The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  August caught Captain Luther’s attention and approached the man as the other officers began their meals. “What is this news, sir?”

  The lean man, a young captain, trained his gaze on the task of opening his serviette. “The same as has been expected for a month or more. The government plans to move us soon.”

  Heat drained from August’s face taking his smile with it. How soon? Would he have enough time to complete the project he’d promised to Dr. Carter? For Jessica’s sake?

  Of course, from the way Jessica had smiled into the face of the Englishman, August might have lost his chance to win her heart already. He grimaced. But to such a man? The dark, shifty eyes? The saccharine charm? Nein.

  “And the timeline, sir?”

  The captain sat back in his chair and stared up at August. “Colonel Ames is to arrive within the month to announce plans, but until then, we are to work.”

  Not even a month? August closed his eyes and allowed the frustration to escape in a rush from his nostrils. Another sweet dream snatched from his hand? Oh, Lord, please make a way of rescue. Of escape.

  “Do they have a specific place in mind to send us?”

  “The only logical conclusion would be Oglethorpe.”

  The word soaked warmth like an icy blast. Stories strained through their ranks regarding the dreaded prison camp. Its very presence brought the stench of shame, along with unending tales of beatings and brutal work. A treacherous life for accused traitors. Prisoners.

  August looked around the room. Few of the men reclining at these beautiful tables held the heart of a traitor or murderer. They were not the sort of men turning Jessica’s thoughts against him. No. Not the same man who attacked her and her brother at the Front. Would these men have fought for their country? Yes. And proudly. But traitors? Nein.

  “And once the government men come?” Captain Nisse tipped his glass toward Luther. “What do you say our camp becomes less... relaxed than it is now? These hardworking men pulled from the fields and forests of these mountains to sentry us are not soldiers. They are more friend than guard. They’ve ruled with a firm yet generous hand.”

  Being a castoff from his family never waned in its grief, but August had healed in so many ways from that wound and grown to accept the hard-heartedness of his father and the indifference of his elder brother. But now, to be ripped from another haven, another home, warm with its people, faith, and beauty? An unleashed cry crept for release in his throat. No, God. Please.

  Luther nodded, his frown deepening the lines in his brow. “I can assure you, gentlemen. We will not get such treatment when the government sends their trained men. No.” He tilted his gaze up to August. “Take your freedom now, August. Enjoy it. It will not last much longer.”

  ***

  Jessica dug up another potato and placed it in the bag at her side. She’d gotten straight to work as soon as she’d returned from town, an uneasiness propelling her into mindless activity. With Faith slung across her chest in a makeshift carrier, she’d managed to collect enough vegetables from the garden to supply Granny with food for the next four days, and then some. She needed to keep busy, employ her wayward thoughts, especially away from introspection with her own heart.

  She paused in her work, staring up at the blue-hazed sky. She’d been impulsive in inviting Mr. Little, almost compelled to force a connection her heart didn’t readily make. Why? She covered Faith’s little head nestled against her chest with her palm, in some way grounding herself in the moment, and a tiny awareness tucked behind her fear awakened. August. She was terrified of the vibrant connection. The need to look for him. The unlassoed curiosity and something deeper than attraction, something luring her away from her assumptions, against her will and hate.

  But what was it? And why him?

  “The kinder... children have discovered one another.”

  A shadow fell over Jessica and she looked up to see Anna Fischer standing at the edge of the garden. A straw hat, only a few shades lighter than her hair, topped her head boasting a single green ribbon for decoration—the same color as her skirt.

  Jess followed her gaze to where Jude stood nearby, talking to Sylvie, apparently nonplussed by Sylvie’s different communication style. They bent close, their heads low over some interesting item in the grass. Sylvie, in her delicate yellow dress, her rich golden hair tied back in a matching bow, stared up at Jude, his dusty overalls covering an oversized white shirt. Her cherub face was intense, her gaze watching with fascination and curiosity over their shared adventure.

