The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  Sam stared at the pastor’s retreating back and slid into a pew in front of him. What did he know? He wasn’t the little boy betrayed. And Sam had grown up as one of the good kids, obeyed, even worked in the furniture shop and placed photography in the background to keep his father from hurting even more.

  Ashleigh came to mind and he groaned from the fresh ache. And he’d always been honest to her, a true friend. Faithful.

  He winced. Faithful? The vision of Ashleigh in tears as he left her in Edensbury singed his pride. If he’d been a faithful friend, he would have tried to learn the full truth – sought to understand.

  He looked at the threadbare book and sat down, running a palm over the worn cover. Curiosity and a little rebelliousness against Pastor’s challenge encouraged him to draw the book into his lap. He flipped to Luke. It had been so long since he’d read a Bible – so busy with life, the words caught his attention, pricking at his heart. The story dug the pricking deeper. A woman. A sinner, the Bible said, anointed Jesus’ feet. She was called ‘a woman of the city’.

  A fallen woman.

  She washed Jesus feet with her tears. Yes, he could see his mother in this. A sinning woman. A woman who needed much forgiveness. But hadn’t Pastor Marksman said Sam would find himself in the story too?

  Sam read back through it and paused on a verse. It reached from the page and wrung his heart with sudden awareness. He who is forgiven little – loves little. The words tinkered to a crawl in his mind.

  Do you love Me, Sam – as I have loved and forgiven you?

  The revelation broke into the silence of his soul. How much had he been forgiven? His sins? His pride? His lifelong anger? Had he loved so little because he’d never really recognized his brokenness? Sam’s hand clenched against the pew in front of him and he came to a solid resolution. He was going back to Ashleigh – even if it meant traveling third class and suffering through another sea voyage. He had to know the truth. Make things right. She was worth a second chance and so much more. God knew, he didn’t deserve someone like Ashleigh Dougall, but maybe…maybe she believed in forgiveness a whole lot more than he had.

  The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck rose with a sudden awareness. Someone watched him so intently he felt their stare burning the side of his head. Was God so close as that? The discomfort heightened. He scanned the sanctuary and lost his gaze in the fiery stare of Jessica Ross’.

  With a wave of peppermint and a creak of the pew, she sat beside him. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes praying God would keep me from killing you, Samuel Miller. And I couldn’t find it in my heart to attempt a murder while you were praying.” Her words hissed close to his ear. “It was a tough battle between God’s grace and my anger. Thankfully for you, God’s grace won out.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sam barely kept his voice to a whisper in the silence of the chapel. A sudden fear gripped him. “Is Ashleigh all right?”

  Jessica Ross slapped his shoulder. “What do you think? She’s grieving for you.” She placed her hand against the pew in front of her, which was a good thing since he was pretty certain she wanted to hit him again…harder. From the fire in her eyes, it might actually sting. She released a stream of air from her nose, an obvious sign of her battle for his life. “You broke her heart, Sam Miller. I came to tell you that you are an idiot.” Her gaze blazed with accusation. “And if you do anything less than rush across the Atlantic to admit your stupidity to Ashleigh’s face, God’s grace for your life might not win out next time– no matter how hard you…or I pray.”

  “I…sent a letter, and a telegram.” The admittance sounded weak. Clearly, he was an idiot. He sighed back into the pew. “Jess, I’m a lost man here. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

  Jessica narrowed her piercing gaze, studying him for a moment. “I’m tempted to believe you are a good man – but your response to the news I’m going to share with you will prove it or not.” Her expression turned sorrowful. “You were wrong about Michael.”

  He drew in an audible breath at her announcement, but she lifted her hand to stop his reply.

  “The truth is much worse than you could imagine.” She shook her head. “Making your rejection more devastating.”

  “What do you —”

  Jess placed an envelope into his hand. “Here’s the truth, Sam. Ashleigh asked me to deliver this in person because Heaven knows when her mailed letter might arrive.” Jess rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “She needs you now and I know you are a man who can handle the truth.” Her gaze drilled a hole in his. “Don’t prove me wrong.”

