Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  “He is not my lover. However, I would wager to guess that Eli—Mr. Dutton also decided to trust God and do the right thing.”

  Charles turned to face her, laughing. “The right thing in sentencing the woman he loves to the noose, that right thing?”

  “If need be. God is bigger than the noose, milord. But if ’tis the noose that ends my life, He will be ready to receive me into a place far better than this.”

  Her confident tone, the odd peace shining in her eyes, set him aback. ’Twas as if she believed every word she spoke.

  Charles suddenly felt the need to sit for fear of falling. He’d never seen the likes of such devotion to an invisible God. Not in word or ritual. But in the heart. A devotion that sent one to one’s death if need be, rather than deny allegiance.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he rubbed his forehead and listened to the swish of water against the hull and whistle of wind in the sails above.

  “My brother is the one who scarred your back,” he finally said, opening his eyes. A ray of sunlight shifted over Charity from the porthole as if pointing him to the truth.

  She swallowed, looked down, and nodded.

  “What else?” When she hesitated, he added, “The truth. I wish to know.”

  “He beat me repeatedly. I lost our first child due to his abuse.”

  Though Charles longed to deny it, to defend his brother’s honor, he knew he must finally admit the truth of her words. “I suspected,” he mumbled, then wished he hadn’t.

  “What?” She looked at him, anger sparking in her eyes.

  “Herbert always had a violent tendency. So much anger in him from Father… just boiling beneath the surface.”

  “Why didn’t you do something, help me, help him?!” She stood and walked to look out the porthole, her face a mask of anger and pain.

  “Do you know what my brother meant to me, witch?”

  She bristled at the title, but replied. “I know you loved him.”

  “Did you know I’d be dead without him? Ah, yes. I can see he never told you.” Charles leaned back in his chair and sighed. “My father was a cruel man. He hated Herbert and me, made it quite plain he wanted naught to do with either of us. But you know boys. We seemed to always get in his way. Punishments came swift and hard. Beatings, starvation, banished to the barn on cold winter nights.”

  Charity faced him. “What of your mother?”

  “She could do naught to stop him. ’Twas probably why she died so young.” He choked back pain at the memory. “Regardless, when Father over-drank and was in a rage about something, he would have the carriage hitched, and he’d drive it like a madman over our estate for hours.” Pain pinched his leg and he reached down to rub it. “On one such night, Herbert and I had escaped while our nanny slept, and we were climbing trees, pretending to be infantrymen spying on the French. I fell from a particularly high branch onto the dirt pathway just as Father’s carriage turned the corner, heading straight for me.”

  He hesitated, picturing the hooves pounding his way, flinging mud into the air. He remembered the terror. “I was too stunned to move. ’Twas Herbert who leapt from the tree and pulled me to safety. At least most of me. One of the horses trampled my leg.” He sighed. “Did Father see me? I’ll never know. But if Herbert had not risked his life to pull me out of its path, more than my leg would have been crushed.”

  He looked up at her and found her eyes moist with tears.

  “So you see, I owed him everything. Still do.”

  “Which is why you crossed an ocean to find me. For him,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  She approached and stopped before him. “I don’t blame you, Charles. But you must know one thing. Your brother was going to beat me, beat my unborn child. I couldn’t lose another baby. So I grabbed his gun… he tried to take it from me.” She shook her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Still, you are right. If not for me, your brother would be alive.”

  She knelt by his side and gazed up at him. “I am sorry, Charles. I’m sorry you suffered such a cruel childhood. I am so sorry for what I’ve done. I deserve whatever punishment is coming to me.” She lowered her chin.

  Yes, she did. And he’d see to it she got it. Yet—he shifted in his seat—where was the anger of only a moment ago? It seemed to drip from him like the tears now sliding off this woman’s chin into her lap.

  Deep down, he’d known his brother was hurting Charity. Yet he’d done nothing. Tried to deny it. Kept it hidden because of a debt he felt he owed. Didn’t that make him as much to blame for Herbert’s death as this woman? Mayhap more.

