All the Blue of Heaven: Colors of Faith

By Virginia Carmichael

Eight years ago, Allie Hathaway scandalized the wealthy elite of Chicago when she ran away to San Francisco. Now a world-renowned portrait painter, her life is filled with laughter and friendship, including being a mother to her orphaned niece. Life is perfect, so why can’t she forget her first love?
Thomas Bradford has come a long way from being the Hathaway family’s carriage boy. A veterinary degree, ambition and hard work have made him one of Chicago’s most sought-after bachelors. If only he could forget those stolen moments with Allie, Thomas might be able to enjoy his success.
The Great Quake of 1906 stuns the nation and Allie’s art studio burns to the ground, destroying years of valuable work. She’s forced to return to Chicago with little Janey, the only spark of hope in a life reduced to ashes. Her faith is crushed by her tragic reversal of fortune.
Thomas knows better than to fall for the beautiful young painter again, but he’s never been very wise around Allie Hathaway.
The carriage man’s son is all grown up and Allie doesn’t expect a second chance at a love that was refused eight years ago. Her life is in shambles and she has a child to support, so why won’t her heart accept the truth?
Once their love was torn apart by circumstance, but Thomas and Allie must decide whether to forge a future of hope together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: mary jane hathaway
• Release date: Nov 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386333104

Book preview

Colors of Faith series

ALL THE BLUE OF HEAVEN

Purple Like the West

Golden Is the Sand 

Dedications

FOR MY GRANDMOTHER, Alberta Hathaway (1914- 2006), who was braver than our heroine, even though she was only a chemist.

For my children: Jacob, Samuel, Edward and Elias. For all the times I asked for one more minute and you ignored me. 

For my oldest children : Isabel and Ana Lucia, Beta readers extraordinaire. I apologize for the smooching.

Copyright © 2013 Virginia Carmichael

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, and recording in any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publish­er and author, except where permitted by law.

Edited September 2013 by Kathryn Frazier

www.kathrynfrazier.info

Cover by Yogacatstudios

Contents

Dedications

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

BIOGRAPHY

OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

Prologue

Children of wealth or want, to each is given

one spot of green, and all the blue of heaven!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

April 18, 1906, 5:12 AM

Her lungs were bursting. Black smoke buffeted in hot waves. Her eyes burned so viciously that tears streamed down her cheeks.

I am going to die.

Only seconds remained before she would have to inhale― a certain death sentence. The rolled canvases slipped from her arms as she stumbled against a row of shelves. Sweeping her hands in wide swaths in front of her, blindly seeking the door, she prayed, Please, God.Please take care of Janey. Her heart pounded wildly. There was no more time to think, to pray. She sucked in the acrid smoke and wished she could scream as it tore down her throat, scorching a path of destruction.  Her knee connected sharply against the corner of a chair― the chair that stood next to the hallway leading out. With one last whisper of hope, Alberta Hathaway threw herself toward the space where the hallway should be. The smoke billowed so violently that her long skirts whipped around her legs, and the wooden planks radiated searing heat up through her black, ankle high boots.

I’m sorry, Janey. Everyone has left you, and now I’m leaving, too. She wanted to shriek out her anger at God. Why had He taken everything from such a little girl? What kind of plan could this be? It was her fault. The truth of it sank into her soul with a terrible, horrifying finality.

She was falling, the hot smoke rushing by her, and then her elbow collided with the hard floor. The crack of her head against the wood sent shock waves through her body. The heat was unbearable, but the pain of failing Janey was worse.

Strong hands gripped her under the arms and dragged her limp body toward the fresh air. Blackness blanketed her mind. Under her hands, the cool grass soothed her blistered skin. Her gloves had burned away.

Wrap her in your coat. You’ve got to smother the flames, a rough voice called out. No, don’t cover me! Let me feel the cool earth once more before I die. A memory flitted through her ravaged mind: sitting under the shade of an oak, the fingers of one hand threading through cool grass, pressing an index finger to the soil like a doctor checks for a pulse.

Something was wrapped around her, smelling of pipe smoke and brandy, the fibers scratching her fragile, ruined skin. Alberta opened her mouth to scream, but could only cough in short, jerking spasms.

She’s still alive! The wonder in their voices spoke more than any mirror could.

She had been to the depths of hell... and survived.

Chapter One

Six Months Later

Chicago, Illinois

Aunt Allie, when are you going to take off your scarf? Janey Roswell, five years old and possessing the tenacity of a bulldog, asked the question for the seventeenth time.

When I’m ready, honey, Alberta answered with a sigh. I couldn’t find any fine summer dresses with a high collar so I’m just tucking this scarf in... like so. With another nervous tug, Allie adjusted the lace across the baby pink skin of her neck. She would have to get a dress made as soon as they arrived. Fickle fashion. She once loved getting new gowns every year. That was when she had perfect skin and only worried about becoming too tan. Her parasol and large brim hat were a fair-haired girl’s best friend. Her lips twitched at the bitter irony at the thought of how much trouble she used to take against a little extra sun.

