Blessed Assurance

by Lyn Cote

“Oh, Miss Wright,” Esther sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

  “Why isn’t anyone paying attention to me?” Mrs. Bolt, hands on her hips, demanded.

  “Because you wore out your welcome here months ago, you tedious ninny,” snapped Miss Wright. “Pack your things. Mr. Smith isn’t going to propose to you. A blind nitwit could see he’s sweet on Jessie. You’ve stayed here for nothing.”

  The redhead colored to a hideous red. Her voice shook. “Is this true, Mrs. Wagstaff?”

  Jessie spoke quietly without taking her eyes from Lee’s face. He’s sweet on Jessie echoed in her mind. “Mrs. Bolt, I need your room for my mother and I do think you will be happier elsewhere.”

  Mrs. Bolt burst into tears and rushed from the room.

  Chapter 13

  At midnight, Jessie finally gave up trying to sleep. Slipping on her thin cotton wrapper, she crept from her half of the parlor bedroom out to the refuge of the clematis vine–sheltered back porch. Butch, sleeping in his doghouse on the corner of the porch, opened his eyes, but closed them when she murmured his name.

  The wood floor felt cool under her bare feet. Too distracted to braid her hair for the night, now she lifted her unbound hair off the back of her neck, laying it on her shoulder. The breeze brushed her neck.

  Massaging her temples, she paced up and down on the rough floorboards. In her mind, Mrs. Bolt’s spiteful voice repeated over and over, “Vile deceiver.” Unbidden, Linc’s small voice at bedtime came to mind, entreating her, “Mama, say you won’t make Mr. Smith go away. Please, Mama.”

  What a dreadful scene. What a dreadful evening.

  After a continuous tirade of venomous recriminations, Mrs. Bolt had departed. Then Jessie had done her best to soothe Linc and help her silent mother get settled in Mrs. Bolt’s former room. Her mother had gone through the motions of dressing for bed like a woman walking in her sleep.

  What am I going to do? Twice now Lee has deceived me. Twice that I am aware. What else might he have lied about?

  When did I start thinking of him as Lee, not Mr. Smith? And what does it matter? Are either of the names are really his? And why haven’t I asked, no, demanded he tell me the truth? She arched her neck backward as a wave of tension rippled through her.

  She moaned in exasperation. “I’m doing it on my own again, Margaret.” She took in a deep breath and let it out gradually. She heard Margaret’s voice: “When a mist clouds your spiritual vision, only God’s light will help you see clearly.” Jessie knelt beside the porch railing. Through the cotton, the old floorboards bit into her knees. “Dear Lord, I don’t understand. Help me.”

  Bending her head against the railing, Jessie waited for God’s light. She let the muted sounds of crickets and cicadas wash over her. Her thoughts roamed. She repeated, “Father, send your light.” Soon the painful pressure on her knees prompted her to lift herself to sit on the railing.

  Her heart slowed to its normal pace. The throbbing in her head ebbed and disappeared. Sighing, she eased herself back against the corner beam of the railing, enjoying the cooling lake breeze swirling around her bare ankles.

  She whispered, “Spirit of God, open my eyes. Help me understand why I haven’t been able to confront this man?”

  A wave of physical attraction rocked her. She felt warm, alive, feminine. In her imagination, she felt strong arms surrounding her, Lee’s arms. She leaped to her feet, her heart pounding. “No,” she whispered.

  “Jessie?”

  She whirled around. “Lee?”

  “I’m sorry…I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t…I had no idea anyone would be out here.”

  Barefoot and clad only in her thin gown and robe, she felt stripped of the everyday barriers between men and women. She stepped back into the deeper shadows close to the house while her awareness of him burned its ways through her senses. His chestnut hair was tousled. Though he still wore his dark slacks, he was shirtless. His bare skin in the scant moonlight made her hands tremble. She imagined it as satin under her fingertips.

  Her prayer for understanding had been answered. She had not confronted him because she was attracted to him. Why hadn’t she gauged her spiraling desire? Was she so blind to her own weakness?

