Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  Elias stared at him in wonderment. “What happened?”

  “The seas calmed, of course, and all the pirates on board witnessed the hand of God.”

  “Amazing.” Elias never grew tired of stories of God’s power. “What did they do?”

  “Fearful and anxious to be rid of me, they set me on the nearest island instead of kill me for refusing to join them. So, you see my friend, those men would have never heard about God without my foolishness. He used my mistake for good in the end.”

  Elias nodded. “’Tis a good story with a happy ending. Not all are that fortunate.”

  “All God’s endings are happy if we wait for them.”

  Elias gripped his friend’s arm. “You have given me much to think about, Caleb.”

  “Good.” Caleb thumbed toward the house and started walking. “Let’s get out of this rain and find that beauty of yours. I’d like to get to know her better.”

  Elias fell in step beside him. “Do you take me for a fool? I’m not letting you anywhere near her.”

  They both laughed and started up the stairs…when a blood-curdling scream blared from the house.

  ♥♥♥

  Charity paced before Rose’s bedchamber, nervously wringing her hands and wincing every time the poor woman screamed. Next to her in the hallway huddled a group of housemaids, anxious for news of the new arrival—though their faces portrayed more fear than excitement. Indeed, birthing was akin to battle for women. Many didn’t survive. Nor did their children. And though Charity had never pushed a full-grown babe from her womb, she had delivered a wee one, not yet big enough to survive. Wiping tears from her eyes at the memory, she continued pacing. She couldn’t even think about that now. Wouldn’t think about it. Suddenly she wished she was on speaking terms with God so she could lift up a prayer.

  The midwife had arrived an hour ago, a seemingly competent older woman who had immediately dismissed Charity as being a maiden and hence, unable to assist. If she only knew.

  But with each howl of agony, Charity longed to enter the room and help in any way she could. The poor woman’s husband was not even here, nor Elias, gone off to defend the estate. “God protect him,” she whispered a prayer, hoping mayhap God would have mercy on her and listen for once. “And God save Rose and her babe,” she added just in case.

  The door flung open and a maid poked out her head. “Harriet,” she addressed one of the servants. “More water and clean cloths.”

  “How is she?” Charity asked, straining to peer into the room but seeing only the midwife’s large frame looming over the bed.

  Terror sparked in the young lady’s eyes before she closed the door.

  Charity swallowed, her heart sprinting, her hands moist from perspiration.

  A groan, grunt, and then a wall-shattering howl blared from the chamber, chilling Charity to the bone. Unable to stand by another second, she shoved the door open and dashed inside.

  Blood…blood…so much blood! And Rose a wilted flower deflated on her pillow, her face white, her eyes mere slits as if all her energy had escaped her. A tiny form lay still in the midwife’s hands.

  It wasn’t moving.

  Charity drew a deep breath to calm herself, to think…think…think…but nearly choked on the metallic smell of blood mixed with tallow from the candle that flickered from the nightstand. Rose’s lady’s maid fell to the floor sobbing, while the midwife wrapped the baby—a boy—in a clean cloth.

  “My baby.” Rose raised a hand toward her child, the smile on her face indicating she didn’t yet know his fate.

  Forcing back tears, Charity knelt by her bed and took her hand in hers. Cold, so cold, Charity attempted to warm it between hers.

  “Charity,” Rose breathed out. “Where is my son?”

  Charity glanced at the midwife. Sorrow claimed her chubby features as she shook her head to affirm the worst.

  “Your son is in heaven, Rose. Where all angels belong.”

  Rose’s eyes widened as if she refused to believe the words. Her forehead wrinkled. Her breath came hard and fast. Tears flooded her eyes. “No! No! No!” she wailed in agony, squeezing Charity’s hand. “No! This can’t be. Let me see him.”

  The midwife made no attempt to hand over the babe.

  “I will see my son!” Rose attempted to rise but then fell back.

  A servant entered with a pitcher of water and cloths, halting at the sight. The lady’s maid continued sobbing on the floor.

