Her heart hammering, Rosaleen bounced on the buckboard seat beside Andrew. They wended their way through the moonless night, northeast out of Madison. Andrew had told her the next station was at a place he’d called Eagle Hollow. He said the distance would be about ten miles, but the crooked, elevated path made it seem twice as long.
At last, they stopped at a little stone house, and Andrew rapped softly at the door.
The door creaked open, revealing no light within the home’s dark interior.
“I have the cargo you ordered.” Andrew’s whispered words carried through the still night air to the wagon.
No one answered, but a moment later he was at the back of the wagon helping the three runaways from their cramped hiding place.
Rosaleen’s eyes strained in the darkness to catch one last glimpse of the three who’d shared her attic room for the past two days and three nights. A prayer rent from her anxious heart. Jesus, be with them. You healed the sick, raised the dead, and stilled the tempest. Please, please just keep them safe.
“Will they make it?” Rosaleen couldn’t help asking the question as she and Andrew jostled over the rut-pocked road toward Madison.
“Good chance. Conductors from here on are pretty reliable.”
“Is Patsey really sick?” Sudden concern for her friend tightened Rosaleen’s voice. She hated the thought of Patsey sick at home alone without her husband beside her.
“She’ll be all right.” His teeth flashed a smile in the darkness. “Jis took a hankerin’ for some fried mush then couldn’t abide the grease. She be sleepin’ now.” Rosaleen heard love and longing in his soft voice. “I can walk back to the boardinghouse from here,” she said as they neared the Georgetown area of Madison.
Andrew shook his head. “Ain’t fittin’. . .or safe. Like I said, Patsey be sleepin’. ’Nother few minutes won’t make no difference to her.”
Only moments after Andrew dropped Rosaleen off near the boardinghouse and headed back to Georgetown, she understood his concerns about her walking home. Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw a large shadowy figure looming in the dark street ahead less than a half block from where she stood. As the figure neared, weaving its way toward her from the south, she heaved a sigh of relief. It was only Alistair, making his way back to the boardinghouse from a night of gambling down at the Billiard Saloon on Ohio Street’s riverfront. A good deal worse for the wear, it would seem.
“Rose’leen, m’little Rose’leen,” Alistair slurred as he grasped her around the waist. “Too late, too late,” he lamented, wagging an unsteady finger in her face. “Gamblin’ done, drinkin’ done. Time to go t’bed.”
He stumbled and nearly fell when she pushed away from his whiskey-soaked breath. “I’d say bed is exactly where you belong, Alistair.” She turned her face south toward the fresh breezes blowing off the river.
Wrapping her arm as far around him as it would go, Rosaleen prayed she’d be able to maneuver Alistair up to his room on the second floor without waking Jacob or Opal. She cringed at his every hiccup, laugh, and slurred verse of “Old Dan Tucker” until they reached the door of his room.
When she pushed open the door, he stumbled in, carrying her with him. Alistair fell back onto the bed with a crash, and she found herself pulled on top of him, his arms clamped around her. Pushing hard against his chest, she extricated herself from his grasp, but fell backward, landing on the floor with a boom. She could hear him snoring, already dead to the world.
Gasping for breath, she struggled to her feet. Her hair pulled loose from its pins and tumbled to her shoulders. It was in this disheveled state that she met Jacob’s shocked gaze as she exited Alistair’s room.
The lit candle in his hand illuminated his stunned features. He stood in his nightshirt, his blond head poking out from his bedroom door. “Everything all right?” he asked in a frosty voice.
“Yes—yes.” Mortified, Rosaleen pushed the straggling hair from her face, realizing how stupid and ineffectual the motion must look. Racing past him, she hurried to the end of the hall and the stairway that lead to her attic room. Behind her, the sound of his door snapping shut felt like a lance through her heart.
Thirteen
Rosaleen fidgeted on her seat beside the piano. For the first time since she’d begun playing for Sunday services, she felt eager for the benediction.