  “I can’t make any promises, Jess. My track record right now isn’t so good.”

  Her pursed lips twisted into a slight smile. “Well, your awareness is a good place to start.” A braid of anger and sadness reflected in her eyes. “Brace yourself, Sam. You’re not prepared for this.”

  Jessica left him sitting in the pew. The creak of the church door closed at her exit and left him alone, with the letter, his heart, and God. He slid a finger under the lip of the envelope and drew the white sheets from their casing, his pulse throbbing in his ears.

  Jessica’s warning proved accurate. Ashleigh’s story ripped apart every raw emotion he possessed. It divulged a secret wound too hideous and dark to believe, and yet, every piece made sense of all the questions he’d had regarding her behavior for years.

  Nausea jarred to pain in his stomach. How could any father…any man hurt a child? Especially in such a cruel and demoralizing way? He squeezed his eyes closed. Oh God, heal her. Give her strength.

  He flinched from the memory of his final words, his blame, as she begged him to listen, but he’d ignored her and embraced his fury. Blindly blaming her. He rubbed an ache at the center of his chest. She loved him, and he didn’t deserve it. She’d been wounded in the deepest, most intimate way by someone who should have protected her heart. As he should have done.

  Tears branded his cheeks with their warmth. He’d rejected her. He’d betrayed her trust. He’d…abandoned her. The pain in his chest pulsed deeper, harder, riveting him to the spot with his own sin.

  Do you love Me, Sam?

  Like the slow filter of morning light over a horizon, recognition dawned. He loved little, because he never realized the depth of his own sin. Pride. Self-righteousness. Ashleigh had trusted him with her heart. She had faith he would trust her – believe in her through pain, and when she’d needed him the most…he left her. Like his mother.

  I’ve come not for the righteous, but for sinners.

  Like his mother--a broken woman.

  Like Ashleigh – a wounded child.

  And like himself – a recovering Pharisee?

  As sharp as lightning’s flash slashes into darkness, God’s truth penetrated him to the core. He shuddered, a reflection of his sin mirrored back to him. Haughty, arrogant, unforgiving? He leaned forward and moaned under the scrutiny.

  “Save me. Save me from myself.”

  A tide of relief swept over him, crushing through his spirit and breaking his assumptions and pride apart. He sobbed at the clear image of his sin, the dark consequences of his pride, and the wounds both left behind in the lives of others. As the hurricane in his soul washed to calm, a profound peace remained in its wake. Peace and clarity.

  Ashleigh, his mother, and he all stood on level ground – covered by the grace of God.

  He buried his face into his hands, the wash of his hurt pouring from him and into the love of Christ. I love You with an everlasting love.

  “Forgive me, Father. Help me love like you love, and forgive…” His breath stuttered. “As you have forgiven me.” His thoughts turned toward Ashleigh, the weight of her possible unforgiveness almost unbearable. Was this what his mother felt? Grief and disquiet uprooting her soul?

  Who knew how long he sat there, tears dripping to the floor, but when he looked up, the late morning light had shifted to afternoon and his father sat beside him.

  “I have to go to Ashleig
h.”

  His father smiled as if he’d known the answer all along, which he probably had. “Yes, son, you do.”

  “And I’m sorry for…for being so hard on you about Mother.”

  Sam’s heart pulsed a need for forgiveness, but his father wouldn’t hold to pride as his son had. Without hesitation, he took Sam into his arms. “I love you, son. I forgive you.”

  “Even though you know I don’t really deserve it. I’ve been a boar.” Sam shuddered.

  His father shook his head. “If we waited to give forgiveness to the deserving, there would be a lot of bitter people in the world. Thank God, He didn’t wait until we deserved forgiveness – and He’s our example.”

  The peace of his words tightened Sam’s hold on his father. How had he made it all these years without realizing the true love of God – the true forgiveness? Had bitterness and hurt distorted his vision to such a point he compared himself to the actions of his mother and thought he deserved God’s grace? What a fool! God expected perfection. He breathed out a long, shaky breath. He was far from perfect, but amazingly, God still loved him. How could he ever make up for the hurt he caused Ashleigh? His soul ached to see her – to beg her forgiveness, and no matter the cost he’d find a way to earn her trust again.

