Yours Truly, Thomas Read online

  “I want to live in Azure Springs with the friends we get to meet in Rachel Fordham’s Yours Truly, Thomas. This story is a cup of romance, a pinch of mystery, and a savory plot seasoned with memorable characters (including a wayward dog) all trying to find their way in worlds turned upside down. Yours Truly, Thomas is the perfect read to lift your spirits. It did mine!”

  Jane Kirkpatrick, award-winning author of Everything She Didn’t Say

  “Yours Truly, Thomas is a beautiful love letter of forgiveness and redemption penned into a story I couldn’t put down.”

  Natalie Walters, author of Living Lies

  “A deeply satisfying romance that will make you believe in the power of hope and second chances.”

  Jennifer Beckstrand, author of Home on Huckleberry Hill

  “Set in the beloved world of Azure Springs, Yours Truly, Thomas is a charming and wistful story of a young man who pours out his regrets, hopes, and dreams in letters that will never be delivered. When Penny, an employee at the dead letter office, reads the letters, she’s captivated and longs to help. What follows is a journey of love and healing, told with beautiful skill that will tug at readers’ hearts, reminding us that the rewards of faith, kindness, and love are sweet indeed.”

  Heather B. Moore, USA Today bestselling author

  “A tender story of finding courage to follow one’s heart, letting go of past pain, and the healing power of redemption.”

  Donna Hatch, award-winning romance author

  “Reminiscent of Grace Livingston Hill’s enchanting novels filled with adorable heroines and sweet love stories, Yours Truly, Thomas is a pure and simple romance sure to delight readers.”

  Dawn Crandall, award-winning author of The Everstone Chronicles series

  “Rachel Fordham’s Yours Truly, Thomas is a love story to cherish and make you believe in the healing power of love. This is a story to hold to your heart and reread again and again.”

  Regina Scott, award-winning author

  “Gentle and inviting as a summer breeze, this endearing book is sure to coax smiles and happy tears from every reader. Fans of historical romance will find within its pages all they hope for in a story from beginning to end.”

  Amber Lynn Perry, author of the Daughters of His Kingdom series

  “Faithful readers of Tracie Peterson or Karen Witemeyer will quickly be enveloped in the elegance and beauty of Yours Truly, Thomas. As an avid historical romance reader, I was guilty of even letting my coffee grow cold because I didn’t want to put this novel down (and that is no small thing)! An endearing story with characters you’ll instantly love, this is one you’ll revisit time and again. An instant historical romance classic!”

  Jaime Jo Wright, Christy Award-winning author of The Curse of Misty Wayfair and The House on Foster Hill

  “Fresh and uplifting, Fordham’s newest novel delivers a tender love story centered on a series of letters and the hopeless romantic who stumbles on them. From the dead letter office to the charming small town of Azure Springs, the heroine takes readers on her impulsive yet romantic journey to find answers for a stranger—and her own future. Yours Truly, Thomas weaves a unique tale of two people who had reached a dead end only to find there may be more ahead for them both.”

  Joanna Davidson Politano, author of A Rumored Fortune

  “Yours Truly, Thomas delivers a sweet and appealing romance with a healthy dose of humor. Rachel Fordham’s intriguing characters grapple with grief and guilt and becoming new people, which adds depth and heart to this warm story. Pour yourself your favorite beverage and prepare to get lost in this delightful story.”

  Sarah Sundin, award-winning and bestselling author of The Sea Before Us and The Sky Above Us

  © 2019 by Rachel Fordham

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1786-5

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

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

  For Dad—

  Thank you for sliding letters under my door when I was a stubborn teenager and for so much more.

  For Mom—

  Who read me stories when I was little and reads all of mine now.

  A girl couldn’t ask for better parents. Love you both.

  Contents

  Cover

  Endorsements

  Half Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

  —C. S. Lewis

  Prologue

  After letting an involuntary squeal escape, Penny pulled the yellowed papers closer and pressed her lips to them. Then she began to devour the words.

  My Darling,

  I’ve been away only a fortnight and already I feel a deep ache for you. I dream at night of your beautiful face, and sometimes I reach out and try to touch it. The two of us were meant to never be apart.

  Penny stopped reading and sighed as she rolled onto her side, careful not to bump the mahogany frame of the bed under which she lay. She closed her eyes.

  In her mind’s eye, she was much older than her ten years, taller, and womanly. She wore a long green dress made of silk and taffeta that matched her eyes perfectly and fit each curve like a glove. The dress swished as she walked, and when she spun around, it flowed like a perfect ocean wave.

  A man approached. He was tall and handsome. “My darling,” he said. Then he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

  She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the flickering light of the lantern.

