by Amy Rognlie
“Oh, Uncle John. What if Papa dies before I get there?” She had discovered in the past few seconds how much she loved her father, despite her anger with him.
“We’ll pray that God will keep him until you have a chance to see him, Raine.” John’s voice was firm. “God is able.”
“I know, Uncle John. It’s just that Papa and I have been at odds ever since Paul left, and I don’t want him to die until we can make it right.” She bowed her head. “I’ve been so angry with him,” she whispered. “I keep asking God to help me forgive, but just when I think I have, I find myself bitter again.”
“Forgiveness is a process,” John reminded her. “As long as you want to forgive, and you keep working at it, it will come.”
❧
“I’m so sorry I can’t go with you back to England, Raine.” As they stood by the Cornucopia the next day, Ben felt as though a weight was about to settle on his shoulders. “I wish I wasn’t obligated to stay in Boston for at least a few more weeks.”
“I’ll be fine, Ben. But I will miss you terribly.” Her eyes filled with tears. “When will I see you again?”
He enfolded her in his arms. “Don’t cry, honey. We’ll be together again soon, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll try to track down that brother of yours. I’d like to talk to him before I take care of that matter he left for me to do.”
He kissed her tenderly, then gave her a gentle nudge toward the gangway. Pressing a small package into her hand, he looked deep into her eyes. “I love you, Raine.”
She kissed him swiftly on his cheek, then turned to go.
He watched until the ship was no longer in sight. I miss her already, he thought, a strange sense of foreboding coming over him as he climbed into the carriage. Don’t be silly, old chap. Nothing is going to happen to her. Nevertheless, he felt a heaviness that he couldn’t seem to shake. The sinister face of the red-haired man popped into his mind and suddenly, finally, he was able to put a name with the face.
Dag. Dagmar Rennet. Ever since Ben had seem him, he had been trying to remember why his face seemed so familiar. Now he knew, and it chilled him to the bone. Why, oh why hadn’t he gone with her?
Then again, maybe it was himself that Dag was after. After all, Paul had left the other envelope for Ben, not Raine. The thought was not a pleasant one, but at least it was better him than Raine.
His mind occupied with matters besides his driving, he was surprised when he realized he was driving down High Street, where Paul used to live. I’ll visit Violet, he decided, smiling at the thought of the cheery old woman.
Nearing her house, the tiny seed of an idea that he had been contemplating suddenly bloomed. Pulling the horses to an abrupt stop, he marched up to Violet’s door and knocked with conviction. He entered when he heard Violet’s welcome float from somewhere within.”
“Good morning, Violet.”
“Ben! What brings you here? Did you find Paul already?” Her voice was eager.
“No, I’m afraid not, Violet. But I was wondering. . .”
“Yes?”
“Could I stay here for a while?”
She was startled. “Well, I. . .I haven’t had any boarders since Paul. . .”
“It wouldn’t be for very long,” he said persuasively. “Probably a month or two.”
She looked him over. “You aren’t in trouble with the law or anything, are you?”
He laughed. “No, ma’am.” He explained about Raine’s abrupt departure for England.
She closed her eyes. “I hope Raine gets to see her father before he dies.” She smiled at him suddenly. “You know, it does get lonely here sometimes. Do you play chess?”
❧
The weather during the voyage back to London was unseasonably stormy and cold, emphasizing the contrast between this voyage and her experience aboard the Capernaum. Raine stayed in her cabin, nibbling on bread in an effort to keep her stomach on an even keel. She spent much of her time in prayer, not knowing what to expect when she arrived at her father’s home.
At last, after many long days, the skyline of London came into view through the thick fog. Raine stood on deck, pensively fingering the small key that hung around her neck with Paul’s locket. She had discovered the tiny key when she had opened the package from Ben.
Dear Raine,
This is just to remind you that you hold the key to my heart. Come back to me soon.
