Eden Rising (The Eden Saga Book 5)

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Eden Rising (The Eden Saga Book 5) Page 51

by Marilyn Harris


  At that moment she heard something behind her, the sound of a key turning in a lock coming from the study, as though someone were...

  She was aware of Susan's close attention now — as well as Mr. Eden's, who heard the lock turning from the end of the corridor and drew nearer in fascination with the sound and the realization someone had been in the study all the time.

  Catherine started to speak, then changed her mind. She'd never known the study door to be locked before. General Booth always believed in openness and preached openness. Was it General Booth, she wondered, and approached the door cautiously.

  Long before she saw the black coat sleeve and the familiar hand, she knew and closed her eyes to the significance of the locked door and her husband's tightly drawn face.

  At last he emerged full portrait into the afternoon shadows of the second-floor corridor, his Bible clutched at its customary position in the crook of his arm, pushing the door all the way open with his leg, then standing framed in the open doorway, as though to give them all the benefit of his appearance.

  For the moment all three seemed too stunned to speak. Catherine rallied first. “General Booth, I had no idea. I... was waiting - ”

  “Why?” he interrupted, not looking directly at her but seeming to concentrate on Mr. Eden, who continued to stand near the staircase at the farthest removed distance. “Why are all of you standing about? Surely there is enough work to occupy one and all. If not, there are endless tasks at the new colony off the Strand. Come with me and I shall see to it that - ”

  “General, please,” Catherine begged, fearing that tone, that look, that inability to hear or see anything save what he wanted to hear and see.

  At her interruption he halted his progress through the door and looked sharply at her. For a moment she saw not one softening angle of husbandly love, saw only suspicion and distrust, as though she'd joined the enemy's camp.

  “I'm late now as it is, Mrs. Booth. While others may have time to stand about, I assure you God's work keeps me quite busy.”

  “These two,” she said in a tone of apology, “they made an appointment to see you just yesterday, do you remember? It was to have been at two o'clock.”

  As she gestured toward Susan and Mr. Eden, she saw him follow her direction, saw a neutral expression on his face, as though two strangers were standing in the corridor. Under the force of such a glare, Susan looked away. Mr. Eden held his position.

  “I remember no such appointment,” General Booth said briskly.

  In that moment Catherine knew he did indeed know of the impending request to marry. Not only knew but had already made his decision.

  “General Booth, please see them,” Catherine entreated quietly, wishing she might have a moment alone with him to help him see what a disastrous mistake he was making.

  But: “I have no time, Mrs. Booth. I am late as it is, and now, if you will...”

  This time his steps took him as far as the staircase, into direct confrontation with Mr. Eden, who stood for a moment as though blocking his passage down. At the last minute he stepped aside and apparently captured General Booth's attention with his quiet calm.

  “We did make an appointment, sir, yesterday. It was at about this same hour.”

  At this General Booth stopped, looked back, and on his face Catherine saw anger — and something else. Not fear, surely...

  “Are you disputing my word, sir?”

  Catherine thought she saw a slight smile on Mr. Eden’s face.

  “No, not disputing it...”

  “Then let me pass.”

  Tm not blocking your passage, though all we require of you is a simple word...”

  Resigned and fearful, Catherine held her position close to the study door. She knew her husband well enough to know nothing could infuriate him more than that one subtle smile, unless it was Mr. Eden’s calm demeanor.

  Faring less well, Susan Mantle had withdrawn to a position close to the wall and now stood, head down, her back braced against the surface, palms flattened. She appeared to be concentrating on aligning the points of her black shoes, but Catherine knew better than that, could feel too clearly the woman’s pain of embarrassment.

  Why was all this necessary?

  In a surge of anger, she pushed out of her own embarrassed lethargy. “General Booth,” she called out, her voice forceful, a sound of fake bravado, “none of this is necessary. Their request is simple. They wish to marry. Give them your blessing and everyone can - ”

  Although no word was spoken, it was the look in his eye as he glared at her — part shock she would speak to him like that and the rest fury — that cut her off. She’d never seen such a look and thought quite lucidly for just a moment: He is... insane.

