Remembrance

by Spaeth, Janet

  She knew that they were staring at her, astonished at the sudden change in her, but she had to leave. She needed to be alone and work this out. She had to talk to God—and to herself.

  Buttoning her coat as she closed the door behind her, she was only slightly aware that the soft snow had now turned to sleet. Nothing in the present mattered. Only the past was important today.

  She strode, blindly, down the road and across the town square to the boardinghouse.

  “Did they like the cookies—” Mrs. Adams began when Eliza pushed the front door open, but she could only duck her head and run up the stairs to her room.

  Please, don’t let anyone knock on my door and ask if I’m all right, she pleaded with God as she slipped out of her coat and let it fall to the floor. I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t. Only You.

  She went to her favorite spot in the room, the window seat, and put her head on the cool wooden ledge.

  Help me, she pleaded. Dearest God, what should I do?

  The past began to march past her in a lurid parade. Blaine Loring, dressed as he always was, in an impeccable suit with a gold tiepin, courting her with flowers and poetry and trinkets. He loved her so much, he’d told her, that not only would he line her path with rose petals, he’d do the same with her friends.

  All they had to do—

  She stopped. The memory was like a knife jabbed deeply into her heart, but she forced herself to go on.

  All they had to do was give him part of their wages, meager though they might be, and he’d invest them in a no-fail venture that would double, triple, or even quadruple their portions. One day, he told her, her friends could hire their current employers to be their maids, their seamstresses, their nannies.

  It was a delicious lure, and she fell for it. For the next eighteen months, she encouraged her friends to turn over as much of their earnings to him as they could. Week after week, month after month, they all scraped yet another layer off their expenses, because they had been assured of a return that would make it all worthwhile.

  Apparently this was the biggest of his lies. And worst of all, she’d pledged that his honesty was unquestionable, and because of that—because of that—they trusted him with their money.

  Her father raised her to be as straight with people as possible. She thought she had been, but she believed the lies, too.

  Fool. That’s what she was, a fool.

  God, please help me. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please.

  It was the only prayer she could come up with. Visions of the young women who so innocently handed over their savings floated in front of her eyes. Penny by penny, nickel by nickel, she had helped him rob them.

  The verse from Matthew floated back into her mind: Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.

  There was the warning, right in front of her. Every word, every single word, applied to what happened. Yet still she hadn’t seen it, her head had been so completely turned with his fancy words and slick phrases.

  She hadn’t been harmless. That was what would haunt her.

  Would they ever forgive her? Could she ever forgive herself?

  Maybe in a legal world, she wasn’t guilty of anything except misguided faith. She sat up abruptly. What was it that Edward read from the newspaper? Something about the authorities planning to search for Blaine Loring’s accomplices?

  She couldn’t breathe as she realized what that meant.

  The police wanted her, too.

  ❧

  Silas paced in his room. He was done with the unexpected. It never seemed to be good news, and the events of the day proved it once again. He watched Eliza as his uncle read the news aloud, and he’d seen her reaction. Then when Edward brought up the subject again, she grew as pale as the snow-covered lawn and fled from the house. It was clear what had happened.

  She’d invested heavily in this crook’s scheme and gauging from her reaction, she’d lost quite a lot of money in it. He rubbed his forehead and frowned.

  Was there anything he could do to help her? He wasn’t a rich man, but he wasn’t poor either. Yet somehow, offering her money seemed wrong. Even though his intentions were the best, considering how she’d lost her investment, his move might be misread.

  He could wait for her to broach the subject herself. Immediately he rejected that idea. She wasn’t the kind to do that. She was undoubtedly embarrassed by what happened.

  What had happened, anyway? The newspaper provided only the vaguest skeleton of events. He wanted to know how she came to be involved and how deeply she was affected.

  He needed to know how much was her money—and how much was her heart.

  Silas walked to the window and looked out. He couldn’t see the boardinghouse, but he knew where it was—just beyond that set of trees and that cluster of houses, down the road and around the corner.

  Tonight it felt as if it were at the end of the universe.

  The clock downstairs chimed twice. Two a.m. He’d be a wreck in the morning if he didn’t get some sleep.

  He climbed into bed and, as always, reviewed Professor Barkley’s memory verse for the day. It was Proverbs 25:25: As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.

  There certainly was news from a far country—that is, if one considered Duluth and St. Paul “far countries” rather than “far cities”—but how this could possibly be considered “good news” was beyond him.

  He gave up trying to make sense of it and, as he succumbed to sleep, a prayer for Eliza was on his lips. . .and his heart.

  Seven

  The days marched forward relentlessly, with no respite in sight. When Eliza did sleep, it was too lightly to be restorative. She spent most of the nights in a drowsy torpor, too anxious to sleep and too tired to rouse herself.

  A tentative knock on the door startled Eliza. She sat up and stretched, every muscle in her back and neck screaming in protest. She must have finally fallen asleep at the window seat, her head cradled on her arm.

  This had to end—soon. For almost two weeks the guilt had been building until her stomach throbbed from it, her head shrieked in pain, and her soul was sick. She tried to reason her way out of it, to convince herself that she couldn’t be held accountable for something she didn’t know about, but it didn’t help. All she could think about were the women who gave Blaine Loring their money, simply because they trusted her.

