As much as she was able, Helen repeated Miss Eugenia’s words.
The elderly woman finished with, “Jesus, I receive your gift of grace. Jesus, I welcome you into my spirit as my Savior, my Lord, and my King.”
Helen struggled to say the words; Miss Eugenia had to spoon water into her mouth and reiterate her prayer so Helen could respond.
After several attempts, Helen, at last whispered, “Jesus . . . please be my Savior, my Lord, and my King.”
Silence filled the room—no, not silence, but a palpable hush. And something more.
Tory stood behind Miss Eugenia’s chair, staring down at Helen. Helen blinked, curiosity and surprise on her face followed by . . . wonder.
“Oh!”
Tory leaned closer, not believing what she saw: The pain had etched deep lines around Helen’s eyes and mouth, but those lines seemed to fade, to smooth away. Peace washed over her countenance; grief departed from her thin, pinched cheeks.
Miss Eugenia, still clasping Helen’s hand, began to sing.
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
And to know, “Thus saith the Lord!”
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er;
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
Oh, for grace to trust Him more!
Helen sank into a peaceful slumber and did not wake for hours. When she did rouse, her wasted body rebelled even against water.
“It will not be long now,” the nurse murmured.
Helen lay still, unable to move, but with her eyes wide open. She stared straight ahead, her expression tranquil. Helen’s face relaxed and grew soft and lovely again, even though the disease had wasted her.
Tory, hovering over her bed, gasped. “Miss Eugenia? Do you see?”
“Yes, oh, yes! It is the presence of God resting upon her, Tory.”
The nurse left Helen’s room to fetch Miss Eloise. She joined her voice with her sister and they sang in tender harmony,
My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign;
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
Helen’s eyes remained open, but her breaths came in quick and shallow pants. Miss Eloise and Miss Eugenia continued to sing softly,
In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
They sang the last two lines a second time in a whisper, I’ll sing with the glittering crown upon my brow, If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now. When they finished, Helen’s chest fell once more . . . and did not rise.
Tory saw the moment her friend passed. She pressed her clenched fist against her mouth, but it could not prevent the sob that ripped through her. Her legs failed; she dropped to her knees, a keening wail of anguish pouring from her.
Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise knelt beside Tory and held her, rocked her, laid their soft, papery cheeks against hers.
“There, there, Tory. It is all right,” Miss Eugenia murmured. “Helen is all right. She is safe now.”
“Yes. She is safe now,” Miss Eloise repeated. “Safe with Jesus. No more sorrow. No more pain. Safe.”
Tory dropped her face into her hands and wept. I cannot bear this. I cannot! O Jesus! Are you there? I am so lost. I do not know what to do!
Miss Eugenia placed her hand upon Tory’s cheek. “Jesus will help you, Tory. Will you surrender your burdens to him? Will you give him your life, all of it? The good, the evil, your pain-filled past?”
“Yes, I want to!” Tory sobbed. “I want to!”
“Then let us go to him now.”
Miss Eugenia led Tory in prayer as she had led Helen; she prayed and Tory prayed with her. Every word was an agony, a relinquishment, a little death.
Then, death became life.
Tory opened her tear-stained eyes. “Wh-what has happened to me?”
“You have passed, Tory, from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of light,” Miss Eloise whispered. “You are no longer a slave to the ruler of that evil realm.”
“You are no longer a slave,” Miss Eugenia repeated. “Because now you are a child of God Most High, and he has made you free.”
“Free?” Tory felt the shackles of sin and bondage shatter, felt the weight of shame and guilt fall from her shoulders.
“Free? Free! Oh, thank you, Jesus!”
Chapter 30
When Tory’s tears subsided, the Misses Wright tried to pull her from the room, but she would not go until she had said goodbye to Helen. She knelt by the bed and took Helen’s lifeless hand in hers. Shaking her head, she marveled at the sweet repose on Helen’s face.
“Dear, dear Helen, my sweet and dearest friend! How glad I am that we got away from Corinth. I had hoped, with time and rest, that you would recover. I had hoped we could find our way in life together, supporting each other in much the same manner as Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise do.
“But, if it was not to be, then I am thankful to God for bringing us here to these sisters. I am grateful beyond measure that you were able to die in their home, at peace, surrounded by those who loved and cared for you. And, oh! I am so grateful that we found Jesus together, Helen! But . . . I confess that I shall miss you horribly. I do not know what I shall do now you are gone.”
Miss Eugenia touched Tory’s shoulder. “Will you come away now, Tory? We must allow Nurse to tend to Helen.”
With a last glance at Helen’s lifeless form, Tory permitted the sisters to lead her downstairs and into their dining room. The cook had laid out a light meal for her.
“I cannot eat,” Tory protested.
“Sit, Tory, and try a bite or two. You have not eaten properly for days now.”
With Miss Eugenia on her right and Miss Eloise on her left, Tory tasted the food before her. Within moments of the first bite passing her lips, Tory’s appetite awoke. She went from picking at her plate to shoveling omelet and toast into her mouth, trying to fill a gaping hole in her belly.
