by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“Right here,” Conner said aloud.
Hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord.
“I have,” Conner whispered.
And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.
Conner took a deep cleansing breath. “ ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ ” Jesus was the only one who had the right to condemn and stone that woman, but He didn’t. Instead, He released her from her burden of sin; He sent her away to start her life anew. He didn’t wait for her to confess her sin or ask for forgiveness. He just gave her a new start.
Conner thought of the men eager to condemn her. “ ‘And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one.’ ”
He looked at the rock, then read again, “ ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ ” He squeezed the rock in his hand. Sarah had given him the first stone to throw at Vivian. He was only permitted to throw it if he were without sin. He let the rock fall to the floor, dropped his head into his hands, and cried.
He wept for the loving mother he’d always wanted but had never had. He wept for hating the mother he did have. He wept for Vivian. And he wept for disappointing his Savior. Jesus had died for his sins. Jesus had died for Vivian’s sins. And Jesus had died for his mother’s sins. He was just as unworthy of the Lord’s forgiveness as his mother. Perpetual sinners.
But Vivian was worthier than them all. She had done as the Lord commanded and gone and sinned no more.
“Forgive me, Jesus.”
“Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”
“Thank You, Lord.”
“Go.”
Chapter 19
The next day, Vivian sat in a chair on the back lawn with baby Vivian in her arms. “She’s so precious.”
Sarah beamed at her daughter. “I’m hoping we have a boy next.”
“Are you in a family way?”
“You asked me that a week ago when we arrived. No. At least not yet. But we have this big house to fill now.”
“I can see you running all over this yard, chasing after a dozen children.” Her heart ached for the same future.
“I can’t do it without you. You have to stay.”
“Sarah, I can’t.” It would be easier on her and easier on Conner. He shouldn’t have to live every day wondering if he was going to run into her. And he shouldn’t have to avoid visiting his old friend because of her presence.
She would write and make a few inquiries about domestic positions in Port Angeles. It wasn’t too far away, but far enough, and she could visit more easily. William had gone to her attorney and deeded her half the house. He said he would pay her for her share when he could. So she had gone down and deeded her share to baby Vivian. William shook his head and gave up.
William told her she was being silly. Maybe she was, but she didn’t want anything to tie her to Port Townsend … and keep her near Conner.
“Vivian, you have a visitor,” William said as he strode across the lawn with Conner.
She sucked in her breath at the sight of him. Conner looked neither happy nor mad. She wished she could read his intention. His coat hung heavy on him, pulling down at the shoulder seams as though under a great weight, and his pockets bulged.
Conner nodded to Sarah. “Mrs. Carlyle.” Then he turned to her. “Vivian.”
“Conner.” She could see a rock clenched in his right hand. What was he going to do? She handed baby Vivian back to Sarah.
William held out his hand to his wife. “Let’s go inside and give them some privacy.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “But—”
William took the baby and helped his wife to her feet. The three left, and Vivian was alone with Conner … and the rock.
Conner stood no more than a foot in front of her. “Mrs. Carlyle came to me yesterday and gave me this.” He opened his hand to reveal a rock the size of a fat plum. “She wrote, ‘St. John 8:1–11,’ on it. That’s the story of the woman caught in adultery, and this is to be the first stone cast.”
She glanced toward the house where Sarah had gone. What had Sarah been up to? Why give Conner a rock to stone her? She heard a thump. He’d dropped the rock on the ground at her feet.
“That was for treating you poorly these last few weeks.” He pulled a rock from one of his bulging pockets. “This one is for not forgiving you.” It fell to the ground, and he pulled out another rock. “This one is for hating you. I don’t hate you anymore.”
Forgiveness was one thing, but could he accept her back into his life? Would he still want to marry her? “Conner.”
“Let me finish. Please. I have my pockets full.” He pulled his coat front aside to reveal bulging pants pockets.
He went through a long list of foolish childhood sins. Rocks of various sizes littered the small patch of grass between their feet. Conner’s accumulated sins lay discarded at her feet. But how did he feel about her?
He pulled out a particularly heavy rock the size of an apple. “This one is for my mother. For everything she is and everything she’s not.” The stone hit the toe of his boot and rolled toward her.
Tears welled in her eyes. She knew that that one was hardest for him. His mother had wounded him as a little boy, a wound that had never healed over the years. Now maybe it could.
Conner moved the stones aside from in front of her with his feet then knelt on the ground. He took her hand and put one last rock into it, a rock the size of the one he’d used for his mother. “This one is for you to use. I have been so wrong. My heart was hardened. Please forgive me for being unforgiving. For not forgiving you.” Agony etched every line of his face.
She dropped the rock. It thudded onto the grass. “Of course I forgive you.”
“Thank you.”
Was there more? Would he say it? “Do you still love me?” She heard herself say, her heart aching to know.