All my love,
Ben
His words of love warmed her as the Cornucopia steamed into the harbor. Scanning the crowded wharf, Raine’s heart leapt as she saw a dark-haired man standing near the front of the crowd.
Paul! Her mind screamed. Grasping her bag tightly, she kept her eyes glued on the man as the ship moved closer. Disappointment flooded over her as she saw that it wasn’t her brother.
Sighing, she realized that her knuckles were turning white from the grip she had on her bag. Setting it down, she leaned against the railing. Father, please calm my spirit, she prayed.
There had been no mention in the telegram of anyone meeting Raine in London, so she made her way to the Mission.
Mr. Duncan thought he had seen the last of me, I’m sure, she thought in amusement. Walking slowly, she reflected on all that had happened since she left London.
Deep in thought, she was startled when a small group of children joyfully accosted her.
“Miss Thomas, Miss Thomas!”
“Did you come back to be our teacher?”
“Did you miss us?”
Raine gave each little one a hug. “I’m afraid I can only stay for a little while, children,” she said regretfully. Their disappointed little faces tugged at her heart, making her realize how much she had missed teaching them.
“Charlotte!” Raine felt a rush of joy at seeing her old friend.
“Raine!” Charlotte gave her a huge hug. “Where did you come from?”
“I thought I’d just drop by and see you since I missed you so much.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “Mmm-hmm. Why are you really here? Oh dear, did things not work out with Captain Bert?”
“Ben. No actually, it’s my father. Apparently he’s very ill. Do you suppose Mr. Duncan would put up too much of a fuss if I spent the night here, just tonight?”
Charlotte shrugged. “You’re my guest. If he doesn’t like it, then that’s his problem.”
❧
Raine pushed open the door of her old room, weary beyond belief. It would feel wonderful to have a good night’s sleep before facing the ordeal tomorrow. She set the candle on the old dresser, groaning as she saw the piles of boxes on top of the bed. Apparently this was now the storage room.
Finally snuggled under the dusty coverlet, she tried to sleep. What was Ben doing right now? She could picture him standing at the railing of the Capernaum and wished she were with him.
Forcing her thoughts away from Ben, she thought of her father. God, please let him live until I can get there, she prayed once again. Please give me the grace to forgive him. I can’t do it on my own. And take care of Ben and Paul, please Father, she continued. They both need Your love. . .
The knock on the door startled her awake. “It’s just me,” she heard Charlotte whisper.
“Do you realize it’s one o’clock in the morning?” Raine opened one eye to glare at her friend.
“I know. But I forgot to ask you if that man found you.”
Raine made a very unladylike noise. “What are you talking about, Charlotte?”
“A few weeks after you left, a man came looking for you. He said he was your neighbor or something.”
“My neighbor?” What neighbor? Surely this could have waited until morning.
“Well, I just thought it might be something important. I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep.” Charlotte sounded hurt.
“Wait, Char.” A faint alarm went off somewhere in the back of her mind. “What did he look like?”
“Well, he had blond hair, and his face was. .
.well, it was very badly scarred.”
Raine’s throat constricted. “What did you tell him?” she whispered.
Charlotte shrugged. “Just that you had gone to America. Oh, and that you sailed on the Capernaum. He seemed very nice,” she added defensively.
Raine closed her eyes. “What was his name?”
“I knew you would ask me that. Let’s see, it was something like George or Gregory maybe. . .that was it! Gregory Havner. I think.”
She didn’t know anyone named Gregory Havner. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No. . .maybe his name was Guthrie. Guthrie Havner? No, no! It was Geoffrey. Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Geoffrey?” The only Geoffrey she had ever know was Geoff Hathaway, her brother’s old friend. But it couldn’t be him. He was dead, killed in the fire that had destroyed his family’s house. She pictured the disfigured face of the man who had called to her that day in Boston. Could it be. . .? Even at the time, she had had to admit that there was something familiar about him. But it couldn’t be Geoff.