Are we almost at Grandmother Leeds’ house? Janey peered through the train window at the farmland flashing by.

Three days’ worth of questions. Allie silently ticked another tally mark next to ‘are we there yet’, and stroked Janey’s soft blond hair. It was so very nearly the color of what her own had been.

Almost. Another day and we’ll be at the station. Then Mr. Bradford will come to take us to your grandmother’s. Remember what I taught you? How to offer your hand and curtsy?

Yes, Aunt Allie. But why do I have to do that in Chicago when I didn’t do that in San Francisco? Janey had a tiny crease between her sky blue eyes.

Well, remember how Mr. Wong would bow so stiffly when we entered his shop? You thought that was strange, but he was showing us respect in his own custom. Grandmother Leeds has customs and we want to show her respect, too.

And that we’re happy to be living with her?

Yes, that, too. Allie chewed her lip and hoped it wasn’t really a sin to lie to a five year old if it could head off a whole heap of trouble. Happy to be living with her mother again after making her own way as a well-paid portrait painter― not hardly.

Is she your mama? Janey asked a lot about mamas. Probably because she couldn’t remember her own.

Yes, and she was your daddy’s mama, too. Because he was my half-brother, remember? Allie almost laughed at her niece’s expression, one finger on her tiny chin. I know it’s confusing. My father died, and she married Mr. Leeds and they had your daddy.

And then Mr. Leeds died?

That’s right. Allie wished there weren’t so many deaths in every story she told. But Grandmother Leeds always wanted us to come home. She’s very excited to have you stay.

Linnette Brentwood had a grandmother. She was very old and hit Linette on the knee with her cane if she didn’t get her tea fast enough, said Janey.

Laughter burst from Allie’s throat. Unused to the force, her damaged windpipe spasmed. She coughed, unable to stop.  Janey searched frantically in their little trunk for the small silver flask. She quickly unscrewed the top and brought it to her aunt’s lips.

Shhh, Auntie. Sip this. There now. She murmured and patted Allie’s back until the spasms stopped.

Allie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to reassure her niece with a smile. I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you. She paused for breath. Dr. Benjamin sure knows how to make a good tonic. He’ll be shipping some to us next week so I won’t be without.

She watched the little girl’s shoulders relax. Janey couldn’t possibly remember those terrible days when influenza had taken so many folks in their city. Allie had rocked her through the night and prayed for a miracle, and Janey knew her parents had gone to heaven together. Seeing Janey standing at the graves of her parents had been almost too much for Allie to bear. Only her faith in seeing them again had carried her through. She couldn’t have known that tragedy would strike them again so soon.

Are there earthquakes and fires in Chicago?

A shiver traveled down Allie’s spine. No, she whispered. Not like that. She turned her head and looked toward the window facing the train passageway. She shoved thoughts of that terrible night into the farthest corner of her memory.

Do you want to go to town this week? Or should we wait until the end of the month? Allie knew the answer before her niece bounced up and down on the seat.

Ooh, this week! I want to visit all their shops and meet all the new people. Janey clapped her hands and beamed.

You can help me pick out some cloth for a dress. Do you think a bright lemon yellow this time?

Lemon yellow? Janey shrieked in laughter. You would never!

You are correct, my dear. I would never. Allie grinned at the little girl. But maybe a pale green check, if I’m feeling extra adventurous.

The farmland outside was gradually lost in the fading light. Allie was surprised to see a laughing young woman pictured reflected in the window. Only when her gaze fell to the billowy lace scarf at her neck did she recognize herself. She touched the tender skin at her throat and thought of her studio, buried under rubble, and all her paintings all reduced to gray heaps of ash. The gifted young painter who lived in that studio was gone and the person who remained worried over this season’s dress fabrics. At least Mama will be happy. Now she can marry me off to some rich businessman who won’t ever hear a word I say.   Janey rested her small head on Allie’s shoulder. She turned from the window and forced a smile.

Let’s get out your needlepoint. We want Grandmother Leeds to see what fine work you do. For the next hour she helped Janey stitch rosettes and daisy petals on a creamy piece of linen but her mind was focused on the station ahead, and the man who would be waiting.

MISS HATHAWAY? THE deep voice behind her made Allie jump.

Oh, Mr. Bradford! I thought you would be coming from the north side of the station. Allie put a hand to her chest and struggled to regain her bearings. The man before her looked nothing like the Tommy Bradford she remembered. He was a good foot taller and with wide shoulders that gave him an air of power. Even so, expression was soft, almost tender and his smile was utterly familiar.

