A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  The next time someone came in she was relieved to see it was not Florence but Damien. “Florence says you don’t want to eat anything. I’ve come to beseech you to take a little something.”

  His look was tender and kind, and it made her want to cry again. She pressed her lips together, determined not to shed any more tears for what was never to be.

  “Let me bring you a little broth. Please, Lindsay?”

  She didn’t have the heart to refuse him, he who’d been so good to her, and to whom she’d brought such misfortune. She merely nodded.

  He smiled. “I shall be back immediately.”

  A few moments later he came in holding a tray, as if it had already been prepared and was waiting outside the door. He set it down at the end of the bed and came to her. “Let me help you.” He placed a pillow behind her, then helped her sit up. She winced in pain.

  “I’m sorry. I’m probably manhandling you like a clumsy oaf.”

  “Not at all,” she assured him, despite the pain. What did it matter what her body endured now anyway?

  He set the tray down on her knees. Then he tied a napkin around her neck and took a chair beside her, lifting a spoon. “Would you like me to help you?”

  She nodded, too weary to speak.

  He brought a spoonful up to her mouth. The meat broth warmed her. But after three spoonfuls she thought again of her loss. Her throat constricted and she could swallow nothing more. She pushed his hand away weakly.

  “Come, love, just a few more. You need to get your strength back.”

  Her breath stilled at the word on his lips. Love. Had he really called her that? She seemed to remember he’d called her that before. Did he truly love her? Tears filled her eyes again. She didn’t deserve his love. “What is it, Lindsay? Please don’t cry.”

  She turned her face away. “I’m just tired.”

  He waited quietly until she was calm again, then urged her. “Come, just a few more spoonfuls.”

  She allowed him to bring the spoon back up to her mouth. It was easier than trying to argue, and she felt too tired to do anything more. When the soup was finished, Damien patted her mouth and removed the napkin. “Perhaps you’ll be up to a cup of tea and some biscuits a little later.”

  She tried to smile but felt it a poor effort. He removed the tray and helped her lie down again, smoothing the coverlet over her and adjusting her pillow beneath her. “Is there anything more you’d like?”

  She shook her head. Why was he being so good to her? She’d done nothing but harm him since the day they’d met—a day Lindsay was now sure he’d rue for the rest of his life.

  Several weeks later, Damien saw Florence and Jonah at Newgate when they were there to minister to the inmates.

  “I’m sorry I have not had a chance to come in some weeks.” He rubbed his face and looked away. “I’ve been quite busy.” That didn’t begin to describe his mental and physical exhaustion.

  “You look tired. How is your ministry?” Florence asked.

  He met her gaze and smiled. “The Lord has given me more souls than I can possibly minister to.” His smile faded. “I rejoice in that, but I fret thinking I cannot possibly reach them all, nor help them with what they need. There is so much need.” He smiled ruefully. “Well, I don’t have to tell you that.”

  She nodded. “Of course not. Praise the Lord that He multiplied your ministry. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help more.”

  “You have your own ministries and your work on the farm now. Besides, soon you will have a baby to care for, too.” Bittersweet joy filled him at the knowledge of the coming event. His own pain had faded to an ache in the recesses of his mind, but he knew it was not so for Lindsay.

  As if reading his mind, Florence asked, “Is Lindsay not able to accompany you at all? It has been enough weeks for a full recovery, has it not?”

  “Not quite, but she is coming along fine, according to the midwife’s last visit.”

  “Is Lindsay quite all right?”

  “Physically, the midwife said she is well.”

  “Did she say anything about being able to bear more children?”

  He nodded slowly. “She didn’t think there should be any problem. Of course, she can’t be wholly certain. Only time will tell.” He looked down, thinking how far away that possibility seemed. He had not dared touch Lindsay since the tragedy, remaining on the couch he had used during her convalescence. And she had not asked him to rejoin her in their bed.

  “How is she otherwise?” Jonah asked.