  They walked out the church doors and started back down the footpath toward Emily Dougall’s fine Victorian.

  “Sam.”

  Fiona came running toward them, her face almost as red as her hair. She puffed out a long breath and stopped in front of them, kneeling over bent knees to catch her breath – very unladylike. “Grandmama told me to find you at once.”

  “What is it, bug?” Sam rested his palm on her shoulder and her grin spread at the endearment.

  She handed him a small envelope. “It’s a telegram. I don’t know if it’s good or bad news, but Grandmama got all excited about it and rushed me right out the door to find you.”

  Sam took the card and shot his father a glance before opening it. Had Ashleigh responded to his telegram? Was this a note to let him know she’d forgiven his stupidity? He slipped the card from its envelope and his breath froze in his lungs, a whoosh of dread rushing his skin cold.

  Ashleigh near death. Pneumonia. Please pray. C.E.D.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Dr. Ross pulled the stethoscope from Ashleigh’s chest and turned his jade eyes to Catherine. His expression spoke of the seriousness in her sister’s pale, nonresponsive face.

  “You say she started coughing after the bombing?”

  Catherine nodded, unable to pull her gaze from her sister’s death-like pallor. Three weeks of working near her, watching her, and replaying memories forged a clearer picture of Ashleigh’s status as spine of the Dougall family. How had she managed to love them all? To survive amidst the massive grief plaguing her past? No wonder everyone loved her.

  It was good Catherine had sent the telegram to Grandmama, feeling pride in at least one thing she’d done, but the grim realization of her sister’s condition evoked emptiness in the center of her stomach. Uncommon humiliation and regret had haunted her solitude since Ashleigh’s declaration of her past. She’d ruined her relationship with her sister with blind envy and selfishness. Was it too late to seek any sort of reconciliation? To beg for freedom from the shame trilling her nerves into a timbre of sleepless nights and guilt-filled days?

  I’m so sorry, Ashleigh.

  She’d pleaded with her nonresponsive sister last night as she knelt by her bedside. Cried for mercy and forgiveness of all the ways she’d abused her, adding painful wounds atop the scars she already carried. How could she ever make up for the damage she’d caused? How could she live with the weight of her shame? Pride and jealousy bore hefty penalties in her soul.

  “As I told you and your mother earlier, pneumonia is an unpredictable condition. We’ve provided what care we can, the rest is up to the Almighty and your sister.”

  Catherine crossed her arms against the chill his words inspired. “You mentioned the benefits of her age earlier? Do you think she might…survive?”

  Dr. Ross slid a hand around Ashleigh’s limp wrist, stilled a moment as he felt her pulse. “She’s strong.” He released her hand and Catherine replaced him at Ashleigh’s side. “Tonight will be our test.” His gaze met hers as he stepped toward the door. “If she survives the night, then there will be more hope tomorrow. Her coughs have been productive today, but she’s exhausted from them. Her fever is persistent, despite the cool bath. I’m not certain how much fight her body has left.”

  Catherine managed to keep her expression controlled, though a tremor nearly shook her to her knees. All those years of wishing Ashleigh dead whispered accusations from the shadows. “What can I do?”

  “You can pray.”

  Her breath whooshed out in a silent laugh. “Pray? Me?” She shook her head and stepped away from him. “God doesn’t listen to the prayers of someone like me.”

  Dr. Ross turned from his exit plan, a sudden light in his eyes. Warnings skittered across her skin. He was going to speak about his faith. A fascinating magnetism lit his expression, like one of the lecturers at the World Exposition in Paris she’d seen when she was ten. With any other man in her current acquaintance, she’d have taken the glow as the flare of attraction, but not David Ross. For weeks his words and the dangerous glint of his faith terrified and tempted her – and now, in the room of her dying sister, she was trapped with him…with it.