  Maybe in a court of law she wouldn’t be considered responsible, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge of her culpability.

  She stood and made her way to the door. Hyacinth stood there, a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast in her hands. “How are you feeling?”

  Hyacinth didn’t need to say more. Eliza knew that the older woman’s eyes had scanned her room and had seen the bed still not slept in, had taken note of her clothing that she had worn the day before and which was now quite wrinkled.

  She’d only gone out when absolutely necessary, pleading a headache the week before when church time came around. It wasn’t a lie. Her temples pounded from lack of sleep and worry.

  “Are you sick?” Hyacinth persisted gently. “Should I find a doctor?”

  Eliza shook her head. “No, no doctor.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  It wasn’t an easy question to answer. She did want to, but not yet. Not until she had sorted through everything that was plaguing her.

  “Dear, if you do decide you want a sympathetic ear, I’ve got two. Take it on your own time. Are you hungry? Mrs. Adams sent this up.”

  The tea and toast smelled heavenly, and she gratefully took them. “I’m sorry,” she managed to say, working the words past the dry lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away. “It’s not that I’m trying to avoid you, or anyone, for that matter. I’ve got something sitting heavily on my mind.”

  Hyacinth patted her arm. “You take your time. But if you want to go to church with us, taking your time
isn’t an option. We’re leaving on the dot of eight, you know, which is in twenty minutes.”

  Time with God in His own house sounded like a wonderful idea. She spoke around the pulsing throb that settled behind her ears. “I’ll hurry.”

  “Good,” Hyacinth pronounced. “I’m glad.”

  As soon as the older woman left, Eliza hurried to get ready for worship. In between bits of toast and sips of tea, she washed her face, rebraided her hair, and changed her dress.

  Soon she was walking down the road to the church with Hyacinth and Mrs. Adams. The temperature had risen, and with the sun shining so brightly, she could almost smell spring ahead.

  At the front of the church, the weather was the topic of conversation.

  “It’s the January thaw,” one man said. “It happens every year. It’s just running late a bit. Doesn’t mean a thing. Soon enough the temperature will drop and we’ll be shivering again.”

  “Of course it’s the January thaw,” another answered, “but it’s God’s way of saying that the winter will end and that spring will come.”

  “Science versus poetry,” Hyacinth murmured to Eliza. “It’s a battle that will never end.”

  “I hope poetry wins.” Being able to walk outside without burying her face in her scarf was liberating. With the sun on her face, she managed to let herself relax and enjoy the brief walk.

  Hyacinth led her right to the pew where Silas and Edward were sitting. Both men looked at her with concern but neither said a word. Never before had Eliza appreciated silence so much.

  “Today’s sermon is about housekeeping,” Reverend Tupper began. “Spiritual housekeeping, that is. It comes right from the Fifty-First Psalm: ‘Create in me a clean heart, O God.’ I’d like us all to think about how clean our hearts are. Do you need to do some spiritual housekeeping?”

  Eliza leaned forward. The words were startlingly apropos, and she clung onto every one.

  “The psalmist seems to be telling us that God can do it for us,” the minister continued. “Is he saying that God is like a hired man, maybe a butler sweeping the crumbs away from our banquet of a sinful life? ‘Create in me a clean heart, O God.’ What do those words mean? We tell God what to do, and He does it? We want him to take away our sins, and He does it? Is this verse a command to God?”

  The answer came to her so clearly that she thought she must have spoken it aloud. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea. She wanted a clean heart. Desperately.

  Reverend Tupper continued. “This is a very personal verse. I imagine that every one of you is sitting in your pew, interpreting the words’ meaning as they apply to your own life’s needs, and for each of us, that meaning will be different. These words strike right to the need of the human existence.”

  Behind her, a sleeping child awoke and was promptly quieted by its mother. Other than that, the church was silent as the congregation listened intently.

  “ ‘Create in me a clean heart.’ The words sum up the earthly situation and the basic quest of the Christian. We’re all looking to make our hearts clean. But how? Is it God’s responsibility? Let’s read further.”

  He opened his worn Bible and read the entire psalm aloud. “Notice that the psalmist asks God to wash him, to purge him. He asks God not to put him aside, and not to hold back His love. ‘Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation,’ he begs. He needs God. He knows God, but something has come between him and the Lord. He’s penitent, and he wants to make it right.”

  The minister closed the Bible. “This psalm addresses the importance of coming before God Himself, and asking His help. Isn’t that,” Reverend Tupper said softly, “what we need to do? All of us? He knows it. We just have to ask.”

  She did want a clean heart. She knew that only God could make it happen—but she had to be repentant. She had to ask for it. She had to want it with all her being. It wasn’t just going to happen.

  But what was she supposed to do? What did God want her to do? How, exactly, was she to do her own spiritual housecleaning?

  The sermon was over, and the congregation stood to sing the final hymn. She sang the words but her mind was still on the sermon. The hymn ended, the blessing was given, and she didn’t move, too absorbed in her self-questioning.