  Shame swamped him. What of this God of hers? Not the God of the liturgy, the rituals, or even the church. But a real God who waved at him from her eyes, smiling and luring and offering unconditional love… something Charles had never known.

  And suddenly, he found himself wanting to know more about this God.

  Charity rose and started for the door. “If that is all, milord, I’m not feeling well.”

  “Nay, that is not all.” He spoke more sternly than intended as he struggled to stand.

  She stiffened, awaiting his wrath.

  “You have endured enough at my brother’s hand.”

  Ever so slowly, she turned to face him, confusion clouding her expression.

  Grabbing his cane, he limped toward her. “There’s been far too much suffering, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What are you saying, milord?”

  Chapter 31

  Charles Towne harbor looked exactly like Charity’s sisters had described it. Gorgeous, sunlit waters gushing through a narrow inlet into the sea from two mighty rivers that divided and cradled the magnificent outpost—a walled outpost, complete with gun turrets and drawbridges. Though, as they sailed closer, it appeared the town had spilled outside its original walls.

  Charity could hardly believe it! She would soon be reunited with her family. A family she had not appreciated when she’d been growing up, but one she now realized she’d been fortunate to have. Even her father, with his cold, harsh demeanor, had always provided for them and ensured their safety. And he had never once hit Charity. Or any of them. Indeed, she was even excited to see him, though he was most likely out to sea.

  The best part about coming home was that she would never have to leave. Another thing she could hardly believe—she was finally free! After her talk with Charles that night over a week past, he’d informed her that he forgave her and planned on turning the ship around to take her home. At first she hadn’t believed him. Surely ’twas another of his cruel jokes intended to torture her—a common trait of his brother’s.

  But after she’d been brought back to her cabin, two things happened which sparked her hope. One, the door was not locked, freeing her to roam the ship. And two, she both heard and felt the ship turn around in the pounding of feet above, shouts, thundering of sails, and tilting of the deck.

  In the days that followed, she and Sophie ate like queens, and Charles often called her into his cabin for discussions. They spoke of many things, but mostly he wished to discuss God—this God who was both Father and Friend and who continually surprised her beyond her wildest dreams. In the wee hours of the night during one of their long discussions, Charles bowed knees and head and submitted himself to God through His son Jesus. And Charity finally realized why God had told her to return and surrender…why He had told Elias to stand down.

  ’Twas for the soul of Charles Gregson, Lord Villemont.

  Ah, the lengths God went to save a single soul! That He had used her and Elias’ obedience to do so warmed her to her toes, and she thanked Him that she had obeyed and been able to witness a soul snatched from darkness and brought into the light. If she hadn’t trusted God, who knows what would have happened to Charles?

  But now she knew that God was indeed in control and that He always had a plan. If she would but listen! And then trust.

  Sophie looped her arm through Charity’s as the ship canted over a
wavelet. Smells of tar and fish and pine filled her nose—different scents than the Caribbean—as they neared the docks.

  “’Tis cold, Milady.” Sophie shivered. “I though’ Charles Towne were warmer than England.”

  “Not in the winter. We are but a week past Christmas.” Charity glanced toward shore where workers decked in heavy coats, hats, and scarves hauled goods to and from the wharves.

  At least a dozen ships were anchored in the bay and several more tied to pilings at the end of piers jutting far into the water. Bells clanged, birds squawked, water sloshed, and she could even hear the click-clack of carriage wheels in the distance.

  Charity could hardly contain her excitement.

  “Do you think your family will accept me, milady?” Sophie said, biting her lip.

  Charity drew her close. “Of course they will. They will love you as I do.” However, whether her family would understand Charity’s part in her husband’s death, or—she placed a hand over her womb—that she carried his child, she had no idea. The last thing she wished was to bring further shame to them.

  Thank God the child seemed well again. In fact, she could have sworn she’d felt him kick that morning. If only she had someone to share it with, a man who loved her and who would love her child.

