The next thing she knew David was pulling her close. Once again Elizabeth was in his arms, but this time it wasn’t thoughts of Jeremiah that comforted her. This time it was him.
* * *
She was literally trembling in his arms. David hoped his words would soothe her. “We all make mistakes,” he whispered. “The important thing is learning from them. And you have, Elizabeth. You have indeed...”
Her hair smelled like lavender water. He couldn’t help drinking in the scent. It felt so good to hold her. Inevitably he longed for her to be beside him, not only continuing a working partnership but forming a true union in every sense of the word.
But she can never know that. For, if she ever does come to find that out, she will realize the real reason I disrupted her wedding plans. Then she would see our work as a ploy, a selfish plan on my part to simply be with her.
Guilt rolled through him, for he knew that motive played a part in his choices. His higher nature, however, had encouraged her not only because of her talent but for joy, for the sense of fulfillment he saw in her eyes every time she held a piece of charcoal. Above all else, he wanted her to be happy.
And I will do whatever I can to ensure that.
Releasing her, David felt Elizabeth return to her proper place on the bench.
He forced himself to focus on her revelations. “I understand why you don’t want to accompany me tomorrow,” he said, “but I hope you’ll reconsider our other appointments. You can honor that little boy’s memory by telling his story.”
“How? I could never write about what happened.”
“I don’t mean words,” he said. “I mean your sketches of those like him. Have no fear, Elizabeth. I’ll never tell anyone what you told me today...unless you want me to do so.”
She wiped her eyes with her black-trimmed handkerchief, another sign of mourning. “Thank you, David. I appreciate your kindness, your forbearance. I do want to keep sketching.”
“Good. But, before we go any further, perhaps you should tell your mother what you saw. You’ve carried this burden alone for so long—I think sharing it with your mother would be a comfort to you.”
“You’re right. I should.”
“Would you like me to be there when you do?”
“No. That’s not necessary, but I thank you.”
What made him ask his next question, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to know. He needed to know. “Elizabeth, did you ever tell Jeremiah about all of this?”
She bit her lip, looked down at her lap. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was afraid of what he might think. Of what he might do... It was already bad enough that my brother was serving in the Confederate army.”
“You feared he would break your engagement?”
She nodded silently.
Though he realized then and there he had been handed an enormous opportunity, David refused to take it. He would honor his brother’s memory by telling her the truth. He would set her mind at ease.
“Elizabeth, look at me.”
She did, but uncertainty still darkened her eyes.
“Jeremiah would have responded no differently than me.” The next words were the hardest for David to say, but he knew she needed to hear them. “He loved you. Nothing would have changed that.”
Fresh tears spilled over. “Thank you, David. You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that.”
“I do, Elizabeth. I do.”
* * *
When she returned home, Elizabeth found her mother in the kitchen peeling potatoes.
“There you are,” Jane said with a smile. “How was your visit with the Davis family?”
“Well enough.”
Her mother blinked. “Are you certain? You look disconcerted. Has something happened?”
Elizabeth drew in a breath. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course, dear.”
Her mother promptly laid aside her knife, listening quietly as Elizabeth told the story. Jane’s face paled but she immediately hugged her daughter.
“Oh, my dear. I am so sorry you had to witness that. Your father and I wished to protect you from such terrible things. That’s why he didn’t expose you to the horrors of slavery until you were much older.”
Just before he died, Elizabeth thought. When it was, by then, obvious that our country was headed for war. He had taken Trudy and her to the slave pens, told them how slaves were treated. But by then I already knew.
“Beth, dear. You do know God isn’t angry with you, don’t you?”
Elizabeth felt her chin quiver. If she was completely honest, deep down she had thought that, all these years. She had even believed that was the reason why her prayers hadn’t been answered. God wasn’t listening to her. That was why her father had died, why He had allowed George to go to war and why Jeremiah was gone.
“God loves you, no matter what,” her mother insisted. “You made a mistake, but He can use it to bring about something good.” She paused and stepped back to look Elizabeth full in the face. “In fact, I think He already has.”
“How so?” Elizabeth wondered.
“What you saw shaped your thinking. You have a clear sense of what is right and wrong because of it. With your interest in the slave vote, your drawings, God has given you an opportunity to change the future.”
“That was what David said.”
She smiled. “Well, he is a wise man, and dare I say, this partnership has been good for both of you?”
“I believe so.”
It was true that when David had first returned to Baltimore, Elizabeth had looked upon him as a mirror image of her beloved. Even now, in certain moments, the turn of his head, or the way he walked still caused her to catch her breath. But he had become her friend, her confidante, an encourager to her faith.
Without him, I would never have survived Jeremiah’s passing, and more than likely my artwork would still be only scribbles in a sketchbook.