  Damien hesitated, unwilling to say anything negative about his wife.

  “Lindsay seemed very quiet the last time I saw her,” Florence said.

  Damien nodded. “I don’t know what to do. She gets up and dresses herself and prepares breakfast. She never complains, but she shows no interest in anything around her.”

  “Perhaps if you involved her once more in your work.”

  He gave a short laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve tried. She thanks me politely and invents some excuse for why she can’t go out with me. I didn’t press her at first. I wanted to make sure she was feeling recovered, but the midwife assured me there is no reason she cannot go out. In fact she recommended something to keep her busy.”

  He sighed. “It’s as if something died inside her along with the baby, and I can’t bring it to life again.”

  “Oh, Damien.” Florence shook her head sadly. “It just takes time. You must be patient.” Her own hand rested atop her growing belly. “I don’t come as often as I’d like. I feel it pains her to see my condition.”

  He nodded, unable to deny the fact. “I appreciate that. Though I miss seeing you both every day the way we used to.”

  Jonah clapped him on the shoulder. “There now, lad, don’t trouble yourself about us. Lindsay’s grief will pass and we’ll get together again as before. Someday you two will have another babe and she’ll forget all about this time of sorrow.”

  He nodded, not wanting to express his deeper concern that the rift between Lindsay and himself was greater than he feared. Did she blame him for the loss, he asked himself when he lay awake at night on the narrow sofa in the sitting room? He certainly blamed himself for not having been more discerning of her condition. What kind of pastor was he when he couldn’t even see the condition of his own wife?

  After parting from Florence and Jonah, Damien returned home. Lindsay was in the kitchen washing some dishes. He took up a tea cloth and began to dry the cups and saucers.

  “I can do that,” she said at once.

  “It’s all right. I like helping you.”

  She said nothing more.

  “Are you tired?”

  She shook her head.

  “Would you like to lie down?”

  “I’m fine.”

  As soon as she was finished, she returned to their sitting room and sat down with a basket of mending.

  “It’s a pleasant day outside, not too cold. Would you like to go for a walk before it gets too dark? The fresh air would do you good.”

  “No, thank you. I think I’ll just stay in.”

  He sighed and fell silent, wishing he knew what to do. “There was a good crowd on Sunday.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I’ve been thinking of starting a Bible study here one evening a week.”

  She stopped her work and looked at him.

  “Would you mind that very much?”

  After a few seconds, she replied, “Of course not.” But there was no enthusiasm in her voice the way there would have been in the past.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything. I can take care of serving tea.” He coughed. “But I’d like it if you were here with me.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t care about me.” Her head was bent over her work again, the lamplight golden on her hair.

  He was going to argue but thought better of it. Perhaps she’d relent when the time came.

  His new ministry was beginning to bear fruit
. Every time he was tempted to ask Lindsay for help, when he saw her sad countenance, the words died on his lips. Sometimes he wondered if the loss of her child had made her realize her mistake in marrying him. Perhaps she’d fixed all her hopes on her child, and the loss only reflected another failure. After all, their material loss was due to his failing. What kind of husband and provider was he?

  Perhaps at last she was ready to return to her father. The only irony was that now it was too late to annul their marriage. It had been well and truly consummated, child and all.

  Damien sighed. Annulment or not, he would have to find some way to get Lindsay back to her father. It was the only way to salvage an otherwise dreadful situation.

  Lindsay opened the door of her lodgings and tensed.

  Florence stood in the corridor, a hesitant look on her face. “Hello, Lindsay, may I come in?”

  Lindsay’s glance fell downward. Pain lodged about her heart at the sight of her sister-in-law’s growing belly. She quickly looked back up. Florence’s face radiated well-being, her normally pale cheeks full and rosy.

  “Yes, of course. How are you, Florence?” She opened the door wider and allowed her sister-in-law access.

