by Caryl McAdoo
“Bless you, Marcus. May the Lord cause His face to shine on you, and may He give you the desires of your heart.”
A mist wet his eyes, but he blinked them back. He managed a weak ‘thank you.’ A part of him wanted to stay. Ask what just happened. The better part wanted nothing to do with Jethro Risen’s religion.
A nod and a smile bid his adieu. Ford backed away a few steps then without another word, turned and hurried past the young man who stood just inside the door.
The tingling faded, but the man’s words echoed through his soul. Especially the part about the desires of his heart. Wouldn’t that be something? A loving Deity Who gave you whatever you wanted?
If only that was true. Life had proved otherwise. If there was a God, he sure paid poor attention.
Last he’d read, the papers claimed over half a million men and boys had died in the war. Too many to count returned home missing limbs.
Idiot Wallace could have come back to her without a leg and lived out his years with the love of his life.
Why hadn’t he? Ford would suffer anything for that end. He sighed, thinking again of the one cavalry charge he’d played a part.
And worse, with the fighting finally over, the Yankees ran roughshod over the South.
Utter nonsense, all of it. Slavery would have died a natural death without the war, and so many mothers and wives wouldn’t carry broken hearts…like his Rebecca. He loved her true, and if her kiss proved any indication, she loved him, too.
That was that. Once back in Texas, he’d marry her. Once he had the General’s blessing.
During a flurry of activity that he mostly avoided, all the last minute details came together in what had to be the best wedding ever. At least that’s what everyone kept saying during the reception.
To his way of thinking, being beside Rebecca during the whole shindig had to be the best part…the length of her shoulder against his.
Then it seemed once she and the boys joined him in the hired carriage heading to the pier, things changed. Her smiled had vanished…replaced with a forlorn expression that troubled him.
Someone had even thought to decorate the dock with bunting and extra lamps. A band played. How much money had Risen spent?
After all the glad handing and tearful goodbyes, the newlyweds boarded. Rebecca handed the boys off to Francy who carried Gabe and led Mick up the ramp.
He held her in his arms, ready to dance the entire night away to keep her there.
Mary Rachel and Jethro left first, then Gwen and Clay took their leave to get back to Mercy House. Both sisters coaxed his love away to hug them and say their teary goodbyes. He’d never understand the closeness between siblings.
Finally, just she and he remained, standing on the pier with the steamer at her back. What a portrait it would make, except he’d paint her the way she looked right before she kissed him.
She stepped in too close and looked up into his eyes. “Come, dear Marcus. Let’s have a coffee in the dining room.”
The moment passed along with the ethereal thrill of holding her all night. “Of course. Coffee sounds good.”
Did she float up the ramp as he did on the waves of love washing over? A waiter brought two steaming cups of the dark brew, and she stared into his eyes, sipping hers. Something bothered her.
Was it leaving San Francisco and her sisters? She’d said time and again she couldn’t wait to get the boys to Texas.
He blew into his cup, then slid some of the bitter hot coffee down his own throat. “What’s wrong.”
“It’s because…” She took his hands. “I’ve got to tell you something, Marcus.”
He hated the tone of her voice—so sorrowful—and hated the doom in her eyes.
Tears welled forming a glistening ridge along her thick lashes. They overflowed, and their trails gleamed in the extra lamplight.
“What, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
She squeezed hard. Her nails dug into his palms. “I…uh…Oh Lord, help me. Marcus, I love you, I truly do, but I can’t marry you. I cannot.”
“Of course you can. We love each other. You just professed it.”
What was she doing?
Tears streamed, but she didn’t wipe them, only stared at him. Her bottom lip quivered then stiffened, and she spoke in a raspy whisper. “You are not a Christian, and I cannot marry you. No matter how much I love you.”
He released her hands, stood and backed up a step. “You can’t mean that.”
“I’m sorry, but I do. It’d be terrible for both of us. The Bible says….”
“Stop.” He held his hand up. “Don’t quote scripture to me. I don’t care what a bunch of lunatics wrote hundreds of years ago. It has no bearing on us here and now.”
“But it does, Marcus. It’s God’s Word.”
He backed up another step. His own tears threatened, but he’d have none of that. She didn’t love him after all.
“It’s late. Let’s call it a night. We can talk about this later.”
“No. There’ll be no later. If you refuse to marry me, then….” A chill washed over his heart. No way could he spend a month being on board with her, knowing she didn’t love him.
“Come on, Marcus.” She stepped toward him and extended her hand. “Don’t be obstinate. You’ve paid for the ticket. Your bags are in your room.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. If I have to believe there’s a God up there somewhere that’s watching over me before we can be married then….” He backed away. “I love you, Rebecca Rusk. I’ll always love you, but…” He shrugged. “Apparently, that’s not enough. Goodbye, Rebecca. Tell Michael…tell him I’m sorry that I can’t be his daddy.”
Her chest heaved. A sob escaped. Her eyes spoke of love and longing.
Then her beautiful face turned to flint. She filled her lungs then turned and ran up the stairs without looking back. He held his ground until she reached the second floor landing.