  “I saw them start talking a few moments ago and hoped it would be good for both of them,” Jessica said, placing her palms on her back as she rose. Faith might be small but her little weight didn’t go unnoticed for an unseasoned adoptive mother’s back. “I can imagine Sylvie can become lonely for children out here with only my grandparents as neighbors.”

  Anna’s smile softened and she turned her curiosity full on Jessica. “Yes. And not everyone is patient enough to keep trying when they hear her differences.”

  Jess sighed and switched her attention back to the pair. Jude held a caterpillar in his hand and Sylvie ran a finger over it, jumped back with a giggle, and returned, all the while switching her attention back to Jude’s face. The little boy who’d lost his family offered kinship to a little girl from the countrymen who killed his father? No hindrances. What would their generation bring? A place of peace between two worlds?

  The biting claw of conviction scraped across her soul. She pulled her attention away from the innocent scene and hoped her smile held a welcome she wasn’t sure she felt. “I think they both need the friendship.”

  “As we all do.”

  Jessica adjusted the cloth sling wrapped around her body as Faith’s little eyes, bright and blue, watched from her cocoon. Her dearest friend, Ashleigh, had lived an hour’s train ride from Hot Springs when they became friends in nursing school, and now she lived across the world in Ednesbury with her brother. Jess even missed Catherine, her enigmatic sister-in-law. Though their relationship began in animosity, at best, time and change had molded it into a sweet kinship, but here? In Hot Springs? Many of her former friends stayed busy with their married lives or had moved away from Hot Springs altogether. Friendship? Yes, she missed friendship.

  “How do you like living in our little town, Mrs. Fischer?”

  “Anna, please.” The woman stepped forward, this time offering her hand again.

  Jess drew a deep breath, wiped her dirty palm against her apron, and took the offering. “And you may call me Jessica, if you like.”

  “It is a beautiful and restful place. I am glad to have come and to be away from the town enough to enjoy the quiet.”

  Jess almost followed with another question, one too personal for a second conversation, but Anna caught the hesitation. “You wonder why I am here, Jessica?”

  “Your husband is in the camp, I suppose?”

  “I did not move to the States for my husband. He died in combat two years ago.”

  The news stopped Jess as she reached for the bag of vegetables at her feet. “In France?”

  “Yes.” Anna’s face gave nothing away. No sorrow or anger.

  Jess filtered through the names of every German she’d treated but a ‘Fischer’ didn’t emerge from the clouded dust of memory. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “He was gone in heart a long time before he left our home.” Anna reached down for the other bag of vegetables. “My father chose my husband for me for his wealth, not his kindness. I am sad for what he lost in having such a hard heart more than it grieves me to have lost him.”

  Jess’ gaze wavered beneath Anna’s direct stare, her confession beating at Jessica’s will. “Then I’m sorry for a different reason. For you and Sylvie.”

  Anna placed her palm to the back of her hat and looked up at the sky with a sigh. “Time has healed a great many wounds. Time and your grandparents’ kindness.”

  “Your father sounds like a rea
l pill.”

  Anna’s lips slipped to a grin. “Yes, the kind that would stick in your throat.”

  The unexpected humor inspired a chuckle. “Those are the worst kind.”

  “Indeed.” She covered her smile with her palm. “But I should not speak ill of the dead.” Her periwinkle eyes continued to glimmer with mischief. Maybe there was more to Anna than Jess wished to see.

  “Your father chose your husband for you?”

  “Yes. He chooses all of the children’s spouses. We were from a very wealthy family, August and me.”

  “Were?”

  She shook her head. “Come, I will tell you more inside with a glass of the lemonade your grandmother taught me to make. You will like that, yes?”

  Jess looked back toward the house, then to Jude who continued to entertain Sylvie, and then down at baby Faith. She’d need a bottle soon, but Jess had a few minutes... and Granny was completely out of lemonade.

  “Thank you.”