I’m sorry to have startled you. His gaze dropped to Janey and he knelt down to her level. My name is Mr. Bradford. I would tell you to call me Thomas but I’m afraid Grandmother Leeds would not approve. He winked at her and was rewarded with a wide smile.

I am Jane Leeds. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. She primly held the edges of her pinafore and curtsied. Are you the nosy boy who lived in the carriage house?

Janey! Allie wished she could fall through the train platform.

Thomas laughed, a deep full-throated sound. Well, yes, I suppose that would be me. I can tell that my excellent reputation for detective work precedes me. I will have to teach you everything I know about ferreting out secrets.

Allie pretended to scan the crowded platform for their luggage. She didn’t want to remember their youthful game of vowing to be famous sleuths. They grew up and put those games and memories behind them, especially memories of a certain late summer afternoon near the garden pond.

I think those are our trunks over there. Allie pointed toward a stocky young porter hauling luggage from the undercarriage. The sound of a train departing the station nearly drowned out her words.

Back in a flash, he said, already striding away. Allie watched him cross the platform, her cheeks still burning.

Aunt Allie, why is your face so red? Do you need your tonic? Janey clutched Allie’s sleeve and peered up at her.

No, honey, don’t worry. She snatched a train schedule from the long mahogany counter and fanned herself. You’re not seventeen any more. But she felt seventeen, with all the dizzying emotions flooding back from that summer.

I like Mr. Bradford. Does he still live in the carriage house? Will he play detective with us? Janey watched him directing the porter and waved when he glanced their way.

I don’t think he has time for that now. He’s just being polite. There’s a new carriage man, Mr. Cole, to care for the horses. But Mr. Bradford still comes to visit Grandma Leeds almost every day. She loves him like a son. And probably would have preferred him to the one she actually had. A bitter smile touched her lips at the thought.

So what does he do if he can’t care for the horses? Grandma Leeds shouldn’t have sent him away. Janey planted her fists on her hips and frowned.

Allie giggled at the thought of her mother sending Thomas to live somewhere else. No, no, Janey. When he was ready to go to school, he learned how to be a veterinarian. He makes sure all the sick horses get better.

But then why is he driving a motorcar? Janey tilted her head in consternation. Allie watched Thomas direct the porter to a shiny black automobile parked some ways away.

I can’t answer that, she said. He dodged travelers and luggage on the way back across the wide wooden platform. She squinted, trying to see the boy she knew in the body of this man. He was there in the dark wavy hair, the strong features, the long loping stride. His confidence was palpable, but he wore it easily and without arrogance. The rest of him was completely unfamiliar. His appearance was immaculate and his white waistcoat contrasted perfectly with the deep charcoal flannel suit. A Hamburg hat sat at a jaunty angle, giving him a casual air. As he drew nearer she could see the caution in his eyes, the bit of shadow along his jaw. There were lines around his mouth, like deep commas, as if he laughed often. Jealousy lanced through her with a sharp twisting pain. Stop! You have no right to begrudge him any happiness. You’ve had your chance.

Miss Hathaway, you are glaring at me, Thomas said quietly as he crossed the last few feet between them.

Oh, no, not at you. I’m just wondering about the motorcar. Are you sure it’s safe? Allie scrambled to cover her confusion.

Are you asking if I can drive? He crouched down to Janey’s level. Don’t be worried. I drive like an old woman. His lips quirked up in a half smile and Allie’s breath caught. She had always loved that crooked smile, the one that turned his choir boy face into something rakish.

I’m not worried. Just wait until I tell Linette. Janey beamed. Then her face fell and she twisted a curl around her finger. I mean to say, just wait until I have Auntie help me write her a postcard.

Allie wrapped her arms around her niece, breathing in her sweet little girl smell and closing her eyes for a moment. How about we write tomorrow? You’ll have so much to tell her. Allie wanted with all her heart to turn back time six months. They would still be in their comfortable boarding house. Janey would play in her studio and take piano and singing lessons from Mrs. James, play stick ball in the street with Linette, and Allie would paint, all night if she wished.

Miss Leeds, let’s go home, Thomas said, reaching out for Janey’s hand. She confidently reached up and grasped his hand, waiting to be led away to the motorcar.

He offered Allie his arm, and as they walked toward the end of the platform, she glanced at Thomas’s face. He looked ahead, face resolute, expression distant. A sigh threatened to escape Allie’s lips. This was her home town, these were her people, but she felt as lost and as strange as a fish in the desert.

THOMAS PRETENDED TO concentrate all his attention on maneuvering around the horse drawn-carriages and other automobiles as they pulled away from the station. Not having to meet her eyes gave him a bit of time to clear his rioting thoughts. His knees felt shaky and his palms were damp. He wished he had dressed more conservatively. He wanted to make a good impression but the tailored three-piece suit now seemed constricting and alien.

