The Rescue
Authors: Lori Wick
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota
Cover photos © Rob Wilkinson, Rubberball, Linda Kennedy / Alamy
THE RESCUE
Copyright © 2002 by Lori Wick
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-2530-3
Library of Congress has cataloged the edition as follows:
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wick, Lori.
The rescue / Lori Wick.
p. cm. —(The English garden series ; bk. 2)
ISBN 978-0-7369-0911-2 (pbk.)
1. England—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3573.I237 R47 2002
813' .54—dc21
2002004553
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—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America.
09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 / RDM-CF / 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book is dedicated to my
Sunday school class, 2001-02:
Abby, Alexa, Ana, Andy, Drew, Erin, Ethan,
Joseph, Kevin, Lydia, Marissa, Micah, Molly,
Naomi, Nathaniel, Olivia, Rose, Sean, Sophia,
Tess, Tyler, and Zach.
Each one of you has touched my heart in a
deep and special way. I grew so much during
our study on the names of God, and you are
part of the reason. My prayer is that you will
long remember the truths we learned about our
great God—and that you will serve Him
with all your heart.
Contents
The title of this book,
The Rescue,
describes much more than the story within the cover. It also speaks of certain “rescues” in my own life. Below are the ones I need to thank for throwing me a lifeline.
Jesus Christ. I’ve never spoken of Christ in my acknowledgments before. I’ve never wanted to fall into some sort of mindless habit. But this time I would like to give Him praise and thanks for the ultimate rescue. Had God not interrupted me on my path of destruction, giving me the gift of His Son and eternal life, I would be lost indeed. I praise Him with all my heart for loving me so much.
The pastors at my church: Phil, Todd, Mark, and Darwin. I don’t always want to hear what you have to say, but I’m so thankful for your faithfulness to the Word. I’ve been snatched from the brink of sin on many occasions.
My mother, Pearl Hayes. Thank you for your diligence in the Word, Mom. Like Anne’s mother, you’ve always been a remarkable student of Scripture. Thank you for all you’ve taught me and for being one of my best friends. I love you.
The women at Denise’s Bible study. Thank you for your prayers and listening ears. Your kindness and compassion have taught me so much. I’m so thankful for each of you.
Mary Vesperman. It’s occurred to me, Mary, that you’re one of my favorite people on the planet. This manuscript was such a challenge with the calendar and clock breathing down our necks, but we hung in there. Thank you for all your hard work and dedication. It’s an honor working with you, my friend.
Bob Wick. You’ve rescued me so many times I think you must keep a life preserver in your pocket. Thank you for being there. Thank you for continued growth and support. And for acknowledging that sometimes we rescue each other.
London, England
April 1811
“Are you all right?” Lenore Weston asked of her son, Robert Weston. The rain drizzled around them, falling from the tips of the large, dark umbrella that gave them some shelter.
“Yes,” he answered quietly, but his eyes remained riveted on the casket at their feet.
“Mr Reynolds will be waiting for us at the house.”
Weston sighed quietly. “Why must it be today?”
Lenore smiled a bit. “I don’t know, but it always is.”
“Very well,” Weston said as he turned them both away. “Let’s get on with it.”
Mother and son made their way to the waiting carriage and were soon on their way to Berwick, the London home of the late Mrs Alice Dixon, Lenore Weston’s mother. Not 20 minutes passed before they were in the library. Mr Reynolds, the family’s solicitor, stood with his back to the fire, Mrs Dixon’s will in his hand. Tea had been served, and once the businessman had enjoyed his cup, he began.
“It’s all very straightforward,” Mr Reynolds informed them. “Everything has been yours for some years now, Mr Weston, with the exception of certain privileges and revenues. The living rights to Berwick now turn to you, Mrs Weston, for as long as you live.” He folded the papers and set them on the table. “Are there any questions?”
“No,” Weston said, wanting to be alone with his thoughts.
It was a relief to see the solicitor to the door, thank him for his kind service and attention to detail, and return to the warmth of the library. Lenore was still in her chair, eyes on the fire, and Weston was confident she would want quiet as well.
He was wrong. He’d not been seated for more than a minute when she spoke.
“Did your grandmother ever tell you how much she wished you to live at Brown Manor?”
“At Collingbourne?” Weston asked in some surprise.
“Yes. She remembered how you loved it as a child. Did she never mention it?”
“No, never.”
Quiet fell for some moments.
“What of the residents?” Weston asked.
“It’s been empty for more than a year.”
Weston shook his head in self-derision. “How did I miss that?”
“It’s not been an easy year for you,” Lenore said compassionately.
Weston didn’t reply.
“Is it getting any better?” his mother asked, not certain if she should.
“It’s been more than a year…”
An answer which was no answer at all, causing Lenore to fall silent.
“Why do you ask?” Weston asked finally, turning his head to see her.
“You haven’t been the same since Henrietta canceled things between you. I assume you still care very much.”
“I do still care. I don’t hurt as I did, but I do care.” Weston’s gaze went back to the fire. “I’ve heard rumors that she moved to France.”
“I’ve heard the same.”
“So your wanting me to move out of London has nothing to do with the chance that I might bump into Henrietta here?”
“Yes and no. You don’t have to see someone to be reminded of them. I just thought it might be a nice change, and I know the church there is very fine.”
“I must be honest and tell you, Mother, that I have no wish to marry. I’m quite content as I am.”
“I’m very glad for you, Robert; truly I am. You must know that even if it were in my power, I would never force or even pressure you to take a bride. My suggestion comes only with thoughts of your heart and, perhaps, the good a change could do.”
Weston smiled at her.
“I’ll think about it. Thank you.”
With a tender touch to his shoulder, Lenore took her leave and retired to her room. She didn’t think she would see her son until dinner, but he was knocking on her door just an hour later.
“I’ve sat for the last hour,” Weston told his mother, “and thought and prayed about nothing but Brown Manor. I’ve never known such peace. It’s not so very far from London, and I agree the change would be good.”
Weston suddenly smiled. “I think it’s time to leave the nest.”
Lenore reached to hug him.
“When will you go?”
“I’ll send Mansfield in a few weeks and follow later on. I’ll secure affairs here and then go. Maybe you’ll visit me?”
Lenore smiled. “I’ll let you go and get settled. After that, nothing could keep me away.”
