Dawn in My Heart

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “De source of de curse.” He finally focused on her. “It’s what’s causing his lordship’s sickness.”

  She gave him a scornful look. “Now, don’t give me that hocus-pocus, heathenish talk. We’re in a Christian nation.”

  “That may be, but dis power be real.” He spoke so seriously it gave her a shiver. But she got hold of herself and reached for the jacket. “Let me see that thing.” Before he could stop her, she had unfolded the jacket and retrieved the pouch.

  “It’s just an ordinary cloth pouch,” she said in disdain. As she spoke she loosened the drawstring and emptied the contents onto her hand.

  “Don’t!” He reached for her but it was too late. They both stared in fascination at the odd assortment in the palm of her hand.

  A bit of curled-up dried skin, like that of a snake; a powdery dirt the color of clay; two colors of human hair entwined; a wizened spider; some torn bits of cloth stained with dried blood; and ashes.

  “That be from a shirt of Lord Skylar’s,” Nigel said in awe. “De hair…it be his…and hers.”

  Katie shook herself from her stupor. “This is nonsense. Some witch’s concoction! I know what to do with this.” With those bold words, she poured the contents back into the sack and marched to the fire.

  “What you be doing?” he asked worriedly, following her closely.

  “I’m going to put it where it belongs, into the fire.”

  He grabbed her hand in a viselike grip. “You mustn’t destroy it like dat. It could release de evil and there be no telling where it land.”

  She was stopped short by his wide-eyed look, the whites of his eyes in striking contrast to his dark skin.

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “That’s what you think, but Lord Skylar’s condition speaks differently.”

  They both looked toward the wan figure lying on the bed. Again she felt a shiver go through her.

  “Very well, I won’t burn it. But let me show it to Lady Althea. She’ll know what to do.”

  He considered and finally gave a nod of his head. “Very well. But she must understand it be evil. Powerful evil.”

  When Althea came upstairs, Gillian followed behind, hardly understanding what her maid and Nigel had discovered and were in disagreement over.

  “You say this is the evidence of the curse placed on Lord Skylar?” Althea asked, after listening to Nigel and examining the contents of the pouch as he spoke.

  “Yes. The woman take various things—things that belong to Lord Skylar and other things—and declare a curse over his life, then she must put the things where they’ll be near him. As long as the evil is not destroyed, his life be cursed.”

  “I see,” she said softly. She, too, replaced the contents into the bag, but made no move toward the fire as Katie had done.

  Instead she smiled at them, and Gillian felt a sense of shock that Althea alone of the four of them seemed to feel no fear at the harmless-looking object in her hand.

  “The Lord has answered our prayers. He has revealed the source of the evil and now it’s up to us to consign it back where it belongs.”

  “You must be careful, my lady,” Nigel said with urgency. “You mustn’t release de evil contained there.”

  “Do not fear, Nigel, for ‘greater is the One in me’ than the one who put this together.”

  “You don’t understand, Miss Breton—”

  “The Lord has given us ‘power to tread on serpents and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy.’ He has promised, moreover, that nothing shall by any means hurt us. Do you understand that, Nigel? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  Before Nigel could argue further, she closed her eyes and held out the pouch before her.

  She began first of all to give thanks to God for revealing the object to them.

  “Heavenly Father, I take the authority You’ve given me through Your son, Jesus, and I bind the power of darkness at work through this bundle. I send that power back to the pit where it belongs just as I confine this object to the flames to be consumed.”

  As Nigel gave a start and made to reach out, her words stopped him.

  “I declare You sovereign, Lord Jesus, over my brother Tertius, over his body and soul. I declare, in Your name, every attack and power of the evil one turned back, destroyed, and rendered completely useless against Tertius or anyone in his family or in this household. I break every curse spoken over his life. And I thank You for Your precious blood, Lord Jesus, which cleanses and heals him and sets him free.”

  With those words, she opened her eyes, took the pouch and threw it into the fire, where it sizzled against the red coals before it burst into flames.

  There was no visible change in Tertius.

  Gillian realized she had somehow expected him to suddenly awaken and reappear his normal self. Of course, no such thing would happen! She glanced at Althea contemptuously.

  But her sister-in-law did not seem disappointed. She told them, “I shall stay with my brother tonight. We must believe the curse has been broken.”

  Tertius was back on the ledge, fighting to keep from falling. This time he was naked and manacled and it was so hot he felt the surface of his skin would blister. Sulfurous fumes rose from below, suffocating him.

  Every time he moved, the heavy chains attached to the manacles weighed down his limbs. A metal band choked him around the neck. He clawed at it, seeking some give in it.

  Agonized cries from down below told him, however bad his situation, there was worse if he fell off the ledge.

  As he pressed his body away from the edge, there was movement from the void below. He watched in horror as gargoylelike creatures rose and came at him. He batted them away, while struggling desperately to maintain his hold on the ledge.

  The little beasts tormented him, pecking at him, pinching him, shrieking at him. He caught sight of his sweat-soaked skin. It was covered with blood-sucking leeches, writhing and bloated on his body.

