by Linda Ford
Her annoyance fled. "And I've missed you." She settled back against the cushions and sighed.
"I don't like this." He frowned. "You're all tired out."
"I'm fine."
But at that point Colin coughed. Chastity leapt to her feet. "I better get back to the sickroom."
Michael grabbed her hand. "Let Emma do it."
Chastity shook her head. "She's got her hands full. Besides, it's not her responsibility."
Michael was insistent. "Nor is it yours."
"Mother has taught me well." Chastity faced him. "I could not turn my back on a stranger in distress."
He stood to his feet. "Chastity, enough of this foolishness!"
She stared at him, stunned by his reaction, longing for him to understand and support her. But all she saw was the tightness of his mouth.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "But it's something I have to do."
She tore from his grasp, racing down the hall. Michael would have to accept her decision. She pushed her disappointment to a dark shelf of her mind.
For three more days Chastity nursed Colin through raging fever, shuddering chills, horrific sweats, and hacking coughs, each day wondering how much longer his body could endure.
Her presence seemed to calm him, and he asked her over and over to talk to him. "I like the sound of your voice," he choked out between coughs, "and hearing about you as a little girl."
So she dredged her memory for stories of her childhood—the time she locked herself in Mrs. Allan's henhouse and had to wait, sneezing and scratching until Mrs. Allan came to free her. She laughed, remembering the louse bites she suffered.
She told of the time she had stood up for little Sally, the time Adam drew her picture, and so many things she hadn't thought of for years.
Michael came again Saturday, waiting in the sitting room for her to slip out.
"Michael," she began, "I'm sorry, but I can't leave Emma there for long. She has supper to serve."
He gave her his stern teacher look. "This has gone on long enough."
"I agree," she said, purposely misinterpreting his comment. "The poor man has endured enough."
"You can't wear yourself out taking cane of him. It sounds to me as if he may not even make it."
"He's not going to die," she vowed, pulling in a deep breath. "And if he does, he'll not do it alone and uncared for."
Michael threw up his hands. "He's only a stranger."
"'I was a stranger, and you took Me in,' " she quoted, not willing to admit that Colin was more than a stranger. Over the past few days a bond had grown between them. In many ways he was the father figure she had never known. She would not abandon him to the ravages of his illness. Not even for Michael.
"I'm sorry. But try to understand—this is something I must do." She paused. "You're more than welcome to stay for supper, but I won't be available."
She waited, hoping he would relent, but his face remained stern as he silently challenged her. She turned and left the room.
That night Colin worsened. Chastity did her best to fight the fever, but it continued to rise alarmingly.
Having exhausted her resources, she could do nothing but fall at his bedside and pray. God, You are the great healer. Please touch Colin's body and heal his illness. She prayed for a long time until she rose and resumed her nursing, believing God would answer.
Toward morning the fever began to fall. Just as dawn threw pink banners across the sky, he took a deep, shuddering breath. She pressed her palm to his chest, relieved to feel it rise.
The worst was over.
Thank You, God, she breathed.
She sank into the chair and slipped into an exhausted sleep, not waking until Emma came in dressed in her Sunday best. Chastity scrambled to her feet.
"I forgot about church."
Emma laughed and pushed her back down. “Too late now. It's all over."
Chastity leaned her head against the back of the chair. "I can't believe I slept right through."
"You needed it. How's our Colin?"
Chastity's smile felt as wide as the open sky as she studied him still sleeping peacefully. "His fever broke early this morning."
"Praise the Lord," Emma said. "I expect it will take a while to get his strength back."
Chastity didn't answer. It was enough for now that Colin was on the mend. She followed Emma from the room, joining her mother and the others for lunch. She was surprised to find Michael wasn't there.
"Where's Michael?" she asked Emma. "Wasn't he at church?"
Emma gave her an odd look. "He was, but he said there was no point in coming over when you were otherwise occupied."
"Oh." She couldn't help being disappointed. "Perhaps he'll come this afternoon."
"Could be." Emma opened her mouth as if to say more but stopped herself and set out the cold chicken.
Chastity helped carry out platters of food. "By the way, what are you doing here today?"
Emma lifted one shoulder. "I figured you needed the help."
"Emma, you are such a dear."
The younger girl chuckled. "I know."
* * *
Michael called that afternoon, coming when Chastity was in the sickroom spooning chicken broth into Colin.
She slipped away to speak to him, aching to smooth over their misunderstanding. “Thank you for being patient," she began as soon as she stepped into the room. "Colin is over the worst now."
"Does that mean you're finished looking after him?"
"Not exactly." She smiled gently. "He's very weak."
Michael turned away.
"Michael." Chastity reached for his arm. "Please try to understand."
"That's just it. I don't understand. I'm sure Doc could find someone else to look after him."
"Michael, it's part of who I am. It's a culmination of my history and how I was raised."
He looked down at her a long time, his brown eyes dark and troubled. Finally he smiled. "I guess if that's who you are, then that's how it must be."
She longed for him to heal her trembling emotions with a hug and a kiss, but when he made no move to do so, she lowered her eyes, forcing herself to be content with the victory she had won.
