Sometime late in the morning, Lola awoke.
“Sarah?”
“Here I am.”
“You . . . you have changed. I realized so as we talked.”
“Have I?”
“You used to be . . . more vulnerable . . . but you kept that hidden. Except, maybe, from me.”
Sarah thought about what Lola said. “I carried a great deal of pain in my heart—the wounds of what was done to me. I also carried considerable anger toward those who hurt me.”
“Is that what is different? How . . . did you change?”
“I repented. I forgave those who had sinned against me. When I did, the Lord took away my anger and gave me peace in place of my pain and anger.”
Lola’s examination of Sarah’s face seemed to drill deep into Sarah’s psyche.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You said the Lord took away your anger and gave you peace. Why? Why did he do that?”
Sarah was surprised. “Because he cares.”
Lola turned her face aside, and Sarah could see that she was upset. Disturbed. Perhaps angry herself. Sarah waited a long time before Lola looked at her again.
“Why do you believe God cares for people? I mean, why would he?”
Lola’s question was so pointed and unexpected, that Sarah fumbled for an answer. Unwilling to respond in a trite or pat manner, Sarah paused—and asked for the Holy Spirit to speak through her.
“I do not understand why he cares, Lola. Obviously, we do not deserve his care and concern. Nonetheless, he tells us that he loves us in spite of our wicked ways.”
“Where?”
“Where what?”
Where does it . . . tell us?”
The last bit of Romans 5:5 dropped from Sarah’s lips without effort.
“The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts
by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.
For when we were yet without strength,
in due time Christ died for the ungodly.”
“Is . . . that all?”
“No. Here is more from the same passage.”
“For scarcely for a righteous man
will one die:
yet peradventure for a good man
some would even dare to die.
But God commendeth his love
toward us, in that,
while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us.”
Lola stared far away. “While we were . . .”
“While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
Lola shook her head slowly. “I do not believe I can be forgiven, Sarah. I have done horrible, detestable things.”
“God’s written word disagrees with you.”
“What about every commandment and every ‘thou shalt not?’”
“They are sin, certainly.”
“Then how . . .”
“God’s plan of salvation works like this: If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.”
“I do not dispute that I am a sinner.”
“No, but you say you cannot be forgiven. This is what Scripture says about God’s forgiveness:
“If we confess our sins,
he is faithful and just
to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us
from all unrighteousness.
“The Lord requires that we confess our sins, Lola.”
“Is what I feel for you a sin?”
Sarah hesitated before answering. “Our feelings alone are not necessarily sin; they become sin if we hold them in higher esteem than we hold the Lord, if we refuse to surrender them to him, if we act upon them.”
“I must surrender what I feel for you to the Lord?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot.”
“I understand your struggle but . . . if I could do it, you can, too.”
“It is too much. Too much.”
“He will help you, Lola.”
Lola turned her face away. “Do not . . . vex me so, Sarah. I am . . . too weary.”
Chapter 24
“I cannot imagine Lola lasting more than another day or so,” Croft murmured. “She is fading quickly.”
It was Friday evening. Sarah had been at the clinic helping to care for Lola for four days; she was fatigued and at her wits’ end. Lola was slipping away, hour by hour, minute by minute, and still she resisted receiving Jesus.
Sarah ran to an exam room, slammed the door behind her, and leaned against the wall, sobbing, begging God for his help.
“O Lord! What am I to do? Did you bring Lola back into my life for me to see her go into eternity without you? No, I cannot believe that, my God. Please, Jesus. Please show me what I must do to break down Lola’s walls, to show her you, Jesus!”
Sarah wept and cried out to the Lord into the wallpaper, her bitter tears burning their way down her face. She was exhausted and faint, near to falling down, at the ragged edge of her own capacity. She did not notice when the door behind her opened, not until a gentle hand rested upon her arm.