  She’d discovered the stack of letters the day before while playing hide-and-seek with the maid’s children. Since laying eyes on them, she’d thought of nothing but getting to them and reading every word again and again.

  After eating dinner the next day, she’d crept away, telling her parents she was tired and wanted to sleep. Instead, she’d rushed to her parents’ room, slid between the carved legs of their four-poster bed, and pushed herself underneath where she’d found the box of worn papers.

  Penny c
ringed, knowing she’d been deceitful.

  “Penny?” Her father’s voice came into the room. “Penny, I know you’re in here somewhere. The staff saw you enter the room. I’m afraid you’ve been caught.”

  She blew out the lantern as quickly as she could and pulled her legs in tight. Perhaps if she held her breath and closed her eyes, she’d not be found. She opened her eyes a sliver when she heard a tapping noise. The tip of her father’s boot was visible beneath the bedding.

  “How strange it is that my daughter is not in her room and that she was seen entering mine.” Her father’s foot continued to tap against the floorboard. “I wonder what she could be up to. It’s not like my girl to be keeping secrets from me.”

  Guilt gnawed at her conscience. Her father was her dearest friend. To lose his trust would be unbearable. She pushed her toes against the floor, propelling her forward so that her head poked out from under the bed. “I’m here.”

  Her father lowered himself to the floor and sat beside her. He pursed his lips. His dark eyes did not look angry though. They remained the same kind, patient eyes she had known her whole life. “Are you hiding from me or something else? We haven’t bandits around, have we?”

  Penny pulled herself the rest of the way from under the bed. “No bandits.” With her head bowed, she handed him the letters. “I took these. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to read them so badly. I was afraid you’d say no and I’d never see what they said.”

  The letters looked so small in his large hands. He took a deep breath. “There are personal things in these letters. I wrote them for your mother’s eyes only. You may not understand it now, but some words are meant only for a man and a wife.” He paused. Then he laughed softly as he brushed at a cobweb that had entwined itself with her hair. “Seems we need to hire you to clean beneath the beds.”

  He flipped the letters back and forth in his hands. “I should be angry you took these.”

  Penny eased closer to her father. So close she could smell the sweet scent of his shaving soap and touch his suit jacket.

  “But I’m not.”

  Relieved to not be in trouble, she let out a puff of air. “I dream about love. But what does it really mean to love someone?”

  He smiled. “I love your mother.” He tilted his head toward her as though he were sharing a brilliant secret. “If I finish my work early enough, I stop by the candy shop. I buy you a stick of penny candy because you like it and because you’re my lucky Penny. I buy your mother maple candy. It’s her favorite. When I bring it to her, I like to sneak up behind her and tell her to close her eyes. She acts surprised even though she knows I’ve brought her a sweet.”

  “That’s love? Candy?” She looked at the stack of letters, wishing she could read them. Surely, they had a simpler explanation.

  “Yes. That and so much more. Love’s . . . well, love is candy and walks underneath a starlit sky. It’s babies and . . . it’s trying to make the other person’s life better. It’s many things.”

  Her father tapped the tip of her nose, which made her smile. Was that love too?

  “You should believe in love. It’s real. It’s all around you, just in different forms. You’ll see as you grow. You’ll realize that not all love looks like the love I have for your mother. Don’t you worry. I’ll be here to teach you all about love.” He stood up with the letters in hand. “I better go tell your mother that you’re not lost. She worries about you.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why.”

  “Her worrying—that’s love too.”

  “I’m not sure I like that kind of love. I want dancing and ball gowns and candy love.” She stood and brushed the dust from the front of her dress.

  “You’ll look lovely in a ball gown. And there’s nothing wrong with sweets every now and then, but keep your eyes open.” He winked at her. “You don’t want to miss the love that’s perfect for you just because you’re too busy searching for a fairy tale.”

  Penny furrowed her brows. She wasn’t sure she liked the practical spin her carefree father was putting on her romantic notions. “I suppose I’ll have to grow up first before I know what it’s like.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Now no more snooping around.”

  She agreed.

  “And one more thing. Promise me that when you think you’ve found yourself a love match, you’ll tell me all about him.”

  Once again, she agreed. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  1

  WASHINGTON, DC, 1883

  Dear Clara,

  I lied. I told myself I had run westward for the promise of big sky and fertile soil. But the truth is, I just ran. I thought if Virginia were behind me, then I’d be able to leave you there. I thought if I was far enough away, then my heart would heal or at least forget. I thought I would be able to close my eyes and see something other than your face. I was wrong. You are everywhere. All around me and especially inside me. My heart hurts so deeply. If only I could go back and begin again, then perhaps there’d be a way to escape the agony.

