Sweet Forever

by Ramona K. Cecil

  “Ah, here we are.” Jacob’s smile widened when they neared a two-story brick home.

  A fragrant greeting wafted their way from phlox, larkspurs, and petunias growing beneath the two tall, narrow windows. Left of the windows, two white-painted pillars supported a corniced portico jutting out from a recessed doorway.

  “You’re sure we are not intruding upon your sister’s time?” Rosaleen’s stomach felt the flutter of nervous butterflies as the wrought iron gate creaked a tiny protest against Jacob’s hand.

  “Nonsense. Becky has been pestering me about you for the past month. And since you refuse to attend Sunday services,” he teased with a quirk of his mouth, “I decided an afternoon visit was in order.”

  Rosaleen’s heart quickened at the reassuring touch of his hand on her back, guiding her up the two stone steps to the little enclosed portico.

  “Mrs. Archer.” A bright smile lit Becky Morgan’s face when she met them at the door.

  Accepting the woman’s warm hug, Rosaleen noticed the same scent of verbena she remembered from her first day in the doctor’s office.

  “I’m so glad Jacob succeeded in convincing you to come for a visit,” the doctor’s wife said as she took Jacob’s hat and Rosaleen’s bonnet before ushering them into the parlor.

  Far smaller than the one at Opal Buchanan’s boardinghouse, the Morgans’ little parlor seemed cozy and inviting. The leaves of a large maple in the side yard dappled the afternoon sun onto the rose-patterned carpet. An early summer breeze fluttered the lace curtains at the tall, narrow open window.

  Rosaleen’s gaze roamed the room until it fixed on an object between the window and hearth. Suddenly, she felt her heart leap and her fingers itch. All other thoughts were swept away at the sight of the square piano.

  “Rosaleen, do you play the piano? Rosaleen?”

  “Yes,” Rosaleen finally answered Becky Morgan’s question with a breathless whisper. “I learned while employed at Mrs. Griswold’s Academy for Young Ladies in Jackson, Mississippi. Mrs. Griswold insisted that every girl under her roof learn at least the basic skills and social graces.” Rosaleen experienced a bittersweet pang, remembering how her natural talent for the instrument had won her teacher’s praise but scorn from the woman’s other students. She turned a wobbly smile toward Becky. “I loved playing and discovered I have a talent for it.”

  Beaming, Jacob’s sister clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Perhaps after refreshments we could prevail upon you to play something.”

  Offered the one temptation she could not resist, Rosaleen’s desire for an abbreviated visit vanished. She felt herself being pulled deeper into the world of Madison—deeper into the world of Jacob Hale.

  ❧

  As his sister served them lemon cake and tea, Jacob had to admit the afternoon outing had not been entirely unselfish on his part. Beyond the joy he derived from spending time in Rosaleen’s company, he’d hoped to learn more about the beauty who’d wrapped her lovely fingers around his heart. And if he could grow their friendship, he might persuade her to attend worship services.

  Now, something as unexpected as his sister’s new piano promised a glimpse into Rosaleen Archer’s carefully guarded past. Becky’s request for her to play the piano had lit Rosaleen’s eyes with a brightness Jacob had never seen in them. At his sister’s urging, Rosaleen reminded him of a filly prancing in its carriage traces, eager to be off. As she was already on her feet, he suspected he’d have to physically restrain her in order to keep her from the piano.

  For the better part of an hour, Jacob sat enthralled while Rosaleen worked through Becky’s stack of sheet music, treating them to one beautiful piano piece after another. His sister’s parlor rang with ballads and sonnets, as well as classical pieces.

  The afternoon sun shimmered copper lights over Rosaleen’s lovely dark auburn tresses as she swayed with the melodies. Her eyes closed, her features held a beautiful tranquility. Somewhere in the midst of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” Jacob knew he’d lost his heart.

  Later that afternoon, as he strolled with Rosaleen along the streets of Madison, Jacob tried to keep his heart in check. He was still reeling from the discovery of her musical talent. What other wondrous facets of this intriguing woman remain to be disclosed?

  “It’s as beautiful as the finest plantation houses in Mississippi.”

