Jacob scrubbed his face with his hand. He gazed out over the river dotted with barges and flatboats—many arriving with merchandise from all corners of the world. Rosaleen, too, had come from the river. And just like the items on these boats, she’d come from a place—a life—far different from his.
Remembering the pain in Rosaleen’s eyes at his hateful rejection of her offered money, Jacob winced. Shame bowed his head. I even questioned her sincerity in accepting Christ!
He’d failed her. As a minister, it was his place to guide her, to help her grow in her new Christian life. Instead, he’d flung accusations at her, giving her no chance to explain. Whether or not they should ever marry did not change the fact that he loved her. He would always love her, and now he’d shirked his duty in ministering to her.
The scripture he’d quoted earlier to Roscoe Stinnett from Luke 6:37 echoed through his anguished mind, convicting him of his own shortcomings: “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.”
For weeks he’d been teaching her of Christ’s message of forgiveness, but when tested, he’d failed to forgive her.
At the sound of a steamboat’s whistle, he turned toward the Ohio. Gazing at the white riverboat with its huge scarlet paddle wheel at the stern, his eyes misted.
God, is that why You allowed me to fall in love with someone who came from a life so different from my own? Are You testing my willingness to forgive?
His heart and mind in turmoil, he walked down to Ohio Street then east toward Mulberry. As he passed the Billiard Saloon, he fought anger and pain. He could imagine the woman he loved—the woman he’d asked to be his wife—gambling beside Alistair Ralston.
By the time he’d reached the Newell Carriage Company at the junction of Mulberry and Second Street, Jacob knew he needed to talk to Becky and Ephraim. Perhaps they’d be better able to help him put it all in perspective.
When he came to the intersection of Mulberry and Main-Cross, he turned west and walked to the home of his sister and brother-in-law.
“Oh Jacob, come in. I am so sorry about the church.” Becky gave him a warm hug as she ushered him inside.
What a comfort to feel his sister’s arms around him. “Thanks, sis, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“What’s the matter?” Becky’s blue eyes, which so mirrored his own, filled with concern. She guided him toward the parlor.
Daniel bounded into the room, hope lighting his little face. “Uncle Jacob, will you take me fishing down at the river?”
Jacob gave his nephew a weak smile. He hated disappointing Daniel, but right now he needed Becky’s counsel. “Sorry, Daniel. Next week, I promise.”
“Daniel, go get that basket by the back door and pick a nice big mess of green beans from the garden for supper, please.” Becky smiled at her son’s sour expression. “And don’t pick them too small,” she added as he headed toward the kitchen.
When the back door slammed shut, she turned again to Jacob. “Is it Rosaleen?”
Sinking uninvited to the seat of a wing chair, Jacob felt a wry grin pull at his mouth. “How do you always know these things?”
Becky sat opposite him on the sofa. “I know the look of heartbreak when I see it. What’s happened?”
He blew out a long sigh. “I thought I knew her, Becky. I was so sure she cared for me. So sure she’d given her heart to Christ. How could I have been so wrong—as a man and as a minister?” He raised his shoulders in a defeated shrug. “I’m seriously doubting that I’m fit for the ministry. . .or if I should even rebuild the church.”
“Jacob, if you don’t tell me this minute what’s happened, I’m going to shake you!”
“She gambled down at the Billiard Saloon with that Ralston character then had the gall to offer me the money she’d won to help rebuild the church.” Hurt and anger hardened his words.
Ephraim entered the parlor, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Excuse me for intruding, but I overheard some of what you were telling Becky. When do you believe Rosaleen was at the saloon?”
Jacob turned to face his brother-in-law. “Last night. Rafe Arbuckle brought her brooch by this morning. There was some kind of ruckus down at the Billiard Saloon last night. A gambler was supposedly stabbed during a card game, but all the players took off before Rafe got there. He found Rosaleen’s brooch on the table where the fight took place.”
Jacob hated the tears that sprang to his eyes when he recounted how Rosaleen had offered him fifty dollars this morning to help rebuild the church. He swallowed past the painful knot in his throat and fixed his brother-in-law with a hard stare. “Ephraim, I saw blood on the front of her skirt. What am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know how her brooch came to be at the Billiard Saloon, but she wasn’t there. Not last night, anyway.” Ephraim’s voice slowed as he joined Becky on the settee, sliding his arm around his wife.