  In the awesome silence, she was aware of the other two and the growing feeling of alarm that was spreading throughout the quiet corridor.

  Beyond General Booth’s shoulder she saw Mr. Eden bow his head, though at the same time he spoke quietly. “As I understand it, it is your policy to approve or disapprove of all marriages. Is that correct?”

  General Booth turned on Mr. Eden’s voice, as though it alone were capable of doing him damage. “It is,” he thundered, and the hand that held the Bible shook.

  “Then give us permission” — Mr. Eden smiled courteously — “and I assure you we shan’t detain you a moment.”

  “Never!”

  The single word came like a volley fired from a cannon and seemed to echo endlessly throughout the long, shadowy corridor. Surely the word had been heard all over Whitechapel as well, for it had been clearly heard here. Though no one could have possibly mistaken either the word or its meaning, all three stared at General Booth as though somehow they hadn't heard correctly or needed clarification.

  Mr. Eden smiled, a quick nervous smile, and spoke for all three. “I'm afraid I... don't understand.”

  “How much clearer need I make it?” General Booth went on, moving at last, finding energy in the confusion of the others. “To your request to marry Susan Mantle I said, ‘No.’ In fact I absolutely forbid it.” At the conclusion of this madness, he started down the steps as though confident there would be neither rebuttal nor argument.

  Of course he was wrong on both counts. While Susan seemed too stunned to speak, Mr. Eden did not. As General Booth marched down to the first landing five steps below, Mr. Eden followed after, more than followed, pursued, for the smile was gone and in its place Catherine saw a painful mix of regret and relief, as though he'd held himself in check for too long and now looked forward to and dreaded the release.

  “No explanation, sir?” he asked, only a step or two before he caught up with General Booth and reached out for his shoulder, as though physically to restrain him from proceeding on down the steps.

  Catherine held her position, fearful for both of them, regretful this was happening, yet at the moment powerless to stop it. She saw Susan push away from her safe harbor near the wall and walk unsteadily to the top of the stairs.

  “It isn't necessary, John,” she said softly.

  “No, forgive me, Susan, but you're wrong. It is necessary and important,” Mr. Eden protested with grim but unfailing politeness. “I have never fully understood this... abridgment of personal liberty, why two people must seek permission from a third for something that concerns and involves only - ”

  “Your inability to understand is neither shocking nor surprising,” General Booth interrupted.

  “Then enlighten me, please,” Mr. Eden requested, still wielding the upper hand merely because of his calm demeanor, while General Booth appeared to be on the verge of a seizure.

  “Gladly” — General Booth nodded with suspect eagerness — “though I think it would be best if Miss Mantle - ”

  “ — remained where she is,” Mr. Eden cut in. “Since your decision affects her future as well as mine, I think she has a right to hear.”

  “Suit yourselves,” General Booth said. He shifted the Bible from one hand to the ot
her, in the process placing his hand meticulously atop the newel post while everyone else in the corridor waited with checked tempers.

  A performance, Catherine thought, and wondered what was the point and tried to see a need for meddling in people's lives in this fashion, could find none, and prayed briefly God would show General Booth the error of his ways before it was too late and the grand works of a lifetime were destroyed in one moment of egomaniacal weakness.

  “Then speak, sir,” Mr. Eden invited. “We all are curious about the reason for your denial.”

  “Simple,” General Booth said with suspect ease that belied his trembling hands. “When we took you into the refuge, we knew nothing about you, could find no papers, nothing. I asked you repeatedly to speak that first day, to inform us as to - ”

  “I have no memory of that day,” Mr. Eden said quickly in the manner of an apology.