  Hyacinth nudged her. “I think the service is over.”

  Eliza came back to earth with a start. “Of course. I’m sorry. I was completely lost in thought.”

  “That’s the way a good sermon should end,” Edward declared stoutly. “It’s like a solid meal for the soul that lasts all week long.”

  “I like that.” Eliza turned to Silas. “Your uncle has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

  Silas made a sound like a cross between a snort and a sniff. “He’s quite the Nathaniel Hawthorne, that one.”

  If she hadn’t been in church, she might have argued his attitude, but the aura of thoughtful worship held her tightly, and she was not going to let it go. Instead, she paused to let an elderly woman step in front of her, taking advantage of the break to focus away from Silas’s sneering words.

  “Sorry.”

  The word was muttered so low, that for a moment she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that Silas had, in fact, spoken.

  “It’s just that—” he began, but he let his voice trail off and he shook his head. “Sorry,” he repeated as the cluster of worshipers in the aisle began to move again.

  She might have pursued it further had not she heard her name called.

  “Miss Davis! Mrs. Mason!” Mrs. Adams bustled through the congregation still waiting to leave the sanctuary.

  Eliza stopped, but Hyacinth had already moved out of the church ahead of her with Edward.

  “Miss Davis, I would like to discuss something with you and Mrs. Mason. You are coming back for dinner, are you not? You’re not going to the Collier house.”

  Eliza noticed it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. “I hadn’t—” she began, and Mrs. Adams nodded.

  “I’d like to meet with you after dinner today.” She buttoned her coat to the top, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and tugged on her gloves. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  And with those enigmatic words, the landlady left Eliza and Silas.

  “Well,” Eliza said. “We’ve been told—something, I just don’t know what.”

  “What have you done? Have you and Hyacinth been acting wild?”

  “You needn’t sound so hopeful,” Eliza said. “I’m afraid we’ve done nothing more dangerous than shop for fabric, walk about Remembrance, and spend time at the Robbins home.”

  Unless, she realized as soon as she’d spoken, Mrs. Adams had heard about what had happened in St. Paul. But she’d never have been able to connect it with Eliza.

  A thought leaped into her mind with such force that Eliza stopped suddenly, and Silas ran right into her. Guilt gnawed so deeply that it was beginning to erode her common sense.

  The sole way out of letting Blaine Loring’s vileness win was to fight back, and the only weapon she had was the truth.

  A clean heart.

  She knew what she had to do, and she was going to do it. The rhythmic coursing in her head began to fade as hope replaced it.

  Eliza barely heard Silas’s good-bye, scarcely registered Hyacinth’s chatter as they returned to the boardinghouse. Her mind was full of what she had to do, and her thoughts were racing to determine how to proceed.

  She ate automatically as she mentally sorted through approaches to deal with her guilt, and at the end of the meal, Mrs. Adams reminded them to stay.

  “I’ve come to a decision,” the landlady announced. “It wasn’t an easy one to make, but it’s the right one. I have a daughter in Mankato, you know, and I’m going to move there to live with her.”

  “You have a daughter?” Eliza asked, coming out of her fog. The thought of Mrs. Adams having a family had never even crossed her mind.

  “Yes, I have a daughter. And a son, too. He’s in Minne
apolis. But the point is that I’ll be moving in with Ella and closing the boardinghouse.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Hyacinth said. “I mean that you’re moving in with your daughter, not closing the boardinghouse. When is this going to happen?”

  “In two weeks, if the weather holds. Ella and her husband will come up here and pack my belongings. I’ll be living with them, so some of the furniture will be sold, I imagine.”

  The full import of what Mrs. Adams was saying sank in. Eliza would be without a home soon. Her stomach cramped at the thought.

  Mrs. Adams crossed her arms over her broad chest and frowned. “Are you still planning then to take the old Lindstrom place?”

  “The small house with the birdbath behind the store? Yes, when it’s ready, which should be within a few days,” Hyacinth answered. “I’ll be leaving here and moving in there, so this should work out perfectly.”

  This couldn’t be real. What was going to happen to her? Eliza’s fingers curled into tight fists. Where could she go? Not back to St. Paul, certainly.

  Hyacinth looked at Eliza. “If Eliza is willing, she can stay with me. We can be bachelor girls together.”

  Eliza sighed happily. Thank You, Lord! It was the answer to her prayer—or at least one of them.

  This was the perfect solution, even if it was only temporary. Until she got things squared away in St. Paul, much of her life would be short-term solutions to long-term problems.

  She heard only faintly the plans of the two older women to move some of the extra furniture from the boardinghouse into their new home. If but for a little while, she had some time.

  Now she had to use it wisely.

  ❧

  Silas blew out the lamp and stood at the window, staring toward the boardinghouse. Word had filtered back to him what Mrs. Adams wanted to talk to Eliza and Hyacinth about.

  To be honest, he wouldn’t miss the cantankerous landlady. Her stinginess was legendary in Remembrance. She could squeeze a penny and get a dollar, as Silas overheard one day in the general store, where apparently she’d taken the store owner to task for charging the same for two apples, when one was clearly larger than the other.