The rumble of the engine faded away as he sneaked a peek at Allie’s face. Just the sight of those soft lips made him want to take her in his arms. He wrenched his gaze back to the road. He never should have offered to retrieve them from the station. Eight long years had passed and even the brightest memories had faded, but the sound of her voice and the curve of her smile brought it all back.  Pictures flooded his mind as clear as the moment they had happened: laughing until they were breathless, running his finger along her cheek, that blurted proposal under the old oak tree at midnight. He winced, remembering himself as a gawky teen attending the veterinary college in Iowa, with a half-baked plan to start a business. At that time he had no way to support her, but he still asked her to marry him and build a life together. It was no surprise, looking back at that moment from this one, that she had rejected him. He could almost feel once more her attempt to soften the blow by clutching his hands and speaking earnestly about her dream of painting in San Francisco.

She never loved him the way he loved her, with a fierceness that defied reality.  He had refused to believe she was leaving until the moment she boarded the train to go west.

After that, it was all he could do not to lay down and give up. His life ceased to have meaning. Still, he won a scholarship to college, worked hard, and put on the false front of a successful man, a happy man. But God is never one to let His children sulk for long. There was a purpose in his life that a broken heart could not erase.  Slowly, so slowly, he remembered that Jesus had come so that we ‘might have life and live it more abundantly.’ It seemed the last few years that there might even be hope for a family of his own after all. He might meet a nice girl and get married; it occurred to him several times that spring alone.

Now Allie was back She was as beautiful as ever, although a little too pale. Her bright eyes belied her quick wit and every emotion that flitted over her features reminded him of how well he could read her thoughts.  A slight blush or that little wrinkle between her brows seemed to irritate those scars on his heart, scars he thought had healed completely but that now throbbed with pain.

Thomas straightened his shoulders and took a quiet breath. He was different now. Successful, wealthy. There was no reason to feel his heart break with every glance.

The young woman a few feet away was silent, watching the scenery pass by the car window. He wondered if she noticed how much the city had changed in eight years, how impossibly busy it was, how many people rushed down the walks.

The past was the past, and the last thing she needed was some love-sick man bent on winning her hand.  It might hurt to be near her, but he was determined to be the friend Allie needed now, and nothing more. He was man enough to bear it, and busy enough that he wouldn’t be mooning around her like he had as a teenager.

Allie shifted Janey’s lolling torso into a more natural position against her side.

Poor thing. She must be exhausted, Thomas said, hoping that Janey wasn’t making the journey too uncomfortable for Allie. Her eyes had shadows under them as dark as bruises.

The train car bunks are hard. The motion was quite soothing, but we woke stiff and sore every morning. She smoothed Janey’s hair back from her face with a gentle gesture.

I am sorry for that. My mother has just returned from a trip to New York and her carriage was very well-appointed, as she described it. As soon as we arrive, you must tell Mrs. Gibson that you’re very tired and need to rest. Although something told him the housekeeper would never let Allie go without a thorough examination.

Allie laughed lightly. I’m very sure I can tell her, but she will never let me go until she has inspected us thoroughly. She smoothed her skirts. When I left to live with Matthew and Eleanor in San Francisco, it almost broke her heart. She wrote me every week.

Thomas mulled that over as he checked the large side mirrors. When we, when she heard about the earthquake and the fire... There was no news coming out for such a long time. I don’t know how it was there, but here we just didn’t know. If you were alive, he meant, but couldn’t speak the words.

He cleared his throat. Mrs. Gibson never wavered. She knew you would come home to us. He stole a glance at her and rushed on. I mean to say, she always had a deep faith that God would protect you. She would recite the verse ‘even if I settle on the far side of the sea, your hand will guide me and hold me fast’.

Allie turned her face to the side, as the sun eased into the rolling hill country. She took a tremulous breath. I hate that she was worried. My mother wrote me and said that Mrs. Gibson was planning my return from the moment they got my letter.

Oh, and she hasn’t stopped since! You won’t believe the amount of food she has prepared. It’s positively frightening, he said.

I shall stuff it in my purse, and my apron pockets, and up my sleeves, she said.

Your bonnet has room there above the brim, he teased. But you won’t be wearing that inside, of course.

Allie’s smile slipped. She raised her arms and swiftly withdrew the hatpins, removing the deep blue silk creation. Her hair, with the deep honey tresses he remembered, was gone. What remained was darker and much shorter. It fell a little past her ears in corkscrew curls.

Is that the new style out west? Your mother won’t be happy at all. At least with the hat, it covers it well enough. But why in heaven’s name would you use a dye? It was so beautiful... Thomas’s voice trailed off at her expression.

My hair was damaged in the fire. They had to sheer it all off and it grew back... like this. She gestured mutely.

Thomas gripped the wheel and slowed the automobile, swerving to the side of the road. He moved the handbrake to the middle position and let the