She hadn’t been able to look Jacob in the eye after her humiliating encounter with him outside Alistair’s room. His demeanor toward her had not thawed one degree, and her heart screamed to give him a true accounting of last night’s events. But even if she could tell him about her involvement in helping the runaway slaves, would he believe her if she tried to explain?
This morning, his sermon, taken from the second chapter of Proverbs, dealt with wisdom. She wondered if he’d chosen the theme especially for her benefit, though his gaze seemed to diligently avoid hers.
“ ‘To deliver thee from the strange woman, even from the stranger which flattereth with her words,’ ” Jacob read from verse sixteen.
She remembered the look on Jacob’s face when he’d watched her stumble from Alistair’s room. What emotions had she seen playing across his features in the vacillating light and shadows of the flickering candle? Astonishment? Of course. Anger? Disgust? Had he, like Wilfred Maguire, decided that she was beyond redemption?
The next passage of scripture that boomed from Jacob’s voice seemed directed at her. “ ‘But the wicked shall be cut off from the earth, and the transgressors shall be rooted out of it.’ ”
Wicked.
There it was again—the word Reverend Maguire had consistently attached to her. And now she’d heard it from Jacob’s own mouth. It reverberated through her stricken heart as if the very ax of the Almighty had fallen, severing her from any prospect of salvation. The hope she’d nurtured during hours of searching the Gospels for Christ’s acceptance had all at once been consumed to ashes and blown away. Reverend Maguire had been right. She was wicked—wicked and irredeemable.
Struggling for breath, Rosaleen knew she had to get away. Gathering her skirts in her fists, she leaped from her seat and ran from the room, through the boardinghouse, and out the kitchen door. Her vision obscured by tears, she ran on trembling legs as if to escape the wrath of God. She hadn’t even realized how far she’d gone until several minutes after she sank to the bench beside Jacob’s new church.
Lifting her head, she gazed two blocks south where the sunlight danced over the Ohio River like silver sprites. A strong southwest breeze carried the dank, fishy scent of the river that blended with the fresh smell of new lumber. Cool river breezes dried her tears and brushed the leaves of Orville Whitaker’s willow tree against her shoulder.
She’d so wanted to believe the promises of Christ were meant for her. But after the things Bill McGurty had forced her to do, how could she expect Jesus to look upon her with anything but disgust?
“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” Jesus’ words from the fifth chapter of Matthew seemed to seal her doom. Convinced she’d been sullied beyond repair, she pressed her face in her hands and sobbed.
❧
Frantic to learn what had caused Rosaleen to flee the parlor, Jacob brought the sermon to an abrupt close. After offering a quick benediction, he began searching the house.
He raced from room to room. Panic rose inside him when he failed to find her. If she’d felt sick, surely she would have gone to her room. Yet he found the little attic room unoccupied. He forced himself to knock at Ralston’s door. Receiving no answer, he opened it and found it vacant as well. He shoved his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm his mind. Surely she hadn’t gone off with the man.
Think, Jacob, think! Oh God, You know where she is. Please show me.
The second the idea entered his mind, he flew down the stairs, out the kitchen door, and across town.
His heart fluctuated between relief and concern when he found her crying beneath Orville’s wi
llow. Her agonized sobs ripped at his heart. Was she ashamed of what she’d done last night? Had the man forced her against her will? Or had last night not been the first time?
He remembered what he’d heard two nights ago. Footsteps and whispers in the wee hours of the morning on the floor above his. He’d heard the sound of a man’s boots on the stairs leading up to Rosaleen’s room. When these facts assembled themselves in Jacob’s mind, the picture they painted sickened him. Yet what other conclusion could there be?
Oh God, help me to show her love, not condemnation.
“Rosaleen”—he knelt at her feet and tenderly took her hands into his—“please tell me what has distressed you so. Is it Mr. Ralston and what happened between the two of you last night?”