“Was it Geoffrey Hathaway?”
“Yes! Yes! That was it!” Charlotte bounced up and down on the bed. “So you do know him.”
“Yes,” Raine said slowly. “Except he’s—dead.” She remembered again the man’s scars. Could it be possible that he had lived. . .? And why would he be trying to find her?
It was a very long time before she gave her body the sleep it was craving.
six
Ben scanned the room that had been Paul’s and was now his. If I were Paul, where would I hide something important? He had come to stay at Violet’s house with the general idea of gleaning more information about Paul’s disappearance, but now a plan was beginning to formulate in his mind.
“There must be something obvious that we’re missing,” he mused out loud. God, please help me to. . .
He stopped short, realizing what he was doing. He had gotten so accustomed to Raine praying about everything.
Could it be this easy? Could he have a relationship with God like Raine and her uncle had? They made it sound so natural, talking to God as if He were really interested. Remem-bering the peace and joy that lighted Raine’s beautiful eyes, his yearning suddenly grew undeniable. Falling to his knees in the middle of Paul’s room, he cried out, “Jesus, if You really do care, please show me the way to You. I can’t live without peace any more. . .”
❧
Across the ocean, Raine sat bolt upright in bed. The urge to pray for Ben was so strong, she got out of bed and knelt down. Pleading first for his safety, she soon found herself praying that he would be able to surrender himself to God.
Finally feeling a peace come over her as the first glow of dawn peeked through the darkness, she got up and got dressed. Between the excitement of Charlotte’s middle-of-the-night revelations and the prayers for Ben, she hadn’t gotten much sleep. Oh, well. She could rest on the train on the way to St. Albans.
Digging her Bible out of the small overnight bag, she settled by the still-dark window. The train didn’t leave for several more hours, but her stomach felt tight already, just thinking about seeing her father. She leaned back in her chair to watch the slowly-rising sun, relaxing in spite of herself. Opening her Bible, she tensed as she heard a slight sound at her door. She stared in horrified fascination as the door knob turned. The door opened slowly, soundlessly. She froze, clutching her Bible to her chest.
The large, red-haired man looked startled to see her awake, then an ugly smile creased his face. “So—we finally meet, Raine Oliver.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but he was too fast. Clamping a grimy hand over her mouth, he pulled her back against his chest. “Now, don’t make a sound, or you’ll never see the light of day again,” he threatened quietly. “We’re going to go for a ride, and I don’t want to hear one noise out of you. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
The man loosened his grip a hair. “If you cooperate, you won’t get hurt,” he said, watching her intently.
She nodded again.
He opened his coat slightly, revealing a wicked-looking knife. “Now, you’re going to walk down the stairs and get into my carriage.”
Oh, I am, am I? She gritted her teeth.
He whipped her around to face him as he felt her body tense. “You’d better not try anything, do you understand?” He prodded her out the door, almost stepping on the hem of her dress as he followed her.
God, please let someone see us, she pleaded silently as she made her way down the stairs. She walked as slowly as possible, stalling for time.
Passing Mr. Duncan’s study, her heart leapt as she saw a crack of light under the door. Pretending to stumble, she slammed against the door. Come on, Mr. Duncan. The man behind her jerked her up. He gave her a shove, cursing under his breath.
Raine glanced back at Mr. Duncan’s door, her hopes dashed when it remained closed. Her captor hustled her into a windowless carriage. Jumping in after her, he motioned to the waiting driver. The carriage started with a jolt as the horses leapt forward.
She glared at the red-haired man, mildly surprised that he wasn’t Geoff, or whoever was pretending to be Geoff. Maybe this big lug was in cahoots with scar-face Geoff. That must be it.
“What do you want with me?” she demanded.
“Well, now. Ain’t we the feisty one!” He chuckled.
