Sweet Forever

by Ramona K. Cecil

  A sharp glance from Opal shushed Patsey, drying up her chuckle.

  Patsey’s inadvertent disclosure only added to Rosaleen’s discomfort when an hour later, sitting beside the piano among a parlor full of worshipers, she found herself in the last place she’d wanted to be.

  Rosaleen had been prepared to dislike Sophie Schuler, but she couldn’t. Throughout the service, she’d found her attention drawn to the girl.

  Her heart wilting, Rosaleen was forced to admit that the young woman would be a perfect match for Jacob. Her honey blond hair peeking from beneath her rose-studded bonnet matched his almost exactly. Her pale blue eyes were but a few shades lighter than his.

  Squished between her aunt and uncle on the black horsehair sofa, the quiet, petite young woman seemed the picture of demure grace. Sophie’s carefully fashioned side curls framed her face in gold ringlets. With the slightest movement, they brushed against her alabaster cheek that bloomed the pale pink of wild roses. Mostly, the Stinnetts’ niece kept her gaze fixed on her white-gloved hands, clasped in the lap of her rose taffeta skirt. Occasionally, however, she’d cast a shy glance up toward Jacob, who stood preaching from the open Bible draped across his outstretched arm.

  From her vantage point beside the piano, Rosaleen squirmed on the gold velvet-upholstered hassock. She wondered if anyone was actually listening to Jacob’s sermon, as all eyes seemed trained on either Sophie Schuler or herself.

  Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her balled fists into the lap of her blue chintz dress. Self-conscious, she felt sure everyone would recognize it as one of Becky Morgan’s cast-offs.

  After the initial butterflies in her stomach settled down, she’d actually enjoyed playing for the service. Jacob’s introduction had been mercifully brief and simple, describing her as “Mrs. Archer, an accomplished pianist in Mrs. Buchanan’s employ, who’ll be filling in at the piano for a time.”

  Also, she’d been surprised to find herself enjoying watching him preach. What she heard bore scarce resemblance to the fire-and-brimstone sermons her former guardian had leveled at his congregation. Jacob’s voice, tender and moving, spoke of God’s enduring love and His calling of all to repentance.

  All!

  Jacob’s impassioned but gentle voice reading the words of Jesus brought tears to her eyes. Could it actually mean what it said? Could it mean her?

  She found the picture Jacob painted of Christ as the Good Shepherd a compelling one. One she longed to grasp. Yet she could still hear Wilfred Maguire’s contradicting words ringing in her ears.

  “You are a harlot’s spawn—wicked and irredeemable.”

  It was all so confusing. Which was right? Which was wrong? Rosaleen didn’t think she could bear opening her heart, hoping to find inclusion, only to learn that Jesus’ invitation did not apply to her and that her former guardian had been right.

  She looked at Jacob then at Sophie Schuler. One way or another, her heart seemed destined to be broken in Madison, Indiana.

  At the conclusion of Jacob’s sermon, Rosaleen watched for his nod. Taking her place at the piano, she accompanied the congregation in their singing of “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.”

  During the benediction, she sat quietly, feeling very apart from the others in the room. Did God actually hear Jacob’s heartfelt words? Would he hear hers? The last time she remembered expressing anything that resembled a prayer had been that night in the river when she’d feared drowning. Had God heard her? Had it been His hand that saved her?

  “Rosaleen.”

  Jacob’s voice startled her from her musings, and she whirled around on the piano seat. Rosaleen hated the jealousy gripping her as Jacob approached arm in arm with Sophie Schuler.

  “Rosaleen, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” He smiled, glancing affectionately at the diminutive blond girl beside him. “This is Sophie Schuler, an old friend from my home village.”

  Standing, Rosaleen smiled, surprised at how easy and genuine the response came.

  “Sophie, this is Mrs. Rosaleen Archer. She has graciously agreed to act as pianist for our congregation until such a time as you might feel prepared to accept that duty.”

  “I—I don’t know. Oh Jacob, must I?” Sophie murmured through her fingertips she pressed against her lips.

  Rosaleen saw stark fear glisten in Sophie’s pale blue eyes.

