As the Sparks Fly Upward (27 page)

“What could be worse than hanging?” Eden asked.

“Hanged, drawn, and quartered. That's what Elizabeth insisted on.” Adam seemed excited as he talked about it. “I was there. They hung Babington but cut him down before he was dead. Then the executioner took his knife and cut open his stomach. I was close enough when they pulled his entrails out, and I heard the villain say, ‘
Parce mihi, Domine Jesu
.' Got no idea what that means, but if he was praying for mercy, I hope he didn't get it! I must go.” He leaned over and kissed Heather noisily, then left, calling for his horse.

Eden shook her head. “I don't see how he could watch something so horrible. I guess he is used to violence in his raids with Sir Francis Drake. I'm going in to sit with Brandon.” She turned and left.

Heather at once said, “I need to talk to you, Colin.” She took his arm and drew him into a larger room. As she turned to him, he was very much aware of the curves of her body in a rather revealing dress. Her perfume was almost like incense.

“What is it, Heather?” Colin said, annoyed, and not wanting to be this close to her alone.

“Tell me how your father is really. I know you may be shielding your mother. Is he going to live?”

“I hope so. Dr. Teague and I will do the best we can.”

Heather moved closer, so close she was almost leaning on him. She looked up at him and he saw in her eyes something he didn't understand. He had never gotten over his attraction to this woman, no matter how she'd broken his heart, and he well knew he should now turn and flee, but he couldn't.

“Do you ever think of when we were together, Colin?”

Her question shook him. He wanted to shout, “I never stop thinking about you!” but he only said shortly, “No, of course I don't!”

Heather reached out, and this time the soft curves of her body brushed against his. “I shouldn't say this, but I've never forgotten those times.”

“You have a husband now, Heather, and he's my brother.”

“Adam's a great captain, but he's no lover. He's rough, Colin, not gentle like you.” Disgust passed over her face. “He uses me! And I can't love him as—” She didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she reached up and put her arms around his neck to pull his head down. “I'm your sister now,” she whispered. To Colin her embrace was not sisterly. As she kissed him, he hated himself for his feelings. He knew it was wrong, but he found himself unable to pull away as he knew he should . . .

Twyla passed by an open door and halted abruptly. She saw Colin kissing Heather, and this made her furious.
I thought he had more sense than that!
She left at once, seething with anger, and found Teague. “I'm going home, Dr. Teague.”

“Now? We just got here.”

“I wish we'd never come!”

“Why, we had to come, Twyla. Colin's father is ill.”

“It's not good for Mister to be here.”

Teague was quiet, and then had a moment of clarity. “Because of his old love affair with Heather? Oh, that's ancient history.”

“No, it's not. That woman doesn't love her husband. She married him because he'll have a title when his father dies, and she'll add it to the two she already has. I'm going home.”

“You can't go by yourself. Let me go speak with Colin.” Teague found Colin, and one look revealed that the young man was in a deep depression. He said, “Twyla wants to go home. She can't go by herself. I've got to go with her.”

“Why is she in such a rush to leave?”

A quick reply almost left Teague's lips, but he was able to hold it in. Colin saw that Teague was staring at him in an odd way, and finally the older man said, “Sometimes an old fire burns down. You think that it is dead, but there is a spark left in there. I've known that spark to catch and start another fire that burns the whole house down.”

“What are you talking about, Teague?”

“You're too stupid to understand me. I'm taking Twyla home. You don't need me here.”

Colin shrugged; he was preoccupied with thoughts of Heather.

The days passed slowly after Twyla left, and Heather missed no opportunity to make her desires known to Colin. Memories of their affair came to him, and he would recall with startling clarity what it was like to hold her in his arms. The desire to do so again was almost overwhelming.

Adam came home three days later and gave them the report of the trial. “She's going to be found guilty,” he said with evident satisfaction. “You ought to go to that trial, Colin. Father is better now.”

“No, I've got to get home. My practice, you know.”

By now, Brandon had gotten much better. He was up walking around and had gained his color back. Colin never knew exactly what the illness was, but that often happened with patients. He gathered his things together, said his good-byes to his parents, and prepared to leave. He was met at the door by Heather and Adam. “They're going to execute that woman,” Adam said. “You should be there. After all, it's pretty common knowledge that you were the one clever enough to get evidence to convict her.”

“He doesn't want to do that, Adam,” Heather said.

Adam looked surprised. He couldn't imagine such a thing.

“Heather, work your wiles on him. Make him do the right thing, like you do me. You can convince me to do something I hate and make me think I like it and that I thought of it myself.”

Ignoring him, Heather leaned forward and kissed Colin on the cheek. “Come back soon.”

“That's right, Wife. Draw him back here again.” Adam clapped Colin on the shoulder, saying, “We'll go see the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, together.”

Colin left, but before he headed for home he made a visit to Meg's place. As usual, he had brought her some herbs and some small gifts. She took them with a smile, then sat him down, fed him, and began to bombard him with questions. “Where's that young woman, Twyla, you brought last time? I thought she was visiting here with you.”

“She had to go home.”

Meg caught the hesitation in his voice. “What about that other woman? Your brother's wife, Heather?”

“She's still here.”

The hesitant reply put Meg on her guard. She was good with herbs, but even better at reading people. She could see their ulterior motives and what went on in their hearts.
If I ever saw guilt on a man's face, there it is! It's that woman—he's never gotten over her!
“I want to tell you something, Colin. You've been successful, but you need God.”

“I know I do. I have for years.”