“Are you going out tomorrow?” her mother asked.
Elizabeth told her about the scheduled interview with the former bounty hunter. Part of her still wanted to avoid it, the other wished to face her fear. The odds of this man being the same one she had encountered as a child were slim, that she knew. Still... “I’ve not yet decided what I’ll do.”
Her mother nodded understandingly. “Well, take some time to pray on it.”
“Yes, and in the meantime, I have a sketch to finish.”
Elizabeth headed off to her father’s library and laid out her drawing pencils. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She had no trouble completing the sketch of Joshua and Abigail Davis now.
Then, she dared draw another sheet of paper.
Slowly, reverently, she laid down the image that had been burned into her mind for so many years. The fear in his eyes...the tightness of the ropes that bound his thin wrists and ankles... With every stroke of her pencil she lifted a prayer, asking God to look after the little boy, who would now be a man, wherever he may be.
As she took to shading, her confidence grew. Perhaps David and her mother were right. Perhaps God would use what she had witnessed in the past to bring about some good. How utterly humbling and yet exalting was the thought. She could not wait to show her work to David, to thank him for his kindness, his continued encouragement.
She planned to meet him first thing in the morning.
Chapter Nine
David was more than surprised to see Elizabeth waiting for him in the hotel. In fact, he was nearly overtaken by her appearance. Elizabeth had discarded the black crepe, instead greeting him in pale gray, almost silver, silk. He had never seen the dress before, but he recognized its significance. The lighter color proclaimed a lighter stage of mourning. S
he still wore no jewelry, save her engagement ring. Even so, she looked like a queen.
“You look beautiful,” he blurted out.
She blushed, making her look all the more so. “Thank you. I thought...well, now that we are working together, it was time. Mother made this several weeks ago actually, crafted from one of her older gowns. She removed the ruffles and redid the sleeves.” She tugged at them nervously.
David was more careful this time. “She did a fine job. The dress will be most suitable for our outings.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I brought you the sketch.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I wouldn’t have minded coming by the house. I was on my way there now.”
“I thought I would save you the trouble.”
David offered her a seat on the lobby couch, then claimed the place beside her and unrolled the sketch. Not only had she delivered the promised image of Joshua and Abigail, but there was a sketch of the unknown slave boy, as well. So vivid were the details, the emotions on his face, that David exhaled.
“Elizabeth, this is beyond words.”
She blushed again, but he could tell she appreciated the compliment. “I wasn’t certain if you would have use for it, but I felt compelled to draw it.”
“I’m so glad you did. And, yes, I can use it. It will fit perfectly with the bounty hunter article.”
“I’d like to go with you today. That is, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? Of course he didn’t mind. “I’d be pleased to have you accompany me.”
She offered him another smile. Her bonnet was covered in the same gray silk. Perhaps it was simply the change of color, but her eyes seemed to shine with new life. David couldn’t tear his away.
“You say this man has converted?” she asked.
“Yes. He now feels it is his duty to help slaves.”
“What is his name?”
“Jack Lodge.”
“Is he involved with the Underground Railroad?”
“I don’t know. I’m certain if he is, though, he won’t tell us that. But he is actively telling his past experiences, sordid as they may be, to anyone who will listen. He openly advocates the call for a new state constitution.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I must warn you, I’m told he’s rather large and intimidating looking. He carries a scar.” David gestured across his face. “Right here. A souvenir from one of his ill-fated conquests.”
“Courtesy of an abolitionist?”
He shook his head. “A courageous runaway slave.”
“He sounds a sight.”
“Apparently, he is.”
He could tell she was apprehensive, and he admired the fact that she was willing to go in spite of her fears. He felt nervous, as well. What if Jack Lodge was the same bounty hunter she’d met years ago? How would she respond? How would he?
As it turned out, David didn’t need to worry. Jack Lodge was not the man, and although his height, girth, scar and foot-long straggly beard were rather frightening at first, Elizabeth took a liking to him. She laughed when he said he hoped she would be able to make him appear a bit more handsome in the newspaper.
As they later walked home, Elizabeth said, “You’d never know to hear him speak now that he is the same man who spent his life trying to recapture runaway slaves. He’s so gracious, so kindhearted.”
“Indeed. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a finer example of a life changed by Christ.”
“Nor have I,” Elizabeth said. “I’m glad I came.”
He smiled at her. She then asked about their next assignment.
“We’ve yet to profile a slaveholder,” David reminded her.
“Have you someone in mind?”
“I was thinking of Francis Butler.”
Elizabeth nodded. She thought that was a wise choice. “Mr. Butler is the biggest textile manufacturer in the city, and he owns the largest number of slaves. He, of all people, stands to be heavily affected economically if slavery is abolished.”