  “I’ll go back in,” he mumbled.

  “No.” She held up her hand as though reaching for him.

  He turned toward her, but stopped when she folded her arms.

  “I think we need to talk.” She swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness of her mouth. Her mind whirled. She could keep silent no longer, but she first had to protect herself from her forbidden attraction to him. “Sit on the steps with your back to me.”

  Hesitating, Lee tried to think of something to say, but then gingerly obeyed. His face toward the alley, he rubbed his moist palms on the tops of his thighs. “I’m sorry about all this—about my job. That blasted redhead…” In agonized uncertainty, he waited for her response. “Would you like me to change my line of work?”

  “That isn’t important now.” Jessie’s voice shook. “I want you to tell me what your real name is.”

  The words shimmered in the air around Lee’s head. Pinpricks tingled up and down his spine.

  “I know Lee Smith died in sixty-five.”

  Earlier, when Mrs. Bolt had called him “Vile deceiver,” he’d thought she’d discovered he was living under an alias. But how could Jessie already have known? Why hadn’t she confronted him before? He almost choked on words, explanations, lies.

  “I’ve known since just a few days after Reverend Mitchell’s death that you’d given me a false name.”

  He stood up and spun toward her.

  She retreated from him farther into the shadows of the trellis.

  “I can’t believe you’ve known, but said nothing,” he said.

  “Is there a warrant out for you? Do you owe money?” Her voice was cool, demanding. The warm, responsive woman he had held only days before had vanished.

  “Nothing like that.”

  “You’ve taken a dead man’s name and I have to know why—”

  He started pacing. “I spent five years trying to forget the war—running from the past. Finally I couldn’t run anymore. I came here to start over.” He halted, only a few steps from her.

  “Who are you?” Her tone was implacable.

  She was Jessie. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He had to stall her. It was his only defense. “I need time.”

  “Time? How will time change the truth?”

  He laughed without humor. “Oh, Jessie, you’re so…Jessie.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked indignantly.

  “I thought once you decided something was right and must be achieved, you’d pursue it to the ends of the earth.”

  “I am not the issue here. Who are you?”

  He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t let her know who he was. She hadn’t yet connected him with Dr. Smith. The price of practicing medicine again could be the loss of the blessed sanity of his first sober year in decades. He couldn’t chance a final descent into drink and delirium tremens.

  “Who are you?” Relentless, Jessie prompted him.

  The whole truth could destroy him, destroy their chance together. How much of the truth could he tell her without revealing that he was a doctor? “I still haven’t been able to let…the war go,” he stammered. “I hate the cliché, but I couldn’t run away from my past.”

  “But you must still be running away if it keeps you from telling me the truth.”

  He flinched. She had jabbed a needle right in the center of his wounded soul. He knew she would never be able to understand why he could never again risk making the life and death decisions a doctor must always be prepared to make. “Do you think it’s easy to face the ugly truth?”

  “The truth will set you free.”

  “Don’t quote scripture to me.”

  “I cannot have a man who is living a lie around my son. I cannot allow Linc to be in danger of heartbreak
. If you are hiding something that—in the end—will force you to abandon him…or shatter his trust in you….”

  He groped madly for an explanation or distraction. More and more he had become aware of her nearness, of the fragrance of lavender that clung to her, of the impression of her dark hair swept to one side of her head, its waves, a cascade down one of her slim shoulders.

  He took a step closer. “Nothing I’ve ever been or have ever done can harm Linc. That’s the truth.”

  “You’ve lied to me. How can I believe you?”

  “I can show you why you should believe me,” he said persuasively.

  “How?”

  He slid forward, tucking her into his arms. She gasped, but resisted only a moment. He sensed her acquiescence and breathed in the scent of her, exulting in this intimacy. “Oh, Jessie, you are the most irritating woman, the most determined, the most giving. And you don’t know how irresistible you are.”

  Jessie struggled with herself. His touch was fire and it was all she craved and more. But moments ago she had stepped away from him, torn by unanswered questions. Her body and mind wrestled for control. As he began to stroke her back through the thin cotton, she gave up trying to think and shivered with his touch.

