Releasing Yesterday

By Nona Mae King

Sara and Christopher are happy, even through the chaos of planning what they hope is the perfect wedding. Between art events, gallery openings, and meeting Christopher’s parents, Sara seldom settles to the ground from the euphoria of being in love.
Until she faces one of the greatest challenges of her life since escaping the aristocracy of England.
Against Sara’s wishes, Christopher has discovered her father is alive and well. Son to a prominent family, his marriage to Ann Marie Little, Sara’s mother, was annulled immediately after he returned to America, and he never knew of Sara’s existence.
Now he seeks a place in Sara’s life.
When the mystery of his disappearance comes to light, will she reject him? Or will she release his yesterday into a brighter promise of tomorrow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nona Mae King
• Release date: Dec 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310808470

Nona Mae King

Nona King was born and raised on a 30-acre homestead outside Aurora, Oregon, in 1972. In the late '80s she began writing feature-length plays, young adult fiction, and Christian romance novels. From '99 to '05 she experimented with myriad worlds and character-types through VG fan-fiction under the pseudonym Mintbaby. She is the author of more than 30 novellas and short-stories, including fan favorites such as the 'Bookworms and Booya!' series, the 'Terra' saga, and 'A Rose by Any Other Name.'In 2006 King moved to the Seattle area where she met and married her husband and once again focused on her original fiction, publishing one paranormal fantasy and four romance novels from 2008 to 2014. Other projects include her young adult fiction series, Changing Scenes, her epic fantasy, Resurrected Honor, and her first romantic comedy, The 'Ex' Dating Formula.King has dedicated herself to writing true-to-life characters, be they villain or hero, so readers can experience life and its many passions. All her stories focus on faith, honor, and the importance of communication and trust in our relationships.

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Releasing Yesterday

Heart of the Blessed, Book Two

~**~

Releasing Yesterday | Heart of the Blessed, book two

By Nona Mae King

Published by Nona Mae King [Angel Breath Books]

Smashwords Edition

2014: First Edition

The Library of Congress Copyright Office

Registration Number: TX 8-159-869

Discover other titles by Nona Mae King at Smashwords.com:

Fantasy:

To Save A Soul

Fantasy Romance:

My Fair Princess

The Story

Romance:

Heart of the Blessed:

Searching for Sara

Releasing Yesterday

Broken Angel

FanFiction:

Mists of Destiny

The Terra Saga

A Rose By Any Other Name

The Bookworms and Booya! series

The Reluctant Knight

Few Words

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

~**~

Dedicated in loving memory to Mother.

Lynna Kreyssler Johnson

May 9, 1946 ~ December 15, 2014

I love you, Mamma. Please be proud of me.

~**~

Table of Contents

The Beatitudes

Chapter 1 – Dared Dreams

Chapter 2 – Beautiful Folly

Chapter 3 – Revisited Journeys

Chapter 4 – Rings and Shadows

Chapter 5 – A Proper Proposal

Chapter 6 – Life Lessons

Chapter 7 - Returns

Chapter 8 – Arrival

Chapter 9 – Revelations

Chapter 10 – Truth’s Shadow

Chapter 11 – Truth’s Dawning

Chapter 12 – Truth’s Torment

Chapter 13 – Hearing Future’s Whisper

Chapter 14 – Seeing Truths

Chapter 15 – Life's Blessed Struggles

Chapter 16 – Softened Shadows

Chapter 17 – Future’s Strength

Chapter 18 – History’s Blessing

Chapter 19 – A Choice

Chapter 20 – Releasing Yesterday

Chapter 21 – A Waiting Tomorrow

The Beatitudes

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,

For they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

For they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

For they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,

For they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,

For they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

For they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

~Matthew 5:3-10 (NKJV)

Releasing Yesterday

Heart of the Blessed, Book Two

One

Dared Dreams

17 July, 1894

I have never been in a position such as this before, Lord. A man has never seen me as anything more than a pretty face or an arm with a tray. But affection glows in his eyes and I feel no fear. All that swells within me is warmth. Trust. Safety.

Sara lowered the pencil, cheeks flushed as she heard again the velvet softness of Christopher's confession of love. Hidden behind the lush blooms and greenery of the conservatory, had Christopher truly asked her to be his wife? Was it truly three months since the whispered words of his proposal? Three months of such happiness that each morning she suspected she remained trapped in a dream in the upstairs servant quarters of Mr. Brockle's estate?

The lavenders and blues of the rising sun drew her dark gaze. She shifted her position upon the chest at her window. Mahogany-brown waves tumbled down her back as she set aside her journal and rested her chin upon her knees, her arms tightening around her legs. Even so surrounded by a euphoric sense of family, something nibbled at her heart. A hint of tears she didn't understand. A hesitation.