She never turned, just vanished like that was that.
He spun around, wiped his cheeks, and marched away.
Got himself off the ship as fast as possible.
Rebecca held her tears until she reached her suite. The door to Francy’s and the boys’ room was closed. She threw herself across her bed and sobbed. She’d ruined her life. Why had she told him before the ship sailed?
Nothing went as planned. He took it all wrong. Instead of having a whole month to convince him he needed the Lord’s mercy and forgiveness, she’d lost him.
Worse, he was doomed for all of eternity.
The tears increased. She buried her face in her pillows. What an idiot! The man she’d been waiting for the whole of her life had finally shown up…and she ran him off.
A light tap pulled her up and off the bed. She wiped her cheeks. Had he changed his mind and boarded after all? She opened her door. Francy stood there holding a steaming mug.
“What did he say?”
How did she know? Had Mary Rachel been talking out of school?
Accepting the girl’s offering, Rebecca took a sip. Who told her she liked hot toddies? “Not much. Are the boys asleep?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right after we boarded. Michael fought it some, but with him missing his nap, he only lasted a page and a half. Mama said you were going to talk with Marcus about him not being saved. Is he open to the Lord at all?”
“No, I suppose not. I had what I was going to say all planned out, but….” She was a fool.
“He loves you. I know he does.”
The young lady’s words didn’t offer much solace. Marcus Ford loved her, wanted her more than his next breath. She’d thought that fact would hold up under any scrutiny.
“Apparently not enough. He’s still blaming God for his wife and baby girl dying.”
“Oh, no.” Francy nodded toward the settee then eased into the chair across from it. “How did that come to happen?”
Auntie shrugged then sat. “Yellow fever got them in…fifty-one or
two, I’m not sure. Put him in a morose mood. He burned all of the pictures he had of her, stopped painting all together until….”
The older lady looked off then took a sip of her drink. Shame it only had a tiny bit of whiskey. Sure appeared the old girl needed a stiffer shot.
“Poor, Marcus! How old was the baby?”
Rebecca looked at her but her focus seemed to be elsewhere, completely understandable. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Marcus’s baby. Do you know how old she was?”
She nodded. “Six months. Died in his arms a few minutes after his wife passed.”
“How horrible! Poor man! And you say he blames God?”
“Yes, I thought…oh mercy…I’m so stupid!” She shook her head, took a big pull off her drink, then stared into it.
“Want another?”
“Please.”
Francy got her aunt another toddy, but she refused a third, then excused herself without relaying much of exactly what had been said.
Hopefully, when the morning came, she could get the man alone long enough to hear his side. Hear if their relationship was really over.
Normally, Francy didn’t truck with leftovers, but with Marcus Ford, she’d make an exception.
A glimmer of hope pulled Rebecca from her latest doze. What a horrible night. She threw on her housecoat and held the portal’s curtain aside. The city showed signs of the new day.
The lamps still burned, casting long shadows of teams pulling wagons and longshoremen hurrying about.
Was Marcus among them?
Had he swallowed his pride and changed his mind about going with her?
Instead of brushing her wedding coiffure out, she fluffed and pinned it again then threw on a dress. Down the stairs to the galley, she procured a carafe of coffee then retreated to her room.
Before sunrise, they put out the gangplank one more time, and a few couples and two families boarded. As the sun rose higher, a flurry of last minute passengers crowded the dock.
Was Marcus amongst them?
She hurried out of her room and eased the boys’ door open. Three lumps in the bed told her all she needed to know. Quietly closing it, she rushed to find the doorway to the third floor railing.
The few men who could have been him dashed her hopes each time she got a better look.
Why was he waiting for the last minute?
The horn’s final blast that accompanied the crew pulling the gangplank aboard cut her heart.
He wasn’t coming.
He didn’t love her after all.
Not like she thought.
She waited until the big wheel began churning the bay’s water white. A few inches, then feet, then the steamer left the dock of the bay, heading out to open waters. Home to Texas. She filled her lungs then turned her attention to those who did love her.
Her boys…they were her life now. Should have known better.
What a fool to believe Marcus Ford could be the love of her life.
No way under Heaven would Father God send a heathen to be her husband or her children’s daddy. She may never meet the man created especially for her.
Or maybe she already had, and Wallace was as good as it got. She’d always considered him a best friend…and truly loved him, but with Marcus….
Well, she’d never experienced anything to compare.
Still….
Once the steamer turned away from the wharf, and his love went back inside, Ford stepped from the shadows.
She didn’t love him after all. Not like he thought.
Stubborn woman. Putting her religion ahead of him. Wasn’t like he objected to her going to church. Why should he care if she even took the boys?
He didn’t.
Insisting that he believe in a fictitious loving God who watched over him was beyond the pale. Ludicrous. How could she ever think he would?
Especially after what happened.
He walked to the dock’s edge. The side wheel bit into the bay, churning its gray-green waters, propelling the ship farther away by the minute. She was gone. Just like he’d told her last night. He’d always love her.
