuggets that I’ve locked away in a vault.”
“We are both blessed to have a trove of good memories.”
“Indeed.” The waiter poured them steaming cups of coffee, and Olivia added a lump of sugar to hers while Simon filled his with cream. “But now, let’s talk about your world today instead of the past.”
She sipped the sweetened brew. “I’m afraid my life contains little of the adventure and romance in my books.”