He smiled wide. “More than ever. When I came here, I wasn’t sure I could say that, but when I looked at you across the yard, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life loving you whether you loved me back or not.”
She scooted forward in her chair and threw her arms around his neck, knocking him off balance and her, as well. His arms came around her as they both tumbled to the lawn.
She started laughing. “I’m sorry.” She tried to get up.
“I’m not.” He kept his arms securely around her. “I’m not letting you get away.” He put his hand behind her head and lowered it until he could kiss her. Then he rolled her onto her back. “I’m not perfect and I’m doomed to make more mistakes.” His head was framed by the clear blue sky.
“We all make mistakes.”
“I’m going to San Francisco. I’m going to find my mother. When I get back, I’m going to propose to you again.”
“I’ll say yes.”
He smiled. “You aren’t supposed to answer yet.”
“I didn’t want you to have any doubt I’d be here when you got back. What are you going to say to your mother?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll tell her that I forgive her.”
“Are you expecting her to have changed?”
He shook his head. “But I need to see her face-to-face and tell her I forgive her. If I can do that, then I believe I can be a good husband to you.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I have to. I don’t want to live without you.”
“We could marry first, and I could go with you.” She didn’t want to chance losing him.
“This is something I have to do on my own.”
“I’ll start making wedding plans while you’re gone. Shall we plan for the day after you return?”
“You’re still in mourning clothes.”
“I won’t be starting this afternoon.” She’d been in mourning garb long enough to honor Randolph. It was time to put the past to rest once and for all. “If you’ll let me up, I have something I want to show you
.”
Conner stood and helped her to her feet but kept his arms around her. “I know this is going to sound bold, but I always knew I could have just about any lady I desired. I have prayed every day that the Lord would keep that temptation from me. Then I met my best friend’s wife, and my heart started on an impossible journey. I never thought I’d have you in my arms, and now I’m reluctant to let you go.”
Vivian laid her head on his chest, and he felt complete at last. His other half. The Lord had given him another chance and blessed him with love. He released her and helped her back into her chair, then sat in one next to it. “You wanted to show me something.”
“It may change everything.”
“Only God can change everything.”
She took a letter from her pocket and handed it to him.
“Randolph’s letter to you?”
She nodded. “You may read it.”
Both the envelope and letter inside were a bit rumpled. Had she read this often? He unfolded it and read the first paragraph. “You told Randolph about your past?”
“It’s why we fought the night he left.”
He nodded and continued reading. When he finished, he folded it but didn’t say anything. How did she think this would change everything? “What does this change?”
“He couldn’t forgive me. He was going to send me away.”
“That was Randolph. I have already forgiven you. I would like to think in time Randolph would have come around, but I don’t know.”
“Something else, too.” She looked away as though nervous. “I have been married twice without having any children. I might be barren. What if I can’t give you children?”
He took her by the upper arms and turned her back to face him. “I don’t need children as long as I have you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We’ll just have to see what the Lord brings.” He didn’t want to hear further excuses, so he kissed her.
Conner spent a week in San Francisco following leads to find his mother. His search ended at the Place of Hope Asylum. He was ushered into the administrator’s office by a woman in full black nun’s habit. He shook hands with a Mr. Clark and sat across the desk from the small man in a wrinkled blue suit. Suspicion squinted through the thick lenses of Mr. Clark’s spectacles, making Conner feel as if he were being assessed for signs of mental illness.
Mr. Clark dipped the end of his pen into an inkwell. “Name of patient?”
“Bertha Jackson.”
Mr. Clark wrote on the paper in front of him. “Symptoms?”
“I don’t know.”
“How am I to know if our facility is right for”—he looked down at his paper—“Bertha, if you don’t tell me anything about her?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. I was told she might be here.”
Mr. Clark lowered his glasses on his nose. “You’re looking for someone who’s already been committed here? Incredible. Rarely does anyone visit. Once the insane are dumped off here by either the state, a family member, or anonymously, they are forgotten by the outside world.”
“Is she here?”
Mr. Clark removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as though gaining patience to answer. “We have over two hundred patients. I don’t know every name. It’ll take a search of our files. It takes a lot of time to run this facility.” He stood and showed Conner to the door. “Sister Mary Agnes, would you help Mr. Jackson find out if we have the patient he is inquiring about?”
The stoop-shouldered nun smiled. “Come this way.” She stopped at a door with a small pane of glass in it. “This is one of our women’s wards.” She motioned for him to look through the window.
Iron beds lined both sides of the room and ran down the middle. There was barely room to move between them. The women wore plain gray dresses that hung straight and loose. He searched for a woman who could be his mother. “Is she in there?”
“We have four more women’s wards and two men’s wards. Give me a name, and I’ll know which ward. I know every person ever committed to this asylum.”
“Bertha Jackson.”