When she finished, she glanced from Eloise to Eugenia. “I did not know I was hungry. I could not feel it.”
“Worry and grief do that,” Miss Eloise murmured.
Tory nodded. “Thank you for taking such loving care of Helen. And of me.”
“How could we not?” Miss Eugenia patted Tory’s hand. “The Lord gave you to us. You are ours.”
Tory bent her head, more tears close to the surface. “What will become of Helen? I do not know how to make arrangements, and I . . . have no money.”
“Did Helen have family, Tory?”
“Not that I know of. She did not speak of any nor do I know where she was from.”
“Ah. Then do not worry; we shall make the arrangements.”
“Yes, we shall make all the arrangements,” Miss Eloise echoed. “Do not worry.”
“I-I cannot thank you enough.”
“We shall bury Helen’s body, Tory; at the same time, we shall rejoice that her spirit has gone into the presence of the Lord. So, while we prepare to lay her body in the ground, we will comfort ourselves—and you—by reading the many promises concerning heaven and eternal life found in God’s word.”
“I do not know any of them. I scarcely know who Jes
us is!”
The two sisters smiled in complete accord.
“Today you have met him, but we shall be happy to make you better acquainted with him in the days to come,” Miss Eugenia promised
“Better acquainted!” Eloise agreed.
THEY BURIED HELEN TWO days later in the Wright family plot. Miss Eloise and Miss Eugenia’s household staff turned out to honor Helen, as did the nurse who had taken great pains with Helen’s comfort during her decline. Reverend Mallory, the Misses Wright’s pastor, oversaw the graveside service.
Tory smiled through her tears. Jesus? I do not need to ask if you are real now. You have come to live within me. I can even feel you! Thank you for saving Helen and me from that place in Corinth. I know it was you who spoke to me that night. Thank you for bringing us to Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise, and thank you for taking Helen home to live with you. I have, at last, found your peace—the peace you spoke of in the Scripture verse I memorized.
As the cemetery’s men lowered Helen’s coffin into the ground, Reverend Mallory read from his Bible,
“Then said Martha unto Jesus,
Lord, if thou hadst been here,
my brother had not died.
But I know, that even now,
whatsoever thou wilt ask of God,
God will give it thee.
Jesus saith unto her,
Thy brother shall rise again.
Martha saith unto him,
I know that he shall rise again
in the resurrection at the last day.
Jesus said unto her,
I am the resurrection, and the life:
he that believeth in me,
though he were dead,
yet shall he live:
And whosoever liveth and believeth in me
shall never die.”
Tory walked away from Helen’s grave with the sure promises of God echoing in her heart. I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.
“I do believe in you, Jesus. I do. I am yours.”
MISS EUGENIA AND MISS Eloise’s household mourned Helen for another five days, but it was not the kind of mourning Tory expected. The sisters encouraged Tory to talk about Helen, to share little memories of her. As Tory’s acquaintance with Helen was short, most of those memories were intertwined with their life in the Corinth Gentlemen’s Club, the horrors they endured together, the comfort they were to each other.
The Misses Wright listened, sometimes asking discreet questions, their lips often clamped together in quivering umbrage. They comforted Tory when she wept; they hugged her, fussed over her, plied her with food, and took her on long walks twice daily to ensure she took proper exercise.
And always, when opportunity presented itself, the sisters read aloud from their Bibles and prayed over Tory. At first, the passages they read were overwhelming and confusing, so the sisters would pause, break the verses into smaller phrases, talk them over, then reread the passage in whole.
In this manner, the verses they read began to sort themselves out and make sense. Tory started to comprehend the Scriptures in her heart. When she woke to grief in the night, she was amazed to “hear” the voices of Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise and a recently read verse speaking to her need.
A week after Helen died, Misses Eugenia and Eloise sat Tory down and presented her with her own Bible. As Tory held the precious book in her hand, she stroked its leather cover with wonder.
“My own Bible!”
“Yes, Tory. Your very own,” from Miss Eugenia.
“Your own, Tory!” from Miss Eloise. “Think of it: God’s word right there in your hands.”
The Misses Wright then looked at each other and hesitated.
“What is it?” Tory asked. “Do . . . do you wish me to go now?”
“Go? Oh, no, child,” Miss Eugenia remonstrated. “You will have a home with us as long as you wish. However, we think it best if you begin to think to your future. Do you have plans? Ideas?”
“None,” Tory confessed. “I . . . do not feel adrift as I first did when Helen died, but I have no sense of what to do next.”
Miss Eloise glanced at her sister, who nodded. “Would you permit us to guide you, Tory? Would you be disposed to accept direction from us?”
Tory looked from one sister to the other. “How could I not be? I owe my life to you.”
The sisters, again exchanging glances, nodded in unison.
“Very well,” Miss Eugenia pronounced, “then we wish to take you out this afternoon. Would you please dress for a formal call and be ready at half past four o’clock?”
“Where shall we be going?”