  She followed Anna to the cottage and froze at the first step over the threshold. Despite the two years, the faintest hint of lilacs drifted out of the recesses of the house. Her mother’s scent. Sunlight bathed the familiar furniture with a hallowed glow and pulled her forward into memory. Her childhood home, and the place her mother died.

  “Here, I also have some of the molasses cookies Mrs. Carter taught me to make.”

  Jess swallowed the knot of tears in the throat and reached for a cookie from the plate Anna offered. Her fingers trembled.

  “I am sorry, Jessica.” Anna set down the plate and took Jessica’s hand into hers. “I did not think. This must be hard for you. Do you wish to leave?”

  Jess slipped her hand free of Anna’s hold, gripped the back of a nearby chair for support, and stiffened her smile. “No.” Her voice formed in a rasp. She cleared her throat. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Admitting you grieve is not a weakness.” Anna took a seat nearby. “My mother died last year as well. In May.”

  Jess looked up and recognized the same grief in Anna’s eyes, the same heart scar. “I’m sorry.”

  Anna sat back in the chair, her gaze softening to memory. “She was a lovely woman. Kind. Gentle. All of the things my father was not. I tended to her until her death, and then found no reason to stay in Germany any longer. With August cast out from the family and my father determined to marry me to another wretched man, I decided to start afresh.”

  “And you came to Hot Springs?”

  “I can think of worse places to start afresh, can’t you?”

  Again, a smile teased the corners of Jess’ lips. “True.” Jess studied the dainty teacup in her hand, a unique design of orchids framed its scalloped edges. Beautiful craftsmanship and artistry. “Your brother was cast out?”

  Anna’s smile veiled more than it uncovered. “I understand from August that you are not fond of Germans, and I can appreciate your hesitancy since you were so intimately involved in the war, but some battles are not faced on the battlefield. Some are fought through an entire childhood without protection of armies and soldiers, and leave as deep a scar.”

  Ashleigh, Jessica’s closest friend, came to mind with her childhood secret of abuse. Yes, there were more, but they didn’t invalidate the wounds and humiliation of those she’d incurred during the war. Faith made a smacking noise, her fist in her mouth. The lemonade wouldn’t last much longer.

  “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you and your brother in your past.” She stood, placing her cup on the small table at her side. “But I’ve returned home to find the one place I considered safe to be overrun with more Germans than I’d seen during the whole war. Do you expect me to embrace this like the rest of Hot Springs? I’ve witnessed atrocities at your kinsmen’s hands. I’ve been the brunt of their—” She snapped her lips closed and stepped toward the door. “I’m sorry, Anna. Someday, I might accept this friendship you offer, but not today.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You’ve been awful quiet this afternoon.”

  Jess stopped at the bottom of the stairs to meet her grandpa, still working to control her emotions from the earlier conversation with Anna. Something in her head, the rational part of her, shouted out the ridiculousness of her prejudice. The utter lunacy of such narrow-minded assumptions. But her heart ached with the weighty cost of another man’s lust and the reigning grief of hundreds of lost lives in a devastating war.

  “Coming home is harder than I thought.”

  He nodded, tugging his pipe from his pocket. “I’d imagine so, and it’s not been so easy this first month.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “No, Grandpa. It hasn’t.”

  “Let’s go for a walk, like old times.” He gestured with his chin toward the front door, hinting to their weekly path along Spring Creek they’d taken when she was a child. “You just put the baby down for a nap and Jude’s helpin’ Granny with some biscuits.” His brows wiggled with playful temptation and loosed her resolve.

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  They checked with Granny before stepping off the large front porch for the tree-lined trail. There was something magical about this path with its rosy dogwood entrance framing the way into a mountain laurel wonderland. The rhododendron, hiding among the fleshing leaves of the laurel, bowed to the newer blooms of summer, only to have both eventually fade to the brilliant quilt of autumn leaves. Home.

  Scraps and Lightning bounded after them, dancing about each other like two overgrown rabbits. They’d found kinship with each other too.