“No!” She raised her face to his, a combination of anger, pain, and frustration brimming in her eyes. “Nothing happened between Alistair and me last night. Nothing!” Pulling her hands from his, she balled her fists in her lap. “He was drunk. I was just helping him back to his room. If you don’t want to believe me. . .” She turned her tear-streaked face toward the river.
“I believe you, Rosaleen.” Even as he said the words, there was a part of him that still wondered. “Then what is wrong?”
She swung her hurt-filled face back to his. “I wanted to belong. I’ve been reading the Gospels. I thought maybe Jesus would accept me, but I was only fooling myself.” Her voice broke over another sob. “Your sermon today—I’m the strange woman you need to be delivered from. I’m part of the wicked that shall be cut off from the earth.”
Jacob groaned. It pained him to think that his own sermon had contributed to her agony. “When the scriptures speak of the ‘wicked,’ they are referring to those who turn away from the Lord. You just said you’ve been searching for Jesus’ acceptance.” His voice softened with his melting heart. “My dear Rosaleen, He’s already accepted you.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Why on earth would you think such a thing?” Had nothing he’d tried to teach her taken root?
“Because I’m dirty. Dirty, wicked, and irredeemable. You don’t really know who I am. You don’t know all that’s happened to me.”
“What, Rosaleen? What happened that makes you think Jesus wouldn’t accept you?” Jacob attempted to put his arms around her, to comfort her, but she pulled away. His heart ached to bring her peace. “Jesus loves you, Rosaleen, and there is no sin too great for Him to forgive.”
“You don’t know! You don’t know what’s happened to me. . .or what I’ve done. Donovan didn’t die the night of the accident,” she blurted, gasping between sobs. “Black Jack Bill McGurty, a gambler and murderer, shot him. Then he took me, and for six months. . .for six months. . .” She couldn’t seem to bring herself to finish the sentence. “An hour before the boiler exploded on the Cortland Belle, I’d considered taking my own life.” Her body shook with her crying.
Stunned by the revelations, Jacob could only wonder what other dark facts she might have kept from him. Yet his heart broke at her anguish. This time she allowed him to gather her into his arms, hold her, caress her. Now he understood her night terrors. The unspeakable horrors she must have endured. He rocked her in his arms, pressing his lips against her hair. A feeling of protectiveness flooded Jacob. He knew without a doubt, for the rest of his life, he wanted to love this woman and make her feel safe.
Oh God, just help me make her feel safe.
“It’s all right, my sweet,” he murmured. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. Jesus loves you, and I love you. I love you, Rosaleen.”
“Don’t say that! You’re wrong!” Tears streamed down her face. She jumped up from the bench and stepped away as if fearing her nearness might contaminate him. “Didn’t you hear me? I was born wicked and shall always be wicked. I’m irredeemable!”
“Rosaleen, no one is irredeemable. Where did you ever get such an idea?” Frustration set a sharp edge to Jacob’s rising voice.
“The Reverend Wilfred Maguire, my former guardian. He is the minister of a church three times the size of yours.” It hurt when she cast a look of disdain toward the new church of which he felt so proud.
“He’s wrong, Rosaleen.” Furious at the man for what he’d told her, Jacob couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “Why would a minister, of all people, say such a thing?”
She drew a deep, ragged breath. “He said he’d seen women like me and my mother all his life. He said we were just like the loose, common women who’d lured his father away from his mother and broke her heart. When I refused to denounce my mother as a harlot, he declared me wicked and irredeemable. He quoted scripture that says something about God not having mercy upon me because I was conceived in shame.” She looked at him with sad, vacant eyes. “God hates me.”
Jacob groaned. How could a minister of the gospel, because of a hurt from his past, so grotesquely twist the scriptures?
“Of course God doesn’t hate you. That is just ridiculous! I believe the scripture you cited is from the book of Hosea and refers to the children of Israel who had strayed from God.” He took a deep breath. She did not need his reproach. It was not her fault that she’d been told such a cruel thing. Guiding her back to the bench, he sat down beside her and folded her hands in his.