  Florence smiled. “I was on my way to the orphanage and thought I’d stop by to see how you were. I brought some fresh eggs from the farm.” She held out a wire basket lined with a cloth inside.

  Lindsay took it from her and stood awkwardly. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Florence. “Thank you.” She motioned to a chair. “Please, have a seat. Did Jonah not come with you?”

  “No, he’s at the farm. He sends you his best regards and hopes to accompany me the next time.”

  Lindsay offered her sister-in-law tea, but she declined. When they were both seated, an uneasy silence fell. Lindsay smoothed down her skirt, not knowing how to proceed. Her skills at making polite conversation seemed to have left her. Before she had a chance to hunt around for a topic—or to brace herself to ask Florence how her confinement was proceeding—Florence herself cleared her throat. “Damien tells me you haven’t been out.”

  Lindsay made a vague motion with her hand. “The weather…”

  Her sister-in-law sat regarding her until Lindsay felt uncomfortable. Finally, she said, “Is it wise to spend so much time sitting alone?”

  Lindsay looked down at her hands. “I have nowhere I wish to go.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I know it must be difficult.”

  Lindsay’s eye’s flashed. “You know?” She gazed pointedly at her middle. “You know what it’s like to lose the infant you had pinned all your hope upon? To lose the greatest gift you will ever give to your husband?” She stood, unable to bear it anymore. “To know you will never be able to hold that infant in your arms and suckle it?” Her voice broke, and she turned away angrily, a fist to her mouth.

  Florence was immediately at her side, but Lindsay turned her back on her.

  “I’m sorry, Lindsay. I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. I never thought I would be blessed with a child. Who was I, an ugly old maid? But the Lord had mercy on me, the way He did on Hannah in the Bible and so many other barren women.” She touched Lindsay on the arm and Lindsay could no longer suppress a sob. “The Lord will bless you, too, Lindsay. He will, my dear, I know it.”

  Lindsay bit down hard, willing herself not to give in to tears. But her shoulders began to shake. Florence put an arm around her and led her to the settee. “There, let it out. It’s good to cry.” A smile tinged her sister-in-law’s next words. “Jonah taught me that. I, too, tried for too many years to hold everything in.” Her hand rubbed Lindsay’s back and shoulders. “Have a good cry. Grieve for your wee babe.”

  When Lindsay felt spent, Florence gave her a handkerchief and gently pushed her curls off her forehead. “You know, Damien is very concerned about you.”

  “I have caused him nothing but grief,” she said in a hollow tone.

  “Nonsense.” Lindsay almost smiled at the sound of Florence’s more customary brisk tone. “There are plenty of ways you can begin to help him if you choose.”

  Lindsay looked up at her, hope beginning to awaken in her breast.

  “You could begin by helping Damien in his labors. Don’t you see how his ministry is growing? He needs help. He was thrown out of his pulpit and the Lord has blessed him with a ministry without walls. There are souls out there, needy souls who have nothing and nowhere to go, and he is pouring himself out for them. He is visiting the needy and the orphans as our Lord commands us. And then he comes home to what? To witness your tragic countenance. He will drop of sheer exhaustion if he receives no aid.”

  “But he has always kept me from helping him.” She smiled sadly. “I know it was to protect me, but I wanted to be included.”

  Florence squeezed her shoulder. “Well, now is your opportunity, I would say. Prove to him you are made of sterner stuff than he has given you credit for. Be his right hand.”

  Lindsay’s heart began to beat in anticipation. “I’m afraid I’ve caused him nothing but trouble—”

  “Get that nonsense out of your head! He needs you. But he will never force you to do anything. He feels badly enough over your loss.” Her voice softened. “It’s his loss, too.”

  Lindsay covered her mouth. How selfish she had been, not considering Damien’s grief.

  “Now, now, it’s time to gird yourself up. Wash your face and I’ll fix you a cup of tea. You’ll want to look your best when Damien comes home.”

