A Shelter of Hope

by Tracie Peterson

  Jeffery, too, was different. She hated thinking about him. He had promised to join her in Florence within a couple of days of her departure, but he’d telegrammed her saying that circumstances prevented him from leaving Topeka. It caused Simone to feel anxious, almost hurt, and because of that she didn’t know what to say or how to respond. She wanted to guard her heart away from her feelings, but it just wasn’t to be. Then a telegram arrived earlier that evening saying that he would see her tomorrow. That he would arrive around noon and they would talk about the future. And while a part of her looked forward to his arrival, another part feared seeing him again.

  I don’t know what to do, she thought, rocking back and forth, seeking comfort. She remembered a time when her mother would have rocked her. She imagined herself crawling up into her mother’s arms and finding the warmth and protection she sought. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Mama,” she whispered. “I don’t really hate you. In fact, I would give my life to have you here just now.” Her chest ached with this revelation. She had tried so hard, for so many years, to convince herself that she hated the only human being to ever show her unconditional love. “Why? Why couldn’t you have just stayed with me? I was just a little girl. I still feel like a little girl.” Simone sobbed softly into the folds of her nightgown.

  Unbearable pain tore through her. The misery of the last seven years began to overwhelm her. How hard she had tried to deny her feelings. How hard she had fought to feel nothing. She had convinced herself that her protection was found in not remembering, but now it was clear that this had only led to further grief and suffering.

  I’m hopeless, she thought, and a shudder washed over her. There was great truth in that statement. I am without hope. Nothing could more clearly plead my cause or outline my existence. She pressed her nightgown against her eyes and willed her tears to stop. This will not help, she reminded herself. It never helped in the past and it surely cannot change things now. I am alone. There is no one to help.

  A verse from the Bible came to mind, but Simone couldn’t remember it clearly. Glancing to Una’s bed, Simone made certain she was still sleeping before slipping out of her own bed. She located her Bible in her bedstand drawer and took it with her to the open window. She hoped there might be enough light to read by but soon realized the impossibility. Reluctantly, she lit the candle Una had used and sat down at the writing table.

  The marker opened the Book to Psalm 27. Simone suddenly remembered the night Rachel had sat at her side, speaking of God. Glancing over the chapter, words—even whole verses—began to sound familiar to her. By the time she reached verse ten, she was crying anew.

  “‘When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.”’ Oh, that this would be true, Simone thought longingly. “‘Teach me thy way, O LORD, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies. Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty,”’ she whispered the words, barely able to see them for her tears.

  “‘I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”’

  She fell upon the open pages and buried her face against her arms.

  What would it be like to know the goodness of the Lord? To honestly be of good courage because God had heard her cries and had strengthened her?

  “I don’t know how to wait on you, Lord,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Trust me.

  The voice wasn’t audible, but it rose up from her heart like the faint whistle of an approaching train. Trust me. Such a simple request. Jeffery had asked for her trust. Her mother had made promises based on that trust. God had sent his Son, Jesus, and offered eternal life to those who believed—trusted His promises to be true.

  “I want to trust—to believe,” Simone said, suddenly so very tired of doing things her own way. She had spent seven, almost eight years in rebellion and anger, and now the time had come to face the consequences of her actions.

  “I want to trust you,” she said solemnly. Wiping away the last of her tears, Simone realized that there was much to account for. “I was proud and haughty, angry and bitter. I was sure you couldn’t care for me because …” She fell silent, looking beyond the Bible to the open window. “I thought you left me when my mother went away, but in truth, I was the one who left you. I deserted you, just as I accused Mama of deserting me. Oh, God, how wrong I was.”

  She sat in silence for several moments, then walked to the window and stared out on the landscape below. Seeing nothing but the years of misery and emptiness, Simone continued her whispered prayer. “I blamed my father for being so cruel. I suffered so much under his hand. But in many ways, I’ve suffered more under my own.

  “You could have stopped it,” Simone said as though God might never have thought of such a thing. “You could have done anything, and because of that, I don’t understand why you allowed me to suffer like that.”

  Shaking her head, Simone stepped away from the window and leaned back against the wall. “There seems to be a lot I don’t understand.”

  The only thing Simone did understand at this point was the need to be relieved of her burden. I must find peace, she told herself. Despite her lack of knowledge or understanding—despite her fears for tomorrow.

  “Forgive me, Lord,” she finally whispered. “Please forgive me.”