  “Why, no. Of course you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

  As Jacob patted Sophie’s hand, Rosaleen felt a pain in the vicinity of her heart.

  “Mrs. Archer is such a wonderful pianist. I’m afraid the piano was not one of the studies at which I excelled during my education at Miss Ely’s Academy for Girls. Would you mind terribly continuing your music ministry, Mrs. Archer?” Hope shone from the girl’s eyes.

  At once, Rosaleen felt both ashamed of her own jealousy and compelled to relieve the girl’s anxiety. “No, of course not.”

  Glancing at Jacob, Rosaleen experienced a flash of irritation when she saw him fight a grin. She realized he was reacting to Sophie’s suggestion that her piano playing was some sort of “ministry.”

  “Like my Aunt Myrtle, I’d much rather do needlework,” Sophie admitted. “But I do dread telling Uncle Roscoe. He’s already out of sorts because I spend so much time with Edith Applegate.” She raised her chin in a defiant pose. “But Edith was my very best friend at Miss Ely’s, and I can’t help it if Uncle Roscoe is angry with her papa.”

  Rosaleen remembered Opal mentioning the falling out between Roscoe Stinnett and Edward Applegate. According to Opal, when Edward Applegate left Riverfront Porkpacking to start his own pork packing business, the two men became bitter rivals, undercutting one another at every turn.

  “Why don’t you leave your uncle to me,” Jacob offered, to which Sophie responded with a grateful smile.

  “Oh, thank you, Jacob.” Sophie bounced like a giddy child. She glanced across the room where her aunt and uncle stood conversing with another couple. “Now, while Uncle Roscoe’s attention is diverted, I must catch up with Edith and her brother, Edwin.” Sophie murmured a quick good-bye, and with a rustling of her taffeta skirts, went to join a young lady with strawberry blond curls, standing beside a tall young man of the same coloring.

  “She’s a very sweet girl.” Rosaleen meant every word as she followed Jacob’s gaze across the room.

  “Yes. Yes, she is.” His soft voice held a thoughtful tone. As he turned his full attention to Rosaleen, his tone and countenance brightened. “I want to commend you on the wonderful job you did today. I’m sure my heart was not the only one touched by your playing.” His mouth quirked in a mischievous grin. “Sophie was right. It is a ministry, you know.”

  Rosaleen stiffened. “I play the piano, that’s all.” Suggesting that someone God refused to recognize could perform any kind of ministry seemed beyond absurd. She wouldn’t be forced to be something she wasn’t—not ever again.

  “Rosaleen”—her heart pranced when he gazed into her eyes and took her hands in his—“I know this was not the first sermon you’ve heard me preach. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve noticed you in the hallway outside the parlor door during worship services. You’re searching for something, and you don’t know what it is. But I do.”

  Reveling in the touch of his hands on hers, Rosaleen made no comment, unable to speak over the knot in her throat. She wished he’d never let go.

  When his fingers slipped away, she felt bereft. She watched him walk to the mahogany desk near the parlor window and retrieve a small brown paper package.

  “Please take this. It is in appreciation of your agreeing to play for services.” He pressed the package into her hands, and his gaze melted into hers. “Please promise me you’ll read it. If you have any questions, any at all, please ask me and I’ll endeavor to help answer them.”

  Rosaleen managed a smile and a nod.

  That night she sat cross-legged on her straw mattress, the Bible Jacob had given her in her lap. In the flick
ering light of the lantern hanging from the wall sconce, she read the words of Jesus. Her eyes misted as she read from Matthew 11:28–29: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”

  Could Jesus give her peace? Could he accept a soul that had been a mistake?

  All afternoon her heart had warred. Jacob had spent the day at the Stinnetts’, visiting Sophie. Rosaleen knew she should be happy for him if he were to renew his relationship with the sweet Sophie. He deserved a pure, unblemished wife.

  Tears seeped through her lashes as she shut her eyes tight against the awful scenes flashing behind them: Bill McGurty’s whiskey-laced breath hot on her face. Her useless struggles. Then there were the others—those Bill had sent to her in order to curry their favor. And those times he had forced her to steal what he hadn’t taken from them at the gambling table.