But… A mist blurred his vision, and he could imagine the steamer being an evil monster of the deep carrying off the one perfect woman.
What a fool to think she loved him.
A cloud shrouded his heart, but that time—unlike when he lost Julia and Michele, he had no grave to mourn over or decorate with flowers and little gifts for his Mimi girl. Why was this happening again?
For so long, he’d refused to even think of love. Then Rebecca came into his life with the key to his heart.
Once she owned it though, she tore it to pieces. And what over? Not believing in a merciful creator. What nonsense. If a God existed up there, the entity sure wasn’t watching over anyone.
Probably, the truth leaned toward what the Greeks thought, warring factions that delighted in tormenting their rival’s favorites. But that didn’t make sense either. And no religion he’d ever heard about did.
At the last glimpse of her steamer, he turned away from the sea. Of their own, his feet propelled him away from the dock. Hours later—or was it just minutes? He didn’t know or care—he found himself in the lobby of a hotel.
Room and board for a week took a chunk of his cash, but what did it matter? Neither did the dollars paid extra for a third-story view of the ocean. Maybe God could prove to Marcus that He did indeed reside in heaven.
Perhaps He would cause the ship to turn back.
He pulled a chair to the open window and went to watching. “You out there, God? If You are, bring her back to me.”
Francy patted the baby’s back until she got his man-sized burp then increased her rocking by half again. Soon enough, Gabe’s breathing slowed, and he snuggled in tighter. She gave him ten more slowed wobbles then eased him into his bed.
She soft-shoed into the next room. Michael practiced his numbers on his chalkboard, while the boy’s mother read her Bible.
“Unless you need me to stay, thought I’d explore the ship some.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No, you go ahead, honey.”
“Need me to fetch anything for you?”
The boy looked up and grinned. “Big ol’ bag of candy and a sharp sword to stick the alligators with.”
She returned his mirth. “No, and no. Well…if I find a small wooden one, maybe.”
Her aunt’s eyebrow raised a fraction, but she made no other comment. She could tell getting to know Aunt Rebecca would be fun.
Watching the relationship between the little fellows and their new mama reminded her of when she and her adopted mama got to know each other. Who wouldn’t love those adorable little boys?
One stroll around the whole third floor stretched her legs enough. Though she didn’t really expect to find Marcus, she’d hoped to run into him. After searching the two top floors—surely he wouldn’t be in steerage, would he?—she headed back to the suite she shared with Auntie and the man-plants.
On the way by, she resisted knocking on his door. Being caught alone with him in his room…that was the last thing she needed.
Him kissing her back—too fresh—too exhilarating. Could she stand not comforting the man in his time of pain?
The four-year-old messed with her some that she didn’t bring him sweets or a weapon of any kind. He ranted about having pirates to subdue, and no one seemed to care. Reading a story temporarily soothed his lust for high adventure.
For the noon meal, Rebecca insisted she wanted to stay in and asked Francy to take the boys to the dining hall and bring her back something light, if anything at all. Tickled her silly.
Surely she could have a word there with Marcus. But the man never showed his handsome face. Probably sulking in his room, too.
A simple word with him. That’s all she needed. Not knowing his heart—how he thought of their kiss—pained her own.
Then God’s gift to mothers—both boys taking their naps together—lande
d in her lap square and lovely like a cool breeze on a hot day. She closed the bedroom door then slipped into the chair next to her aunt.
Auntie marked her spot in the book she’d been reading. A tome Francy didn’t recognize. “They sure went down easy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think it’s the ship’s motion.”
“Perhaps.” The older woman studied the spine of her book. “I need a favor.”
“Of course. If I can, I will.”
“Get the purser to escort you to steerage, locate the family who looks to be the neediest then give them Marcus’s room.”
The words pushed her back in her chair. “Why would I do that? Where’s the Major going to bunk?”
“He’s not on board.”
“What? Why?”
“He ran off after we talked last night. I got up early and watched the gangplank until we sailed. When you and the boys went to dinner, I checked his room. He isn’t there. Hasn’t been there. Someone might as well benefit from it, don’t you think?”
The news hit her hard. Not on board? Back in San Francisco? How could Rebecca be so nonchalant? She should care more, cry her eyes out or something.
“Yes…of course. I can do that. But how terrible that is, Auntie. You two love each other so much. He’s willing to throw it all away?”
“Apparently, he hates God more than he loves me.”
The young lady’s words belied what Rebecca saw in her eyes. Apparently Marcus not being on the voyage upset Francy more than she wanted to admit.
Wouldn’t surprise her at all if the girl caught the first steamer back. She might even let her out of her commitment and send her back at Panama City.
A mental image of Francy flirting with Marcus put that notion away. She’d just as soon not know the person Ford ended up with.
Hopefully, he would find someone who didn’t mind him being a heathen. She couldn’t stand to think about him dooming his soul to hell. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.
She’d made her choice, the right one, and he’d made his.
Bless him, Lord. Help him find You, find peace.
“Did he get his bags?”
The girl’s question pulled Rebecca back to the moment. “I’m sorry. What did you ask?”