Faces of Love Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Lily Orevba

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Typewriter Pub, an imprint of Blvnp Incorporated

  A Nevada Corporation

  1887 Whitney Mesa DR #2002

  Henderson, NV 89014

  www.typewriterpub.com/[email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-64434-077-6

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  FACES OF LOVE

  LILY OREVBA

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  DAY 1

  TWO

  DAY 2

  THREE

  DAY 2

  FOUR

  DAY 3

  FIVE

  DAY 4

  SIX

  DAY 4

  SEVEN

  DAY 4

  EIGHT

  DAY 5

  NINE

  DAY 5

  TEN

  DAY 7

  ELEVEN

  DAY 7

  TWELVE

  DAY 7

  THIRTEEN

  DAY 7

  FOURTEEN

  DAY 7-8

  FIFTEEN

  DAY 8

  SIXTEEN

  DAY 8

  SEVENTEEN

  DAY 8

  EIGHTEEN

  DAY 9

  NINETEEN

  DAY 9

  TWENTY

  DAY 9

  TWENTY-ONE

  DAY 9-10

  TWENTY-TWO

  DAY 10

  TWENTY-THREE

  DAY 10

  TWENTY-FOUR

  DAY 11

  TWENTY-FIVE

  DAY 12

  TWENTY-SIX

  DAY 12

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  DAY 14

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  DAY 14

  TWENTY-NINE

  DAY 14

  THIRTY

  DAY 15

  THIRTY-ONE

  DAY 17

  THIRTY-TWO

  DAY 17

  THIRTY-THREE

  DAY 18

  THIRTY-FOUR

  DAY 18

  THIRTY-FIVE

  DAY 20

  THIRTY-SIX

  DAY 20

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  DAY 20

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  DAY 21

  THIRTY-NINE

  DAY 21

  FORTY

  DAY 21

  FORTY-ONE

  DAY 22

  FORTY-TWO

  DAY 22

  FORTY-THREE

  DAY 22

  FORTY-FOUR

  DAY 22

  FORTY-FIVE

  DAY 22

  FORTY-SIX

  DAY 22

  FORTY-SEVEN

  DAY 23

  FORTY-EIGHT

  DAY 23

  FORTY-NINE

  DAY 23

  FIFTY

  DAY 24

  FIFTY-ONE

  DAY 24

  FIFTY-TWO

  DAY 24

  FIFTY-THREE

  DAY 24

  FIFTY-FOUR

  DAY 25

  FIFTY-FIVE

  DAY 25

  FIFTY-SIX

  DAY 28

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  DAY 28

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  DAY 28

  FIFTY-NINE

  DAY 28

  SIXTY

  DAY 28

  SIXTY-ONE

  DAY 29

  SIXTY-TWO

  DAY 29

  SIXTY-THREE

  DAY 29

  SIXTY-FOUR

  DAY 29

  SIXTY-FIVE

  DAY 30

  To my readers whose constant support has kept me writing.

  To Francine Rivers, whose book, Redeeming Love, was the inspiration behind this one.

  To my family.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SAN FRANCISCO, 1888

  Animal

  The snores emanating from the lips of the man beside her could very well have been coming from a pig.

  Her eyes ran over him in disgust, the frown on her face deepening, leaving her with a dull headache. Her skin still crawled from having his hands trail the length of her body in the most demeaning manner, his saliva, and cologne clinging to her skin as she dismissed the overwhelming desire to suffocate him with a pillow.

  Sighing softly, Gloria slipped out of bed and settled on bare feet on the carpet. Flexing her toes, she stretched both her hands above her head and let out a soft yawn before rising to her feet, exhausted. Taking cautious steps towards her clothes that sat on the chair across the room, she stood in the darkness and pulled the soft fabric over her skin. She loved this part of her job―getting dressed. While it did nothing to wipe her stained reputation, it did end her torture. She could get dressed; get rid of whichever pig it was that chose to grace her bed in that particular moment; and forget for a few seconds who she was and what she did.

  Straightening, she turned her attention back to the redhead who was now turned fully on his back, the sight of his unclad body forcing a frown to return to her face. It was hard to imagine the redhead mayor who lay unashamedly bare before her, was the same man who joined the entire town to condemn and shun her.

  And his wife…

  Ah, the look on Mrs. Bradley’s face would be priceless if she was privileged to see her husband comfortable in the bed of sin. Gloria wondered where the nosy gossip believed her husband to be. A business meeting? A trip? A fundraiser for the church? No doubt the lying bastard would come up with something, and it was certainly no doubt his gullible wife would believe him.

  Mrs. Bradley would believe her husband as would every woman whose husband Gloria had given a taste of sin. And for this singular reason—she thought, as she made her way to Mayor Bradley’s discarded coat on the floor—she always took a souvenir.