One agonizing day after another is how I lived until this wonderful morning, she whispered, her voice catching on the burning tightness. Each new sunrise I trusted to Your plan for it, though I thought You were no' acting at all toward what I needed. But each new morning You proved me wrong and asked me to wait. To trust. I had but to look for the lace in the rags.

Sara brushed the tears against the coolness of her arms. Now for what do I pray? You gave me the workings of a family, a sister and brother in Dix and Paul, friends in Amy and Teddy, and a new beginning with a hero of a man and his angel of a daughter. But what else waits? What is this bit of hesitation I feel, biding its time? Can I no' be done with the testing and learning about myself?

An ache of exhaustion seeped into her soul. How much longer must she seek the lesson from each challenge as she stepped into the next morning? She wanted this new dawn to be filled with peace and joy. Was that dream too much to hope for?

The chest creaked as she leaned for her journal, tearing a blank piece from the back to add another jagged bit of emptiness. But then a face danced before her eyes, coaxing a smile and tremble to her fingers as she guided the pencil across the page.

Dearest Christopher, I wanted to write you a short note of 'good morning.' But though she wanted to write of her excitement and happiness, she could only stare at the salutation. One she never dared dream to have as her own, even as she again felt a cold whisper. She crumpled the note and set it upon the windowsill next to its fellows. So many notes never finished nor delivered.

Her gaze shifted to her journal, her grip white-knuckled upon the pencil before she closed the book and again stared out at the splashes of color of the early morning sky. Wondering if he watched the same sunrise. If he also prayed for their morning. If he thought of her as she thought of him. It was then something pressed her heart into a corner, causing a shift to the wonder.

She shook her head, banishing the shadow as she rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. He loved her and she him. These past three months proved those feelings as truth, and what of their pending engagement party in New York City? What more proof could she ask for? There was nothing to fret about, and Christopher would ask if she let herself be troubled.

A smile softened the wrinkle of her brow. She released a slow and deep breath, pressing her forehead against her arm and relishing the coolness as well as the joy bubbling within her spirit. He welcomed her into his family, into his close circle of friends. Sought her council. Smiled in a way that drew her very breath from her lungs. He viewed her with respect and adoration. He treated her with tenderness and deference.

'Do you have any idea how much I love you?'

No, she had none at all, but if the storm of emotions in her own heart were any similarity, she understood the confusion of his tone. How could someone possibly love as deeply as she loved him and lived to tell the tale? It was a tale for fiction and poems not real life, and certainly not her life.

But here she was, staring at the vibrant colors of a new morning while thinking of a man who had begun to piece together her finish. It seemed too much to hope, but she couldn't help but believe.

Thank You, she whispered.

Her Lord, as always, knew how to draw her from the shadows of worry to the vibrant hope of a new dawn. The journey would no longer be a solo venture. Christopher would be next to her, comforting and consoling, offering his strength and wisdom where, before, she could only pray she acted with obedience to what the Lord had awaiting her.

Yes, she could still feel the chill of a coming challenge against her heart, but Christopher's hand upon her shoulder sang of assurance. He would not leave her to her own devices. Not only was he her sponsor, he was her beau. Her friend. Her mentor.

Her throat shuddered with a sudden sob, one she hoped of happiness. After so many years of being alone, the relief overwhelmed her to the core. How could she not face her new future with such a family at her side? Inspiration tugged at her fingers, pushing her from the chest to seek her portfolio and pencils.

Two hours later, Amy found Sara still sprawled upon the lush rug at the foot of her bed, pages upon pages of sketches littering the space around her.

The maid's brown eyes twinkled. Heaven above, you're fairly glowing, you are. I don't think we need the candles or lanterns it's so bright.

Sara laughed and helped Amy gather the sketches into some semblance of order. I am no' too late for breaking my fast, I hope, Amy?

The young woman waved it aside. I'm onto your ways. I came along to make certain you weren't in naught but your underthings, what with Mister Christopher likely on his way, and it appears I made good time! Oy. She pulled a letter from her apron pocket. Another letter from Mr. Conklin. Excitement sang in her whisper.

Oh! I wonder if he is free to come for tea as he promised?

Amy rested a hand on Sara's shoulder. I will leave you to your reading while I see to your bath.

Thank you, Amy. Sara tore open the letter, eagerness nearly causing a tear of the letter itself. The post-mark showed London, and with a date of nearly two months!

Her eyes scanned through the letter, reading of the sights and sounds of her old home which brought back such mixed emotions of freedom and sadness. But how odd that he should write of her old home in such a way--as if he also had a personal connection with its flavors and aromas.