“Indeed,” David said. “I’m most curious to see what his future plans are, though I have heard the man does at least treat his slaves humanely.”
“Have you set an appointment?”
“No. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
Ahead on the right a rather unruly hedge of forsythia was spilling out of a front garden, straining for the sidewalk. Elizabeth stopped to sniff the buttery flowers. She’d once told him that spring was her favorite season. David was thankful to see she was again finding pleasure in her surroundings.
“By the way,” he then said, “Peter wishes to meet you.”
Her emerald-green eyes popped open among the yellow branches. “Does he know E. J. Martin is not a man?”
“He does.”
“And he is fine with that?”
David chuckled. “Apparently he is more than fine with that. He told me he would like to introduce our new artist to the rest of the staff and issue you your press card.”
She blinked. “What is a press card?”
“It’s your credentials. Your proof that you do indeed work for the Free American.”
He fished out his from his pocket and showed it to her. Elizabeth studied it intently.
“David J. Wainwright,” she read. “What does the J stand for?”
“James. I’m named after my father.”
She smiled. “I’m Jane. After my mother.”
“I guessed as much.”
She handed back his press card. He slipped it into his pocket, then they continued walking.
“Do those credentials grant you access to places about the city which are otherwise off-limits to the public?” Elizabeth asked.
“Generally.”
Intrigue now mingled with excitement. He could see it written all over her face. “You mean you or I could just walk right into a political meeting or even Fort McHenry and go where ever we wish? Speak with whomever we please?”
“Well, not exactly. Especially not the fort. We would have to have reason for being there—a story we were working on. And they wouldn’t just let us have the run of the place. We’d have escorted access, limited at best.”
“I see.” She pressed her lips together.
“You seem disappointed.”
“On the contrary,” she said, her smile returning. “I was just imagining all the stories that we could tell.”
* * *
David did not stay for supper that evening since he had to finish his article on Jack Lodge and still make arrangements for the interview with Francis Butler. He promised to return sometime the next day to escort her to the newspaper. Elizabeth was extremely apprehensive about meeting Peter Carpenter but at the same time excited. She had never seen the inside workings of the press before. And to think that I am now a member? It still amazed her.
That night as she was ironing her dress, her mother came into her room. She handed her a sum of money.
“What’s this?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s what you earned from your latest sketch.”
“Oh, Mother, I can’t take this. You need it. We have expenses. Food, lamp oil—”
“Both of which we have plenty at present.” She smiled.
Elizabeth was indeed grateful, but there was another matter. “Shouldn’t we give it to David for the roof tiles?”
“I already tried. He wouldn’t take it.”
Elizabeth could not say she was surprised. His generosity, his kind attentiveness warmed her heart.
“You have given me every penny you’ve earned thus far,” her mother said. “Therefore I insist you spend this on yourself. And as for future expenses, from what you told me of tomorrow’s meeting at the paper, you will have many more coi
ns forthcoming.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but grin. Her mother looked just as pleased. “Why don’t you walk down to Mr. Horn’s shop before David comes tomorrow?” she said. “I know very well you’ve been wanting to commission a piece of memorial jewelry.”
She had indeed. All this time she’d kept Jeremiah’s hair safeguarded in the handkerchief David had given her. It would be good to give it a proper place. Elizabeth kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you. If you are certain you don’t need this, then I’ll give the jewelry store a look.”
“Give it more than a look,” she said. “Purchase something to remember him by.”
* * *
With the handkerchief tucked securely in her pocket, Elizabeth walked eagerly to Horn Jeweler’s the following morning. The closer she came to her destination, however, the more her pace slowed. The store would be full of all sorts of pretty wedding bands—bands that she would never have the chance to wear. Elizabeth laid her hand on her engagement ring, feeling it beneath her glove. The little pearl was precious to her, not only because it had come from the man who had loved her but because the simple ring was the kind she had always hoped for.
Jeremiah chose exactly what suited me.
She wondered where he had bought the ring, what he had been thinking the day he did so. Had he been nervous or filled with excitement? Did he tell the jeweler about me?
Her heart squeezed, but forcing her feet forward, she stepped into the store. Mr. Horn, an older, heavier gentleman with spectacles magnifying a pair of kind eyes, greeted her from behind the counter.
“Good morning, miss. May I help you?”
She approached carefully. Her hesitancy now had less to do with Jeremiah’s memory and more with parting with his hair. What if she turned it over and the man made some sort of mistake? What if he gave her order to someone else?
Mr. Horn must have recognized her struggle, and the significance of her clothing.
“Are you here to inquire of memorial jewelry?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He first offered his condolences. Elizabeth wondered how many women like her had come into his store since the war had begun. “Were you hoping for a brooch or a locket?” he asked.
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