She turned her back to him. His breath alone could kill her before he even got to her with the knife, she thought grimly. She wished she could see where they were going. Judging from the many turns, she guessed that the driver was trying to disorient her.
The carriage stopped abruptly, almost throwing her to the floor. Before she realized what was happening, her captor whipped a scarf out of his pocket and tied it around her eyes. Fear threatened to overwhelm her as she was jerked from the carriage and forced to stumble along beside him.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. She felt her whole body begin to tremble violently, then the blackness closed in on her. She crumpled in a heap at her captor’s feet.
❧
She came to slowly, knowing that she was on a ship even before she opened her eyes. The slight rocking motion and the damp, musty smell of the hold had penetrated her mind, even in her unconscious state. Reaching up, she pulled the filthy blindfold off, realizing as she did so that she was not alone.
Her captor sat perched on a crate, his leering smile barely visible in the faint light. “Well, I guess yer not so brave after all, are ya. Sure are purty, though.”
She recoiled at his suggestive tone, shrinking back as he rose and came toward her.
He laughed, a horrible sound that sent chills down her spine. “I won’t bother ya none, yet. We’ll just see how ya feel about me after a day or two down here, Mrs. Oliver.” He grinned nastily. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of company with all the rats and such.”
She heard a key turn in the lock as he left, then the heavy thump of a dead bolt. Thankful at least that he had not tied her up, she moved to sit on top of a large box. Pulling her feet up securely underneath her, she pondered her situation. What does this man want with me? He apparently thinks I’m someone else, she thought, wondering why he seemed to think her last name was Oliver. Oliver. . .Oliver. . .that sounded so familiar. Suddenly she knew, and she groaned out loud. Paul. Paul had gone by the name Paul Oliver when he was sailing. And this man had called her Mrs. Oliver!
Apparently he too thought she and Paul were married. Unable to make any sense of the situation, she stood up to explore her prison. Feeling her way around, she discovered many boxes and barrels, but no way of escape.
Settling herself on a bale of something soft, she tried to devise a plan of escape, but the loud growling of her stomach kept distracting her. The scones she had eaten for supper last night were long gone. Her fear was fast turning into anger the longer she sat in the dark. Determined to find a way out, she jumped down from her perch.
“Ouch!” Her f
oot landed on something soft and warm that squeaked. She scrambled back up on top of the crates, her stomach threatening to expel its meager contents. At least he was truthful about the rats!
“Why didn’t I beg you to come with me, Ben?” She groaned. “Now what am I going to do? I can’t sit on this crate for the rest of my life.”
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Ben, remembering his smile, his touch. Her thoughts drifting, she gasped as she realized that her father would be expecting her today.
If he’s still alive, her mind whispered. She pushed that thought aside, hoping instead that her disappearance would be noticed quickly. Father God, please send someone soon!
❧
Several days later, heavy footfalls paused at the door. Raine jumped up from where she had been lying. The door had been opened only twice since she had been put there, once for a loaf of bread to be tossed in, and once for a bucket of water to be carelessly pushed through.
Her heart beat faster as the heavy door flew open. Shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a candle, she felt her mouth go dry. Her captor loomed over her, a heavy rope in his hand.
“Did ya have a nice stay, Mrs. Oliver?” The large man was clearly amused by the situation.
Raine glared at him and he chuckled. Suddenly, his hand snaked out and grasped her wrist in an iron grip. “I certainly hope that ya feel like talking to me, sweetheart,” he growled, “because I’m not a very patient man. I’ve waited too long as it is.”
Raine stared numbly at her hand as it turned white from the force of his grip on her wrist. Her lack of response infuriated him. Jerking her around, he tied her hands together roughly. He prodded her out of the hold, forcing her up the stairs and into a small, brightly lit cabin.
Seeing her captor’s face clearly now, she shuddered at the evil gleam in his eye. She kept her eyes averted as he tied her in a chair. He gently ran his fingers through her dark hair, then began to pace in front of her.