  He could no longer fend off the mind-numbing panic.

  He screamed and screamed and screamed.

  As if from a distance, he could hear his sister urging him, “Jesus! Tertius, you must call on the name of Jesus!”

  He tried, tried so desperately, but the demons wouldn’t let him. They clawed at his mouth, spitting venomous slime on him. With his last reserves of strength, he pushed his arms away from himself to fend them off, but in doing so, he lunged over the edge of the ledge.

  “Nooo!” His silent scream echoed in his mind as he fell into the choking fumes. The screams of those down below grew louder, and he knew they were the agonizing cries of the damned.

  “Jesus!” The word sprang from his burning throat.

  Immediately, a shaft of light burst through above him and he instinctively reached upward. The shrieks around him intensified even as the hold of the demons clinging to him seemed to slacken. It gave him the chance to reach his arm above him.

  He felt pulled out of the darkness and toward the light. He sped through the space, traveling upward in what seemed seconds.

  He came to a place of pure light. He was surrounded by it; it seemed to shine through him, making him feel as fragile as glass. He fell to his knees, the shackles gone.

  He experienced an overwhelming sense of his filth, crouched there naked before the brilliant light.

  He felt a touch upon his face, lifting it. And then like a spectator he saw the panorama of his life, from the memorable events to the trivial. Shame engulfed him, and he wished there were somewhere he could hide. But everything was transparent.

  Selfish motives permeated almost every act. Here and there stood a few acts of kindness which he’d long forgotten—defending a schoolboy against his tormentors, feeding a stray cat until the servants had it drowned, throwing a few coins to a beggar, rescuing Nigel from the cane fields; but all these acts were the exception. The overwhelming majority of his actions were a dissipation of the talents and opportunities he’d been given since birth.

 
He realized the great privilege and wealth he’d been born to. The injustices committed by his family upon the hundreds of workers in its employ flashed before him. His heart felt consumed by shame at the name and crest he had been so proud of.

  He saw every wench he’d bedded and experienced their degradation and felt the violation against his own body. The young actress, Laurette, treated so callously by him, had been filled with fears and uncertainties of her own precarious future. Remorse engulfed him, forming a weight so heavy he thought he’d never be able to rise again.

  He relived his wedding night and experienced his bride’s terror and humiliation on a night that should have been the most special of her young life. Sorrow constricted his heart, and he felt an overwhelming desire to go back and change things.

  All he could do was bow down on his face and weep and weep. The demonic torment was what he deserved.

  But again he felt his face lifted. What he saw now was his old life being burned away completely, as not worth saving. Like a piece of paper aflame, it curled inward, turning black, until it was fully consumed and crumbled to nothing.

  He found himself plunged into a pool of clean, cool water, fully submerged. The splash of droplets burst upward as his body emerged forth again, a new life being born.

  He stood before his Lord and understood without words that the new body being given him was a holy temple. A clean garment clothed him and covered his nakedness. I have purchased these robes of righteousness by My very blood was intoned into his spirit. Then the Lord breathed on him. Receive My Spirit.

  He felt filled to overflowing, complete and lacking nothing, more alive than he’d ever felt. The Lord’s light and love overwhelmed his being. His whole body felt elevated, rising from the void and into a plane far above anything he had ever known.

  Then he was viewing what his new life was to be. Purpose and meaning were given it. He gazed in awe at the tasks ahead.

  Then the Lord gave him an image of his wife. Wife. The word, which had filled him with rage and disillusion, gained a new, special meaning. As I have loved you, you are to love her. As I gave Myself for you, give yourself to her.

  And his immediate response was, Yes, Lord. He would do anything for his Lord, who had saved him and who had loved him and who had taken away his reproach.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gillian broke off the thread she’d knotted and arched her neck back, kneading the aching muscles with her fingertips. She was tired of watching vigil over a man who seemed closer to death than to life.

  She was tired of being around people who, instead of relying on the traditional remedies of a physician, spent all their time either mumbling incantations or speaking out Scripture.

  She looked wearily at Tertius’s sleeping form on the bed beside her. Clearly, his sister’s little prayer ceremony the evening before had done no good.

  Just at that moment, her husband opened his eyes.

  “Tertius!” The name slipped out unthinkingly. She’d grown accustomed to hearing Althea saying it.

  “Gillian.” Her name came out sounding cracked, but his eyes were fully conscious and filled with humor.

  “We thought you were going to die,” she said stupidly, too shocked by the lucidity in his eyes to know what to say.

  “I did die,” he said in his low, rough voice.

  She went on unheeding. “So many strange things happened—but you wouldn’t know…” She got up to feel his forehead. It seemed normal.

  She couldn’t believe that Althea’s prayers…her commands of the night before…that little, harmless-looking pouch with its bizarre contents—no, it couldn’t all be true! “Let me get Althea.”

  “Althea? She’s here?” He smiled. “Yes…I seem to recall speaking to her…and she to me.”

  “She came about a fortnight ago, when we thought you were going…to die.” As he digested this information, she added, “I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

  His gaze met hers once more. “Yes. There’s so much I need to tell you.”