  Taking charge, Charity stood and pointed at the weeping maid. “Please take her out of here!” she ordered the servant, and as the girl dragged the maid from the room, Charity took the child from the midwife and placed him gently in Rose’s arms.

  “Oh, my poor baby, my poor baby!” Moving aside the cloth, Rose examined his tiny, still body, tears pouring down her cheeks onto the babe’s head.

  Charity could no longer stop her own tears. Her knees quivered and it took all her strength not to topple to the floor at the sight. So many memories—horrid, horrid memories. She knew this pain intimately, felt it gnaw open a gaping wound in her gut that had never healed.

  Rose leaned to kiss her child then suddenly snapped her gaze to Charity. “You must pray for him, Charity. You must pray and he will live.”

  “What are you talking about?” Charity shook her head. Panic stormed through her, and she feared the worst. Anguish was driving Rose mad. “I can’t pray. God doesn’t listen to me. I’m sorry.”

  “You must. Please!” Sniffing, Rose wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. “It is you. It has to be you.”

  Ignoring them, the midwife started gathering the blood-soaked cloths scattered around the bed.

  Charity backed away. “We should wait for Elias. Or I will gladly call someone else to pray.”

  “Nay, it must be you. Please! You must hurry.” Rose gazed down at her son.

  Numbness crept up Charity’s legs. What am I to do?

  When the pie was opened

  The birds began to sing

  Wasn’t that a dainty dish

  To set before the King…

  She couldn’t let this sweet woman down. Not when she had hope, even if it was misplaced hope. What Charity wouldn’t have given to have had someone pray over her lost child. If only to bring comfort.

  “Very well.” On wobbling legs, Charity approached the bed, knelt beside it, placed her hands on the babe, and bowed her head. She had no idea how to pray such a prayer. All of Elias’ recent prayers filled her mind. She would pray like he did, like God was really there, and He actually cared. “Father God, please revive this child.”

  What else could she say? She searched her mind for things she’d read in the Bible. Hadn’t the disciples merely commanded a person to rise? “Be healed, come to life, rise, in the name of Jesus,” she added. Tears trickled down her cheeks, dripped off her jaw onto the coverlet. The boy didn’t move. Lying her head on the bed, she broke down and sobbed.

  The door slammed open, and Charity looked up to see Elias, bloodstains on his shirt, water dripping from his hair, and a look of terror on his face. His gaze passed from her to his sister to the babe.

  The child coughed.

  Chapter 26

  Elias rubbed his eyes, unsure whether he was seeing things clearly. He wouldn’t normally have burst into the middle of a birthing, but the maids outside the door were wailing so hysterically, he feared the worst. After he assured himself his sister was alive, his eyes landed on Charity, hands on the babe, praying for it to rise. Had he heard her correctly?

  The baby coughed, gurgled, and began to wiggle. Shouting with glee, Rose scooped up her child while Charity struggled to her feet, stumbled, and backed away from the bed, hand on her chest.

  A large woman who must be the midwife stared in horror before she dashed out of the room, screaming as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “My son! My son!” Rose exclaimed, gesturing for Elias to enter. “He’s alive. God raised him, Elias!”

 
Mind spinning, Elias closed the door ever so slowly and approached. Avoiding the bloody sheets, he sat on the bed beside his sister.

  Nestled within a blanket, the infant squirmed and whimpered as she unwrapped him and checked all his toes and fingers before swaddling him tight again. “Meet Malcom, my son.” Rose smiled.

  “He’s beautiful, Rose.”

  She glanced over at Charity who had retreated into the shadows by the armoire. “Thank you, Charity.”

  “I didn’t…didn’t…he was stillborn.”

  “Yes.” Rose kissed his forehead. “But God told me He would use you to heal him.”

  Rising, Elias moved slowly toward Charity. Shock screamed from her eyes as she stared at the babe as if looking at a ghost. He reached for her hand, and only when he gripped it, did she finally look his way.