  “Jessie,” he whispered, “can’t we let the dead past bury itself? Jessie, the truth is I want to kiss you.” Not waiting for permission, his lips sought hers.

  She turned her face as though to avoid them, but her lips wouldn’t obey her. They wanted Lee’s kiss. And his kiss was full and sweet.

  She trembled with the same passion as she had just moments before he’d joined her. Her conscience fought to the surface of this sensual undertow. She pushed herself out of his embrace. “No.”

  With arms suddenly empty, he stumbled a step forward and then halted.

  “I wanted you to kiss me, but I can’t let that sway me. I must know the truth.” She stepped another step backward and folded her arms in front of her, warning him away.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” he pleaded, “when the time is right.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I can’t say.” He reached out to her.

  She turned her back to him.

  “Don’t go. Jessie, I can’t lose you.”

  She bent her chin to her breast, pondering. Then she lifted her head, though she faced away from him. “I’ll give you one more month. April to November is six months. If you can’t be honest with me after we’ve known each other half a year, then it’s better we part.” She turned to confront him, her voice emotionless. “If you can’t tell the truth by then, you’ll have to make some excuse to Linc for leaving town and go.”

  He felt icy fingers of despair clutch his heart. One month and then I lose her and Linc.

  October 2, 1871

  Lee stood outside staring up at the three-story brick building’s sign, “Field & Leiter’s Department Store.” Glancing at his reflection in the gleaming shop window, he straightened his tie. His leave-taking from the Workman’s Rest had been a delicate operation. He honestly liked Pearl Flesher and felt he had led her on with his teasing encouragement of her flirtation. Therefore, he had employed all his tact and finesse with aplomb to leave her employment without wounding her with the truth. All for naught. When he’d turned to leave her, Pearl had asked, “So what’s her name, handsome?”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. Pearl was nobody’s fool. “Jessie.”

  She had nodded. “Good for you. Let us know how you get on, okay?”

  Thus Pearl had shone herself a lady. Mrs. Bolt would not agree, but the redhead had shown her true colors to all.

  Lee walked into Field’s and headed to the desk at the rear of the first floor, impressed by the fine wood paneling, the polished marble columns and floors.

  After two preliminary interviews with floor managers, Lee, ushered into a small, but commodious office, introduced himself to Mr. Field. The interview ended with a handshake and an offer to begin the next day to train as a salesman in the Gentlemen’s Finer Attire Department. Working at Mr. Field’s department store would certainly be a contrast to bartending. Since he couldn’t tell Jess the truth about his past, he had to convince her the past was dead and gone, his future was all she need be concerned about.

  Outside, Lee paused to tip his hat to a fashionable lady. He felt like tipping his hat to the world. Lee whistled as he planned the best way to tell Jessie about his change in employment.

  On his way home, he passed Drexel Park. A young woman walked by him pushing a honey-colored wicker buggy. He glimpsed the rosy bundle inside. Suddenly he pictured Jess strolling with their child. The image was electrifying. A family of their own. Jessie and he. Wife and husband. Mother and father.

  In white aprons, Jessie and her mother sat at the kitchen table. Jessie peeled one potato after the other with deft, swift strokes.

  Esther still held her first potato, untouched. “I never meant to neglect you. When Hiram courted me, he was so polite to you. He said he’d treat you as his own.”

  “He’s not much kinder to the twins.”

  “I know, but when we were courting, he showed me such courtesy, such respect…”

  “Is that why you married him? It wasn’t love, was it?”

  Closing her eyes, Esther sighed sorrowfully. “No, I’ve never loved Hiram, not the way I loved your father. Maybe a woman only loves that way once. Your father died so young and neither of us had much family to fall back on. Times were hard. By the time Hiram proposed to me, I was nearly desperate.”

  “So you married him?”

  “Yes, he was a decent Christian man and he was the only one who wanted me.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “Mother.” Jessie wiped her hand on her apron, then touched her mother’s hand briefly.