“Sarah. You have been strong by yourself a long time. Will you not lean on me a moment? I am your brother in Christ; borrow from my poor strength a while—for just a little while.”
When Sarah’s legs collapsed from under her, Croft did not let her slip to the floor; his arm caught and turned her and held her to his chest. Sarah sank against him, crying and disconsolate.
Croft rested his chin upon her hair. “There, there,” he whispered. “Rest on me. I can be strong for both of us.”
There was nothing grasping in how he supported her, nothing selfish, nothing licentious. He asked for nothing but the opportunity to grant her temporary respite. Sarah had only once before felt safe in a man’s arms—those of her friend, old Mr. Wheatley.
As her consciousness seeped away, she felt safe again. More than safe.
She felt protected.
And she slept.
SARAH.
Sarah stirred in her sleep. “Blythe . . .”
I love you so much, Sarah. You were always good to me.
“Blythe . . .”
I am so glad you told me Jesus would find me, Sarah.
Sarah blinked her eyes, coming slowly awake. She had been dreaming . . . of Blythe. She could clearly hear the girl’s voice.
Sarah! I am not lost anymore, Sarah.
“Oh, Blythe. I shall see you again, little sister.”
Still rubbing sleep from her eyes, Sarah rose from the cot in Croft’s office. She was confused for a brief moment. “How . . .”
She remembered then, the rub of her face against Croft’s rough shirt and his arms supporting her, holding her up.
And she remembered his whisper. There, there. Rest on me. I can be strong for both of us.
She recalled those details without acrimony. Without anger or agitation.
“Lord?”
Then she knew: Something had changed. In her.
She struggled to her feet. She had not eaten for a day and a half, and she was shaking, but her pressing concern for Lola reignited. “I have, perhaps, only hours to persuade Lola to turn to Jesus. O God! What can I say to her that will move her heart to repent?”
I am so glad you told me Jesus would find me, Sarah.
Sarah sat on the cot again and dropped her face into her hands—and she heard Blythe’s words again: I should not like Lola to remain lost as I was. You will tell her, Sarah, will you not? Tell her like you told me?
Sarah recalled the hospital waiting room and the morning Croft came to tell her Blythe had died. I could not believe him. I could not follow his words. Blythe gone?
Was she never to grow into a woman? Have the family she longed for?
Was her life for nothing?
“My Lord?”
She again heard Blythe’s last words to her: I am not lost anymore, Sarah.
Sarah rose from the cot. “No, you are no longer lost, sweethea
rt. And your life was not for nothing.”
THE FORMULARY WAS DIM, lit only by the lamp placed near Lola’s cot. Sarah could hear the rasp of Lola’s labored breathing—but she rejoiced that Lola was breathing.
Disregarding Croft’s fierce injunctions, Sarah did not don gown, or gloves, or mask. Sarah knew this would be the last time she could share the Gospel with Lola. She wanted—she needed—to speak to her face to face and heart to heart.
Lola’s face had sunk in on itself. Her eyes, especially, seemed deep and hollowed, covered by skin so tissue-paper thin and translucent that Sarah could see through it.
She took Lola’s fragile hand and pressed it between hers. “Lola? Are you awake?”
Although Lola did not open her eyes, Sarah felt the slight pressure of Lola’s fingers in response.
“Lola, I wish to tell you about Blythe. Do you remember her? She lived at Palmer House perhaps only six weeks. I think—no, I am certain—that you met her while I was recovering from hurting my knee?”
Lola’s mouth worked. Sarah released her hand and brought the glass of water with a straw in it to her lips. Lola struggled to pull even a sip up the straw and into her mouth. When at last she had, she held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing.
“Y-your little sh-shadow?”
“What?”
“B-blythe.”
“Yes, Blythe, my little golden-haired angel. I wanted to tell you about her. She came to us very damaged. We did not know how damaged.”
“H-how?”