  Elias.

  She pressed a finger over the cross beneath her bodice. Though she’d tried to avoid thinking of him, he consumed her thoughts day and night. She had a feeling that would be the case for quite some time. At first, she intended to seek him out after she got settled, tell him the good news about Charles, and that she accepted his courtship if he still wanted her. But then she realized how selfish she was being. Elias would be much better off without her. If she stayed out of his life, he would soon forget her and meet another lady, a chaste woman who’d never been married… one who wasn’t carrying another man’s child.

  And who hadn’t murdered her husband.

  ’Twas for the best. Though her many tears spent during the long nights spoke otherwise.

  “Wha’ will you do in Charles Towne, milady, now tha’ you are free. Start your printin’ business as you always hoped?”

  “You know me too well, Sophie. I’m not one to sit idly around. And with this wee one”—she gazed down smiling—“I’m not likely to attract many suitors.” Not that any man could ever compare with Elias. “Nay, Sophie, God has given me a better idea.” She gazed over the multicolored roofs peeking at her above the walls surrounding Charles Towne. “With His help, I want to open a home where women who are being beaten by their husbands can find shelter—women who have nowhere else to turn.”

  Sophie sniffed, her eyes moistening. “Oh, milady, wha’ a grand idea!”

  After the sails were furled, yards struck, and the anchor tossed, a boat was lowered to take them to shore. Standing there with the brisk wind slicing through her, Charity turned to face Charles, a man she’d grown oddly fond of these past few weeks.

  “My man will bring you to shore and hire a carriage to take you home.” His once cold eyes now held a warmth that made her return his smile. An icy breeze skimmed his short light hair and caused him to tuck his scarf tighter around his neck.

  Charity took his hands in hers. “How can I ever thank you, Charles?”

  Sighing, he glanced over the bay. “There is no need. We both have suffered much. And now, thanks to you, I have hope for the future.”

  “You must promise to return and meet your niece,” she said.

  “Niece, eh? I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She squeezed his hands. “God be with you, Charles.”

  “And with you, milady.” He bowed to kiss her hand.

  An hour later Charity and Sophie stood shivering before a red house on Hassel Street.

  “This must be it, Sophie. There aren’t any other red houses on this street.” Charity glanced down the row of homes on either side.

  Light beamed through windows, but no sounds came from within. And no footman had appeared when the carriage ambled into the driveway. Odd.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Charity said, teeth chattering. Finally, she raised her hand and lifted the brass door knocker, her heart all but stopping in her chest.

  Moments later, the door opened to Edwin’s stodgy, angular face. Yes, the right place!

  “Edwin!” Charity couldn’t help but leap into his arms, hugging him. “’Tis me, Charity.”

  Stumbling backward, he pushed from her and stared, jowls quivering and shock streaking across his eyes. “Miss Charity!” he finally exclaimed. “How? What? Oh, my.” He withdrew a handkerchief, mopped his brow, and lowered to a chair against the wall. “My nerves.”

  Charity tugged Sophie inside and shut the door, only then noticing the cases, trunks, and portmanteaus stacked in the corner of the foyer.

  “Faith! Hope! Grace!” She shouted up the stairway as she removed her cloak and gloves and set them on the banister. Nothing.

  Distant laughter lured her down the hallway to the back parlor, Sophie hurrying behind her. As she neared the room, male and female voices, along with the crackle of a fire met her ears. Male? Definitely not her father’s voice.

  Drawing a deep breath, she entered the room.

  Her sister Faith, red hair spilling to her waist in a fiery waterfall, stood by the fireplace caressing the jaw of a rather handsome man in a suit of black velvet. Caressing? Faith? The woman who had written off men years ago? Charity’s gaze shifted to Hope, her blonde hair pinned up in a bounty of curls, sitting on the sofa beside a man who looked at her as if she were more precious than gold. And as if that wasn’t proof enough that Charity had gone mad, she spotted Grace, the dark-haired beauty leaning over what appeared to be charts, beside a man who looked very much like a pirate!