  Part of her wanted to run away – the part writhing from her dark secrets and stains.

  But another part feared if he left, the glow of hope he carried might leave her alone with her shame and the death waiting in the shadows.

  “Someone like you, Miss Dougall? You don’t strike me as the vagabond-type.”

  She raised her chin in defiance. “You don’t really know me, Dr. Ross, not really. I’m as scathed and outcast as any vagabond.”

  His green gaze softened, inviting her to listen. The room closed in around her, bringing her vision and thoughts into focus on him.

  “I know a woman who has devoted her time and energy to helping at the hospital. A woman who possesses a quick mind and a willingness to serve others. A woman whose tender attentions have given many a wounded man hope for healing…or peace in dying.”

  She scoffed. A few weeks work in a hospital couldn’t redeem her horrible actions -- actions which reverberated to her future with the clarity of an unborn child.

  Her hand rested on her stomach and challenged Dr. Ross’ rose-colored assumptions head-on. “I’ve made terrible mistakes and hurt a lot of people. In fact, I’m a remarkable liar.” She stuffed another wave of tears hard into her soul. “God doesn’t want someone as ruined as me tainting His Heaven.”

  Dr. Ross’ intense gaze flickered into compassion, a strong-forceful compassion which held her attention in a vice. “On the contrary, you’re just the sort He wants in His Heaven. God has no use for people who can save themselves, but for those who know they can’t make it on their own.” He drew a step closer. “Those are the ones He can do something about.”

  The tears edged from her grip and warmed the rim of her eyes. “You don’t know all the things I’ve done, Dr. Ross. The compromises I’ve made.” She stifled the sorrow, keeping a stubborn hold against the growing warmth in her eyes. “I know my Bible stories. I’m not worth His love or His life.”

  Dr. Ross too another step forward, without releasing his hold on her gaze. “I beg your pardon, Ms. Dougall, but it appears you may have heard the stories but didn’t listen to the message. Christ even says he came for sinners.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If you and my sister are characterized as sinners, then there’s no hope for me. Do you realize how broken I am?” Her voice cracked. Cool tears on her cheeks surprised her. She pulled to her full height. This man clearly needed a lesson on his faith. God didn’t take lying, thieving fornicators. “I stole money my grandmother sent to Ashleigh. Money intended for your hospital.”

/>   Dr. Ross stopped his forward motion, but kept a solid hold on her stare.

  “And I’ve spent the last ten years, at least, trying to ruin my sister’s life in any way I could. I can’t understand why she still loves me.” She couldn’t stop the confessions yet. Not until she’d opened the pure Dr. Ross’s eyes to what broken really looked like. He seemed to brace himself, as if he sensed the grand finale. She swallowed away the scratchy tears, but they invaded into her words even more. “And I’m almost certain I’m pregnant with a rogue’s baby.”

  That declaration finally rattled him. His chest deflated, and she knew, God wouldn’t take her now. She was utterly lost. No one wanted her. Even the unflappable Dr. Ross? No, her sheer presence would stain his pristine reputation. He’d walk out of the room any minute, without a glance back.

  She steadied her chin as he straightened, but he didn’t turn away. He focused the full impact of those green eyes on her, unswerving. She shuddered--her stains open to his perusal, her soul naked against the honesty of his gaze. New tears broke free, spilling down her cool cheeks.

  “Miss Dougall, Christ loves you more than your poor choices and sin.” His hand came back out, a welcome gesture. “When it comes to our hearts, we’re both in need of grace and forgiveness. You.” His lips tipped into a gentle smile, the alluring light returning. “And I.”

  Catherine’s breath lodged tight. She gripped a fist to her chest and shook her head. “You can’t mean that. Not after what I’ve told you. How can God ever want someone like me?”

  He closed with another step, his grin flickered a dimple she’d never noticed. “He’s loved much worse than the likes of you, no matter how much you wish to win the competition.”

  Catherine couldn’t move. His reaction contradicted every social expectation, every human probability, every notions she had of God. He should shun her, as God should do, but Dr. Ross added another handful of shock.