The Journal: Book One in the Providence Series

By Grace Richardson

Caroline Porter was a beautiful young woman who lived in an average town during the early 1880s. Her life, on the other hand, was anything but ordinary.

Over one hundred years later, Kathleen Robertson is a successful bank executive whose life gets turned upside down when a handsome stranger gives her Carolines antique journal to read.

From the first page, the journal comes alive as Kathleen finds herself enraptured with the details of Caroline Porters life. She reads about Carolines courtship with a cold-hearted man; the strong, undeniable pull she feels toward his younger brother; and her unintentional involvement in a murder mystery. As she reads, Kathleens belief that unexpected miracles can happen when you follow the Lords leading is reaffirmed.

Come along as the lives of these two strong Christian women intertwine. For Kathleen, life will never be the same.

A beautifully written series. I was so involved with the characters, I felt like I knew them personally, devouring each line and page until the very exciting end!
Janet R., Newfane, New York

an intricate saga with fascinating characters. The subplots are woven like a fine tapestrya definite page turner.
Sharon S., Middleport, New York

engrossingan excellent read. I couldnt put the series down. I would recommend these books to anyone.
Genevieve K., Buffalo, New York

Grace Richardson lives with her family in Somerset, New York.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449796891

Grace Richardson

Grace Richardson lives with her family in Somerset, New York.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 Grace Richardson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-9688-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9687-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9689-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921083

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/19/2013

Contents

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Acknowledgements

My foremost gratitude is to the Lord for the gift of this story.

My husband, who encouraged me chapter by chapter.

Genevieve, Janet and Sharon – you know who you are! Without their kind words, I would never have had the courage to publish this series.

- 1 -

Kathleen pulled into her spot in the parking ramp and checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. She was quickly satisfied that her long, light brown hair was still secured firmly in a French twist.

She was just about to open her door when her friend, Becky, pulled into the space beside her. Smiling at her, Kathleen got out and locked her car doors.

Wow, it is a hot one today, Becky said as she approached her. Just another summer day in Alabama, I guess.

I guess, Kathleen replied.

Kathleen and Becky both worked at Gellerton Bank, which sat directly above the parking ramp. Becky was the Chief Teller on the bank’s ground floor, while Kathleen, a fifth generation co-owner, had the large corner office on the seventh floor. The two had been friends since high school and had renewed their friendship when Becky was hired by the bank manager.

As the ladies approached the elevator, Kathleen reached into her purse and pulled out a very smart looking pair of non-prescription glasses.

I hate those things, Becky said shaking her head. Do you realize that just by slipping those on every morning, you are taking womankind back about 50 years?

You know why I do it.

Yes, I do, and I think it is pathetic that your Board of Directors and your cousin believe that an attractive woman cannot also be intelligent enough to run a bank.

Wait a minute, Kathleen said smiling. Does that mean you think that women with glasses can’t be attractive?

The elevator doors opened as Becky began to adjust her own glasses.

I didn’t mean… she stuttered.

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Kathleen walked down the seventh floor corridor, past large paintings of the bank’s past owners. Although she could list each of her ancestors from memory, she rarely looked at them anymore.

Good morning, Ms. Robertson, said Alice, her assistant.

Good morning, Alice. Are there any messages for me this morning?

No, ma’am, but Mr. Sinnip would like to see you right away.

Kathleen rolled her eyes.

Mr. Donald Sinnip was Kathleen’s step-cousin and the other co-owner of the bank. Her father and his stepmother had been siblings. Donald had been adopted by Kathleen’s aunt when he was only in elementary school.

Donald was fifteen years older than she was and the two of them saw things very differently. It did not help their relationship that Kathleen held 51% of the interest in the bank, to Donald’s 49%. Two years ago, when she had graduated from college with a Master’s degree in Finance, her father had brought her onboard. After she shadowed him for a year, he retired and passed his 51% to her. Donald Sinnip made it very clear that he didn’t think her mature enough to assume the responsibilities. Her father had disagreed.

I will head down after I’ve had my coffee, she muttered to Alice as she headed to her office. I’m going to need…

Is that Kathy? she heard Donald ask as he approached. Did I hear Kathy’s voice?

Although no one else called her Kathy, Donald insisted on it. It was just one of the ways that he propagated the image of her as merely a child playing in a grown-up world.

Hello, Donald, she said with a fake smile. Did you want to see me?

Yes, he said. We need to speak right away. There are a couple of large foreclosures that need your signature before we can proceed.