  Charity couldn’t move. She could only stand there and stare at the three women she loved most in the world, talking, laughing, and enjoying their male companions. So much for Faith’s bold declaration before they left Portsmouth that they would all either be stuck in unloving marriages or end up spinsters! Yet here they were, seemingly happy and loved. Charity began to cry.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” the voice came from behind as a Negro woman nudged beside her, carrying tea service on a tray.

  Charity was about to respond when squeals and shouts warned her of the coming onslaught as her sisters bombarded from all sides.

  “Charity! Charity! I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “How did you…? Where…?”

  “Oh, praise be to God! Just, look at you! Thank goodness you are well.”

  Overcome with emotion, tears dribbled down Charity’s cheeks as she folded into their loving embraces. Finally, they backed away to look at her, while the three men stood in the background, smiling.

  “So this be the wayward sister.” After setting down the tea, the Negro woman placed hands on her rounded hips and smiled. “I told you the good Lord would fix thin’s, didn’t I?”

  “You did at that, Molly,” Hope chimed. “Molly, meet our sister, Charity. Charity, this is our cook, Molly.”

  “Pleased t’ meet you.” Molly’s grin couldn’t have been brighter. “These girls have missed you terribly.”

  “Thank you, Molly. It’s good to be home.” Charity glanced over her sisters, still not believing her eyes. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Turning, she dragged Sophie forward. “This is Sophie, my lady’s maid.”

  “Welcome, Sophie,” Faith said, and her sisters joined in with their warm greetings.

  Sophie smiled, even as a blush reddened her cheeks.

  “Bless your heart, Sophie,” Molly exclaimed. “You came all the way from England wit’ Charity?” Molly took her arm. “Come on, now. I’ll get you settled in a nice warm room. You look as tired as I feel.”

  “That’s all right, Molly,” Charity said. “Sophie’s welcome to stay with us.”

  “I don’t mind, milady,” Sophie said. “Enjoy your sisters. Truth is, I am cold and tired.”

  �
�Then I’ll see you later.” Charity smiled as Molly led her from the room.

  Faith grabbed Charity’s hand and squeezed it. “You look well, Charity. When did you arrive in Charles Towne?”

  “Only an hour ago.”

  “You must be beyond exhaustion. Please sit.” Grace led her to the sofa, and Charity sank onto the soft cushions. She ran her hands over the floral print, so familiar, so full of memories. And she was suddenly glad Father had insisted they bring some of their things with them in the move.

  When she glanced up, everyone was staring at her. Smiling. Even the three handsome men standing before the fire. She took a minute to gather her emotions as she studied the well-appointed parlor. Chiseled stone made up the fireplace surrounding flames that sizzled and crackled and filled the room with warmth. A garland made of evergreen intertwined with holly, pine cones, and berries was strung over the mantle, matching the ones around the windows decorated for Christmas. Two sofas framed a table in the center of the room, while beyond stood an old oak desk, a gaming table and chairs, and a pianoforte. Brocade curtains hung around two windows through which Charity saw a garden sparse in the grip of winter.

  Dabbing her eyes, she gazed at her sisters’ loving smiles. “Why are you all staring at me?”

  Grace poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. “Because we cannot believe you are here.”

  “Do tell us what happened,” Hope said, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “I cannot wait another moment.”

  “I will.” Charity sipped the warm liquid, savoring the lemony ginger taste, and wrapped her cold hands around the cup. “But first you must introduce me to these handsome gentlemen.”

  The man in the fine velvet suit stepped forward, and Faith took his arm, smiling up at him. “This is my husband, Dajon Waite.”

  “Husband?” Setting down her tea, Charity leapt to her feet and dashed to congratulate the couple. She grabbed Dajon’s hand. “Oh, my. Pleased to meet any man able to capture Faith’s heart.”

  Dajon shared a knowing glance with Faith. “’Twas a formidable feat, I’ll grant you.”