  With a smile now creasing her face, she pulled out a customized button from his coat before making her way into the dark of the night.

  ***

  EUREKA SPRINGS, ARKANSAS

  “Perhaps we do not have to go in person. Perhaps it is possible to have a servant go on your behalf.”

  Stuart Sullivan paid no mind to his son, his eyes fixed on the pile of paper before him as he struggled to calculate the cost of his journey.

  The sound of wood scraping against cement pulled Stuart’s attention to his restless son who was now on his feet.

  “Do you intend to ignore me this entire time, Father?” Howard ran a weary hand through his hair.

  “Do we have to go over this again, Howard?” Stuart frowned, his attention returning to the task before him. He was trying his best to work out the cost of his journey, but it didn’t help that his eyes were failing. Frustrated, he pushed the document aside.

  “Will you have me
repeat how important this is to your mother?”

  “Mother?!” he spat. “The last time I checked, I have no mother, and you certainly have no wife.” His words were nothing new; it was the same response he gave to conversations involving his mother. Yet, they had a different effect on Stuart every time they were spoken. This time, the effect was pain. It was like a stab to his chest, draining him of whatever energy he thought he had left.

  Stuart leaned forward and placed his tired hands on the wooden desk before him. “Would it make you happy if I didn’t go, if I didn’t give your mother this one last wish she had?” He rubbed his aching eyes.

  “It would help if you wouldn’t bother spending so much on an ungrateful, undeserving woman who only returned to you when she needed you. When she knew she was dying…”

  “Howard!” he warned, anger rising to his chest. His limbs trembled, and he was thankful for the fact that he was seated.

  Howard stood before him, lips pursed. He ran his gaze down the length of his son and shook his head, saddened. He could hardly recognize the man who stood before him: the man who had become embittered and burdened by grief. For it was grief that led to Howard’s unbecoming attitude, grief rather than anger. Grief for a mother he never had, a mother whose absence in life left a void widened by death. It was the consequences of his mother’s absence that was slowly but surely turning him into a drunk—a sad, bitter alcoholic who spent most of his time in the brothels.

  “You will respect your mother’s memories.” Stuart knew his admonition would mean nothing to his son.

  “If you insist on this journey of yours, Father, then I’m coming with you to San Francisco. Not for her,” he spat, “but for you. I’m coming along to make sure nothing terrible happens to you on the way.”

  Stuart offered a tired smile. “Alright son, we’ll go to San Francisco together to sprinkle your mother’s ashes.”

  “I have no mother” ―Stuart heard Howard’s low growl― “and you had no wife.”

  The words made their way into his heart, filling him with great sadness for his son who was spiraling quickly down the path of destruction.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAN FRANCISCO

  Malicious whispers trailed every step Gloria took as eyes of steel and indignation bore into her flesh.

  With her chin raised up in the air, shoulders straight, and a smirk plastered on her face, Gloria made her way into the dress shop.

  The bell on the door announced her presence, drawing the attention of the entire store to her. She raised a brow and slowly ran her gaze over the faces of the women in the store who stood frozen in their tracks, glaring at her.

  She felt their eyes aim invisible fiery darts at her as she scanned the shelves for fabric for a new dress. These women might not agree on a lot of things, she thought, a smile curving her lips, but one thing they did seem to arrive at a consensus on was the fact that their town needed to be purged of sin and by sin, they meant Gloria Grande.

  If only she cared, she thought, the smile on her face broadening as she lifted a purple fabric that caught her fancy from the shelf and began heading toward another shelf on the other end of the store. She noticed as she walked that the store did seem a lot emptier than it was when she walked in. Ah, they couldn’t have good old sin rub off on their silky white garments.

  She ran her fingers down a red lace fabric, her eyes inspecting the intricacy of the gold patterns on it. This was the color of sin, a perfect portrayal of infidelity. It would suit her perfectly.

  “May I help you?”

  Gloria ignored the indignant voice behind her, knowing full well who it was that stood behind her: Bunny, the store owner.

  “Your presence in my store is making the few women who have not stormed out yet, very uncomfortable,” Bunny half-yelled.

  “Hello, Bunny.” Gloria turned to the blue fabric beside the red and ran her fingers over it.

  “I would prefer if you’d keep your soiled fingers to yourself. Heaven only knows where they have been.”

  Laughter escaped her lips as she turned to a piece of black fabric. “Do you not mean hell, Bunny? Hell only knows where my hands have been. Certainly, heaven will not stand to view my activities.”

  “You are not welcome here, you sinful woman!”

  She whirled around to face the brunette whose cheeks were burning red. “I’ll get what I want, and I’ll be out of your overly massive skirt which I’m certain can fit ten normal sized women and still have some extra space left in there for an eleventh.” Gloria hissed, anger bubbling in her chest.