Sister Mary Agnes smiled. “I remember Bertha May. Come with me.”
He was both nervous and relieved. Lord, help me forgive her. He had no choice. No matter how vile she still was or what insults she might fling at him, he had to forgive.
Sister Mary Agnes led him to a small office with a desk and filing cabinets. Along the opposite wall was an iron bed like that in the ward. She offered the chair to him. He remained standing. How could he sit while an old woman stood? Was this the sister’s room? Did she live here?
She pulled a file from the middle drawer of one of the cabinets. “I am good with names and faces but terrible with dates.” She opened the file. “Bertha was with us from January of 1884 until December 5, 1893.”
His mother had come to this place a few months after he’d run away, and left more than six years ago. This wasn’t the end of his search, just a bend in his journey. “She was here for ten years? Why was she here? Where did she go?”
“I’m sure you have many questions. Where to begin?” Sister Mary Agnes returned the file to the drawer. “Shall we walk the grounds?” She guided him outside.
A small fenced courtyard contained several patients walking around or sitting. His mother had once been in that courtyard.
“Bertha was brought to us by city officials. She’d been badly beaten and was at the hospital first. She wouldn’t tell anyone her name. For days all she would do was cry and rock. They kept her in a hospital ward until she attacked a nurse. Then they took her to the jail. The jail staff didn’t want to deal with her, so they brought her to us.”
His mother was insane. Had she always been so? She would tell him how useless and what a burden he was one day, and the next, she’d buy him a useless gift instead of food to fill his empty belly. He never knew what mood she was going to be in. One time she’d looked at him with this blank stare and asked him who he was.
“When she first arrived, we didn’t know her name and kept her separate from the other patients. She would spend most of the day crawling around the room and under her bed looking for something, muttering, ‘My baby. I have to find my baby.’ I made her a doll out of strips of cloth. I wouldn’t give it to her until she told me her name. After that, she sat in the corner and rocked her baby. We slowly integrated her into the main ward. The only time we had any trouble with her was when someone would take her doll.”
Sister Mary Agnes stopped at a wrought iron fence on the far side of the grounds and pinned him with a stare. “She named her doll Conner.”
He widened his eyes. “How did you know my given name?”
The nun smiled. “I didn’t. Conner is the name she gave her doll.”
Did this mean that in some strange way his mother had loved him? “Where did she go?”
“I’m afraid she didn’t leave.” Sister Mary Agnes pointed beyond the fence. “She passed on from this life. She’s in row three, plot seven.”
He struggled to take in a breath as though someone had punched him in the gut. His mother was dead? He’d never considered that his search would conclude with news of her death. He stared over the fence to the grass beyond but could see no markers. He turned to Sister Mary Agnes, but she was halfway back to the building.
He made his way along the fence to the gate and entered. Small plaques in the ground marked burial sites. He turned at row three and stopped halfway down:
Bertha May Jackson
1850–December 5, 1893
“I wasn’t expecting this. I really thought you’d still be alive. I always hated you for who you were and for your cruelty to me.” He stared at the plaque for a long time. Then Vivian’s face came to his mind. He had to do it. “I forgive you, Mother, for all the bad things you did.” He laid a fist-sized stone on the marker. Written on the stone was St. John 8:1–7. Even though he now knew his mother had been insane, he still couldn’t bring himself
to tell her that he loved her. His forgiveness would have to be enough.
Vivian watched from her bedroom window as she waited for Conner to ride up. He would be discussing business again with William. Since he’d returned from California nearly a week ago, he’d hardly talked to her, too busy with his store and working with William on the shipping business. He wouldn’t talk about his visit with his mother. It couldn’t have gone well, or he’d be in better spirits. It felt as though he was more distant from her now than when he’d found out about her past.
She’d moved into one of the smaller bedrooms so William and Sarah could have the larger suite. William had told her that Conner gave her half of his portion of the shipping business, and that was where the money was coming from that was put into her bank account each month. The money didn’t matter if Conner wouldn’t speak to her.
She watched him ride up and dismount from his horse. She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress before descending the staircase in a ladylike glide. Maggie stood by the door, but Conner wasn’t there.
“Where’s Conner?”
“He’s waiting for you in the parlor.” Maggie returned to the kitchen.
Vivian entered the parlor. “Conner.”
His gaze drifted from the fireplace to her. “You asked to see me?”
He stood stiff and aloof. Why was he being so distant? There was so much to say and ask. She didn’t know where to begin. “Why are you avoiding me?” The question came out without her actually choosing it.
“I’m not avoiding you.” His expression was flat, as though someone had taken the life out of him.
Her emotions were all a jumble. “You are, too,” she blurted out. “You come and talk to William but not me.” She didn’t want to be angry with him, but her words came out that way.
“I’ve been busy.”
Busy staying away from her. “Is our wedding off?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I think that would be best.”