Sarah took Lola’s hand again. “She confided in me that she went out after dark to-to fetch something. It does not matter what, but while she was out, a gang of street thugs . . . they found her. Cornered her.”
Lola’s eyelids fluttered, and she raised them a little. Asking the question.
Sarah’s chin bobbed up and down. She could not stop it. “Yes, they violated her.”
Lola’s eyes closed, and she turned her head away.
Feeling that she was losing Lola, Sarah rushed on. “Breona and Mei-Xing’s street ministry found her, you see, wandering the alleys, dirty, disheveled, and half-catatonic. They had no idea what had happened and could get no answers from her; they saw only that she was alone and incapable of caring for herself.
“Breona took her home. She and Pastor Carmichael tried to feed her, but Blythe would take no food, only water. Since she was falling asleep while they spoke to her, they put her directly to bed. Blythe slept for two days. When she awoke, she was able to tell them her name, but would say little more. And she was frightened of being put back out on the street.
“Breona and Pastor Carmichael told Blythe about Palmer House. ‘A family,’ they told her. ‘A safe place. A home with a mother and sisters who will love you. Where you will not have to be afraid.’ So, she came to us, still filthy and half starving.”
Sarah had been staring at Lola’s fingers, twined in hers; when she glanced up, she found Lola’s gaunt eyes fixed upon her.
“Do you wish me to continue, Lola?”
“Y-yes.”
“Blythe had lived with an uncle, and I believe that she had never had more than him, never had a real family. Living at Palmer House was a dream come true for her—and she was so easy to love. She followed me everywhere—my little shadow as you called her. She loved me as an older sister.”
Sarah smiled, even as the tears drained down her face onto Lola’s sheets. And she saw when a look of dread crossed Lola’s expression.
“Yes, Blythe passed away two years ago, a few weeks before we last spoke. Do you remember?”
Lola nodded and seemed more awake, more attentive now.
“Of course, when she came to live at Palmer House, we began to tell her about Jesus. She was curious, but not overly interested. You see, we had not yet met her at the point of her need, the place where she hungered for healing.
“Then Martha Palmer died. And did you know? She left every girl who lived or had lived at Palmer House five hundred dollars?”
Lola moved her head marginally.
“Yes, five hundred dollars—as a bridal gift to every unmarried girl and a payment to every married girl.”
Sarah could tell Lola was thinking on what she had said. Again, she moved her head in the negative.
“I know. I was unhappy about it also. That was why I never mentioned it to you. I shall not receive my gift from Martha until I turn thirty-nine—another nine years—because, as you well know, I have chosen not to marry.”
She was quiet for a moment, thinking back to the reading of Martha’s will. “I was upset at the time, but again, I was angry about everything back then. Since that time, I have come to accept Martha’s wisdom. Her gift will mean a great deal to me when I am on the cusp of forty. It will be a blessing indeed.”
Lola squeezed Sarah’s fingers and Sarah laughed a little. “Yes. Back to Blythe. What she wanted above all things was a family. Husband, children, home. But she was so ashamed that she had been raped. She considered herself damaged goods and thought that no decent man would ever love her.
“Then I told her that Jesus came to take not only our sin, but also our shame, because God gave what was his most precious gift—his Son, Jesus—to pay for our sins, to buy us back. I told her that after we are born from above, we no longer feel guilty, dirty, or worthless.”
Lola frowned a little.
“You did not know that either? Hmm. Well, I shall tell you just as I told her: God made every individual in his likeness, and he loves us very much. We are so special to him! Like his children. Inevitably, though, each of us goes our own way. We sin against God. We sin against others. We stray far away from God until we are lost, so very lost, and cannot find our way to him.
“I asked Blythe, ‘Do you know what it feels like to be lost, dear one?’
“Blythe said, ‘Oh, yes. I think I have been lost forever.’ It nearly broke my heart, the way she said it. Do you know what she said after that?”
Lola’s attention was focused wholly on Sarah’s tale; she pressed Sarah’s fingers, urgently.