  Rosaleen’s words jerked Jacob from his musings to the new home of railroad baron and financier, J. F. D. Lanier. She’d stopped their trek along High Street to admire the west side of the mansion with its brick facade painted light ocher brown.

  “Yes, it’s quite spectacular.” He turned his attention to the grandiose example of Greek Revival architecture. Two white pillars supported a rather modest northern entrance, while at the south side four gigantic white pillars graced an expansive portico. Beyond that, a manicured lawn and garden swept down to the banks of the Ohio River.

  “I’m sure I’ll have to wait until I get to heaven for my mansion.” His chuckle died at her somber demeanor. “Rosaleen, why do you avoid Sunday services? You should pay no attention to Opal’s critiques of my sermons, you know.” His attempt to inject levity failed to bring a smile to her face.

  “I just don’t think. . .I don’t think it would do me any good.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? Have you read the scriptures at all?” An urgency to reach her caused frustration to rise within him.

  “A little.”

  “But you don’t think they pertain to you in any way?”

  “No.”

  “How could you think that? The scriptures are for everyone.”

  “Reverend Hale!” Roscoe Stinnett’s booming voice shoved its way into their conversation. “How are you on this fine May afternoon?”

  Groaning inwardly, Jacob pasted a smile across his face. He preferred to believe that the quality of his sermons were the reason the president of Riverfront Porkpacking chose to attend his fledgling congregation. However, he suspected that was not the case.

  In the midst of Madison’s burgeoning industrialization, the forty-five-year-old Stinnett seemed determined to position himself as one of the town’s fathers. Being a charter member of a new congregation could only elevate his standing in the community.

  “I am quite well, Mr. Stinnett, thank you very much. Mrs. Archer and I were just admiring Mr. Lanier’s new home.”

  A prickle of irritation marched up Jacob’s neck when Stinnett afforded Rosaleen only a cursory nod. Jacob knew the man considered her an underling because she worked as a housemaid.

  “Nice piece of architecture I suppose, though far too pretentious for my taste.” Roscoe placed one hand over the other on the gold knob of his white walking cane and gave the financier’s opulent abode little more than a glance. His haughty tone and dismissive attitude did nothing to hide the envy on the man’s face. Jacob didn’t doubt for a minute that Roscoe Stinnett would have a home twice the size of Lanier’s if he could afford it.

  Roscoe’s tone and countenance brightened. “It is very fortuitous that we should have met this afternoon, Reverend Hale. My good wife and I have, only today, decided to make a considerable donation to the new church.”

  “That’s very generous of you. I have opened an account at the bank, so you could simply—”

  “No, no, my dear boy!” Stinnett’s laugh shot through Jacob, causing his teeth to grind as his jaws tightened. “The donation is a piano. A Chickering square from Boston. Full cast-iron frame, new overstring design, all the rage, don’t you know. Should arrive within the month.”

  Jacob felt Rosaleen’s fingers grip his arm. His heart soared. A piano might be just the enticement needed to get her to services.

  No one else will be able to play as well as. . .

  “That is but part of our donation. Myrtle has graciously agreed to be pianist.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say.” Truer words could not have come out of Jacob’s mouth.

  “Just doing our part, Reverend.
Of course there will be a modest plaque affixed to the instrument, denoting Myrtle and I as the donors.” Stinnett puffed out his chest, causing Jacob to fear the brass buttons might pop off the man’s robin’s-egg blue broadcloth coat.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stinnett, and thank your good wife.” Jacob watched Roscoe Stinnett saunter away, and the hope that had sprung briefly in his chest withered. He was glad for the new piano. Not only for the congregation, but so Rosaleen would have daily access to the instrument she loved. Yet what a perfect opportunity it would have been if she could have played for services and thus heard the Word proclaimed.

  I trust You, Lord. I thank You for this and pray that in some way You will use this to bring Rosaleen to You.

  Six

  “Never saw a man so eager to work that he plumb forgets to eat.” Mrs. Buchanan smiled and shook her head.

  Rosaleen watched Opal nestle a bottle of sweet tea and two tin cups into a basket, alongside freshly baked bread, fried chicken, and apple pie. Her large hands worked deftly, carefully tucking linen towels around the food.

