Page 28 of Love Story

The words struck me as so simple yet full of longing.Samuel.SC?The name tugged at something in my memory: Samuel P.Caldwell, the founder of Caldwell Crossing.Harriet had mentioned him before, and not only was his name was on the library, but his life was also woven into the stories of the town’s history.As I stared at the letter, my pulse quickened.The writing had been scrawled with a passion that felt almost too personal to read.

I hesitated, unsure if I should read more.These weren’t just letters—they were glimpses into someone’s life, someone’s love.But the curiosity was too much to ignore.I unfolded another, the delicate paper threatening to tear at the crease.

Dearest Samuel,

This afternoon, I glimpsed a butterfly, its wings painted in gold and red, and it made me think of you.How could it not, when you are always on my mind, and I only want to fly away with you from all those who stop us?

I love you more than words can ever tell.Nothing in this world could ever stop my love for you.

Meet me under the moonlight in our place.

Forever yours,

Clara

The words painted a picture—two people meeting secretly, their love hidden from a world that didn’t understand what they felt about each other.And the grove under the moonlight?I didn’t know where that was, but I bet it was in town.

This was exciting.

I read another letter, then another, each revealing more of their story.Clara’s words were full of poetry, longing, and hope.She wrote about Samuel as though he was her entire world, describing where they should meet—by the barn, the grove, or the old stone wall.

When I sat back, the letters gathered in my lap, my mind buzzed, then I tracked down Harriet, who was sorting books on shelves.

“I found these letters,” I announced, offering them to her.

She turned her attention to me.

“In the boxes,” I added and waggled them, so she’d take them, which she did.

Her eyes widened as she examined the fragile sheets.

“Oh my,” she murmured.“These are incredible.”She adjusted her glasses to read the text.“I’ve never seen these before.”

“They were in a box,” I repeated.

She nodded.“So, you said.”

“In with some farming journals and some magazines.Is this the Samuel P.Caldwell from this library?”

“I believe so.He married a Clara for sure.”

Puzzle solved.And that was a shame because I loved a good mystery.

“Does the town have a historical society?”

Her eyes lit up.“We do.”

I watched her trace the faded handwriting with her finger.“They’d probably love to have something like these on display.”

“I’ll let them take a look, but you know who shouldreallysee these?”she asked, smiling at me.

I frowned.“Who?”

“Sam,” she said as though that meant something.“You know, the man who pulled you out of the ditch?”

“Sam?”

“Yes.Sam.You know, Samuel P.Caldwell’s great-great-grandson.I told you the first time you visited the library.

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