  Shame that no amount of tears could extinguish burned her face and twisted through her like a hot poker. Her heart crumbled beneath the weight of the disgusting memories, and she gave way to sobs.

  Why had she ever allowed the thought to flit across her mind that Jacob Hale might ever care for her? She felt like a dirty rag beside Sophie Schuler’s spotless purity.

  Collapsing to the straw mattress, she pressed the Bible against her broken heart.

  Oh Jesus, help me.

  Nine

  The surprising aroma of baking bread met Rosaleen as she descended the stairs. Her curiosity growing, she glanced at the transom window above the front door. The first faint rays of dawn stained the glass pink. This was Tuesday. They always baked on Wednesday, but even then, they never began this early.

  Since her arrival at the boardinghouse, one of Rosaleen’s jobs had been to start the cookstove each morning. Confused, she quickened her steps, worried that Mrs. Buchanan might consider her negligent in her duties.

  Just outside the kitchen door, she stopped short, her bewilderment compounding when she saw Patsey Chapman, who never came before seven in the morning.

  “Patsey, what are you doing here so early?” Rosaleen snatched her apron off the peg behind the door, deciding Opal must have forgotten to mention to her they’d be baking early this morning.

  At Rosaleen’s exclamation, Patsey turned from the open oven door and pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh. Don’t want to wake up the whole house yet.”

  Rosaleen lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Why are we making bread on Tuesday, and so early? Opal never said anything to me about it.”

  Hampered by her expanded middle, Patsey groaned as she bent over and pulled another loaf of freshly baked bread from the oven. “Gonna have more mouths to feed in a day or two—lots more.”

  Still confused, Rosaleen shook her head. “Mrs. Buchanan never mentioned anything about more boarders.”

  Patsey lowered her voice, her bright eyes darting about as if concerned that someone else might be listening. “Not for here. For Georgetown.” She shoved another loaf of bread dough into the oven. “Andrew jis got word yesterday. There’s a train a-comin’.”

  “Runaways?” Rosaleen blurted, forgetting to whisper.

  “Shh!” Patsey’s brow furrowed, and she shot a nervous glance through the kitchen window into the half-lit, dewy garden. Even the mention of the word aloud infused her face with fear. She supplied further information in a quick, staccato whisper. “Andrew got word. Don’t know when. Jis got to be ready.”

  “Good morning, Patsey. Rosaleen.” Smiling, Opal walked into the kitchen tying on her apron. Her demeanor gave no indication that she found anything at all odd about baking bread at the crack of dawn on a Tuesday. She dipped water from the bucket by the door into the teakettle and set it on top of the stove.

  “Patsey, you know that big ham hanging near the door of the smokehouse?” At Patsey’s nod, Opal continued in a conversational tone. “Well, I’m afraid it might go bad in this heat, so if you know people who could use it, have Andrew take it to your place this evening, would you?”

  “Yes’m.”

  Rosaleen listened to Patsey’s muted reply and scooped flour into a large crockery bowl from a muslin sack. Suddenly, she realized Opal, too, knew about the expected arrival of the runaways. Feeling a kinship with those running from oppression, Rosaleen turned to Mrs. Buchanan. “Is there anything I can do to help, Opal?”

  Opal pinned her with a knowing stare, but her tone remained light and unconcerned. “Why, of course, Rosaleen. This is a boardinghouse,” she said with a little chuckle. “There’s always something to do.”

  Nodding, Rosaleen understood. She must make no mention of the Underground Railroad.

  Opal turned her attention to cutting thick slices of bacon that she then laid in the sizzling-hot cast-iron frying pan. “Reverend Hale left before dawn to work on that church building again. That man’s gonna keel over if he keeps workin’ hours on end without eatin’. Rosaleen, I’d like for you to take him this bacon with some of Patsey’s good bread and a little jug of milk.”

  Rosaleen jerked her head up from the bread dough she’d begun kneading at the kitchen table. Her mind raced with her heart. Feeling sure he’d renewed his relationship with Sophie Schuler, Rosaleen had vowed to spend as little time in Jacob’s presence as possible. “But shouldn’t I help Patsey—”

  “Patsey has things well in hand, and any assistance she might need, I can give her.” Opal packed the bacon, bread, and jug of milk into a linen-lined basket.