  I rode a train for a few days, then joined a group of settlers with their wagons. I suppose the idea of a wagon and horses would be amusing to you. No doubt, the very idea of it would earn me a soft giggle from you. I can almost hear the sound of it in my mind. Even to me the idea seems humorous.

  I didn’t make it west, at least not as far as I’d planned. We had only just begun the wagon journey when my wagon tipped, leaving me with bumps and bruises. I blame the horses, but it may have been my fault. So many things are. The damage was not repairable and so the party moved on without me. I could board a train and ride it farther west, but I think I’ll wait for a new wagon. Then I can see the country as I go. Perhaps the agony of the wait and the slow journey will be some sort of penance or liberation. I know not. I expect this pain I carry in my heart will follow me wherever I go. I know, though, that before I ran west, I’d never paused and looked around me so often as I did during the few days I rode the trail. I never knew how vast and wide the world is or how incredibly small I am. Alexandria had always been my everything, but there is more out there. A whole world I’d thought nothing of.

  So, here I am in a strange little town that consists of a few dusty streets surrounded by endless fields. I’ve taken up residency in the local boardinghouse. It’s a ghastly yellow building with a bright red door that always smells of baked bread and lye soap. The smell is welcoming enough, but I still feel a bit like a foreigner in someone else’s land. New sights, new noises, new people. Only the unrelenting ache in my chest remains the same. That ache I carry is for you and for dreams of what might have been. This is not the life I ever wanted. I see you in the town. I see you in my mind. And each time I see you, the ache worsens. Why does it have to be this way? I’ve decided that living with the constant shadow of what might have been is the hardest lot to bear. Regrets are heavy, horribly heavy. I tried to hide from them, but they followed me.

  Lost and running,

  Thomas

  Penny leaned her head against the back of her chair and sighed. She pressed a hand to her own heart. It ached, just as Thomas’s did. Out of loneliness, regret, and on occasion, despair. She tilted her head toward the far wall of the dead letter office and let her eyes roam across a matted and framed map of the country. When her father was still alive, they’d dreamed of travel, of adventure. His eyes had always twinkled when he spoke of riding out of the city, away from the hustle of life. Penny looked away. Like Thomas’s dreams, they were only regrets now. Her father was gone. And, oh, how she wished he were here. If only she could run to him and tell him her woes and plead with him for advice. It was not to be. She was a clerk struggling to pay bills and nothing more.

  During her three years at the dead letter office, she had learned to spot the correspondence of lovers. The letters full of syrupy words and flowery endearments were distracting. No, she craved the letters that capture
d the heart of the writer. Letters that revealed the depth of their love and strength of their promises, that allowed her for a moment to believe there was something more than toiling endlessly to survive. Thomas’s words rang true, and despite his sorrow, he seemed a man full of heart. A man capable of loving someone deeply.

  Penny looked again at Thomas’s letter. The paper was plain and unscented. A ripple just below the name had caught her eye. Running her thumb over it now, she could feel where the paper had warped. A tear perhaps. Was his heart so broken that he had wept as he wrote? What it must be like to have a man so in love that he’d shed tears for you.

  Sitting with the letter in her hands was almost enough to make the rows of desks filled with hard-working clerks fade away. She closed her eyes and pictured another place, somewhere outside of DC, where there was a man whose heart was beating for another. Without a single clue about Thomas’s physical appearance, she pictured him. A broken man bent over his desk, writing the desires and despair of his heart. She could almost smell the scent of sourdough bread baking, and out the window she saw golden fields of wheat. His hand painstakingly transcribing the pain he carried within.

  “Look, Dinah.” She leaned toward her friend and fellow clerk. “This one is from Thomas to Clara. He left her for the West, but I can tell he longs for her to join him.” She pressed the letter to her heart. “Or for her to beckon him back. It’s oddly romantic, isn’t it? A man separated from his love.”

  “It’s just a letter. I don’t think it’s overly romantic,” Dinah whispered.

  “No, it’s more than a letter. It’s this man’s life. And now his life is in my hands. I have to help Clara get to him.”

  “You’re just a clerk.” Dinah rolled her eyes. The two had a long-standing friendship despite their many differences. “I don’t believe the job requires matchmaking.”

  Penny shook her head. “I can’t explain it. Some of the letters call to me and others do not.” She let out a heavy sigh. Dinah’s practical nature would never allow her to understand. Everything about Dinah was calculated and well thought out, from the stiff brown skirt she wore to the tight bun on her head. She certainly wasn’t one to be swept away by emotions. “I feel as though their love story depends on me. If I do nothing, he could spend months, years even, waiting for his true love. Always wondering.” Penny’s throat tightened. “No one should have to live with regrets. I understand about life going differently than we want it to. In a small way it’s as though I can feel his pain.”