Oh God, give me the right words that will bring her peace and lead her at last to You.
“Rosaleen, God loves all souls, no matter how they came into this world. Psalm 139 talks about how God knows us and loves us even before we are born. ‘For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb.’ ”
He searched the blue-green depths of her eyes glistening with tears. “Have you read any in the Gospel of John?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“John 3:16–17, says, ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.’ The world, Rosaleen. You are part of the world. Christ doesn’t reject anyone. People reject Him. You can be lost only by rejecting Christ.”
“But Jesus talks about being pure. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.’ ”
Jacob couldn’t help grinning in spite of himself. “You have been reading the Gospels.”
“I’m not pure, Jacob.” She closed her eyes.
Watching tears slide from beneath her lashes to streak down her face rent Jacob’s heart. He could only imagine the terror-filled scenes playing behind her closed eyelids. “Rosaleen, what happened to you was not your fault, not your sin. Remember what I told you on the Fourth of July? ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ The prophet Isaiah, speaking of Christ, said, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.’ There is no sin too great for Christ to forgive. He paid the price for everyone’s sins and left them on the cross. All that is required of you is to accept His gift of salvation. Do you believe that?”
“I—I want to.”
Jacob felt a flash of frustration at her hesitation. How much plainer could he make it? She either wanted to accept Christ or she didn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t as eager as she pretended to leave behind the sinful life.
Even if nothing had happened between her and Ralston last night, she’d come in with him so had obviously been out with him. Jacob had heard Ralston invite her to the Billiard Saloon. That, coupled with the suspicious sounds he’d heard coming from the third floor several nights ago, caused him to question her sincerity and lash out at her.
“Do you?” His dry tone reflected his doubts as the old insecurities crept back into his heart. Was he so unpersuasive a preacher he couldn’t even bring the woman he loved to the Lord? “Rosaleen, Luke 16:13 says, ‘No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one
, and despise the other.’ You must decide whether you want to cling to God or to the evils of this world.”
He saw her back stiffen. “You do think I’m evil!”
“No, of course not. I never said that. . .Rosaleen!” Jacob hated the pride that caused him to remain on the bench and watch her stride up Broadway. He scrubbed his face with his hands then looked down at the stone beneath the willow. “Well, Orville, I really botched that, didn’t I?” Because of his own pride he’d pushed her, causing her to turn from making a decision to accept Christ.
Oh God, just give me another chance.
Fourteen
“I love that hymn.”
At Jacob’s quiet voice, Rosaleen’s hands stilled on the piano keys in mid-chorus of “There Is a Fountain.” Her heart thumping, she turned to face him.
He stood in the parlor doorway, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. The tenderness in his eyes took her breath away. “Rosaleen, I’m so sorry I pressured you Sunday.” He stepped into the room, his gaze glancing downward, his voice contrite. “I had no right to push you. Accepting Christ into your heart is a very personal thing. I—I only wanted. . .”
“Jacob, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have walked away like that.” Rising, she hurried to him and touched his arm. How could he imagine he needed to apologize after the gift he’d given her? He’d led her to the verses of scripture that opened her eyes to Christ’s love and acceptance. Reading those verses by candlelight on her mattress, she’d run weeping into the open arms of Jesus, inviting His love and salvation into her heart. “Oh Jacob, I have. You made me understand that Jesus does love me. He does accept me, and I’ve accepted Him.”
The tears glistening in Jacob’s eyes touched a sweet, deep place in her heart. “Rosaleen, you’ve made me so happy.” His voice thick with emotion, he pulled her into his arms. “The angels in heaven are rejoicing with me. Jesus is rejoicing, too,” he murmured against her hair.
Standing in the circle of his arms, she found it easy to imagine staying in Madison. Knowing that Christ had forgiven her sins, she no longer felt dirty, unworthy of Jacob. For the first time, she’d allowed her heart to harbor a tiny glimmer of hope that a future with him might be possible.
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