  “I’ve prayed and prayed, but he never changes. I don’t blame God. How can He change a man who thinks there’s no need to change since he’s about as perfect as a mortal can be? He gives no room for God at all. He attends church. He reads his Bible, but nothing touches him. Sometimes I have felt that I married a man of brick and iron.”

  Jessie kept her eyes on the potato she was peeling, embarrassed to hear the pain in her mother’s voice.

  “Every harsh word he ever said to you broke a bit of my heart. A change in Hiram’s heart—I have prayed for that—for over twenty years. I would give anything, to change his heart, fill it with God’s healing love.”

  “He’d have to grow a heart first.”

  “Please, daughter. Don’t let what happened to me make you bitter. You and Will were so happy with each other and Mr. Smith is so good with Linc—”

  The scene from the night before—Lee holding her in his arms—swooped into Jessie’s mind. The passion she’d felt in his arms sluiced through her senses, undiluted by the passing of the night. How glad she was that she’d stepped away. She’d been playing with fire last night. Never again.

  Jessie spoke, her voice shaking: “I will never take the chance you did. I knew when I lost Will, I would raise Linc alone. My son can’t have his father, but he will have me—all of me. I will never remarry.” Lee, there will be no more kisses in the dark.

  “Jessie, please don’t say that. If not Mr. Smith, what about that doctor?”

  “He has never said anything about courting me. I think he’s come to realize it’s not possible.” Jessie hoped she was speaking the truth. She didn’t want an embarrassing scene with Dr. Gooden.

  “Daughter, I’ve made my mistakes. Don’t make decisions for your life based on mine. God has given you a life different from mine. You are very different than I. You have more fire and spirit.”

  Jessie looked at her mother. She didn’t quite understand what her mother meant. She knew she’d only wanted to be the wife of Will Wagstaff and nothing had changed that.

  Linc held up his small slate board. “Mother, look Mr. Smith helped me with my arithmetic.”

  Jessie sat at the end of the dining tab
le, knitting another pair of socks for Linc. In the heat of the room, she wondered if the cooling autumn winds would ever come. “That’s good, Linc.” She smiled mechanically. “Now why don’t you go do your problems sitting by Butch?”

  Miss Wright dozed in a rocking chair. By the window Mr. Chaney was reading an evening paper while Esther read her Bible. She had not realized how irritating Mrs. Bolt had been until they were free of her. Eileene Greenleigh had been correct in her advice. The circle of people around the table provided more of what a growing boy needed.

  Jessie hoped the steady clicking of her needles would calm her. Linc shouldn’t be allowed to become any closer to Mr. Smith. And she needed to distance herself, too. How?

  The front door opened with a bang. “I’m here to get my wife.” Hiram’s voice shattered their tranquillity. Jessie dropped her knitting. Esther hopped up and started for the kitchen.

  “Don’t run away, Mrs. Huff,” Lee said. He rose. Mr. Chaney, folding his paper, also moved to stand beside Lee in front of the women. Hiram stalked in.

  “Good evening, Mr. Huff,” Lee said.

  Ignoring Lee, Hiram tried to push past him. Jessie felt her pulse race.

  Lee’s arm shot out, checking the other man. “I said good evening.”

  Hiram shifted his attention to Lee. “I’m here to take my wife home where she belongs.”

  Jessie opened her mouth, but was cut off.

  “At the moment Mrs. Huff’s home is here.” Lee stood firm, blocking the other man’s path.

  “This has—” Hiram jabbed his finger into Lee’s shirtfront with each syllable—“no-thing-to-do-with-you.”

  Jessie stood up and Esther took a few steps back.

  “Hiram Huff, you are just like your mother.” Miss Wright’s strident voice startled them all. “Your mother moved here and into my fourth grade and she was an officious little brat even then.”

  Jessie couldn’t believe her ears.

  At first, even Hiram’s shocked response stuck and garbled in his throat, then he declared, “This has nothing to do with my mother.”

  “It has everything to do with why you have lost one of the sweetest wives in Chicago. Esther is a saint because only a saint could have stayed married to you for over twenty years.”