  Immediately a sensation of peace washed over her in tiny waves. It was almost like a gentle summer rain washing her clean. Her mother had promised her that God listened to the prayers of His children. Simone hoped that was right—hoped that He was listening to her now. It feels right, she thought, breathing out with a sigh. It must be right. Tomorrow might bring the lawman to her door, but even if she stood on the gallows facing her death, Simone finally believed with all of her heart that God would stand there with her. Somehow, the future no longer seemed so frightening.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SIMONE AWOKE THE following morning feeling more refreshed and comforted than she’d felt in years. There were still questions in her mind—nagging little doubts about her life and the past—but nevertheless she knew she had chosen the right path. Now she was determined to continue down that course and make the right decisions about her future.

  It was her day off, and in spite of her long hours of Bible reading and prayers from the night before, Simone desired nothing more than to go to the nearby church and seek advice from the pastor. There was so much to think about, and by noon Jeffery would be there demanding her to think about him, as well.

  Dressing carefully in her blue serge skirt and white shirtwaist, Simone pinned her hair up and made her way downstairs to a late breakfast. The train crowd wouldn’t be through again for a few hours, so Simone arranged a quick meal by sandwiching leftover sausage in a biscuit. Taking a bite, Simone gave Una a tiny wave and cleared out before finding herself volunteered to work an extra shift.

  She actually hummed as she stepped into the morning sun. Just up the road, the rest of Florence was already well into its day. Wagons maneuvered up and down the dirt road, people called out to each other, anvils rang, and horses whinnied. It all seemed like music to Simone’s ears. This was freedom. This was what she hoped desperately not to lose.

  The church stood only a short walking distance away, and Simone had barely finished her biscuit by the time she reached the steps. She gazed upward at the open doorway, wondering if she had the courage to go through with her plan. Una had told her that the preacher, Brother Carlyle, was almost always found inside the building at the first sign of the sun. Simone had counted on this when she’d first made her way to the church, but now a fit of nerves caused her to hesitate.

  “Hello there!” a voice called out.

  Simone looked but saw no one. Hesitantly she replied, “Hello.”

 
A rather rumpled figure appeared from the shadows of the doorway. The man appeared to be in his mid- to late fifties and sported a balding head over which he had combed wispy bits of hair. He smiled warmly and introduced himself. “I’m Brother Carlyle.”

  “I’m Simone Irv—” she paused and shook her head. “Simone Dumas. I work at the Harvey House.”

  “Very nice to meet you. Will you be coming inside today?”

  Simone swallowed hard, feeling the last dry crumbs from the biscuit sticking in her throat. “I’d like very much to do just that.”

  “Then come on ahead. I’m glad to have the company.” He stepped back as if to allow her more room. “I come here every morning to start my day. Gives me comfort to face the troubles of life by first spending time with God.”

  Simone followed him into the simplistic structure. The narrow aisle led forward past rows of wooden pews to a raised platform. It was here, on the edge of the platform rather than the pew, where Brother Carlyle took a seat. “Did you have something in particular that you needed to talk about?”

  Simone stood fixed in the aisle, staring at him and trying to decide how much to say. “I suppose I do.”

  “Then have a seat. You might as well get right to it,” he suggested.

  Simone nodded, hesitated for a moment longer, then quickly slid into the front pew across from Brother Carlyle. Folding her hands and looking downward, she was at a loss as to how to start.

  “So, now,” he asked very gently, “how can I help you?”

  “I’m not sure you can,” Simone admitted. She hoped he could—had even prayed he could, but there was still a great deal of fear in her heart when it came to dealing with people one on one. What if this man was like the others? What if he acted just as cruel and lewdly? She tried not to dwell on these thoughts. Una thought him a very decent sort, and while she’d not had much experience getting to know him, she felt he knew the Bible well and preached a very fine sermon.

  “We won’t know if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you,” he offered.

  Simone looked up and nodded. His face seemed so compassionate. “When I was a little girl, I accepted Jesus as my Savior.”

  He smiled. “That’s a good start.”

  “My mother taught me about God, and I learned to read from the Bible.” Simone bit her lip, knowing that she had to go on. “I fell away from the truth for a long, long time. Last night I made my peace with God. At least in part.”

  “Only in part?” he asked, still smiling. “What part did you leave undone?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I’m not saying I necessarily left anything undone, but there are things that have come to mind with the morning.” “Such as?”

  She took a deep breath. “Such as there are things I’ve done that I should make right.”

  “Repentance goes hand in hand with restoration and accepting responsibility for our actions. We all do things we shouldn’t—no one is perfect. But when we realize the wrong we’ve done, we should attempt to put things back in order. We need to turn from our evil ways and walk God’s path instead of our own.”

  Simone nodded. “Yes, I know. But some things can’t be undone. Words once said can’t be taken back.”

  “Apologies can be given,” he countered.

  “Yes, but you can’t apologize to the dead.”

  He nodded. “I see your problem. You said something harsh to someone and now they’re gone?”