  A few minutes later, Rosaleen headed out the back door toward Main-Cross Street. She slowed her steps when she reached Broadway. The morning sun shining through the trees dappled the street with gold. Its warmth on her shoulders did nothing to brighten her heart. Perhaps she could simply hand him the basket and leave.

  I’ll tell him I have work to do at the boardinghouse, I’ll say—

  Her musings broke off as she neared the building site. The mule team hitched to a wagon of lumber stood tied and unattended, but she heard no ringing of a hammer or whoosh of a saw. Fear grabbed at her heart. Had he been hurt? Was he lying somewhere injured or. . . “Jacob! Jacob, where are you?”

  “Rosaleen?”

  A relieved sigh puffed from Rosaleen’s lips when Jacob’s blond head popped up from the far side of the building.

  “Mmm, breakfast.” Smiling, he hurried to her side and took the basket from her hand. He lifted the cloth, releasing the delicious smells of fresh-baked bread and fried bacon. Rosaleen’s heart bucked when he set the basket on the ground and took her hand in his.

  “I was hoping you’d come this morning.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “I can always depend on Mrs. Buchanan’s insistence that I eat breakfast.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside Rosaleen at knowing he’d expected her, had been waiting for her.

  “Come, I want to show you something.”

  They rounded the church, now framed by skeletal walls of vertical two-by-fours. “There will be stone steps later,” he said, helping her up the makeshift wooden steps into what would be the sanctuary.

  She grasped his hand and her heart ached at his nearness. If only—if only. . .

  Never in her life had she wanted to feel a man’s arms around her more than at this moment.

  “Here.” Oblivious to her thoughts, he towed her to a sunny spot near the front of the church. Stepping behind her, he gently grasped her shoulders and turned her toward an opening in the wall at the east side of the sanctuary. “This is the spot where we’ll put the piano—here by the window, where the morning sun will shine through.”

  The angle presented a nearly uncluttered view of the Ohio River, shimmering in the morning sunlight.

  “This is what I want you to see each Sunday morning.” His soft breath caressed her face as he bent his head over her shoulder.

  Though she found the scene beautiful, it was the nearness of his face that took her breath away.
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br />   How easy it would be to lean my head against his neck, to turn my face ever so slightly. . . No! I mustn’t do this, I mustn’t!

  Pulling away from his grasp, she turned and stepped backward. When her left foot found only air, she gasped, her right foot teetering on the edge of the floor.

  Fear constricted her chest when she glanced down at a pile of bricks below. Suddenly, she felt Jacob’s arms around her, pulling her back into the building and hard against him.

  Wrapped in his strong arms, she surrendered to temptation, pressing her head against his chest. Her heart hammering, she clung to him. This was what she’d wanted. The moment she’d dreamed of for so long—to melt in the embrace of her angel’s arms.

  “Rosaleen,” he murmured, sounding as breathless as she felt. The stubble of his unshaven chin prickled against her cheek as he nudged her face back. For a moment, their gaze held. Then, as his eyes closed and his face lowered, their lips met.

  Feeling as limp as a rag doll, Rosaleen luxuriated in the kiss, glad that Jacob’s strong arms supported her, holding her tight.

  The sudden realization of what was happening jolted her from the beautiful trance. She pushed away from him, tears of regret stinging her eyes.

  Rosaleen felt wretched. How could she do this to Sophie? Sweet, naive little Sophie. Jacob deserved better. He deserved someone like Sophie. “We—we mustn’t.” Filled with panic and disgust, she stumbled away from him toward the front steps.

  “Rosaleen, I—I never meant. . .”

  Disregarding the look of bewildered pain in his blue eyes, Rosaleen fled down the steps and ran sobbing across town until she reached the boardinghouse.

  Trembling at the backyard pump, she washed the tears from her face. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? Her heart sank at the awful truth.

  Reverend Maguire was right. I am evil.

  Her resolve stiffened. She must leave Madison as soon as possible.

  Glad to find Opal and Patsey gone from the kitchen, Rosaleen headed for the stairs. Still shaking, she sought the solitude of her little attic room.