“If you won't go to him, he may come to you, maybe in a most unpleasant way. I've known God to knock men and women flat to get their attention.” She leaned forward and put her hand on his cheek. “Better you put yourself in God's hands, Colin, than force him to bring you down. He knows how to make a person hurt. Remember what I say, now.”

“I will, Meg. I know I need God. I just don't know how to find him.”

For some reason, Meg's warning remained clear in Colin's mind after he got home. He was busy with his work but worried about Twyla, for she was cold toward him. He was aware she knew of his passion for Heather, but of course he did not feel he could speak to her of it.

One Friday morning, Reverend John Davis, the pastor of the local church, stopped by and made a request. Davis was a tall, portly man with a good-natured face, and Colin had always liked him. “Dr. Winslow,” he said, “there's a poor fellow who's to be hanged tomorrow. Would it be possible for you to go by and give him what comfort you can?”

“Why, Reverend Davis, I'm no man for that! You know I'm not a Christian.”

“I know, and ordinarily I'd never think of asking you such a thing, but somehow as I was praying for the poor chap, I got a strong feeling that you might be able to give him a little cheer. I don't say that impulse is from God, mind you, but when I get such a strong feeling, I give it the benefit of a doubt. If it troubles you, Dr. Winslow, I'll find someone else.”

Colin's first impulse was to refuse, but he suddenly said, “I'll at least go talk to him. What's his name?”

“Charles Evans. He feels that since he's been waiting to be hanged, he's found God. He'll tell you about that. Thank you, Doctor, for your time.”

Colin thought about the visit to the condemned man and could not understand in the least why he had agreed to go. He was troubled for the rest of the day and slept poorly, but he went the next day to see the man.

The pastor had made arrangements for Colin to go into Evans's cell, and as soon as he stepped inside and the steel door clanged behind him, he was greeted by a tall man with intense blue eyes and a warm smile. “I'm Charles Evans, sir.”

“My name is Colin Winslow, Mr. Evans. The pastor asked me to visit you.”

“Fine! Fine!” Evans said. “Sit down, sir, and since my time is short, I must tell you what has happened to me.” Colin listened as Evans told of his misspent life, relating how he had killed a man in a robbery and how he'd been sentenced to hang. He spoke in a cheerful fashion and finally said, “This will sound strange, Mr. Winslow, but actually the best thing that has ever happened to me was getting a death sentence!”

“I—I don't understand that.”

“Why, if I'd gone on with my life in such a sinful manner, I'd have died and would have gone to meet God unprepared. Now instead of living a miserable life and then spending an eternity in hell, why, I'm going in a few moments to meet my Lord Jesus! What a thing that will be! To spend eternity with him who died for me!”

Colin sat transfixed as Evans, filled with a joy that Colin had never seen, spoke of his newfound salvation. Evans spoke for a long time, then gave his visitor a direct look. “I must ask you, Mr. Winslow, have you ever been converted? Are you one of God's redeemed saints?”

Colin's voice failed him, and finally he could only whisper, “No, sir, I am not.”

Evans spoke with eloquence for twenty minutes, urging Colin to call on God in the name of Jesus—and then the door opened, and the jailer said, “It's time, Evans.”

Evans stood, and Colin stood with him. He asked, “Aren't you somewhat afraid, Mr. Evans?”

“Put your hand here on my heart.” Colin did so, and Evans said, “Do you feel a weak heart, sir?”

“No, it's as strong as any heart I've ever felt.”

“It's time for me to meet my savior, Mr. Winslow, but I beg you, don't let yourself fall into hell. Call on Jesus!”

And then the jailer pulled at Evans's arm, leading him out of
the cell. Despite himself, Colin followed. He stood and watched as the hangman put the noose over Evans's head and heard Evans cry with a strong voice, “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!” Colin did turn away then, with a choking cry and tears running down his face.

For almost a week after Colin's traumatic visit with Charles Evans, he had difficulty sleeping. Over and over he relived the scene with the condemned man. His phenomenal memory had recorded every word Evans had said, as well as a clear vision of the happiness on his face. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, night after night Colin rose with despair and walked the floor, his nerves raw with an emotion he had never known.

Both Teague and Twyla knew something was deeply troubling Colin, but he refused to answer their questions and cut them off so sharply that they ceased trying to help. Desperately, Colin tried to bury himself in work, but he was so distraught that Teague said with disgust, “Colin, you're no good for our patients! You're going to kill one of them. Take some time off—and don't come back until you get rid of whatever demon is gnawing at your insides!”

Colin finally left the village and wandered aimlessly over the countryside, sleeping at inns, but he found no peace. After ten days he returned, worn and exhausted, to his home and was met at the door by Dr. Teague. Something in the old man's face struck him, and he demanded instantly, “What's the matter, Teague?”

“It's Twyla, Colin. She's very ill.”

“What's wrong with her?”

“She has a terrible pain in her stomach and a fever. One of those things that's hard to diagnose.”

Colin was silent, for both men had seen people die from symptoms like these. “Let me talk to her.”

“She's in bed. I don't know what to do, Colin. It's one of
those cases where whatever you do seems wrong. She's not getting any better, I know that.”

Colin hurried upstairs at once to Twyla's room. He was shocked at her appearance—her skin was crimson with fever, she was wet with perspiration, and she looked gaunt. “Twyla,” he said, “how are you?”

“I'm fine,” she whispered, but her voice was very weak.

“I know better than that. Teague's worried about you. Let me check you over.” During his examination he was well aware that Twyla was not herself. He tried to talk to her about his family. They all sent their regards. He didn't mention Heather, but Twyla asked, “How's your sister-in-law?”