Such a dear man. One who held a heart toward art and artist the same as her Christopher.

Sara set aside the letter for a future, more in-depth reading and hurried for the connecting bath, her imagination running away with the prospect of more sketches of her home, both old and new.

~**~

I'll return later today, Harold. Christopher Lake accepted his hat and coat from the elderly gentleman who had served his family since childhood. The constant connection to the past kept him humble and permeated the air of Lake Manor with a wave of home and familiarity.

A letter arrived from a Mr. Conklin, Mister Christopher. I have put it into your overcoat pocket for reading on the way to Miss Sara.

Sara. Christopher smiled and nodded, hazel eyes twinkling with the welcome hiccup of expectation as he adjusted his overcoat and buttoned it up. Thank you, Harold. If a message from Roger Whitaker or Paul arrives from England, send a messenger to me straightaway. I'm expecting ... news.

Yes, Mister Christopher.

Both the investigative reporter and his brother-in-law should have made progress in their search for information regarding Sara's absent father. He felt eager to not only hear a positive update on the investigation, but to ease his mind regarding his agreement of sending Gwyn along with her Aunt and Uncle.

Christopher received the armful of collected newspapers and quarterlies from Harold's grasp and stepped out into the early morning dimness. He breathed deep, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. It felt ages since the last time he enjoyed a morning. Now he saw inspiration and brightness in the life and stillness which surrounded him. Teddy Parker, longtime friend from college, would have scoffed and made some snide remark about needing to prank someone to counter the sickeningly sweet sentiments of happiness.

Chuckling, Christopher boarded the carriage after bidding the driver a pleasant morning. Then the carriage lumbered off toward Monument Avenue and his sister's residence. Christopher set the mound of papers beside him and searched within his pockets for the aforementioned letter.

Chris,

I apologize to have been out of touch, but an unexpected trip to England made it impossible to contact you regarding the joint displays between our galleries.

At present, though I have returned to the States, I have business in New York which cannot be put off. A return may be several weeks out, unless you and the talented Miss Little have plans to journey to New York City in the future? There are rumors of a party to be hosted by your gallery.

I desire a meeting between you and myself if nothing else, so that we can discuss details of a joint display, as well as discussion of a more personal matter.

With regard,

Joseph Conklin

Christopher smirked and tucked the letter away. No one has ever taken me under their wing before. At least, not since Paul gave him the attention with the display in London when he was just out of college. He chuckled while admitting it felt nice to have the added support.

The carriage lurched to a stop outside the Donovan home. Christopher once again gathered the newspapers and quarterlies. The driver opened the door. Patrick, can you hold these while I step down. I don't think Sara would appreciate a broken fiancé.

Patrick chuckled and accepted the armful of papers, giving Christopher the needed extra balance in order to step safely down from the carriage.

Christopher accepted back the articles. Thank you.

Patrick tipped his cap, revealing thinning silver hair. You be needing me to stay around, Master Chris?

If you could. I'm sure Gregory won't mind you hanging around the kitchens for some cider or coffee. It's particularly brisk this morning, isn't it?

Patrick grinned and tipped his cap again. You have yourself a good morning, Master Chris.

"I will, Patrick. Thank you.

Christopher ascended the stairs, his smile softening as the door opened to reveal Sara's sparkling eyes and flushed face. Her slender form invited a long glance as his artist's eye committed the grace and curve to memory and a future canvas. She wore a blouse and skirt of ivory and cornflower blue, and the sunlight danced within her dark tresses delicately coiffed at her nape. His breath caught as he leaned in to caress her silken cheek with his lips. Good morning, he said, the gruffness of his voice hardly unexpected.

Sara smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes downcast as she freed the papers from his grasp. How are you this morning? she asked, her voice wonderfully hushed.

Christopher shrugged out of his overcoat as he watched her watch him. Good. You?

If it was possible, the expression within her blue eyes softened. Happy.

The confession brought a thud to his heart. I see that. He tossed his hat onto the hall table and retrieved the stack of papers from her. I am glad to see I still have that effect on women. Well, you at any rate.

Sara giggled, encouraging a wider smile. She guided him farther into the house. Are those articles about your display?

About yours as well, and anything relating to the gallery, past and present, as well as the most recent announcement of our pending trip to New York, thank you for agreeing to that, and the engagement party this weekend. I thought we could search through them and make a scrapbook. Sara gasped, lips parted in a delighted smile. He chuckled even as a spark lifted the hairs on his head. I hoped you would like the idea.

My mum and I adored scrapbooks. We would use flowers from a walk, or bits of material or a program from a play--such an adventure, each one.