  “God used your prayer to save this child, Charity. He answered you.” This was precisely what he’d been praying for, for God to make Himself known to her…to show her that He loved her. Thank you, Father.

  But his words didn’t bring her the comfort he hoped. Instead, she threw a hand to her mouth and ran from the room weeping.

  ♥♥♥

  A half-moon spiraled white light around Charity, transforming pools into silver and droplets on leaves into glittering diamonds. She hugged herself and continued sloshing through the soaked gardens behind the estate, realizing she was ruining the beautiful silk embroidered shoes Rose had so graciously lent her. Guilt piled atop her dismay, but it was too late to replace them with her own shoes. She hadn’t even returned to her room, knowing Elias would probably seek her there. She had to be alone. She needed to think. But her mind, along with her heart, was careening this way and that, emotions whirling—pain, shock, elation, fear, anger. So many, she couldn’t latch onto any one of them in the hope of regaining her sanity. So, she’d spent the past hour among the night owls, insects, and frogs, the distant sound of waves, and a sky so lustrous with stars, she wondered how she could ever have thought there was no God.

  But she had. She’d been battling the idea for years. Her father believed, her sisters—well, most of them—believed, but had she truly believed He was real? That His Son had died for her? Or had she just spoken the words everyone expected?

  What few crumbs of faith she possessed, Lord Villemont had then stolen. Until tonight. Until she felt God’s mighty power rush through her hands, extend through her fingertips in spires of tingling heat, and breathe life into that small babe.

  The voices that rose to taunt her afterward—telling her ’twas naught but a coincidence, that the infant had been alive the entire time—she dismissed immediately as lies from the pit of hell. Of all people, she knew exactly what a stillborn babe looked like.

  And that baby had been dead for over five minutes.

  Which only meant one thing. There was a God, and He answered prayers.

  Even hers.

  Water splashed and footsteps approached, and a giant shadow headed her way. Clutching her skirts, she was about to run when Josiah stepped into a sliver of moonlight.

  “Josiah, you frightened me.” She caught her breath.

  “Forgive me, Miss. I saw someone movin’ from my window an’ thought mebbe was one o’ those villains come to attack again.”

  She spotted the bandage on his arm. “You’re hurt.”

  “It be nothin’ miss. They fared much worse.”

  Charity smiled, picturing Elias wielding a sword and pistol. No doubt the men had not expected such fierce and well-skilled opposition.

  “I heard what you did wit’ the babe,” Josiah said, his voice as deep and dark as his skin. His immense frame engulfed hers as if she were but a skiff drifting beside a Ship of the Line. Yet, she bore no fear. A peace clung to him she could not explain. A peace she hadn’t felt in years, if ever.

  At her silence, he added. “The news is all over the house, Miss.”

  “I did nothing.”

  “Not what I’m hearin’. I would think you’d be happy, but I sense a sorrow about you.”

  “I am happy the baby is alive and well.” She lowered her chin and sighed. “I’m just confused and, I suppose, angry.” She knew he wouldn’t understand, so she excused herself and started walking away.

  He appeared at her side, keeping her pace, silent, waiting…

  And she found herself longing to ask him the question burning on her heart—ask this ex-slave, this wise man who carried Scripture in his pocket. She shouldn’t. He was first and foremost Elias’ man. But something about him…his silence, his patience, dare she say, the care she felt emanating from him…lured it out of her.

  “There was another baby once,” she said. “One God did not spare.”

  He continued walking by her side, saying nothing.

  Anger raged within her, and she stopped and stared up at him. “Why didn’t God save her? Why save this one and not the other? Don’t misunderstand, I’m happy for Rose.” She rubbed her temples. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m saying, forgive me.” She started on her way, but he halted her with a touch.

  “Not all prayers get answered the way we wants, Miss.”

  “Some don’t get answered at all,” she retorted. “Or perhaps only good people’s prayers get answered.”

  He laughed. “God’s no respecter o’ persons, Miss. As long as you are His child and sincere in your prayer, He hears and answers.”

  “Then I must not be His child.”