  She tore her eyes away from his and began to fold up her sewing, feeling a sudden desire to flee the room.

  “Might I…trouble…you for…a sip of water?” He spoke like someone unaccustomed to using his voice.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She stood nervously, set down her sewing and picked up a glass and pitcher, surprised to find her hands shaking.

  Carefully she lifted his head and brought the glass to his dry lips. His hair had grown and his beard, too, in the past few days, when Nigel had been afraid to shave him for fear of hurting him. The dark beard was scratchy against her fingers.

  He lifted a hand to help guide her hand to his mouth. The touch, though featherlight, sent tingles through her. Maybe because it was the first time he had touched her consciously since…since their wedding night.

  His hand fell back onto the coverlet. “I’m so da—” The word died on his lips. “So weak,” he finished.

  “It’s not surprising,” she said. “You’ve been sick for quite some time,” she explained, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiping his mouth as she laid his head back on the pillow, aware of his dark eyes fixed on her the entire time.

  “How long have I been out this time?” he asked, his voice smoother.

  “Weeks, it seems,” she replied, uncertain herself. “The days seemed to flow into each other. I don’t know how long you were ill in London before Nigel brought you here.”

  “Nigel brought me here?” He frowned, as if trying to remember. “I’m in Yorkshire? I’ve had so many dreams…it seems a lifetime has gone by.”

  “Well, you are at Penuel Hall,” she answered shortly, her reasons for being where she was beginning to reassert themselves. Before she said something she shouldn’t to a man in his weakened condition, she explained, “Nigel brought you here of his own accord. Your father didn’t even know. I wrote to him afterward. He has replied, sending you his best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

  “Has he?” he asked in an absent way although his eyes seemed to be observing her keenly.

  Again she felt herself blushing, with no good reason, and it annoyed her. “Well, I shall summon Althea or Nigel, who are your primary nurses. I’m sure they’ll see you need something like beef tea—”

  His hand reached out and loosely encircled her wrist. She flinched, then willed her arm to remain unmoving, reminding herself this was an ill man, too weak to do her any harm.

  “Gillian…thank you. I think there are things…things we need to talk about…” His hand let her wrist go and she realized how frail he truly was.

  How much did he remember of everything he had done to her?

  “Well, it can’t be right this moment. You’re weaker than a newborn lamb,” she said briskly, and stepped away from him. “I’ll get Nigel and Althea. I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed with your recovery.”

  “Gillian—”

  She turned back to him. “Yes?”

  “God healed me.”

  She smiled thinly. “Your fever seems to be gone, but as to being healed…” She splayed her hands in question.

  “This body might not know it yet, but it is healed. It has been reborn.”

  She left the room, disregarding his extraordinary statements, more intent on her own confused emotions.

  Tertius had survived, against all reason. Where did that leave her?

  Since his condition had deteriorated so much, she had begun to believe she might be a widow, and now she was suddenly presented with a living husband once again.

  She pushed her disheveled curls away from her face, wishing she could push her thoughts away as easily. Guilt swirled through her brain, heedless to her logic. She’d never wished for Tertius’s death, her reason argued back. She’d never wished to deceive him. She’d never wished to be married to him.

  But she was powerless to stop the insidious voice insinuating that she was guilty.

  She wasn’t guilty! she wanted to scream. All she wanted
was that somehow none of this had ever happened. How could she ever undo what she’d done?

  Tertius heard the door close behind her and moved his focus upward toward the bed’s canopy.

  “You brought me back, Lord,” he said aloud, feeling God’s presence. “I thank You. Oh, God,” he breathed, remembering everything. “I thank You…I worship You,” he repeated softly, feeling the tears already welling up in his eyes at the memory of what he had experienced.

  He looked around the strange bedroom, trying to orient himself. He had sensed less than happiness in Gillian, and he realized she must be in some sort of shock at seeing him alive. Well, he was, too.

  He felt a pang of sadness, remembering what he had done to her, but knowing if God had seen fit to bring him back, there was hope for his relationship with his wife.

  Hope and joy and an overflow of love were the primary sensations running through him at that moment.

  When a couple of days went by and he saw nothing of Gillian, although he asked for her every day, he began to sense the rift between them went deeper than he’d imagined. He’d been too consumed with his own hurt and disappointment for so long that he’d never thought what she must have been going through.

  Most days he sat with Althea, with Nigel hovering nearby. He shared his experience with her, and she understood perfectly. She told him the story of her own encounter with her redeemer.

  “I was listening to a preacher and felt the convicting power of God and fell to my knees at the altar. I laid all the loneliness and pain and shame I’d grown up with there and felt a love and acceptance such as I’d never known in my life.”

  He reached out a hand to her. “Poor Althea. We treated you contemptibly, Edmund and I. We never considered how you must have felt—a child, having come to a strange home in a strange country. I hated Father for bringing you to our house, and it was easier to blame you, a helpless child.”

  She squeezed his hand. “It’s all in the past. The Lord filled me with His love and has kept me filled since that day at the altar.”

  “I am sorry for the suffering I caused you,” Tertius told her. “Can you ever forgive me?”