She folded her arms across her chest and held her breath as the pastor dipped her backward under the cool water and lifted her out again.
Rivulets of water streamed down her face and lengths of robe floating in the water all about her and she smiled with exuberance into the crowd where Clarice and the entire Beaumont family stood beaming back at her in unison.
With heavy steps and a joyous heart, she strode back to the shore, buckets of water splattering on the dry sand as she lifted her skirts and hurried up to Clarice who was leaning on a cane on the grass.
Clarice passed her cane to her son and like a fussing mother, wrapped a towel around Rose's shoulders and smoothed her hair back. She hugged her tightly, quickly, with tears in her eyes. “I'm so proud of you,” she blubbered, with what was, for her, an unusual display of emotion. She pressed her lips together into a warbled smile.
Rose grinned. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”
A couple minutes later, having removed the heavy soaked robe, she towel-dried her hair and let her clothes drip dry as she stood on the grass watching the last handful of individuals be baptised. It was surreal, this joy inside her—making her so lighthearted, she could just float away. Never in her life had she felt so clean inside, so refreshed, so pure. A thousand ritual baths had not washed away the stains of her heart—the shame that tormented her year after year. But on this day, in this moment, she stood completely cleansed from the inside out.
***
Beneath a looming maple tree, Jason Sinclair stood in the leafy shadows watching Rose's baptism. The brazen woman he'd met just one year ago with a chip on her shoulder would have laughed with scorn at this very sight.
He flicked a beetle off his knee-length cargo shorts and leaned back against the hefty tree trunk, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't naive. Becoming a Christian didn't negate the consequences of one's past; though forgiveness was certainly a healing, cleansing balm… He considered the words of the Apostle Paul concerning the sexually depraved: “And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”
Was he willing to continue his friendship with Rose knowing that he was beginning to love her? Having never slept with a woman before, he honestly resented having waited all these years when she hadn't. But he had to remember that his motivation for purity had been his own self-respect, and it continued to be—regardless of whether or not his future wife was to be a virgin as well.
The inevitable pain and disappointment, the jealousy, would all have to be dealt with in their own time.
Rose stood next to the Beaumont family now with her back to him. She didn't seem to know he was there and he preferred it that way. It meant a lot to him to know that her conversion was real. Not once had he thought she was putting on a show to win his affection; on the contrary, she'd always been blatantly honest about her beliefs and viewpoints. It was a character trait he greatly appreciated and even admired, and it gave him confidence that her faith in Christ was genuine.
She looked pretty standing there, in her colorful polka-dot shorts and white sandals, lemon-yellow T-shirt showing dry patches in the warm sunshine. Her shiny amber hair curled into wisps where it hung down her back. What it would be like to wind his fingers through those tangles, to kiss her peach lips softly and hold her close?
He'd never allowed himself to think such thoughts before and for a moment, the image was tarnished with his anguished knowledge that countless other men had experienced her kiss and more. Just as quickly, however, he cast the images aside—knowing she was no longer Dakota Reilly.
She was a new Creation in Christ.
The chip was gone but not one iota of spirit. She was still that fun-loving woman he found so irresistibly attractive in personality. And hadn't he once given his heart to another only to be shot down? Rose would have to accept that she wasn't his first love either.
Despite all these things, he was willing to love again.
***
When the service ended and the crowd mingled, gradually dispersing, Rose stared transfixed into a nearby grove of maple trees—beneath which stood someone able to take her breath away with a single glance.
Jason.
He leaned against the deep gray ridges of a sugar maple, strong sleeve-less arms folded across his blue shirt.
How long had he been there?
She approached him slowly, a warm tingle moving up and down her spine as she closed the ten meter gap between them. She hadn't told him she was being baptised but was certain Clarice must have informed him; otherwise how would he know? She would have told him and Jaelynn of her plans beforehand if it hadn't been for the fact that he might question her motives. But he must have seen it all, and now knew: that her heart and motives were true.
He smiled down at her when she reached him, gold-brown eyes bright and peaceful; a dimple appearing in his left cheek. As he unfolded his arms, a long brown eagle's feather, held by the stem, appeared between his fingers. He held it up to her and a slight smile lifted his lips. Along the length of the feather, he had painted a picture-perfect rose:
A white rose.
The universal emblem of purity.
“It's for you,” he said, handing it to her, eyes alight with a hint of promise for the future.
He placed a warm palm to her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek tenderly, affectionately; and folded her into a hug.
She put her arms around his upper back and her cheek against the crook of his shoulder, relishing the warmth of his body, breathing in the scent of his cologne. Unable to resist, she reached up to curl a lock of his hair around her finger at the nape of his neck and smiled up at him.
A tear slipped down her cheek. “Thank you, Jay,” she whispered, stepping back from his embrace. A cool wind brought goosebumps to her skin. Then, meeting his eyes once again and seeing the love within them, she flushed with the first sense of innocence she'd felt since she was fourteen.
The End.
A White Rose Page 27