Simeon’s mouth flattened, and he gave a thoughtful nod. “She’s better. Dr. Ackerman was able to get her nourished. She did have an episode yesterday, I heard, and has been a bit catatonic since. But that was expected.”
“Yes.” Thea was grateful she needn’t worry anymore that Dr. Ackerman would do anything but restrain Effie. She’d spoken to him at length, and while she felt his tactics somewhat extreme, there were no “experimentations” in Effie’s future, or in the futures of any other patients. Nothing that would infringe on Effie’s overall health. She would live out her life at the asylum. God willing, a full life.
Thea had no intention of abandoning the woman who had been her mother’s confidante.
“And—Rose?” Thea asked.
Rose. The unspoken between them. The one neither would forget. The sister Simeon grieved over as much as he had Mary, and the woman Thea wished had received more nurturing and guidance instead of becoming so disillusioned.
Simeon tossed a stone into the river. “I’ll visit her. When she stands trial, I will be there.” His voice was resolute.
Thea nodded. “I will be there too.”
He searched her face. Simeon’s eyes were turbulent. She wondered if he would ever truly find happiness. But then perhaps sometimes one’s life wasn’t about happiness, but rather about finding contentment in spite of one’s circumstances.
A distant expression filtered across his face. “How did I not know? How did I not even see a hint of the signs? I shouldn’t have been so blind to Rose. I was suspicious of my grandmother, yes, but I had no idea Rose would—my mother, and Mary . . .”
Thea reached out and rested her hand on his elbow. “You weren’t blind, Simeon. You love Rose. She’s your sister. You didn’t want to believe that of her.”
He gave a curt nod. “I didn’t want to believe it of my grandmother either.”
Thea left her hand on his elbow. He didn’t seem to mind, and she wanted to touch him, to feel his tenuous strength.
“I don’t understand why Rose didn’t try to—” Simeon cut off his words.
“Try to what?” Thea pressed.
Simeon’s gray eyes were rife with emotion. “Why didn’t she try to take my life too? To save me, as she saw it?”
Thea squeezed her eyes shut. Against the pain on his face, the strain in his voice. When she opened them, he was staring back over the water. His jaw was set, his face calm regardless of recent events.
Thea knew why Rose had spared her brother. It was obvious to her.
“Because you are strong, Simeon. Rose didn’t feel she needed to rescue you. You didn’t need saving.”
His hand clasped hers at his elbow. He worked his jaw back and forth. “I don’t feel strong. I never did.”
Thea moved closer to him. “Strength isn’t a feeling,” she whispered. “It’s the will to forge ahead regardless of circumstances.”
A tiny smile touched Simeon’s mouth, and he chuckled. “That sounds a bit like faith.”
Thea matched his bittersweet smile. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
Simeon turned toward her, drawing her hand from his elbow and gripping it in his own.
She waited. Knowing how he felt, because she felt it too.
“I’m not certain where to go from here, Thea.” Simeon moved as if to touch her cheek, his fingertips hovering just above her skin. His eyes narrowed. “But, I believe we were meant to find each other. I’m unwilling to be defined by the people around me. I always have been. And yet I cannot reconcile that you came here by accident—by happenstance.”
Thea reached up and placed her hand over Simeon’s and pushed his palm to her cheek. His eyes closed at the feel of her skin. She turned her face, and her lips pressed into the heart of his hand. She heard him breathe deeply, and she looked up at him.
“Do you believe—is it foolish to believe that, regardless of the tragedies, of the sorrow, there is a design to our lives?”
Simeon’s eyes opened. His thumb stroked a light path over her lips. His eye twitched ever so slightly, and he shook his head. “I don’t believe it’s foolish. No more foolish than believing we simply exist and then we die.”
Thea nodded, relieved that Simeon didn’t scoff at her fledgling faith in a Creator. In a God who had seen fit to craft her into being. Her life had taken a defined path, steered by choices of her family in the past, herself, and the results that followed. But also directed by her own growing belief that life catapulted a soul toward the Creator, whether the person acknowledged it or not. The evidence of the fingerprints of design were on her life. On Simeon’s life. Of the gifts amid the darkness. People like Mr. and Mrs. Amos, who were there when no one else was. Effie, whose loyalty to a friend from long ago had brought resolution to Thea’s questions. Even Dr. Ackerman, whose care for his patients would be a small step in correcting the misinformed perspectives on those who struggled to find peace in their mental illnesses.
Thea drew back, tracing her fingers down the column of Simeon’s neck.
“I need to know more,” she whispered. “I need to understand why He formed me into who I am. I—I need to know Him.”
Simeon released her and bent, picking up a river stone and feeling it in his hand. Thea laid hers over it so that their hands fully engulfed the stone.
“If I were to carve words into this for this moment”—Simeon stepped closer to her, the stone clasped between them—“I would etch the words In spite of.”
“In spite of?” Thea watched as Simeon’s forehead moved nearer and rested against hers. They both opened their hands and studied the rather plain-looking river rock.
Simeon’s words hovered between them. “In spite of the darkness, in spite of the crushing weight, this is not the last page. We are not finished, Thea. This place—this life—will break us. But from above, our Creator reaches into the depths, and He will carve into us something new.”
Thea raised her eyes and met Simeon’s. So close, so deep, so unguarded and honest she had to ask, just one more time. “You truly, truly believe that? That God will begin to bring restoration?”
