Hope Between the Pages Pepper Basham (thriller book recommendations TXT) 📖

His gaze locked with mine. “Then someone placed the box there about 70 years ago.”

The deed? Clara’s breath caught, and she rushed around the desk to the drawers. “I have a few keys I found in the attic, but only one of them was small enough to fit a lock like that.”

She produced the key and Max fitted it into the lock. After a few tries, the lid budged and Max forced it the rest of the way open. Clara wasn’t certain what she’d expected to find, but nothing prepared her for the two simple items inside.

“It looks like a book of fairy tales.” Max’s words faltered as withdrew the book from the box.

“And a ring box?” Clara took the small container into her hand and opened it. It housed a delicate pearl ring encased in simple white gold. “It’s…it’s beautiful. Do you think it was an engagement ring or something?”

“That would be a good guess, I’d say.” He offered her the book. “I think this may be special as well.”

As I took the book, I met his gaze, and he smiled. “Perhaps something good can come from this devastation too.”

She cradled the book close and almost smiled. Like Sadie’s life. Even in her heartbreak, she found hope. Clara looked down at the faded book cover, the intricate designs still visible around the title. Finding Ever After.

The first turn of the page brought its own surprise. A letter. She opened the page, carefully, and grinned up at Max. “A letter from Oliver.” The pages fell open again, revealing another letter. She looked up at Max and his brow rose, as if nudging her internal question into action.

With a turn of her fingers, the pages flipped, revealing little notes interspersed throughout the entire book. They’d never found any of Oliver’s letters, because Sadie had kept them all here, between the pages of a book of fairy tales. Clara slipped down to sit against the desk. What a beautiful sentiment to their love! His words of love, their story, pressed within a fairy tale.

As the final page turned over, an envelope pressed against the back cover of the book. Clara gently tugged it from its spot and slid her fingers behind the seal to draw out the paper. Her breath unlocked into a sob-like laugh. The deed, complete with the names Oliver Camden and Sadie Blackwell Camden.

Their names joined here on this official document. Together. She shook her head through another weak laugh. “Their story.”

Max grinned. “Their dream.”

She looked back down at the deed lying atop the book. Hope. Hope between the pages.

My father always told me to never outgrow my belief in faith and fairy tales, but fear has a way of darkening one’s vision, and so I’d lost of the beauty God displayed through magical stories. Not so much the glass slippers or the poisoned apples, but the deeper truths. The light overcoming darkness. The rewards of perseverance. The beauty that can come through trials of thorns or battles or even sleeping death. I’d forgotten that imagination gives me so much more than the ability to fall into the world of a book. It motivates my dreams, inspires remarkable love, and helps me see beyond this world to a greater one.

On Christmas Eve, Max returned to England and Mom came home from the hospital to a limping bookshop, but a bookshop that belonged, through and through, to us. The same day, a package arrived from Maggie. Inside were the few letters Helen and Sadie had exchanged before Helen’s untimely death, but another envelope hid beneath the faded photos and yellowed pages. Pristine. New. From Maggie’s solicitor.

Inside was a check for twenty thousand dollars.

Due to the circumstances of Mrs. Helen Camden’s death and unknown situation involving her estate, along with the behavior of her son and daughter-in-law, the inheritance Helen left for Sadie was never conferred to the recipient. Instead, after a year, it was placed, at the request of the deceased, in a special trust until such a time should arise that Sadie Blackwell Camden or one of her descendants should present him or herself to collect. I am pleased to award this money to Clara Blackwell, only descendent of Sadie Blackwell Camden.

The letter went on to discuss more particulars, and I smiled. Even beyond the years, Oliver and Sadie had found a way to rescue someone else. Me. The money paid for the repairs to Blackwell’s that the insurance didn’t cover, and by mid-January the doors had once again opened to the people of Asheville.

But life did not go on as before.

I had tasted the sweetness of dreams coming true and realized my heart belonged with Max and my love for books, but how to reconcile the two? The only way it could be done was with someone who loved Blackwell’s as much as I.

I made Robbie co-owner of the shop, allowing me to work in the United States but also giving me freedom to travel to a very special part of England. Mother came with me once, a grand tour of the Lake District, Fenwick, Camden House, the gatehouse, and Max’s garden. She met Maggie, who regaled us both with many more stories of Victoria and their family memories.

Actually, it was Mom who finally spurred me into knowing exactly what I wanted…besides Max. One day as we walked from the gatehouse to Camden House, enjoying the spring blooms of the Lake District, she said, “Imagine what a bookshop or a library would do for Fenwick!”

Mother passed away in her sleep in June. I knew she was gone before I even opened her bedroom door. As far back as I could remember, she’d greeted me in the morning with a cup of tea and a kiss on the cheek, and that morning in June when I descended the stairs to a very quiet house, so still I could feel her