“Well, Blythe said, ‘I do not want to be lost anymore, Sarah.’”
Sarah was weeping again. “So, I told her, ‘That is why Jesus came. He came to seek and save those who are lost—lost just like you and lost just like me. If we are sorry for our sins and call upon Jesus, he will come and find us and wash us clean. And Jesus will take away your shame, Blythe. All of it.’”
Sarah had to stop; she could not go on. She sobbed onto the bedclothes, reliving that moment, that beautiful moment when Blythe leaned against her, turned her trusting eyes to her, and said, “Please, Sarah, I want to call upon Jesus.”
When she looked up, minutes later, Lola’s sunken eyes were moist. Sarah had not thought it possible, given how dehydrated Lola’s body had to be.
“What is it, Lola? Do you wish me to finish?”
“Y-y . . .”
Sarah brought the straw to Lola’s mouth, and she was able to swallow twice. Then she looked at Sarah, willing her to continue.
“Blythe said then, ‘Please, Sarah, I want to call upon Jesus.’ We prayed together. She asked Jesus to save her, to forgive her, to take away her shame.”
Swallowing down another bout of tears, Sarah said, “Some weeks later, Blythe became sick. We thought it a simple stomach influenza. It was not; it was her appendix. We called Dr. Croft in the middle of the night. He came and knew immediately how serious her condition was. We left for the hospital in his motor car. I sat in the back seat with Blythe’s head in my lap.
“The pain was unbearable, and she was crying and screaming. Then . . . then she became calm and the pain eased momentarily. Dr. Croft said her appendix had ruptured. He took her into surgery and did all he could to save her, but he said . . . he said she could not fight off the sepsis. Her body was already dreadfully fragile, and the infection overwhelmed her. She died just as morning dawned.”
Lola stared at Sarah, heartbreak in her sunke
n eyes.
“It was what Blythe said in the motor car, during the lull in her pain, that has never left me. She said, ‘I am so glad you told me Jesus would find me, Sarah. I am not lost anymore.’”
Sarah tried to smile. “I am not lost anymore—those were Blythe’s last words to me. I know that today she is in heaven, safe from all pain and sorrow, washed clean of shame. I shall see her again, at the Resurrection.”
Lola slowly blinked, and Sarah knew that this moment was all the time she had left to press the claims of Jesus upon her.
“Lola, are you lost, as Blythe was? Do you wish Jesus to find you and take you to heaven?”
To Sarah’s great wonder, Lola licked her cracked lips and gasped, “C-can he?”
“Oh, yes! Jesus has been seeking for you all your life. It is not too late to confess your sins and surrender to the mastery of Christ. Will you, Lola?”
With a slight but deliberate movement, Lola ducked her chin.
“Are you . . . are you ready to surrender your feelings for me to the Lord and give them up?”
Lola’s eyes turned toward Sarah, and Sarah saw in their depths an anguish she comprehended—the agony of imminent crucifixion, the impending sacrifice and death of what was most dear.
“I . . . am.”
Sarah fought back the moisture that sprang to her eyes. How I thank you for hearing the cry of my heart, Lord! Thank you! Thank you!
In slow, painstaking steps, Sarah led Lola to confess her sins before God and call upon Jesus for forgiveness. Sarah paused often as Lola struggled to pull air into her diseased and failing lungs. She used up every bit of her waning strength to speak—in short, gasping phrases—her declaration of faith.
When Sarah ended with, “O Jesus! Thank you for saving me!” Lola could only move her fingers within Sarah’s hands to affirm her gratitude.
Soon after, Lola began to pant, her chest rising and falling in rapid, insufficient breaths. Her fingers no longer moved, and her eyes became fixed on something Sarah could not see.
Lola continued so—until her shallow breaths stuttered, faltered . . . and ceased.
“Oh, Lola! You are lost no more,” Sarah whispered. “Thanks be to God.”
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