  “Of course not,” Catherine agreed, drawing nearer to the top of the stairs and the confrontation. “I was there. I saw he had fallen senseless onto the pavement - ”

  General Booth said nothing but raised a restraining hand in her direction and with that one gesture made it clear she was to hold her tongue.

  In the ensuing silence she saw Mr. Eden and Susan exchange a glance. Its precise nature she couldn't determine, still smarting from her own reprimand.

  “Please go on,” Mr. Eden urged.

  “Gladly,” General Booth said.

  The weight of authority seemed to be shifting. It was Mr. Eden now who looked weak and defeated.

  “Our doors are open to one and all,” General Booth said magnanimously with a matching gesture, arms outstretched. “Everyone is welcome to sit at table, to rest in peace, comfort, and quiet. Everyone, that is, except a... criminal, a fugitive from the law.” These last words were delivered coldly, with a bluntness that shocked.

  Again Mr. Eden gave him a look of pure bewilderment. “Criminals? I... don't understand.”

  “That day we found you in front of the mission, Mr. Eden, you had one possession which you were clutching to your person, a wicker case which unfortunately contained evidence of criminal activity.”

  From where Catherine stood, she saw the slow draining of color from Mr. Eden's face. “You... had no right,” she heard him say on diminished breath.

  Apparently General Booth heard nothing and went right on, gesturing with the Bible now, as he frequently did during revivals. “Out of human compassion I have refrained from notifying the proper authorities until you had the strength and the opportunity to explain what precisely...”

  Something in Mr. Eden's face caused him momentarily to halt. At the same time, Catherine was aware of Susan moving closer, passing her by, and starting directly down the stairs.

  “We are very fond of Susan here at the mission,” General Booth went on. “Naturally I can't stand idly by and see her become involved with a man of questionable activity who - ”

  At last Susan spoke, though her voice was scarcely recognizable. “General Booth, you... don't understand. Please - ”

  “No. I understand perfectly,” he said with conviction. To Mr. Eden he added imperiously, “I offer you two alternatives. Either meet with the authorities and tell them precisely how you came to possess that blood-stained gown, or else leave the mission immediately.” At the end of the pronouncement he tucked the Bible under his arm and started to walk away as though he wasn't even concerned with the man's answer.

  As for Mr. Eden, he stood absolutely motionless, head bowed. Then he lifted one hand to Susan, who stared down at it for a moment. His face was a mask of grief. Finally Susan came down the three short steps and took the hand offered to her.

  With no words spoken, the two started down the stairs, keeping close to the wall on the left in an effort to avoid contact with General Booth, who continued to watch them as though hoping Mr. Eden would give him an excuse to respond.

  But clearly Mr. Eden was finished speaking for the day. Catherine saw and envied the strength with which he gripped Susan's hand, the purpose with which he led her past General Booth, who, despite the fact he'd had the last word, looked defeated.

  “Mr. Eden!”

  The two continued down the steps. But General Booth would not leave them alone. “Sir! I demand a response!”

  Fearful the ugly scene would shortly be played out for the benefit of all the staff and the men in the crowded common room below, Catherine gathered her courage and her wits about her and started after them, determined, if nothing else, to avoid a public spectacle that would do dangerous damage to the mission and irreparable damage to General Booth.

  “Wait, please,” she called out.

  Only then did Mr. Eden halt his steps and look back.

  “My intention, sir, is to leave here at your request. I will always be grateful to you and to this mission for taking me in, for giving me back my strength and my judgment. I had hoped to serve with you for a while, like Lord Simmons, but clearly that was not meant to be.” For the first time he paused.

  In this silence Catherine saw Susan's head bowed.

  “I will find another place to serve, though,” Mr. Eden went on. “I want you to know that - ”

  Without looking at either of them, General Booth said in a voice remarkable for its tonelessness, “I forbid you to go with him, Miss Mantle. Did you hear? I absolutely forbid it.”

  If either Susan or Mr. Eden heard, they gave no indication of it.