When the bank had been founded by their great-great grandfather, it had been part of the charter that all owners’ signatures must be on a document entitled Statement of Intent to Serve a Notice of Default before a Notice of Default could be served on a borrower. Kathleen loathed signing them, especially when someone’s home was on the line.

Yes, alright, she said as she followed him further down the hall.

Ms. Robertson, Alice called. Don’t forget, you have a 9:30 appointment with that Pastor Harrison from Boston.

Thank you, Alice. I will be back in just a few minutes.

Although not as large as hers, Donald’s office always felt cold and unfeeling. Because of this, Kathleen rarely stepped foot in it.

When they entered, he went around to the other side of his desk and placed three small piles of paper in front of her. She looked down at them and reached to pick up the first pile.

These are just standard, he said, handing a pen to her.

How far behind are the payments for this one? she asked.

Donald sat down heavily in his large, leather chair.

Come on, Kathy. We’ve been over this before. There is no need for you to worry about such things. The Board and I have been over all the information. It is time to foreclose on these properties.

You and the Board? When?

He sat up in his chair, obviously annoyed.

Kathy, please, I have an important meeting this morning. Would you just sign the papers so that I can dispose of these matters?

She placed the first pile back where it had been, pushed her glasses to the very top of the bridge of her nose, and pulled herself up to her full height.

It is my understanding that as co-owner and co-President of the bank I am to be informed of all meetings with the Board of Directors. Why wasn’t I told there was a meeting?

We didn’t think you would be interested in all of the affairs of the bank, my dear. We weren’t trying to exclude you. We just figured you had other things you needed to tend to, what with your saintly sister’s death and all.

Anger filled her entire body as she threw his pen on the desk.

How dare you, she said through clenched teeth.

Sara, Kathleen’s sister, had died with her husband in a plane crash just three months prior. Kathleen thought she saw a small glimpse of a smile on Donald’s lips at her lack of self-control. She chastised herself as she calmly walked over and picked up the three piles of papers off the desk.

I will review these thoroughly tonight and get back to you tomorrow, she said as she turned to leave.

Amy, Donald’s assistant, smiled at her sweetly when she walked out. In her way, she was trying to apologize for her boss’s behavior. Kathleen returned her smile and headed to get coffee.

When she walked into the break room, she was surprised to see the back of someone she did not recognize pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was tall, but not thin.

While she waited with papers in hand, he slowly stirred sugar and cream into his coffee, completely oblivious to her presence.

His thick brown hair was neatly trimmed and lightly touched the collar of his suit jacket as he looked around for a garbage can for his plastic stir stick.

Right there, Kathleen offered softly, as she pointed to a plastic can in the corner of the room.

Oh, I’m sorry, he said in an accent that gave away he was not from Alabama or anywhere in the South for that matter. I didn’t realize anyone else was…

As he looked through her glasses and into her blue eyes, she felt something shoot through her. She immediately looked down.

…in here, he finished. I’m sorry. You must think I am so rude.

Kathleen headed for the coffeemaker.

No, don’t worry about it, she said, trying to sound light. No problem.

She poured herself a cup and added a little cream.

So, are you from Personnel? she asked as she stirred.

Oh, no, he said smiling. I am here to see Kathleen Robertson. Her secretary told me I could come down and get a cup of coffee if I liked.

Kathleen tried not to choke as she sipped her coffee.

Here to see me? she thought. Should I recognize him?

Oh, I see, she replied.

Do you work for her? he asked.

No, not exactly.

He came a little closer.

Forgive me, he said quietly. I have a 9:30 appointment with her and I really don’t know anything about her. I’m hoping she is a compassionate woman.

Her 9:30 appointment.

This is Pastor Harrison? she thought.

She glanced up at him. She hadn’t expected him to be so young or so handsome.

Well, I have taken enough of your time, he said politely. I must be heading down the hall. Ms. Robertson may have returned and wondering where I am.

He smiled at her as he threw his cup in the garbage can.

Have a nice day, he said over his shoulder as he left.

She stood in stunned silence as she stared at the doorway. She took another sip of her coffee and then headed down the hall.

Oh, good, said Alice as she approached. Your 9:30 appointment, Pastor Harrison from Boston, is here. He is waiting in your office.

Thank you, Alice, she said as she inhaled deeply and headed toward her office door.

Ms. Robertson, Alice whispered.

Kathleen turned to face her.

He is not what I expected.

She smiled.

I mean, he is nothing like what I expected, she said dramatically.

Without a word, Kathleen reached out and grabbed the handle to her door and entered her office.