The hint of a mischievous smile lit Miss Eloise’s mouth. “No, we shall not say. Some things are better felt than ‘telt.’”
The sisters clasped hands and giggled at their little joke, but Tory could only wonder what they were up to.
When she came down the stairs at half past four, she wore the best dress she owned—which was not saying much, since her wardrobe consisted of five ready-made dresses. Finding the Misses Wright in full regalia—exquisite dove-gray day dresses, elegant hats, and complementary walking boots and gloves—did not increase Tory’s confidence.
Oh, dear. I am the poor, backwards country mouse to their sophisticated city mouse, she realized.
The sisters, however, said nothing. They sailed through the front entrance of their house and into their motorcar. Tory sat silently between their smug, smiling faces for the thirty-minute drive into the city proper. When Benson parked the motorcar and opened their door, Tory’s gaze sought some marker to indicate where they were. She spotted a sign that read,
Parisian Mode O Day
Monsieur Pierre LeBlanc, Proprietor
Tory sucked in her breath. “W-we are not going there, are we?”
“Monsieur LeBlanc is our good friend, Tory,” Miss Eloise answered. “We wish for you to meet him.”
“He really is the most sought-after designer in all Philadelphia,” Miss Eugenia added.
“The most sought-after!” Miss Eloise gushed.
“But-but . . .” Tory could not articulate her reticence without casting aspersions on the clothing she wore—the clothing the Misses Wright had paid for out of their own pockets.
They were, perhaps, not as oblivious as Tory assumed. “As it is now five o’clock, the shop is closed to customers, Tory. Monsieur LeBlanc has graciously agreed to meet you after hours. Shall we go in?”
With Miss Eloise and Miss Eugenia already trotting up to the shop’s entrance, Tory was stymied. I cannot sit here while Monsieur LeBlanc is expecting me!
With no little reluctance, Tory followed her patrons.
A maid held the door of the shop while the Misses Wright sailed through. The maid curtsied with deference to the sisters and offered the same respectful bob to Tory—while at the same time, flicking her eyes over Tory’s ready-made wear, one brow quirking in disdain.
The maid’s quick perusal did not escape Tory, and her face burned. Oh, how well I perceive and understand your derision. I have not been so long from haute couture to mistake your contempt.
Under the memory of Charles’ recurrent chastisements, Tory straightened to her full height and lifted her chin. Stand tall. Walk as a queen, she lectured herself. Make the best showing you can for Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise’s sake. Do not, by your manner, disappoint them.
“Monsieur, may we present Miss Victoria Washington?”
Tory had to lower her chin—for Monsieur Pierre Monsieur LeBlanc was, at two inches above five feet, less in height than the Misses Wright—and far shorter than Tory! He was, however, dressed in impeccable style, his face wreathed in smiling goodwill.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Washington! I am so glad to make your acquaintance at last.” His English was heavily accented.
Tory instinctively sank into a deep curtsy and responded in French. “C’est un honneur de vous rencontrer, Monsieur.” It is an honor
to meet you, sir.
“Regal! Stunning! Flawless!” He smoothed the little mustache above his upper lip and turned to the Misses Wright. “You did not exaggerate, my dear ladies. Mademoiselle Washington is a perfect model.”
Tory glanced at her friends. They were beaming with pride.
“We knew so the moment we laid eyes upon her,” Miss Eugenia murmured.
“The very moment,” Miss Eloise concurred.
Tory looked between them and to Monsieur LeBlanc. “Model?”
“Yes—should you be seeking gainful employment, Mademoiselle Washington,” he added.
Something wild and ecstatic leapt in Tory’s breast. “You wish to offer me employment, sir?”
“Most certainly. I wish you to model my designs for my clients here, in my humble shop, and in my spring and fall fashion parades. When might you be available to start?”
Tory forgot her ready-made wardrobe—she would be modeling the most sought-after designs in the city?
“Je suis entièrement à votre disposition, Monsieur.” I am entirely at your disposal, sir.
“Bon! Would tomorrow be too much of an imposition?”
“Non, Monsieur. Please name the time.”
THE MISSES WRIGHT HAD—AGAIN—PROVEN their wisdom. Tory’s new workday, from eight in the morning until half past five in the evening, kept her so completely occupied that she had little time to dwell on her grief. Yes, she mourned, but her new employment kept her busy all day, and Tory was grateful for the distraction. In the evenings following dinner, she and the Misses Wright continued their Bible study; when they finished, Tory’s fatigue drove her to bed where she slept deeply, only to wake in the morning and repeat the same pattern.
The work was demanding.
It was exhilarating.
Tory had no fashion modeling experience but, in addition to Charles’ many admonishments to sit, stand, and walk tall, Roxanne had required all the girls of Corinth Gentlemen’s Club to carry themselves with confidence and elegance. Appearing before the elite of Philadelphia was little different—with this important distinction: Monsieur LeBlanc’s “living mannequins” were not to make eye contact or conversation with his clients or attempt to please them in any manner save turning or walking as Monsieur or his assistant directed.
Tory Page 33