  Rosaleen chucked two pieces of wood into the Resor cookstove and chose not to be drawn into a conversation about Jacob Hale. After their afternoon outing the week before, she’d had enough trouble keeping the minister off her mind.

  And Jacob Hale did unsettling things to her heart. His smile, his laugh, the sweet tenor of his voice, all set her heart dancing. She remembered the way his blue eyes had sparkled with appreciation at her piano playing. . .

  No, I must not allow myself to get too close.

  “Rosaleen, would you please take this basket down to Jacob and Andrew?” Opal straightened to her full height of nearly six feet and pushed back a strand of graying blond hair that had escaped from the bun at the back of her head. “With four new boarders, I have a million things to do, and Patsey will not be coming until this afternoon.”

  Feeling the familiar clash of emotions, Rosaleen closed the stove door with a clang and turned toward the kitchen table. “Of course.”

  Jacob Hale was a boarder, and her job as hired girl was to tend to the boarders. She brushed her hands on her calico apron and wished she could stifle the gladness bubbling up inside her at the thought of seeing him.

  “You tell the fine young reverend that if he doesn’t get himself back here in time for supper, he’ll get a right smart sermon from me.”

  Rosaleen only grinned at Opal’s poor attempt at a stern face.

  Outside, she inhaled deeply. The delicious smells of the bread, chicken, and apple pie blended with the pungent herbs growing in Opal’s garden. Hollyhocks reclined against the white picket fence. Their bright pink flowers alive with the constant buzz of honeybees added to the cornucopia of fragrances.

  As she headed up Mulberry toward Main-Cross Street, Rosaleen experienced a stab of sadness. She almost wished she could stay in Madison. On such a beautiful early June day, it was easy to believe she might actually blend into the population of the little river town.

  As she walked the three blocks west on Main-Cross, she noticed fewer curious glances from the townspeople. It seemed most folks had become aware that she was Mrs. Buchanan’s new hired girl.

  Cool river breezes caressed her face when she turned south on Broadway Street. There, the downward grade of the street became steeper. She slowed her steps the final block to the building site of the church at the corner of Broadway and Second.

  If only I could stay. If only I could have a future here with. . .

  Rosaleen blinked away tears, unable to finish the thought. She looked down toward the Ohio, teeming with a flotilla of all shapes and sizes. Barges, ferries, and flatboats dotted the busy waterway.

  The deep, breathy whistle of a steamboat wafted up from the river, sending a chill through her body. It reminded her of why she couldn’t stay. Bill McGurty might be out there, lurking, ready to pounce like the predatory animal he was.

  No, she couldn’t stay. The moment she’d set aside enough money, she must leave for New York.

  The ring of a hammer calmed her fears. Jacob was close by. The thought sent her heart skipping.

  There is no future for me here in Madison, especially with a preacher, she scolded her errant heart. It paid no heed, quickening even more when the smell of freshly cut lumber reached her nostrils and the building site came into view.

  Jacob rose from pounding a wooden peg into a floorboard. “Hallo,” he called with a wave of his hand, a smile stretching his handsome mouth.

  She thought he looked a bit disconcerted as he walked toward her, brushing sawdust from his white linen work shirt and black trousers. Returning his smile, she raised the basket. “Opal sent me with your lunch.”

  “Mrs. Buchanan is of the opinion that if left to my own devices, I’d starve to death.” Lifting the cloth for a peek inside the basket, he sniffed its contents. “Mmm. I’m not so sure she’s wrong,” he said with a chuckle, taking the basket from her hand.

  A thoughtful look knitted his blond brows together. “Andrew and the three other men who’ve been helping me today have gone home for dinner. As Mrs. Buchanan seems to have sent enough for about three people, I’d be more than happy if you’d stay and share the repast with me. It could be a picnic.”

  A pang of guilt caused her to glance up Broadway. She really should be getting back. Her guilt evaporated in the warmth of his hopeful smile. “Yes, I’d like that.” Disregarding her sternest admonition, Rosaleen’s heart leaped when he took her hand in his.

  He led her toward a whitewashed bench in the shade of a willow tree. Settling the basket on the bench between them, he handed her one of the two linen napkins then said a short prayer of thanks over the basket of food.