The color drained from his face as he turned around to face her.

Are you…

Hello, Pastor Harrison, I am Kathleen Robertson, she said as she headed for her desk. How can I or Gellerton Bank help you today?

You must think me a complete idiot, he said, shaking his head. I expected someone much older.

Don’t worry about it, she said. People are always surprised by my age.

Still, I should have…

Pastor Harrison, please sit down. You have traveled a long way. Could you please tell me how I can help you?

He sat down as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a packet of folded papers.

I am here regarding the defaulted mortgage on 2600 Paulistine Avenue in Brookhaven, Massachusetts.

Oh, I see, she said as she stood to her feet. Mr. Harrison, you must understand, I alone do not make decisions with regard…

But you must have a strong influence. You are a co-owner, after all. I wouldn’t be so forward, but I do not come for myself.

What do you mean?

There is a lady that attends our church, who has to be close to eighty, and she asked me to come in her place.

As I told you, Mr. Harrison…

Ben.

I’m sorry?

Please, it is Ben. Mr. Harrison is my father.

She sat back down behind her desk.

I do not make foreclosure decisions. I only approve them, in a way.

He sat up in his seat.

Then you could stop this from happening.

She looked down.

Is it her personal residence? Perhaps she could contact an attorney…

It is not her personal residence, but it means a great deal to her. And she can’t afford an attorney.

Has she received a Notice of Default from Gellerton Bank?

No, not yet, but she knows it is coming.

Why doesn’t she just sell the place to someone who would love it as much as she does?

He leaned back in his seat.

It is not sellable, he whispered.

It is not what?

It is not sellable. It is in very poor condition. It has been abandoned for about thirty years.

Mr. Harrison, I don’t understand. Why is it so important to her to save this place?

I don’t know. But she is distraught.

How many payments has she defaulted on?

I’m not sure exactly. Enough that she is worried.

Has she had a mortgage on the property for many years?

He looked at the papers in his hand.

She inherited the property free and clear in the mid-1960s. But, she took out a mortgage on the property about twenty-five years ago when her husband became ill and she needed the money for medical bills. The money she received from his life insurance ran out a few months ago. She has been living on Social Security ever since, but she can’t afford a mortgage on top of her normal monthly bills.

If she took the mortgage out twenty-five years ago, then it would be paid off in just a few years, she said.

Well…

Kathleen stood from her seat and came around to the other side of her desk. She leaned against it.

How much does she still owe?

A little over $263,000.

I’m sorry. I must have heard you wrong. How much?

No, you heard me correctly. A little over $263,000.

How is that possible?

He looked down.

If she financed the property twenty-five years ago at, let’s say, twelve percent, she would have had to take out a loan for… she started.

A half a million dollars, he finished for her.

What kind of property are we talking about, Mr. Harrison? You said that it had been abandoned for thirty years. Back then, what kind of property that had been abandoned for five years could still warrant a $500,000 mortgage? Are there oil fields on the property?

He laughed as she stood up and returned to her chair.

You almost had me there for a moment, Mr. Harrison, with your story of the pitiful church lady. No pitiful church lady I know can afford a mortgage on a property like that.

He looked down defeated.

You don’t understand. She is out of money.

Do you want my advice? I would tell her to let the bank just take it.

She’ll be devastated. The property means the world to her.

Then why has she let it become in such a state of disrepair?

She couldn’t afford to fix it up. It is quite large.

Mr. Harrison, for a $500,000 mortgage all those years ago, it would have to have been a mansion.

It is.

She looked at him confused.

It is a mansion?

Yes. Here, see for yourself.

He put a yellowed newspaper clipping in front of her.

That was in some of its better days, he offered.

The headline read Old Orphanage to Become Home for Unwed Mothers. Underneath was a picture of an enormous mansion surrounded by trees. It was dated June 3, 1955.

It was a home for unwed mothers up until thirty years ago when it was abandoned. Funding fell through, he said. She had let the home run there rent free all those years. And then, as I told you, a few years later, she needed money to help care for her husband so she mortgaged the property. After he passed, she was able to stretch the $2,000,000 she received in life insurance money until recently.

Why didn’t she use the $2,000,000 to pay it off then?

The policy was set up so she received a certain amount each month for twenty-four years. She paid off a lot of her husband’s debt in those twenty-four years.

Again, he leaned forward.

She really is a remarkable woman. I wish you could meet her. You would understand why I came.

Mr. Harrison, if she only owed a couple thousand… She shook her head. I’m sorry.

He stood up abruptly.