  Bunny’s cheeks burned a brighter red, her hand immediately resting on her rounded waist.

  “You are not welcome in my store, and that’s that.” Bunny asserted in a shrill voice.

  “Well, Bunny, I would like to see you try to kick me out! If not, I would like to get back to shopping!” Gloria hissed, her gaze perusing the shelves that lined the wall.

  Who did these women think they were, anyway?! She gathered her skirt and began moving toward a bright purple dress that caught her attention at the end of the store. If Miss Coleen, the brothel owner, hadn’t insisted on the fact that Gloria needed a few new outfits, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.

  Gloria knew very well that Bunny would have had her kicked out of the store if it weren’t for the presence of her bulky escort, Max, who stood just outside the door, waiting for her to be done with her shopping.

  Deciding on the red fabric, she made her way to the counter where Bunny still had a glare squeezing her chubby face.

  “How much?” Gloria threw the fabric on the counter.

  “Sixty dollars!” Bunny spat.

  Gloria quirked a brow, her gaze running over the length of Bunny.

  Seeing the look of disdain in Gloria’s eyes, Bunny felt the need to explain. “Seeing as you sent half my customers storming out the front door because they could not bear the thought of shopping with a woman of your….profession, I figured you might as well pay for the money I lost along with those customers.”

  Without a word, Gloria pulled out the cash and slapped it on the counter. She had half a mind to tell Bunny of the fact that most of those monies already belonged to those women, but their husbands chose instead to spend it on Gloria, but Gloria chose not to. Besides, it wasn’t time to expose the skeletons in every husband’s closet, including Bunny’s.

  “Do have a lovely day, Bunny.” She smiled coyly, knowing she would be seeing Bunny’s husband before the week ends and he would certainly pay twice the money Bunny was making her part with. “And you should think of frowning less often; it does make you appear bloated.”

  With her package in hand, she made her way out of the store and towards the full glare of a wider audience.

  ***

  Stuart clung to the vase that held the remains of his dead wife, his fingers brushing lightly against the carvings of colorful flowers on the vase.

  It was nearly impossible to believe Hannah was dead. While they had been separated for many years, a part of him clung to the hope that someday they could fix their marriage would be and he would be given yet another chance at love, but death had taken that chance away.

  In spite of Hannah’s many shortcomings, Stuart loved her. Howard, on the other hand cared nothing for his mother. He saw his mother’s failures too many times. They were failures that created emptiness and a deep seated anger in his heart toward her. Yet, Stuart tried his best to get Howard to see his mother the same way Stuart had seen her: broken.

  It was the brokenness that eventually killed her.

  With a deep sigh, Stuart admitted to himself that he needed to let her go. This was the place she chose to be laid to rest: a peaceful hilltop in San Francisco. Perhaps it was her way of feeling a semblance of freedom. Stuart understood that his wife remained a prisoner until the very second of her death; he understood this fact very well.

  Pulling the lid off of the vase, he stared into it, ashes staring back at him. Not
too long ago, these ashes possessed the most beautiful smile. Not too long ago, this was his wife.

  “I love you, Hannah,” he whispered, a drop of tear falling down his cheek and landing inside the vase. He watched as the tear sank into the ashes. “Goodbye.”

  He poured the ashes out, the wind carrying it into the distance.

  Stuart wrapped his arms around himself and stood there for a while, feeling empty and alone. He could barely convince his legs to take him down the hill for there was barely anything to return to but a bitter son. Still, he knew supper would be served in only a few hours, and Howard would come in search of him if he didn’t return and the last thing he wanted was to listen to Howard’s grievances.

  Readjusting his hat on his head, Stuart turned with great difficulty and began his descent down the hill. He strolled the short distance down the buzzing street, his mind still fixed on the ashes he left behind.

  Thud!

  Stuart nearly fell backward when a hand suddenly reached out and steadied him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes lifting to find the most beautiful pair of green eyes staring back at him. “Forgive me, beautiful lady.” He bowed slightly.

  The woman who stood before him was a woman of rare beauty. Her fingers were covered in delicate white gloves that went all the way to her elbow. She wore a black gown and a white hat was seated comfortably on her head.

  She stared at him, something he couldn’t quite read clouding her eyes.

  “Are you talking to me?” She glanced around before turning to look back at him, eyes wide.

  Stuart chuckled a little at the surprised look that shrouded her features, making her appear like a child at Christmas.

  “I suppose.” He smiled.

  “I see.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Then, you’re new to this town?” She quirked a brow.

  “Hardly. I grew up here, got married here, and only moved to Arkansas when…” He paused, remembering the humiliating event that forced him to move.

  “No need!” She waved him off, a beautiful smile on her face. “Folks around here value their privacy-” She gasped and grabbed his wrist. Eyes searching his, he stared back at her in confusion. “Parkinson’s,” she whispered solemnly.