  “Yes. And there’s more. I did something … something horrible.

  I didn’t mean to, but it happened nevertheless.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  And that was that. With those simple words, Simone found herself laying out the entire story of her childhood and of Garvey Davis’s death. After telling him everything, Simone fell silent for a moment, then added, “I never meant to kill him, and if I could do things over again—”

  “You’d defend yourself in exactly the same manner,” Brother Carlyle interrupted. “Simone, you only protected yourself. God knows the truth of it.”

  “Yes, but the law doesn’t. They’re after me even now. I don’t want to keep running, but neither do I want to hang for a crime I never meant to commit. I don’t know how to deal with this. I’m so angry that my father would sell me to Garvey Davis in the first place, and I’m mad that my mother would go away and leave me in a situation that would allow my father’s cruelty.”

  “Simone, your anger toward your mother and father will not help you now. It might have once given you a false sense of strength, but that’s all in the past. You must forgive their errors and let the past stay in the past.”

  “Forgive them?”

  “Doesn’t seem quite right or fair, does it?” he asked, the same benevolent expression on his face.

  Simone felt her stomach tighten. It didn’t seem at all fair. “But what good would it do them now?” she finally managed to ask.

  “It might not do them any good at all—at least not in the aspect you’re probably thinking of.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together. “But it would do you a world of good. It would free you from the burden.”

  “I felt unburdened last night when I came back to God,” Simone admitted. “It’s just that some of these other things kept creeping in on me this morning. I don’t know how to let it go—I’m not sure I can forgive my father.”

  “Sometimes it isn’t easy, but God has already done the hard part.”

  “The hard part?” Simone asked, still uncertain she was capable of what the man suggested.

  “He gave His Son, Jesus, to be a sacrifice for all those sins and wrongs. Before we were even born, Christ went to the cross—paying our price—dying for the evil that would come upon us.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Like it or not, Simone, that includes your father’s sins.

  “Now, I’m not suggesting that what your father did was right. In fact, I feel quite strongly that it was very wrong. But forgiving him isn’t saying that you accept what he did as being the right thing. It doesn’t make him right by a long shot, but it does free your heart from having to carry his guilt with you for the rest of your life. Do you want your earthly father to have that kind of power over you, or would you rather your heavenly Father have that all-consuming power?”

  “I suppose when you put it that way,” Simone replied, trying to take it all in, “I would much rather God have the power. It’s just so hard.”

  “I know it is.”

  “And what about me?” she finally asked, still not certain how to deal with her father. “Do I go throw myself on the mercy of the law and hope they understand the truth? Do I let them hang me, even though it was an accident that Garvey Davis died?”

  “You can only answer those questions for yourself, Simone. I can tell you that the Bible says that the truth will set you free. Deception only ensnares and entangles. But I can’t force you to turn yourself in, neither will I speak out against you. I will, however, be praying for you to make the right decision.”

  Simone nodded but said nothing. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of how she might come to terms with forgiving her father. It was easy enough to forgive her mother, and without any hesitation, Simone found herself praying that God might see the openness of her heart.

  I know she loved me, Simone thought as her eyes closed in prayer. I know that if she were alive today, she would still love me—care for me, protect me. I know she did what she thought was best. I saw her tears—her pain. I know the decision to leave did not come without a high price, and I sent her away without ever making it right between us. She died thinking I hated her.

  Oh, God, she believed I hated her. Tears slipped from her closed eyes.Please forgive me and please let her know that I love her still. That I didn’t mean the things I said. I only said them because I was scared. I was so afraid. I still am.

  Simone tried to rein in her emotions. She had no desire to fall apart here in front of the preacher. The image of her father’s face came to mind, and f
or a moment it paralyzed Simone with fear. This was the stuff of her nightmares. Louis Dumas haunted her in a way no one else possibly could.

  How can I forgive him? How can I walk away from the matter and call the slate clean? Oh, God, I want to forgive. I want to be free, but this is so hard for me to figure out. I don’t think I can do it.

  She glanced up and found Brother Carlyle’s gaze fixed on her. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

  “Much is impossible for us alone, Simone. But with Christ, all things are possible. Even this.”

  Simone nodded. “I want to believe that.”

  “Then trust Him.”

  Simone got to her feet. “I’ll try. I want very much to be at peace. I don’t know yet when that might be, but I do know that I can’t go on running from the law. I’m going to turn myself in.” It was funny, but Simone thought it easier to face the consequences of her actions in Wyoming than to think any more on forgiving her father his sins.

  “You’ll let me know how you’re doing, won’t you?” Brother Carlyle questioned as he followed her to the door of the church.

  Simone smiled ever so slightly. “You may have to check up on me for yourself. Especially if they lock me up.”