She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “Lord, you know I’m not trying to influence his affections. You see my heart. You know. I don’t want him to be wounded by me, because of me. Please, keep me strong.” She looked back at the ornate moldings of the ceiling. “He’s so good and…” The memory of his gaze, his gentle touch, warmed her face. She sighed. “Oh heavens, what would Grandmama tell me to do?”
The question worked as a blessed reminder of a letter the reluctant postman had given her in town. She sat straight and shoved her hand into her pocket.
With quick fingers, she drew the letter out and slid it from the envelope. Grandmama’s familiar hand brought an immediate sense of comfort. Catherine rolled on her stomach and smoothed the pages onto her bed.
My dearest Catherine,
Ashleigh has only been with me a few weeks and already I am feeling much more like myself. I am well enough to finally write in my own hand, which I have wanted to do for some time now. Please do not worry yourself with not accompanying your sister. I am proud that you chose to stay behind and step into a position more fitting for who you are.
And what did that mean?
I have prayed for you ever since I first held you in my arms. I’ve watched you struggle with life’s many challenges and the expectation that a firstborn always bears. I’ve seen you search for meaning and love in places where neither could be found, and I’ve seen you grasp the boldness and courage to do things that few else would attempt.
Catherine wiped a tear from her cheek. How could Grandmama say anything kind about her? As firstborn, she should have saved her family instead of ruined it. Heaven knows, she’d tried everything she knew to secure a fortune and title for her family’s sake, but all of her work had failed.
I know you’ve been branded, and am certain you’ve felt abandoned at times, whether from your own guilt or your perception of others’ responses, but your pain has not been in vain. It has served to transform you into the person that God has designed you to be all along.
All along? Catherine pinched the pages. God must have believed she was worth something to save her. Had he truly designed her for something good?
You mentioned in your last letter how you felt unworthy of God’s grace, as we all should when we recognize the sacrifice, but do not minimize what God can do with a willing heart. I have lived long enough to see the world groan, change, grow and fail. I’ve seen legacies crumble, and the smallest, most broken or seemingly insignificant person make the greatest difference. I’ve been that broken person, my dear. More than you know.
Grandmama? Small, broken, or insignificant? Catherine reread the sentence. No, her grandmother could claim sainthood with her life, love, and compassion. How could she possibly understand the depth of Catherine’s lostness and the amount of debt to repay to make amends?
God doesn’t need more self-important people in his world. Your brokenness is useful to Him. You are precious in his plan.
Tears closed off Catherine’s breath. Precious? Oh, how long she’d craved to be precious to someone. First her father, then to David. She’d tossed away Sam’s affections because he couldn’t fulfill the financial needs for their family, but now… God saw her as precious?
Your past choices bring their own natural consequences. As do your future choices. Do not let your past define you, but let it guide you to become better than what you were yesterday. God has planned your path – footsteps that only you can make.
Remember, no matter what the voices say around you, find truth in Him. The truth of who you are and who you will become. In your brokenness, he has chosen you to be his daughter. He loves you with an everlasting love and he never forgets his children.
Tears blurred Catherine’s vision, dropping down to splatter against the white pages. How could he love her? She still couldn’t fathom it. The hatred and pride she’d carried for years? The overt jealousy and manipulation? She clung to the words that God’s everlasting love does not forget and it does not fail.
I’m sorry for the pain that surrounds you. Death is a reminder of our mortality and life’s brevity. And though it is certain and constant, it is also encourages us to live well while we have life to live.
It is important to remember from where you come, but right now, in this moment, remember who – or rather whose – you are. I speak from similar wounds, my sweet Catherine. God will see you through this. Trust Him to surprise you with more love than you could ever have imagined on your own. He will take the remnants of your life and fashion them into something new. Something beautiful.
Catherine stared at those final words through blurred tears. Something beautiful? How?
She sat up on the bed and folded the letter, placing it gently on her bedstead. Remnants described her plight fairly well. Stripped pieces of the unused and unwanted. She couldn’t see how fashioning them together could ever make something…
Her gaze flicked to her closet and the gowns strewn across the floor. A thought bloomed, disconnected and uncertain. She walked to her closet door, trying to wrap her mind around the sliver of an idea. Her heart strummed a faster rhythm, fingers dancing over the fabric of a few garments. She pushed them aside and reached for the older gowns. All of them looked in excellent condition, merely out of date. Remnants…something new?
She bolted from the room and directly into David.
He steadied her with arms to her shoulders. “Whoa there, is there a fire?”
“I’m sorry, Dav…” She blinked and pinched her lips closed. “Dr. Ross. I need to see Fanny.”
His warm palms covered her shoulders, sending a cascading heat pouring over her. She used every arsenal in her body to refrain from melting into his arms. His gaze searched hers, clearly taking inventory of her well-being.
“I’m fine, yes. I just need…er… I need to ask about some sewing.”
Both his brows shot northward. “Sewing?”
“Exactly.”
He gave her the strangest look, something between humor and tenderness. A look which sent her pulse skittering up in rhythm to a ragtime swing beat.
“You do realize it’s nearly midnight?”