  “Did you hear me?” General Booth ranted. “I forbid it. Do not proceed another step in his company or you, too, will find yourself out on the street.”

  Then Catherine could stand it no longer, the shouting, the senseless infliction of pain on people who had borne quite enough. “General Booth, I beg you to consider - ”

  Apparently he was in no mood to consider anything, and now followed after the two going downstairs, using the Bible as an object with which to gesture angrily. “I demand a response,” he cried. “Don't turn your backs on me. I am God here, and as such I demand the same reverence and respect you so lavishly give to Him. Miss Mantle, do you hear me? Do not proceed another step, do not associate yourself with such a man, do not...”

  Let them go, Catherine thought, and sat wearily on the steps to cover her face with her hands, hearing General Booth's echoing madness, hearing as well the sudden shocked silence coming from the large room below.

  Dear God, he is good. He can affect men's lives...

  Why was it God couldn't keep a thing pure for more than a generation?

  No answer. Just an echoing silence and the awesome sense of something powerful in nature gone awry, that and the equally moving suspicion that Mr. Eden was on the verge of going home to peace.

  How she feared the one and how she envied the other.

  Susan had no idea where he was leading her, didn't really care, just so long as it was away from that judgmental voice which had followed them down the stairs, through the dining hall in tidal waves of embarrassed silence, and even out onto the crowded pavement of Whitechapel.

  Now, for the first time, she was blessedly aware of only street sounds, no penetrating voice topping the rattle of wheels and cries of vendors.

  She was newly aware of John's hand clasping hers, literally dragging her through the crowds on the pavement. She followed because she had no choice in any sense of the word, though she wondered if he knew where he was leading her.

  Abruptly he turned to the left, taking her with him, and started off at a rapid pace down Regiment Street, where he didn't once look back but proceeded straight on. Now she suspected he did have a destination in mind and felt him lead her toward the small low wooden gate which led into the cloisters of Saint Stephen's.

  Of course. She should have thought of it herself, a quiet green haven, at the center of Whitechapel Street, a place where abandoned and lost men used to sleep before General Booth opened his mission.

  He did perform sacred work...

  Not until they were inside the gate
did John release her hand, and only then to check the latch, as though he wanted to lock them in or lock the world out.

  She withdrew quietly to the center of the cloister, to a spot near a wooden bench where over the years initials had been carved by the bored, hungry, and lonely. As she sat she saw a crudely carved heart encircling two sets of initials and lovingly ran her finger over the memento of past love.

  She looked up, thinking to call it to his attention, feeling it might be best to break the tension of the moment with a change of subject. To her surprise, she saw him still standing by the gate, his back to her, his position obscuring his face.

  Then slowly he turned, a shy, sad smile altering his features. Without a word he drew near to the bench, never taking his eyes off her. She could not even begin to estimate the joy it would be to live with that face every day for the rest of her life.

  Still without words, he sat close beside her and reached for her hand, which was open and available to him, and enclosed it between his own. She found the gesture so gentle and loving she went down on her knees before him, a position of intimacy, yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  “John, look at me,” she pleaded softly. “Are you all right?” she asked, despite the fact she had not as yet elicited any response.

  At last a faint smile broke through the fatigue. Slowly he looked down on her and made brief eye contact. “I'm fine... though I don't...” He broke off and shook his head, lifting his eyes to the limited spires of little Saint Stephen's, a local Anglican church which over the years had fallen on hard times. No parishioners.

  “I don't understand,” John said, “any of it. There was a time when I could have told you the direction of my entire life, the master plan, as it were, all my accomplishments to thirty years of age, to forty, to fifty...” He broke off and shook his head again, looking down. “Now?” he said. “I can't tell you with any degree of conviction what I will be doing for the next... fifteen minutes.” She smiled. “I suspect,” she began, “that you have just described the condition of a large part of the human race.”

 

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