Well, I promised her I would try and I did.

He reached across the desk and shook her hand.

Thank you for your time, Ms. Robertson. I hope you have a nice day.

With that, he turned and left.

She stood for quite a while trying to figure out why her office suddenly felt so empty. After a few minutes, Alice popped her head into Kathleen’s office.

Woo, that was the most handsome pastor I’ve ever met, she said smiling. What did he want?

Still distracted, she answered, Just a favor for a friend.

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At 5 p.m., she gathered the three stacks she had taken from Donald’s office. She began to binder clip each pile separately when something on top of the third pile caught her eye:

STATEMENT OF INTENT

TO SERVE A NOTICE OF DEFAULT

Property: 2600 Paulistine Avenue,

Brookhaven, Massachusetts

The old woman was right, she thought. Here it begins.

She clipped the pages together and put it, along with the other two, into her briefcase. She would study these at home.

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As she drove toward her apartment, located in a high-rise halfway between Gellerton and Birmingham, her stomach began to growl. Dreading facing another microwave meal, she began to look at restaurant names directly off upcoming exit ramps. The name Burgundy caught her attention and she immediately changed lanes. Burgundy was one of her favorite restaurants. It was known all over central Alabama for its steak and seafood.

I’ll look over these default papers while I eat, she thought as she exited the highway.

The restaurant was crowded, but not over-crowded and she did not have to wait long for a table. She smiled thankfully at the hostess when she seated her at a small table in a quiet corner.

Immediately after she sat down, she placed her menu on the end of her table. She already knew what she would order. She practically had the menu memorized.

She reached down inside of her briefcase and pulled out a clipped packet of default papers. She purposely avoided the one in Massachusetts. This first one was for a summer home in Birmingham. The owners lived in Wisconsin. She quickly signed that one.

After the waitress took her order, she pulled out the second one.

I thought that was you.

She looked up to see Pastor Harrison standing next to her table.

I almost didn’t recognize you without your glasses, he continued.

She stared at him in stunned silence.

Do you come here often? he asked.

As soon as the words left his mouth, his face went white. The question had been sincere, but it sounded like a line. A smile spread across her lips and she began to laugh.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, she said.

It was highly recommended to me by the desk clerk at my hotel, he stuttered.

Excuse me, sir, said a voice from behind him.

He stepped to the side to reveal Kathleen’s waitress holding her drink.

Will the gentleman be joining you, ma’am? she asked as she placed Kathleen’s diet soda in front of her.

Kathleen quickly looked at the pastor. He seemed to approve of the idea.

That is up to the gentleman, she replied.

Then it is a yes, he said. I’ll go get my drink.

When he turned to leave, the waitress winked at her.

So, when did you know you wanted to become a pastor? Kathleen asked, as she began to cut up her salad.

He laughed as he stirred his soup.

First, let me start by saying that I am a Youth Pastor.

He took a sip of his soup.

I have been attending Brookhaven Bible since I was in middle school. As a kid, I adored our Youth Pastor. After spending a great deal of time with him, I knew that that is what I wanted to do when I grew up.

Is it a large church?

Fairly large. I would estimate that Brookhaven Bible Church has between four and five thousand each Sunday.

Wow! That’s huge. My church only averages about three hundred.

Our Pastor is very, very good. It doesn’t hurt that we have an incredible worship team as well. That combination draws people from as far away as the other side of Boston. It is an amazing church.

Sounds like it, she said.

He smiled at her.

I guess you always knew you would go into banking.

Yes, she laughed. I did.

Do you enjoy it? he asked as he continued to eat his soup.

Yes and no, she said. I enjoy any kind of accounting and dealing with numbers. But, there are parts of the position that I detest.

I can imagine, he muttered. I was surprised when I found out your bank was family-owned. I didn’t know there was such a thing in the U.S.

You’d be surprised at how many there are out there. Some are very old, like ours, which is fifth-generation, and then there are some that were created much more recently.

How does one go about creating a bank?

Well, my great-great grandfather was in the military when he and my grandmother met back in the 1880s. She was on her way to becoming a well-known artist. The story goes that a few years after they were married, she consulted a rich friend on how to invest the money she was earning for her art. The friend gave her very good advice and in no time, they were wealthy.

A well-known painter? What was your great-great grandmother’s name? Would I recognize it? Is she still famous today?

You misunderstand. She wasn’t a painter. She did pencil and pen & ink drawings. The only painting she ever did was of my great-great grandfather. It hangs in the bank.

She took a sip of her drink.

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