  The next morning as Damien sat by the window at his morning devotions, he heard a knock on the door. Lindsay was still in the bedroom, so he rose and went to answer.

  A girl of about thirteen or fourteen stood in the doorway, a boy behind her, craning his head around. They both looked ill kempt and dirty, and were breathing heavily as if they’d run up the stairs. The boy was staring at his peg leg. Before Damien could greet them, the girl said, “Please, can you come quick? There’s a woman needs you. She’s dying.”

  “Of course. Where have you come from?”

  She named the street, a poor neighborhood Damien had been ministering to often of late. “I’ll come immediately.” As he turned to get his coat, he asked, “Does she need anything?”

  The girl shook her head. “She’s too far gone for anything this side o’ heaven.”

  Just as Damien was on the point of leaving, Lindsay emerged from the other room. “I thought I heard someone—” She broke off at the sight of the children. She looked at Damien in his coat, a question in her eyes.

  “I must go out a moment. A sick woman—”

  Before he could finish, she went to him. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  He heard the hesitancy in her voice and realized how much the words had cost her. His arms ached to hold her. He wished he could erase all her hurt. “Yes, I should like that very much,” he said softly.

  “All right.”

  A feeling of relief flooded him, making him realize only then how much he’d been wishing for this moment. He touched her arm. “That’s my girl. Let me get your cloak. It’s chilly outside.”

  On their way down the stairs, Lindsay asked the girl about the sick woman.

  “It’s a woman what lives in the room next to ours. Mum has done what she could, little eno’. The woman’s always ailin’. There’s a babe, too.”

  At the word babe, Damien turned quickly to Lindsay. She looked pale but that was her normal color nowadays. “Is the infant sick, as well?” she asked.

  They reached the street and followed hurriedly after the children. “Dunno,” the girl panted. Every time the boy turned around to see if they were still following, Damien noticed the boy’s sharp eyes kept going to his leg. He looked faintly familiar, probably from his many visits to the neighborhood.

  They walked several blocks past the Middlesex Hospital after which the streets became narrower, the smells more disagreeable. Damien held Lindsay close to him, the memory of t
he attack still vivid. His glance darted about the crooked alleys, not liking the look of the many loitering individuals.

  Thankfully, it was fully light and many people and vehicles were upon the road. The children stopped at a narrow brick building sandwiched between two others. Several windows were boarded up, the stoop broken down.

  The girl turned to them, hesitation on her face, as if afraid they would leave before reaching their destination. “It’s up two flights.”

  “Lead the way.” Damien helped Lindsay over the holes in the wooden steps. They paused a moment in the dark and smelly passage.

  “Ain’t you coming?” the boy’s voice floated down to them from halfway up the stairs.

  “Yes, I’m just getting my bearings.” With a silent prayer, Damien followed the sound of their footsteps, hoping they’d make it up the stairs without twisting an ankle or worse.

  They heard the sound of a child crying before they reached the door. The girl and boy had already entered, leaving the door ajar. A few other, younger children lingered in the hallway. One of them, a slovenly girl, her fingers in her mouth, stared at Lindsay as they passed.

  Filth was everywhere—unwashed clothes in heaps, refuse piled in corners. Lindsay gasped at the stench of rotting food and human waste. Damien held her arm, guiding her past the women lounged about the room. One old crone looked at Damien. “You the parson? Hope you’re not too late,” she cackled, showing a mouth devoid of most teeth except two sticking out at opposite ends of her gums.

  “Where is she?” he asked in a low tone.

  She waved him toward a dark corner of the room, where a group of women crowded. The sound of crying had stopped and when they reached the corner, they saw a child sitting at the foot of the narrow cot where the dying woman lay. The child looked around two years old. She sucked placidly on her thumb, her other hand clutching a dirty-looking rag.

  Damien glanced at the other end of the bed. A woman—a pale, emaciated shadow of a woman—lay against dirty sheets, her lank blond hair spread across the pillow. Damien went to her, the other women making way silently for him.