  Grandpa and Jess walked in silence a while, the vibrant whistle of the busy birds serenading a lazy summer afternoon. Honeysuckle air brought a cool touch to Jess’ cheeks as their easy pace crumpled old leaves underfoot.

  “I don’t imagine we’ll have much more afternoons this cool with summer closing in.”

  “Probably not.”

  The stillness seeped deep, whispering to her battered soul, calling her from her solitude. Her grandpa’s intent, no doubt. She breathed in the sweet air and almost felt a prayer slip from the recesses of her pain. A child’s cry. A weary reach for help.

  “When I lost my parents three months apart from each other, I sought out the comfort of God in these forests. Your granny and I would take long walks, and sometimes, we wouldn’t say a word, only listen. Listen for God to speak to our hearts. Touch us with comfort.”

  They took a few more steps. “And what did He say?”

  Grandpa offered her a grin from his periphery. “Well, for a long time, I didn’t hear him say anything at all. Same thing happened after your mama died. I was overcome with sorrow, too busy listening to the sound of my own voice asking God why.”

  The words came with a gentle sting.

  “But then, after the pain started to subside and I began to see clear again, He spoke. His comfort came from the same place it’d always been. In his Word. I read, He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

  The irony. As a nurse, her occupation, by definition, was to heal, to bind brokenness, so why couldn’t she cure her own shattered insides? She craved healing, the soothing freedom of a quiet heart, but feared it at the same time. It came with a cost.

  What would she lose if she relinquished her anger, her fury at the man... and his people who had caused such harm to so many? What price would God require her to pay in exchange for an ounce of peace?

  Wounds hollowed her out. Fear prickled the remains. How could she keep living this shattered life? This ghost-walk of an existence? Two choices rose from the silence—either a hard heart or a mended one.

  “That same Psalm goes on to talk about God’s greatness. He names the stars and calls down the snow. Makes the wind blow and the rains come. But none of those big things make him happier than His children finding hope in His steadfast love.”

  Jess stopped and faced her grandpa, her gaze searching his. “Steadfast? How can his love be steadfast when there is death and destruction going on in every corn
er of this world? What kind of love lets thousands of young men die in a senseless war? Or leaves two children orphaned to whoever will take them? Or... or allows a drunken German soldier to steal the innocence of his captive?” Tears blurred her grandpa’s face, but he moved, embracing her in his thick, strong arms.

  She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his two worlds. Pine and lye soap. Pipe tobacco and the faintest hint of peroxide.

  “I’m sorry, little girl.” His deep voice rasped with the pain, searing her middle. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop those wounds from finding you. So sorry you were the victim of a broken man’s evil. I can’t tell you why it happened, but I can tell you that the temptation to wall yourself up inside will only hurt you worse. The anger will harden you to any good feelin’ of the sweetness of this life and the tender touch of love.”

  “But how can you trust Him? When all these bad things happen? How can He be steadfast?”

  “Steadfast means that His love stays the same though the whole world falls apart. He promises to hold you, especially when your heart breaks from hands of broken people. He’s holding you right now, girl. Better and more certain than I ever could, because he holds your soul. As scarred and crumbled as it feels, His fingers are gliding over it, healing and molding and shaping it into something new. Something stronger because of His love. Steadfast doesn’t mean the storm ends. It means there’s unshakeable safety in the middle of the storm.”

  “I hate storms.” Her words trembled.

  Her grandpa wiped a tear from her cheek with his wrinkled palm. “Then let Him be your shelter. The world can be mad all around you, but your heart can know His peace no matter the storm. No matter the pain others put upon you. He promises to heal you.”

  She clung to Grandpa, weeping into his shirt until the sobs subsided in a withered breath.

  His soft, deep voice rose into the quiet. “Dear God, you who named the stars and set the planets in place. Who formed those destined for good and those for ill. Oh, God of the broken and lonely, scarred and rejected. Father to fatherless and home for the foreigner.”