  “If you’ve received the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus, on your behalf, then you are His child. He adopted you in His family.”

  A breeze stirred her damp curls, bringing with it the spicy scent of rain, moist earth, and the sea. She sighed. “Then I suppose God is a harsh Father, ready to punish for every mistake, every infraction.” Just like her own father had been.

  “Aye, He’s a father, an’ sometimes He has to discipline His children to get them back on the right path. But the Scripture says”—he patted his pocket—“His mercies are new every morn.” His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “He forgives an’ blesses us when we don’t deserve it.”

  Charity huffed. She had yet to experience either. “Why, then, when we pray and pray and pray, do things get worse and worse?”

  “We’s all got choices in life, Miss. One choice leads us down a certain path, which leads us down another path that mebbe God hadn’t planned on. Then He’s got to change things up, try to help us out o’ where we’re at. But if we won’t listen to him an’ keep makin’ bad choices, what can He do? Or mebbe someone else’s bad choice affects us, or maybe the devil hisself attacked an’ plundered us. This world be fallen, Miss.”

  “But God still could have saved the child I’m talking about.”

  “How do you know He didn’t?”

  Confusion joined fury in a vicious brew in her stomach. “I buried her myself,” she spat with more spite than intended. “I buried her myself.” This time, the words spilled out on a sob as tears trickled down her cheeks, and she felt all strength abandon her.

  She must have wobbled, for he grabbed her arm and held her in place. “Her body. Not her soul or spirit. Miss. That baby be now in Heaven wit’ God. An’ believe me, there’s no better place to be. Who knows what tragedies she woulda suffered if she stayed here.”

  Stunned, Charity had never considered that. No doubt her precious Cassia would have grown up unloved and abused by her own father.

  Releasing her, Josiah plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “There’s so much we don’t know an’ so much we can’t see goin’ on around us. Our lives are but a drop o’ water in the sea.” With more tenderness than she thought possible from such large hands, Josiah touched a drop of rain dangling from a leaf. “All you can do is follow God the best you can an’ trust He loves you.”

  “Thank you, Josiah.” She dabbed her eyes. “I see why Elias relies on you so much.”

  He grunted. “Now, you best get inside, Miss. It’s not safe out at n
ight.”

  Up in her chamber, Charity disrobed and slid beneath the coverlet, feeling no better for her chat with Josiah. In fact, she was more confused and distraught than ever. No matter how hard she tried, the vision of Rose’s dead son haunted her. One minute he lay there, lifeless and blue, the next she saw her own baby girl, smaller but just as still and quiet. Dead—her grave a cold, dreary place for all eternity.

  In a fitful state, she drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling tears soak her pillow.

  Memories paraded through her thoughts—faces, moments in time, words and warnings. Her father’s disapproval of Lord Villemont…

  “The man is not right for you, Charity. There’s something about him that disturbs me, but I will give my blessing if this is what you want.”

  Her sisters warnings, particularly Grace’s. “He’s not a Godly man, Charity. He’s all show and pomp.”

  But he was a Godly man. At least that’s what Charity had thought. He could recite the Bible, he attended church regularly, and he prayed the most eloquent prayers she’d ever heard.

  She’d stood there, hands on her hips, facing her disapproving family, determined to marry him, despite the gnawing in her own gut. Lord Villemont was the most charming man she’d ever met, kind, loyal, wise, and he had fortune and title. What more could a lady want? What other way to escape the mediocre, lonely life of an Admiral’s daughter and elevate her station?

  A collage of cruel beatings and verbal beratings twisted her thoughts. He had changed so quickly after the wedding.

  You worthless cow. Can’t even manage a house like a lady should.

  Where has your beauty run off to? Did I not marry the prettiest lady in Portsmouth, yet you have aged ten years in the past month. Scads! You disgust me!

  A strike to the face, a shove that sent her toppling into a table, a slap, a chokehold about her neck, brandy tossed in her face, a torn gown, a broken arm, black eye…

  A lost child…