Hearts That Survive Part 45

She nodded. "When you asked what I wanted most for him, I almost said 'me.' But 'me' is not enough."

"And he's not enough for you."

"I know. I've already pulled away. Just not in my heart." "You know how Caroline says people react differently. Some come around quickly, some slowly. Maybe I can speed things up a little. Trust me."

She had no idea what he meant, but as they walked back toward the house, over the open fields spread out before them, the mist had risen.

79.

Alan thought Beau might give him some advice. "I've messed up with Joanna. We were doing fine. She was delighted about the movie. Now it seems everything connected with it puts distance between us."

"Would you give up the movie to get back your relations.h.i.+p with her?"

"You're not serious?"

"If Joanna wants you and you want her and you'd be happier without the movie deal and all that's going on with it, I'll tear up the contract. You get to keep the advance."

Beau turned and left the room.

Would I really? Alan wondered.

Beau returned with the contract, which represented fame and fortune. Which was more important? That or Joanna?

Could he give up . . . his dream?

Not a chance. He said with confidence, "Tear it up."

Beau tore, saying, "This is the original. And I will throw it in the trash. You want to see?"

Alan didn't need to. Beau wouldn't mess around with him. The whole clan was probably fed up, and Beau wouldn't want the likes of him on a movie set. These were open, honest people. He might try it. "I've been a jerk most of my life. I don't deserve her." He shrugged, talking to himself really. "Now what do I do?"

"I can't tell you that. Have you read Once Upon?"

Alan shook his head. He was supposed to consult on a book, and he hadn't even read it. He'd been thinking fame and fortune.

"Try it," Beau said. "Your Grandfather might have words of wisdom for you."

That night, Alan propped himself up in bed. Great job! He'd just given up the chance of his life with no greater chance of renewing the relations.h.i.+p with Joanna.

But he started reading. Once Upon an English Country Garden-a love story.

A romance?

Henry George Stanton-Jones II wrote a romance?

The book became a best-seller in all Europe. All right. So his famous grandfather wrote a romance. He began to read.

Sensing my presence, she turned, the breeze teasing the bottom of her skirt, swirling it lightly around her ankles. Her gloved hand reached up to steady the straw hat on her black hair. I could feel her gaze but couldn't make out the eye color. She was all in white, standing with a background of the English Country Garden where colorful flowers swayed and danced and were as high and higher than she. She was so fair, and seemed to be a wisp of a girl. The white against the color made her all the more outstanding.

I had felt every emotion I'd ever heard of. But I never before felt what I did that day and knew it must be love.

I knew it was that indescribable word love so lightly tossed about.

I loved her.

She smiled faintly. And I knew she loved me too.

I couldn't speak. Could only offer my arm. She took it and we strolled along the garden path. Enjoying the beauty. Not the scenery so much as the knowing, the feeling, the absorbing the power of love.

Alan sighed. Well, his grandfather had known how to write a sweet little love story that appealed to the general population. Alan figured he could do better. Not on a love story, but something with action and drama. His life certainly had drama.

Then his eyes fell on the next line.

I should have known anything so beautiful, so perfect, so overwhelming, all-enveloping was simply too good to last.

That line kept him reading. Yes, it was the story of romance and love, but its being too good to last haunted every line after that.

Alan became engrossed with the character, and a.n.a.lyzed what he felt. The character hated G.o.d for letting her suffer. But he stifled his anger and hurt because her faith in G.o.d gave her strength, peace, a greater love of life, and an acceptance of leaving them all.

It was not until after her death that he called on that G.o.d in earnest. He'd felt her bearing children had weakened her further, but she left him with parts of herself. That faith, that knowledge gave him the will to live, to eventually write again.

Alan laid the book aside. No, the book wasn't about romance, but about the deepest emotions one can feel. About life, and love, and disappointment, and hating G.o.d, and learning to accept. His grandfather had learned hard lessons.

Alan looked at the t.i.tle Once Upon.

It started as a fairy tale.

Was the ending a fairy tale too?

Could one really-really and truly-know G.o.d's presence like his grandfather claimed? Was there a greater love than what human beings could give each other?

Alan read the author's note. Writing the story had given Stanton-Jones clarity. As he poured out his heart on paper, healing began. As he searched for G.o.d's answer when there seemed to be none, he began to experience that reaching for G.o.d, and putting the story down brought him relief.

No human could heal Stanton-Jones. Not his mother. Not his children.

But G.o.d's presence did.

It did not take away his grief and longing for her.

It gave him a reason to live, a reason beyond what anything on earth could give, beyond what any human could give.

"I've been a jerk," Alan admitted again to Beau the next morning. "I've been overwhelmed, to say the least." He laughed at himself. "But I don't how to find what your family has. What my grandfather had."

"Alan, they didn't come by it easily. You've heard their stories."

