Sweet Forever (9 page)
“You thought preachers were perfect?” Jacob couldn’t help smiling as he rushed to her rescue, but the depth of her misunderstanding troubled him. What other misconceptions might she have about preachers or Christians in general? “Romans 3:23 says, ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ No one is perfect; only Christ is. We are all saved by His grace, Rosaleen.”
“You really believe that?”
Astounded, Jacob met her skeptical look. “Of course. The apostle Paul tells us in chapter one, verse sixteen of his letter to the Romans, ‘For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.’ ”
Becky poked her head out the front door. “Lucy’s asleep, so Rosaleen, if you’ll help me in the kitchen, we’ll have the fried chicken, potato salad, and apple pie out here in two shakes.”
His heart in conflict, Jacob watched Rosaleen follow his sister into the house. He prayed that their previous exchange indicated Rosaleen might be considering giving her heart to Christ. If not, how could he love a nonbeliever? Yet he could more easily empty the Ohio River than stop loving Rosaleen Archer.
After lunch, they gathered in the parlor where Rosaleen entertained them at the piano with renditions of patriotic songs. They all sang along to the stirring “Ode to George Washington”
and “The Grand Constitution.”
Daniel especially enjoyed “Yankee Doodle,” marching around the parlor as he sang.
When Rosaleen played a popular tune called “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” its
haunting melody permeated Jacob’s heart like a melancholy fog. He had to wonder if it might be
he
who’d be left behind, knowing she planned to leave for New York as soon as possible. He found it even more worrisome to think that she might not be leaving alone. He felt his brows slide together in a frown as the image of Alistair Ralston muscled into his thoughts.
One evening several days after the Fourth of July celebrations, Rosaleen sat on her little straw tick in her attic room. Rubbing her eyes in the sputtering light of the tallow candle, she read the words from Romans 1:16 that Jacob had quoted. “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.”
Every one that believeth.
Rosaleen wanted to believe it meant her. She wanted to believe it more than she’d ever wanted to believe anything.
“For it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” Her whispered breath caressed each word. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps the promise in that scripture
did
include her.
A quiet rap at her door yanked her attention from the scriptures, and she dropped the Bible to her mattress. “Yes, who is it?”
When no one answered, her heart began to pound. She crossed the little room, her bare feet padding softly on the floorboards.
“Who is it?” She managed the three breathless words, her face pressed against the door and her heart beating like a kettledrum in her chest.
“It’s Andrew. Open the door.”
At the rasped whisper, relief drained the strength from her limbs. With unsteady fingers, she unlocked the door. What on earth could Andrew want?
Panic gripped Rosaleen.
Patsey.
Was Patsey ill? Was the baby coming too early? If so, why hadn’t Andrew simply gone to fetch Dr. Morgan?
When she opened the door, bewilderment replaced fear.
A
young black woman and two small children dressed in near rags stood trembling beside Andrew.
Suddenly Rosaleen remembered a conversation she had last week with Patsey. When Patsey asked her if she would be willing to hide runaway slaves, Rosaleen had agreed to help. Patsey went on to explain that Mrs. Buchanan had used the attic room from time to time to hide runaways when other accommodations could not be found. Although eager to help slaves on their road to freedom, Rosaleen hadn’t expected such an opportunity to occur so soon.
“They jis crossed the Jordan and need a place to stay. Maybe a day. Maybe two,” Andrew told her in a whispered rasp. He darted anxious glances down the stairway then ushered the three into Rosaleen’s room and pulled the door behind them. “Mrs. Buchanan knows. Cain’t tell Rev’rend. If asked, he’d be obliged not to lie. Cain’t risk it. Can you act like nothin’s different? Nothin’ at all?”
Still a bit stunned, Rosaleen nodded. These were passengers on the Underground Railroad. She surmised the “Jordan” referred to the Ohio River.
“This is Sally, Lizzie, and Elijah,” Andrew informed her.
Rosaleen’s heart went out to the frail woman and the little boy and girl. Both children, who looked about Daniel Morgan’s age, seemed to struggle just to keep their eyes open.
“But there’s only one mattress.” Rosaleen’s mind raced. How would they all manage, even for a couple of days? The little attic room was barely large enough for one.
“They don’t need no mattress. This floor’s better’n what they’re used to. Don’t tell nobody. Not even Patsey. She don’t know. Jis go on like nothin’s different. Don’t let on. Their lives depend on it.” With those whispered instructions, Andrew left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Rosaleen hurried to lock the door, then without saying a word, guided the two children to the mattress and covered them with the quilt. The poor, exhausted little things fell asleep the moment their heads touched the mattress.
As she lay down beside Sally on the hard floorboards, Rosaleen shifted from side to side, unable to find a comfortable position. Yet the unexpected situation had left her heart and mind in far more unease than her body.
She’d been reading the words of Jesus, trying to learn how she could most please God. If scant chance existed that she might find salvation, she felt it depended upon being careful not to displease Him.
Jacob had said, “All have sinned,” yet her guardian had called her irredeemable. Her only hope, she reasoned, was to be perfect from now on. That chance, she realized with dismay, might just have been snatched from her. The memory of Wilfred Maguire’s voice booming from his pulpit in Natchez sank her hope.
“ ‘
All liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.
’ ”
Opal knew about the presence of the runaways, and whatever suspicions Patsey might have, Rosaleen knew she’d never ask. Jacob, however, seemed to have been watching her comings and goings more closely since Alistair’s arrival. Now, she might very well be forced to lie to Jacob in order to protect him as well as the runaways.
❧
For the next two days, with Mrs. Buchanan’s help, Rosaleen managed to keep her three “guests” supplied with food and fresh water. The tiny attic space was stifling in the July heat, yet she dare not open the little casement window even a crack.