Well, she hadn’t taken the time into account. Her hopes took a detour. “Oh, yes…well... I suppose I should wait.”
His smile tipped up on one side, inciting the illusive dimple. It proved quite distracting. “Do you think you can manage that? Waiting?”
“You’d be surprised how very capable I am of self-control when I have to be.” She tipped her chin. “In fact, it might be rather impressive.”
His grin spread wide and her heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s. “Indeed.”
Her gaze fell to his arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, thanks to your insistent care.”
“Someone needs to take care of you, Doctor. There are too many lives counting on your wisdom.”
A shadow formed across his brow. “But without support—”
“I’m sending letters this week…and, of course, we must pray.”
“Of course.” He pushed a hand through his hair, upsetting his curls in a rather adorable way.
“Of course,” she whispered, marveling at the perfect curve of those golden ringlets on his head. Would they wrap around her finger? Her gaze dropped to his, which had taken a quite intense turn. Green and alive with feeling. Oh, heavens! He’d caught her staring.
Heat flew into her cheeks. She was in desperate need of distraction. “We should pray right now, I think.”
“Now?”
“Why not? We could use a miracle now, couldn’t we?” Her smile brightened so much it pinched into her cheeks. She sobered her mind, taking in the sweeping need and the weariness in David’s stance. “I only recently read about God being in the midst of two or more of his believers.” She waved a hand between them. “And here are two.”
His gaze, so beautiful and honest, produced an ache through her chest. To hold the affections of such a man! Let alone deserve him.
“Yes, Catherine.” His voice dropped low, whispered and soft. “Two.”
Her name on his lips, uttered in his husky deep tones, nearly buckled her knees. Exhaustion certainly inflamed her emotions.
He took a step forward, the intensity of his green eyes peering deep. Men had looked at her in many different ways, most sending hooded glances, their intentions clear. Those looks, those moments, had sent a quick thrill that ended in hollowness and deepened her loneliness.
Now here, a man walked into her life with integrity and gentleness. A man who introduced her to faith and mercy. She wouldn’t sully his reputation with giving in to her longing to love him.
“I’ll start then.” She bowed her head, breaking his hold on her thoughts, and fumbled into a prayer. Her words eked out in slow, careful sentences. Thanksgiving proved an easy prayer. She knew the beauty of undeserved blessing, but requests felt awkward, cumbersome, like a naughty child asking for a gift from the hand she’d disobeyed. “In your kindness, would you provide funds for us to run this hospital and orphanage to your glory? You know our hearts. You know we wish to serve in the middle of all this suffering. Please provide, and give us patience.”
Warmth surrounded her fingers. David took her hands in his, soft and warm. Her mind drew blank for the next sentence, but he was quick to continue in her stead. “Thank you for your grace in bringing servants to this hospital who are more than willing to care for the suffering and dying. Please, give us the strength we need to do good and right, even if we cannot see the way.”
She looked up into the warmth of his emerald gaze, soft and endearing. Her throat tightened, and she pushed her next words through a whisper. “Especially if we can’t see the way.”
“Amen.”
A sudden surge of belonging forked through her with sweet certainty. She stuttered out a breath. He was much more than everything she could have ever prayed. Much more than a doctor, friend, or mentor. Her chest seized in painful awareness. Much more than she deserved.
She slipped her hands free of his hold, immediately bereft of his touch and moved back to her bedroom door. “I’ll bid you good night then, Dr. Ross.”
An expression of pure bewilderment froze his features. “You can call me David.”
Her fingers wrapped around the door handle, and she swallowed down the lump of disappointment. No, she couldn’t.
She firmed her resolve with a turn of the handle. “I hope you rest well and have sweet dreams.”
With that, she slipped into her room and closed the door. She leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes. Sweet dreams? How utterly ridiculous. Perhaps she could resort to matchmaking and help him find some mild-mannered, rich, God-fearing woman to steal away his heart.
The notion brought a pang. She groaned. She needed to focus on this seed of an idea for the women of Ednesbury and not the beautiful hue of Dr. David Ross’ eyes. She pinched her eyes tighter, but his face stayed in view. His smile. His touch. His dimple.
She opened her eyes and looked over at her closet. With the energy of a runaway heart, she marched to the gowns and began pulling them out, one by one. Maybe, just maybe, she’d found a way to set things right. She couldn’t seize her own second chance, but she could offer one to the fallen women of Ednesbury.
Chapter Eleven
David couldn’t shake the vision of Catherine from his mind as he drove toward the village. Her hair falling in dark untamed waves around her face, enhancing the brilliance of those unnaturally blue eyes, branded a striking picture. Michael called her Kat, the familiarity grading on David’s nerves a bit, but the pet name fit. She’d run out of her room, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and landed directly in his arms.
A surprisingly perfect fit.
Then she’d prayed, and whether out of embarrassment, compassion, or a combination of the two, her sweet words wrenched his heart into her hold. Every piece of logic thwarted deepening a relationship with her. Even by his father’s standards, her background cast a shadow on the family. His mother’s never did. And a child? The growing warmth stilled. By another man?