"I guess that's it," Alan realized. "Their struggles sound like stories that can be put in a book. But they are content. I don't really know how to go about having that in my life."

"Go fis.h.i.+ng," Beau said. "With Armand and David."

Alan didn't know if he'd ever be a fisherman, but Armand and David sure were. Alan knew he was in shallow water right now. Maybe someday he'd be able to go deeper. Now he needed to do what he feared, learning to be honest about who he was. He had no idea. He'd thought he was the son of an alcoholic. A soldier with a gun. A writer with no career. A descendant of royalty. None of that had brought him anything but grief. The fishermen said G.o.d would show him what he had in mind. That was rather daunting.

These people, who'd been through more trials than he could imagine, wanted to help. He thought about talking privately with Beau, but he knew that wouldn't work. These people were family. This wasn't about impressing Beau, or Joanna. And being honest would drive her further away, not endear him to her.

Something deep inside stirred, as it had done in church when he was just a boy, as David said it had done for him. Instinct said this was not about getting a girl, or getting a movie.

Joanna, Beau, Caroline, Armand, and he gathered around the kitchen table. Honesty would be accompanied by cookies and coffee.

Alan opened his heart to them. Exposed his limitations, his doubts, his fears, his aspirations. "I'm not taking that advance for something I'm not doing. I'll find a job."

"You have writing experience," Beau said. "Think you could evaluate and edit scripts, and read novels and review them for movies?"

"I'd sure like to try."

"Doesn't pay much."

"Some is better than none. And I've supported myself." Be honest. "Barely."

"Fine. We'll try it for a while and see how it works out."

Armand spoke up, "And you're welcome to stay in the lake house during this trial period."

Alan knew they were giving him the chance to prove himself. "I don't want-" His words stopped when he looked at Caroline, who had told her story about the need to, and joy of, helping others. He cleared his throat. "Thank you." He needed these people.

"I'd like to know all you can tell me about-" He almost couldn't say it. "My relatives. And especially little Henry." He didn't mean their prestige or money.

They seemed to like that.

"And Alan," Beau said, "before you're too hard on yourself, know that my aspirations have always been fame and fortune. It's one reward of doing something well. We just need to get it in perspective."

Alan was too tough to cry.

So he didn't know why his face was wet.

But so was Joanna's. And Beau seemed to have something in his eye.

Joanna admitted to Beau she had some soul-searching to do too. "You know why he swept me off my feet?"

Some of Craven's mannerisms must have been pa.s.sed down to Beau, who could answer a question with a minute s.h.i.+ft of his eyes. Beau did that, and then he grinned.

She might as well admit it out loud. "It was part of the fantasy. And his relations.h.i.+p to Stanton-Jones and his love story and the English Country Garden. But I'll bet you knew that."

"I've known how much you love that book since you were twelve."

"And I'll bet you're trying to teach me a lesson too, by not making that movie."

"You still have a few things to learn."

Yes, she did. Like who and what Alan Morris was.

"How do you feel about him now that he's not a concept?"

"Well, he is gorgeous." She laughed at his warning look. "But there's nothing more appealing than a man who really wants to learn why G.o.d put him here. I mean, look at you, G.o.d's done a fair job with you."

"Ah." He frowned. Then they hugged.

After a few weeks, Beau said, "Alan is doing an excellent job. He has more creativity and expertise than this job requires."

Joanna knew that meant career possibilities for Alan. If he didn't break the heart of Beau's niece.

Joanna knew she had to learn who and what Alan was, the same as he did. They often sat in the kitchen and collaborated on some of the more difficult scripts or novels. They discussed, and talked, and walked, and sat on the patio and learned about each other.

It didn't take long for her to realize Alan's wonderful qualities. Like her family and friends, he too was a survivor. He'd survived the loss of his mom, the tragedy of his dad's inability to cope, a war, and his own humiliation of false pride.

One evening she walked down along the lake. He came out to join her. After one of their honest talks he said, "I would like to offer you the world, Joanna, but I have nothing to offer."

"What do you think I want?"

He sighed. "I think we want the same thing, what Caroline and Armand have."

She nodded.

"But I can never live up to your standards," he said.

"Neither can I," she replied softly.

He knew what that meant. No one was strong enough, good enough. They needed the Lord's help. "Perhaps," he said, "we could learn together."

They might start with a kiss, and she raised her face to his. The kiss began as the sun sank into the horizon. By the time they finished, the surroundings were dark, but she felt rather light-headed. His smile dimpled his gorgeous face. She had to warn herself about that broom sweeping.

80.

Lydia came to the country house two weeks before the wedding date. They'd been friends for almost fifty years, but on this matter Caroline couldn't be sure of Lydia's reaction.

"Let's have our tea outside," Caroline suggested that lovely spring afternoon. They picked up their cups.

Lydia looked toward the hallway. "Aren't Bess and Joanna joining us?"