None of the three runaways had spoken a word to her during the time they’d been cloistered in her room.
Rosaleen made sure no one was around as she headed up the stairs to the attic carrying a pitcher of fresh water and a towel-draped washbowl filled with bread and ham. Setting the pitcher down, she slowly opened the door and poked her head into the room.
Sally’s and her children’s eyes grew large with looks of fear, followed quickly by ones of stark relief. Yet all remained mute, grateful smiles stretching their sweat-drenched faces.
Retrieving the pitcher and bowl, Rosaleen choked back tears. She wished she could offer them assurances of safety as well as sustenance, but all she could do was pour them fresh cups of well water and offer them the food.
Later, as she walked into Jacob’s vacant room to gather the bed linens for the weekly laundry, the fugitive mother and children clung to her mind. She found it amazing that anyone, especially children, could remain so silent for such a long time.
She found even more astounding the fact that Patsey seemed entirely oblivious to Sally’s, Lizzie’s, and Elijah’s presence. Andrew had said she didn’t know, and her demeanor bore out his claim. Though Rosaleen understood Andrew’s intention to protect Patsey as well as the runaways, she couldn’t imagine not disclosing such knowledge to a mate.
Rosaleen recalled happy talks she’d shared with Donovan. How they’d laughed over silly things like a lady’s outrageous hat or an unusual landmark along the river.
She brushed a tear from her cheek, spread a fresh sheet over Jacob’s bed, and tucked the ends under the feather mattress. When she gazed about the neat little room, her heart ached. His well-worn Bible on the bureau, his razor lying on the washstand, and the blue and white striped calico work shirt hanging from the bedpost all reminded her of the man who owned her heart.
She lifted the shirt from the bedpost to add it to the bundle of laundry. Closing her eyes, she laid it against her cheek, inhaling his familiar scent. Once again, she could feel his lips, soft and tender, caressing hers.
Visions of what life might be like as Jacob’s wife played before her mind’s eye. She imagined herself giggling in his arms as they shared humorous anecdotes. She could see his blue eyes laughing into hers and her reaching a finger up to trace the thin scar that ran the length of his cheek. His eyes would close, his mouth seeking hers. She could almost taste the sweetness of his kisses and feel the comfort of his arms.
More tears slipped down her face. She had no hope of such dreams ever coming true. No right to even dream. That future did not belong to her. It belonged to Sophie Schuler.
The best she could hope for would be to keep Jacob’s respect. Now that, too, had been put in jeopardy. So far, she’d managed to avoid lying to him. But Elijah had developed a cough, causing the boy to press his little face into a pillow to muffle the sound. Sooner or later, Rosaleen feared she’d need to fabricate a story to explain the sounds.
She gathered the pile of linens in her arms and started down the stairs.
“Whoa there!”
At the bottom of the stairs, Rosaleen gasped. She’d walked straight into Alistair Ralston.
“Hey, come with me down to the Billiard Saloon tonight. We’ll have some fun fleecing salesmen and farmers.” He wrapped his long arms around her, sheets and all.
“I have work to do, and then I have to get up early in the morning, Alistair.” She wriggled out of his grasp and attempted to walk around him.
He caught her around the waist, his muscular arm clamping her hard against him. Until now, she’d never felt afraid of Alistair. His friendly smile and chuckle did not match the roguish glint in his eyes. “You could send me signals like you used to do for your dad. With your looks and my skill, we could clean up, Rosaleen. You know we could.”
“That’s not my life anymore, Alistair. That’s not who I am now.” During her time here in Madison she’d begun to feel decent, and she liked that feeling. She wouldn’t let Alistair—or anyone for that matter—suck her back into the unscrupulous gambling life. Besides, at the moment she had Sally, Lizzie, and Elijah to see to.
“Think on it, love.” With a wicked wink, he pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. “You can find me at the Billiard.”
As Alistair strode out the front door, her head pivoted toward a sound near the parlor doorway. Her face grew hot at Jacob’s incredulous gaze. How much had he heard?
Her heart deflated when he said nothing. He simply turned and walked back into the parlor.
Rosaleen wanted to march into the parlor and tell Jacob she had no intention of joining Alistair at the Billiard Saloon. It took all her willpower to walk past the parlor and toward the backyard washtub. A conversation with Jacob would simply be too dangerous.
Jacob snapped the Bible shut and pushed away from his desk. Heaving a deep sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face. He’d searched the Proverbs for God’s wisdom yet found no answers to the troubles plaguing his heart.
Rosaleen was driving him crazy.
After giving her the Bible, he’d hoped she might begin asking questions about the scriptures. He’d been encouraged by the glimmer of interest she showed at Becky’s Fourth of July picnic.
Lately, however, she’d shown little interest in speaking with him about the scriptures, or any other subject for that matter. Clenching his jaw, Jacob glanced toward the parlor doorway. He felt sure he knew who had caused the change in her.
Alistair Ralston.
Three nights ago, he’d heard the muffled but unmistakable sound of a man’s boots on the stairway leading to her attic room. He and Alistair Ralston were the only two men presently living in the boardinghouse. Jacob hated the images forming in his mind but could find no logic to explain them away.
Only an hour ago, he’d caught her, once again, in Ralston’s arms. What was worse, the man had kissed her and invited her to the infamous Billiard Saloon.
Jacob gave the chair a resolute shove against the desk. It was useless to try to work on his sermon with his mind insisting on steering toward dark thoughts. He might as well go work on the church. At least there, he could see the results of an hour’s endeavors.
At the intersection of Mulberry and Main-Cross, he was surprised to see Rosaleen leaving Maynard’s Apothecary. A sudden fear seized him. Perhaps she’d been feeling unwell. That could explain her reticent mood of late.
“Rosaleen, are you all right?” He glanced at the basket on her arm.