“He has already started.” Simeon closed the inches between them, a quiet confidence in his voice as he brushed her lips with a tender caress.
Thea could sense Simeon’s belief in his kiss, his care, and his faith for more than their eyes could see. She could sense his soul melding into her soul, traveling a path with her, fragile but tipped in promise.
She drew in a deep breath of anticipation. Every creation was intended for a purpose. In broken places, beauty could be found. In beauty, she would find the Creator’s perfect story. A story that didn’t need to be rewritten, because it already was. Her story. She was Dorothea Reed. She was Alice Fortune. She was . . . created. And being created was no small thing.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Regardless of “good intentions,” humanity has a history of imprisoning sectors of individuals who miss the mark on the measurement of normalized society. While history speaks loudly of this in the present, we are often deaf to their ghostly cries.
God’s tapestry of human experiences born from sin, suffering, joy, and triumph separate each of us into our own story. A spine with an embossed title that tells of our individualized blessings and curses. These stories mesh into a library of human need, which all returns to its Author, desperate to be understood. To be healed. To find the elusive strength one can never truly find within oneself.
He is the writer of your story. Every story has twists, trials, and victories. When we take up the pen to edit, that is when our stories run awry. Your tale, your life, has a purpose. A story of need, of brokenness, of salvation, and of beauty. As it is written. As it was intended to be.
May you lift the book that tells your story, change none of its pages, but instead may you find within its loose ends, its mystery, its tragedy, and its joy, your Author. The Finisher of your faith. Your Rescuer. The Writer who has composed your ending with a glorious sequel in mind.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Both Heidi and Thea struggle with understanding their personal identities and how this factors into their lives’ purpose. How have you struggled to “find yourself”? Where are you now in that personal journey?
Hospitals for individuals suffering with mental illness were prevalent in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. However, many people were admitted for undefined conditions such as epilepsy, prolonged grief, and even widowhood. What significant improvements has modern medicine made in helping individuals to deal with weaknesses of the human body and spirit? Which maladies today has our society been poor at offering support to hurting individuals?
Rhett and his family point Heidi toward her Creator and help her to see beyond a clouded, internal focus. Who has played a pivotal part in your journey, both in your faith and in your formation as a person?
As you contemplate the story and the themes of identity and life purpose, how do you feel the legend of Misty Wayfair paralleled the lessons Heidi and Thea needed to learn?
Emma is a key influence, not only in solving the mystery of Misty Wayfair but also in bringing life back to Heidi. All too often, individuals with special needs are disregarded, but they have so much to offer us. Has someone with special needs enriched your life in some way? What lessons has this person taught you?
Heidi discovers an antique photo album filled with pictures over a century old. What is your favorite vintage find? Why?
Thea’s career as a traveling photographer, serving those with a deceased family member through postmortem photography, is morbid to us today. But in the Victorian and early Edwardian eras, this was a widespread practice, and the photographs became treasured memorabilia. How do you or others you know memorialize a loved one today?
The romance in both stories is subtle; however, Rhett and Simeon each brought a unique perspective that resulted in Heidi and Thea beginning new journeys to know their Creator more deeply. Who challenges you on a regular basis to view life from a different perspective? Can you recall a specific instance when that challenge was a special help to you?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel was far more difficult to write than any I’ve attempted before. The elements of mental illness, of special needs, of anxiety disorders all required sensitivity and a delicate touch. While I have my own personal journey within these elements, agonies and blessings, I also must thank:
Mary Jane Lines, who is a heroine of motherhood. And to her son, whose intelligence, creativity, love, and devotion to his family far outweigh the stigma of autism and bring to light a beautiful picture of God working out a good thing in our lives. Thank you, MJ, for opening your soul to me. For allowing me to see your struggles, your pain, and your precious, precious love for your son. I pray I have adequately represented an individual with autism. Any misrepresentations are entirely my own fault, and I will continue to study, to learn, and to defend the value of those with autism. They are a vital part of our community and of our hearts.
Tracee Chu. I didn’t quite get a character named after you, but you’re threaded through this novel anyway. From the dark elements, the sarcasm, and even the glimpses into the world of autism. You are another heroic mother whose son I adore, and whose simple bravery and humble friendship I thank you for.
Debra Penzkover. For entrusting your son to me that day of sixth grade youth group. For allowing him to teach me how to enter his world and see all the vibrant creations within it. I fell in love with your boy, and he has taught me many, many things. I am so proud of the man he has become.
Natalie and Kiana. We walk this journey together, our hearts intertwined because of inexpressible understanding. It was no mistake we found each other. In the darkness, beauty is discovered.
My family—my parents, my pirate, my littles, and my sisters—thank you for never judging me, for loving me in spite of me.
To all of us who struggle with anxiety, depression, panic, mental illness, learning disorders, special needs, and so much more . . . we were created with a purpose! The world is broken, and yet the Creator has a beautiful redemptive way of taking those broken pieces and crafting something precious and beautiful. Never forget that you are beautifully and wonderfully made. That is your identity. Search no further.
Jaime Jo Wright is the author of the acclaimed novels The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond and The House on Foster Hill, which won the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Inspirational Romantic Mystery/Suspense. She’s also the Publishers Weekly and ECPA bestselling author of three novellas. Jaime works as a human resources director in Wisconsin, where she lives with her husband and two children. To learn more, visit jaimewrightbooks.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
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Author's Note
Questions for Discussion
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
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The Curse of Misty Wayfair Page 35