Christopher watched the memories dance across her features as she spoke, wishing with a pang of regret that he could have witnessed those moments of her life. To try and understand a bit more how she could be so firmly grounded in a faith he had turned from in his strongest need.

Regret darkened Sara's expression. I wish I had one to show you.

Stories will be enough, Sweet Sara. And with your sketches? He nudged her elbow, inviting a soft rose to her cheeks. It will be as if I witnessed the event myself. Better even than some of the photographs and tin-types I've seen.

I have never had my photograph taken, she admitted. It sounds as if it might be a bit of a lark.

It isn't. You must stand quite still. Christopher winked toward her, the sound of the staff setting breakfast onto the table in the dining nook growing in volume as the couple approached. Gwyn hasn't mastered it yet. Sara giggled. We're determined to try again for Christmas this year. Hopefully being six-years-old will give her the needed ... motivation.

Those gem-like eyes twinkled up at him and set his chest afire. That wave of desire nearly choked him as he forced a calm smile. He enjoyed the attraction and the pursuit of a more intimate knowledge of Sara and her past.

Your childhood photographs were adorable, Sara was saying. You seemed quite serious and intent on a perfect outcome.

Christopher's ears reddened, and he dragged his gaze away as he adjusted his hold on the papers within his arms. They so longed to hold her slender form, to relish the warmth of her against him. Dix promised she wouldn't show those. Ever.

But why? They are wonderful.

When he glanced toward her, he noticed her expression blossomed from curiosity to a smile. She sighed and lowered her gaze, and the action of wrapping her arm around his seemed ... natural. Christopher drank in the warmth and the delicate profile as she continued forward, slowing their pace and deepening his examination. He wanted to understand why he felt this instinctual friendship. Why they fit together so differently than he and Carla.

I love looking at them, she confessed with adorable softness. It is much like watching you grow. I did no' ever have a true childhood friend, she admitted. My mum and I moved a bit too much for that, I suppose. But seeing so many in your photographs and paintings made me more able to know what it would have been like. I lived it with you. Sara released a breath, but this time she glanced and met his gaze. His attention caressed her cheeks with rose and laughter.

The pair stopped just shy of the breakfast nook, Christopher turning more to face her. Don't let those photographs and paintings fool you. I didn't have many friends growing up. Yes, I had a pack of fellows to run around with at church brunches and museum events or picnics, but they went home and so did I. Paul and Teddy are my only true friends. Christopher nudged her arm with the stack of papers and guided her into the breakfast nook. And you.

The glow in her blue eyes shifted, settling into a calm smile that stole his breath and tightened his chest. He pressed his lips lightly against her forehead, his ears reddening with the action. Then he took back the quarterlies and papers with a wink. These will wait for later. Handing them off to Gregory with a direction to put them safely into the front observatory, Christopher offered his arm and escorted her to the table. Do you realize this is the first meal we've had to ourselves since I proposed three months ago?

Is it?

Indeed. Christopher pulled out her chair. I think Dix was getting back at me for encouraging Paul to whisk her and my daughter away to England.

Sara laughed. Oh Christopher. Do no' be ridiculous.

Christopher reached across the table to give her hand a gentle pressure. When he did, her bare ring finger dragged his focus. His smile wavered as he gaped at it. Chris! You didn't get her a ring?

~**~

Christopher? What is wrong?

His face reddened as he met her gaze. Why didn't you remind me to get you a ring? No, it wasn't her fault by any stretch of the imagination, but in three months he hadn't yet put a ring on her finger?

Christopher. Her cool hand covered his to bestow a simple press, drawing his gaze to her caress of smile. Christopher, I do no' need a ring.

You deserve a ring, Sara. She deserved a lifetime of care and passion. Of tenderness and safety. Security. A ring stood as a promise of all these things. Yes, she deserved all a ring stood for.

Pulling his hand from hers, he retrieved the chain from around his neck. Christopher stared down at the pair of rings dangling from the chain before undoing the clasp and dropping them into his palm. He retrieved the engagement ring with a slow motion, looking within at the inscription before reaching out to take Sara's hand.

It fit as if fashioned for her.

He fingered the ring with his thumb, her hand nestled so perfectly within his grasp. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

Sara's blue eyes focused on the ring in silence before she released a long breath. Christopher. She slipped the ring from her finger and tucked it into his palm, the soft kiss of her fingers folding his grip around the small metal. Christopher, I am no' trying to replace your Carla. I am Sara and I love you, and I will marry you, if you will have a simple girl as your wife. She clasped his hand within both of hers, her eyes wide as they held his searching gaze. "But the good Lord would