Except to drink sweet tea and swallow a bit of chicken soup, Colin slept for two days. He woke the third morning to give Chastity a slow smile. "So my nurse is still here."
"As long as you need me." She studied the steadiness of his pale blue eyes, the slight pink in his cheeks. Now that the fever had left, she could see that he was probably in his forties, a serious-looking man with a kind face.
"You've been a faithful nurse. I think I might owe you my life." His smile deepened. "Thank you."
"You're most welcome. Now how about some nourishment? What would you like?"
"Now that you mention it, I am hungry. Breakfast would be good."
"I think you'll have to start easy," she said a few minutes later as she returned with thin oatmeal and toast.
"This looks fine." He looked up from the tray. "Won't you sit down and visit while I eat?"
She welcomed his invitation. Over the passing days she had found satisfaction in sharing the story of her life with him.
He waited until she sat down before he bowed his head and prayed out loud, thanking God for his healing, for Chastity's faithful nursing, and for the blessing of food to replenish his strength. He took several mouthfuls of the oatmeal before he turned to her. "You've told me so much about yourself that I feel as if I know you. So forgive me if I seem presumptuous in the way I talk."
She smiled. "I feel the same—though I know very little about you."
"There's not much to know about me." He tilted his head. "I'm just a wandering old man."
"I expect there's more to it than that. How did you end up here?"
A strange light filled his eyes. "Divine intervention, I expect." He studied her seriously. "Chastity is an unusual name."
"Very." She laughed. "You see, when my mother was expecting me, she ran away fro
m a bad situation. Lost and alone, she was rescued by a man she declares was an angel. She vowed to live a life devoted to serving God and anyone He sent across her path. She named me Chastity to remind her of her vow."
"And your father?"
"I never knew my father. I didn't even know his name until a short time ago. Simon LaBlanc."
"What happened to him?"
"My parents married down east and then moved west." She twisted her hands together. "After they moved, Mother said my father changed. He started drinking and grew violent. She ran away from him and never heard from him again."
Chastity had learned to live with it and accept it, but at the compassion in Colin's kind, steady gaze, she clenched her fingers.
"So you grew up wondering if your father was alive and if he knew about you. Wondering too, I'd guess, why he didn't care enough to find you?"
Emotions she had hidden from all her life sprang loose, choking her, sucking at the depths of her soul. Hot tears poured down her cheeks. She dashed them away.
"Didn't I matter?" she gasped, unashamed for Colin to see her this way.
"Of course you mattered. You always did and always will. You are a special young woman. Kind and gentle, sweet yet strong. Not to mention beautiful. Everything a young woman should be."
She clung to his words, letting them ease through her pain like a healing balm. "I've never allowed myself to admit how much it hurt that my father didn't care about me."
"Perhaps it has affected you more than you think."
She blinked. "Why do you say that?"
"You grew up strong. Yet I think a tiny bit of you is locked away, afraid of the future."
She thought how similar his words were to what Adam had said. "I don't see how wanting security indicates fear."
"It doesn't, as long as wanting security doesn't disable us from embracing the future."
Again she shook her head. "Why would I want to choose anything but security?"
"You wouldn't want to necessarily, but remember—security means being free to take a risk."
Although uncertain what he meant, Chastity nodded.
"Now I seem to recall a young man wanting to see you several times. Tell me about him."
"Yes, Michael. He's the teacher." She told him everything she could think of about Michael. "We're going to be married soon."
"Then he must be a very special young man. I hope he loves you very much."
"He is a good man."
She faltered. Michael had never said the words, "I love you."
"I'm sure he loves me."
"Love is patient and kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
He spoke the words like a benediction, and Chastity nodded, certain Michael loved her that way. Even as she loved him.
Colin pushed aside the breakfast tray. "I had a bag when I came. Do you know where it is?"
"In the closet. Would you like it?"
"Yes, please."
She set the tray on the floor outside the door and retrieved the bag.
"Would you get your mother, please? I have something for her."
Chastity tilted her head. "Of course." She picked up the tray and went in search of her mother. "Colin wants to see you," she said as she set the tray on the table.
Mother pushed herself to her feet and, using two canes, headed toward the bedroom. "Probably wants to discuss rent. As if I'd charge someone for being sick."
Her mother was gone a long time, and when she came out, she did not return to the kitchen, heading instead for her bedroom. She only paused to say, "Chastity, Colin would like to see you."
A sheen of tears coated her mother's cheeks, and her voice trembled.
"Are you all right, Mother?"
The older woman nodded. "Go see him, Chastity."
She hesitated. Then curiosity drove her toward Colin's room. She pushed open the door. The skin on his face was taut as if the meeting with her mother had sucked out all his energy. He lifted a shaking hand.
"Come in, Child." He waited until she perched on the edge of the chair. "I have looked for you a long time to bring you a message from your father."
A jolt raced through her veins. Could her father be asking for her after all these years?
"First, let me tell you what I know of him.
"When I met Simon LaBlanc," Colin began, his voice soft and low as if he meant to tell her a long story, "he was a broken man, sick and injured. But most of all his mind was not at ease. During the weeks I tended him, he told me his story.