  Rosaleen spent the uncomfortable moment watching men unload barrels from a flatboat. Prayers were for people like Jacob—people of whom God approved.

  “I hope dining in the proximity of my friend’s resting place does not offend you.” A look of unease flitted across his face as he glanced at the nearby gravestone.

  “No, not at all.” She followed his gaze to the granite slab beneath the willow. Noticing the date on the marker, Rosaleen realized the grave was not an old one. “You were close to Mr. Whitaker, then?” She handed him a piece of buttered bread.

  “Yes.” He smiled down at the gravestone. “He was the circuit preacher who ministered to my home village. I’m afraid I was a bit of a scamp as a boy—got into a scrape or two.” He grinned around a bite of the bread. “Along with my parents, Orville never gave up on me. One Sunday when I was nineteen, he preached a sermon from the book of Acts, the account of Peter preaching on the Day of Pentecost.”

  He paused to uncork the bottle of tea and pour them each a cup of the amber liquid. “I’d read that scripture many times. But somehow, that day, it spoke to my heart. I knew I’d come to a fork in the road and must either turn away from God’s Word altogether or embrace it completely.” Again, his face turned toward Reverend Whitaker’s grave marker. “Thanks to Orville and my good Christian parents, I chose the latter.”

  Rosaleen had no knowledge of the scripture Jacob cited. What few sermons she’d heard her guardian preach had been thunderous admonitions from the Old Testament. She’d found no comfort in Wilfred Maguire’s sermons.

  “Was it then that you became a minister?”

  “Yes. I began riding the circuit with Orville while he patiently taught me the deeper truths of the scriptures. Passages I’d read but never fully comprehended.” His voice lowered. “Orville opened my heart to Christ’s message of love.” A pensive frown cleft his forehead, and he looked down at his dusty boot tops crossed at his ankles. “I only pray I might approach his deep understanding of the scriptures as well as his persuasive oratory.”

  His gaze shifted to the foundation and open floor of what would be the church. The distant look in his eyes suggested that he saw far beyond the bare beginnings to the finished building. “It will be beautiful, a fitting legacy to Orville. Especially after
Andrew bricks it and we hang the bell.”

  He gave a quick wave of his hand, his voice sounding almost apologetic. “Oh, I know it sounds a bit boastful. Not all churches in Madison have bells. But I’ve been saving money for a five-hundred-pounder. According to the Verdin Bell Company of Cincinnati, it will cost a hundred dollars, but I’m determined to have it. At present, I’ve saved almost half the amount.” His fists clenched, flexing his arm muscles. “I can almost feel the bell’s glorious weight tugging against the rope in my hands as I ring it for the first time, inviting all within earshot to come and worship Christ.”

  Suddenly, he turned to face her, his blue gaze searching hers. “You were not taught the scriptures from childhood, were you?”

  “No,” Rosaleen murmured, glancing down at the cup of tea in her hands. She’d been content to sit and eat quietly as Jacob imparted bits of his past and future plans for the church. Now, she took a sip of sweet tea, wishing his quiet deduction hadn’t felt so much like an accusation.

  “I know nothing about you except that you worked at a young ladies’ academy and play the piano like an angel. I’d like to know more, if you don’t mind my asking. I’m afraid I’m a curious sort.” With a disarming smile, he leaned back on the bench and began munching on a chicken leg.

  Rosaleen felt her inhibitions melt at Jacob’s caring tone. He might as well learn of her shameful heritage. Surely, then, he’d stop pestering her to attend his church services.

  She looked down at the napkin in her lap, unwilling to watch disgust replace the kind expression on his face. The story began to tumble out like apples from a torn sack.

  “I was raised until the age of twelve by my adoptive father, Rory Maguire. He was a gambler and the fourth son of an Irish earl. He met my mother, Rosie, a commoner, on the ship to New York from Ireland.”

  Rosaleen fidgeted, unfolding and refolding her napkin. This was the part she most dreaded telling. “My mother was alone, single. . .and two months away from my arrival.” She cast a wary glance toward Jacob. Finding no look of disgust or condemnation on his face encouraged her to continue.