What would his father think? His gaze shot heavenward. Could God really want something so…unexpected for his life? His future?
David stopped the motorcar a few streets away from downtown, carriages and other motorcars lining the way. He’d forgotten Market Day. He parked the car and stepped out, glancing up to the sky. The gray clouds promised a usual English afternoon. David tapped his brolly against the ground as he walked, prepared for the incoming rain.
As he passed by Old Rutland, his mind wandered to how he was to get her out of his head when she continued to surprise, challenge, and encourage him almost daily?
He nodded as he met an older gentleman on the street, his suit clearly marking him as upper crust. The man gave a slight nod in return, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the cobblestone. A woman and her son moved to the side to let the gentleman pass. He never slowed his pace, nearly knocking the poor lad over as he funneled forward. The woman steadied the boy who cried out in pain, and no wonder. His arm hung in a haphazard sling, wrapped with what looked to be old drapes or bedclothes.
The Rose House waited two streets up, and he’d arrived at least a half hour early for his luncheon. He caught the mother’s desperate expression as she ushered her son further down the street. David pinched his lips tighter and turned on his heel, approaching the pair.
“Pardon me.”
The woman pulled her son close and shot David a wary eye. “Can we ’elp ya?”
“Please, there’s no need for alarm.” He gentled his voice to dissuade any caution. “I only noticed your son’s arm and wondered if he has received care from a doctor?”
“It was an accident, plain and simple.” The mother’s voice whispered. “He fell from an apple tree. I tried to explain it to the doctor, but he wouldn’t listen.”
David’s gaze darted from the boy’s arm to the mother. “Dr. Carrier saw to him?”
“Not for long. Not when we couldn’t pay.”
David’s jaw clenched against the atrocity. Unpardonable. “Would you mind if I tried to help?”
“We ain’t taking no charity, sir. We’re good, hard-working folks.”
Hard-working for half-shillings from the look of their well-worn clothes. David nodded in acceptance of her claim. “Of course not. I don’t plan to give charity, but I am a doctor, trained at The Royal College, and I would be willing help your son on one condition.”
Her eye widened. “I ain’t no dollymop from the street. I’m a married woman. Just because my husband’s off to war don’t mean I’ll forsake my vows for the likes of some hottentot.”
David’s mouth dropped in utter astonishment, and a healthy wave of heat rushed into his face. Combined with a tickle of humor over her colloquial reference to him as an unsavory sort, he had to strangle his unruly and wholly embarrassed grin. “Of course you are. I meant no offense. In fact, all I ask is you keep my assistance secret. I wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of Dr. Carrier.”
The reserve in the woman’s gray eyes faded slightly. “You’ll see to my son’s arm?”
“Yes, if you will allow me.”
“And that’s all?”
“Unless you have others in your home who need some medical attention.”
She searched his face, a faint glimmer lighting her expression. His breathing hitched in welcome. This is what he was called to do. What God had designed him to be.
“But we can’t afford it. Not from some college-trained doctor.”
He hoped his smile offered some reassurance. “I’m less concerned with your money and more concerned with your welfare.” The confession expanded his chest. “Pay me whatever you can, whenever you can. For now, I only want to help.”
She blinked in astonishment, and David breathed out a sad sigh. How long had it been since the town knew compassion from the ones who should be the examples? It fueled a new purpose, another drea
m.
Catherine finished her rounds, thankful Mr. Clayton had emerged from his coma, even if his overall grumpiness remained intact. She barely made it to the nursery to catch Nathanael’s afternoon feeding before his nap and then rushed below stairs in search of Fanny.
She found the beloved housekeeper pouring over a menu list written in Catherine’s mother’s hand. Poor Fanny. Catherine used to add to Fanny’s anxiety with expensive dinner plans, coaxing her mother to dine as if they were the well-to-do family they used to be, and Fanny was left to cut corners and make subtle substitutions where she could.
It was wearisome and humbling to come face to face with one’s past on a daily basis. She doused the looming sadness with a pinch of purpose.
To change other people’s futures as redemption had changed hers.
She grinned. One dress at a time.
“Fanny, I am sorry to bother you.”
Fanny looked up from her place at the old desk and pushed a strand of wild auburn from her sweaty brow. Her gray-green eyes grew wide. “Miss Catherine? What brings you down to these corridors?”
Catherine stepped further into the room and glanced about, rehearsing her request once more for good measure. “I’ve come to beg a favor.”
Fanny’s eyes narrowed, no doubt waiting for some extravagant appeal. “Beef is too expensive for twice a week, as you well know.”
“Of course it is.” Catherine took another step forward. “I’ve become quite fond of veal and poultry, at any rate.”
Fanny lowered her pen, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms. “What is it?”
“I only wondered if you still have use of your sewing machine.”
Fanny examined Catherine for a solid five seconds. “My sewing machine?”
“Yes.”
“Most of my work has been by hand recently, so no.” Her ginger brow tilted. “Do you have a sudden desire to take up sewin’?”
“One’s never too old to learn a new skill.”
“Ah.” Fanny leaned forward, braiding her fingers together on the desk. “You used to be a better liar.”
The Thorn Keeper Page 10