"I will tell you it as I remember it."
Colin paused. "I ran into him way up north. He'd taken to trapping. Lived alone in a little cabin up along the Mackenzie basin. This particular time he had headed to the Hudson Bay post to trade his furs and get a few supplies for the winter. On the way he ran into some varmints of the two-legged variety who had tried to take his furs off his hands without offering to pay for them. He managed to dissuade them but was shot up. By the time he reached the post, he was more dead than alive with a bullet lodged inside his chest and one leg already gangrenous."
Chastity stared as Colin told a tale of fighting and injury such as she had only heard of in tales of the Wild West. To think her own father had been involved in such was beyond her imagination.
"It took several of us to persuade him to let us take care of his furs and quite a few attempts before he would let them out of his sight so we could carry him to my cabin. I did the best I could for his injuries, but we couldn't do much for his leg or the internal wounds. I think he knew. That's why he insisted I hear his story. This is how I remember it.
" 'I've lived a life of regrets,' he told me. He was a big man, with a wild black mane of hair, who had fought every kind of danger known to man, but his eyes filled with tears as he spoke. 'I married a fine young woman, and I done her wrong. When she left me, I didn't even try to find her. I got me a child somewhere, and I don't know if it be a boy or a girl. Don't know if it's got black hair like me. Or maybe white blond like my own mother, God rest her soul.' "
Colin grew quiet a moment. "Before Simon died, he wrote a letter to his wife and child and made me promise to do my best to deliver them. For a while I wondered if I'd be able to keep my promise, but here I am." He reached into his bag and pulled out a worn and soiled envelope. "This is his letter to you."
Hands trembling, Chastity took the letter. A tightness around her lungs made each breath difficult. One fingertip caressed the envelope. She closed her eyes as if doing so could contain the whirl of emotions racing back and forth through her like a washing tide. Having suddenly and unexpectedly found her father through Colin's story, she just as suddenly had lost him again. This small bit of paper was all she had left. She sought Colin's gaze, clinging to the steadiness of his light blue eyes.
He smiled and nodded. "Your father lived all those years wishing he had done things differently, wishing he could go back and undo his mistakes. In the end"—Colin's low voice deepened—"in the end he found his peace the way we all have to—he turned to God and sought forgiveness there."
The stillness around them was alive with images of Simon LaBlanc.
"I don't know what he said in his letter to you, but I do know he would have asked for your forgiveness."
Chastity's vision blurred. Choking back a sob, she hurried from the room, seeking the shelter of her own narrow quarters. She flung herself across her bed and sobbed, but she couldn't tell if she cried over the pain of her father's death or the gladness that she had this bit of him to touch and hold.
She wiped away her tears and turned the envelope over. She ran a fingernail under the flap. The paper crackled as she drew forth the pages and unfolded them. Strong black letters marched across the yellowed paper. Chastity drew in a shaky breath and began reading.
To my child,
I don't even know if you 're male or female. All I know is I've thought of you so often over the years. You may wonder how I can say that when
I never went lookin' for you or your mother. But it's true.
You might ask where I was and what I was doin' all this time. It's not a pretty story, but mostly I was drinkin' and soberin' up. When I got tired of that, I headed north. I found a little peace in the aloneness up here—a peace that was haunted by rememberin' a woman and child I had let go.
If you get this you 'II have met Colin. He told me I could make peace with God. I have, but my mind won't rest until I tell you I'm sorry. If I could go back, I'd do things a lot different.
I'm not thinkin' you can forgive me. Maybe it wouldn't even be right, and I don't deserve it.
I do wish for you to be happy. Maybe you never think about me, but if you do, don't have any regrets. And don't ever live your life lookin' back, wishin' things might have been different. Don't make the mistakes I made. I thought I could live without love. I was wrong. If y ou find someone to love, that is the most important thing you can find. Never let it get away from you.
God bless you.
From your father, Simon LaBlanc
Chastity pressed the page to her lips. "Simon LaBlanc," she whispered, "My father." A shuddering breath escaped. "I forgive you. I guess I always have." And someplace deep inside her, an empty and hollow place filled with warmth.
Someone knocked on her door. "May I come in?" her mother asked.
"Yes," Chastity answered, suddenly anxious to know how her mother had received this news.
Mother shuffled in, leaning on her canes. "You have read your letter?"
Chastity sniffled as she nodded. "How are you, Mother?"
"I'm fine," she said, smiling. "I'm so glad Simon found God in the end. He says he never quit loving me, and that makes me feel good. It's you I'm concerned about, Cherie. To hear from your father so suddenly after all these years—it must be a shock."
Chastity gave a tremulous smile. "It's a nice surprise. I'm so glad he wrote me a letter." She hugged the pages to her.
"Does it answer a need inside you?"
Chastity, laughing low in her throat, hurried over and gave her mother a hug. "I suppose it does. But don't go thinking that means I've been unhappy, because you know I haven't."
"You have always been a happy, contented person." Her mother pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Always so sweet. I couldn't ask for more."