Jacob prayed Ephraim was right. “How do you know?”
Becky and Ephraim exchanged a long, knowing look, and Becky gave her husband a little nod.
Ephraim turned back to face Jacob. “Because she was down at the river with Andrew and Patsey, helping people come across.”
“The Underground?” It had never crossed Jacob’s mind that Rosaleen might have become involved in that work.
Ephraim nodded. “Andrew sent word this morning, asking me to stop by their house. I assumed it was to check on Patsey.”
He went on to explain that when he arrived at the Chap-mans’, he found a young runaway slave who’d been shot in the shoulder. The doctor’s lips tipped in a reassuring smile. “Andrew told me how Rosaleen helped him bandage the fellow when he came out of the river bleeding.”
“She’s been doing this, helping with the Underground?” Stunned, Jacob sat straight up.
“Yes.” His brother-in-law hesitated before continuing. “I’m not at liberty to divulge any particulars, but I know she’s been involved in several instances.”
As much as he wanted to believe Rosaleen innocent of the happenings at the saloon, Jacob had to know for sure. “Maybe she was at the Billiard before she went to Georgetown?”
“Did Rafe say what time the altercation occurred?” Ephraim asked.
“About midnight.”
Ephraim shook his head. “According to Andrew, Rosaleen was with them from about nine thirty last night until nearly dawn this morning.”
Relief washed over Jacob.
Ephraim’s smile broadened. “She obviously got the blood on her dress while helping to bandage that young man’s wound.”
Jacob groaned. A smothering wave of regret doused his joy at Rosaleen’s exoneration. “You say she’s helped with the Underground before?” That could explain the nocturnal sounds of comings and goings emanating from her third-floor attic room.
Ephraim nodded. “According to Andrew, yes.”
“Jacob”—Becky’s eyes were kind, her voice gentle as she took his hand—“talk to her. Get it all aired out. Don’t let your pride get in God’s way. And whatever you do, don’t jump to any more conclusions.”
Riddled with remorse, Jacob hurried back to the boarding-house. He prayed that somehow Rosaleen could find it in her heart to forgive him.
When he arrived, he poked his head into the kitchen. “Opal, have you seen Rosaleen?”
His landlady turned from stirring a pot of beans on the stove. “I think she’s upstairs.” She gave him a questioning look. “Have you two had a spat? I thought I saw her crying earlier.”
“Something like that, yes.” Jacob forced a weak smile. He knew Mrs. Buchanan meant well, but he was in no mood to share the particulars of his and Rosaleen’s difficulties.
While he passed Alistair Ralston’s room, the sound of Rosaleen’s voice stopped Jacob.
“Shh, Alistair. I promise I won’t leave you.” Her tender words, followed by deep moans and the creaking of a mattress moving, froze Jacob’s blood.
The i
mage forming in Jacob’s mind cleaved his heart. With Herculean effort, he restrained himself from flinging open the door, revealing their shame.
What a fool he’d been. His desire for reconciliation with Rosaleen disintegrated as he flew down the steps.
Eighteen
“Alistair, you must allow me to call Dr. Morgan.” Rosaleen supported the back of his head and held a glass of water to his parched lips.
“No. I’ll live or I’ll die here, but I won’t die on the floor of some jailhouse,” he said, pushing the glass away.
Gently lifting the cotton bandage from his chest, she gasped at the putrid-smelling wound oozing pus. “Dr. Morgan won’t turn you over to the sheriff, I promise you.”
He grasped her wrist, his feverish gray eyes glistening with tears. “Rosaleen, the only promise I ask is that you, alone, will tend to me.”
Rosaleen hesitated. She would do what she could to help Alistair, but she wouldn’t lie for him. “All right, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep your condition from Mrs. Buchanan, Patsey. . .or Jacob.” Her voice caught at the thought of the man she loved. In the two days since their confrontation in the parlor, she’d seen very little of Jacob.
Opal’s and Patsey’s subdued attitudes suggested they sensed the rift in Rosaleen and Jacob’s relationship. But respecting the couple’s privacy, the two women had said nothing.
Rosaleen simply told them she needed to attend to her friend, Alistair, who was under the weather—an expression they’d translate as having drank too much.
As discreetly as possible, she’d carried bandages and fresh water to his room, but she had nothing to combat the deadly fever.
“At least allow me to get a bottle of that Smith’s Tonic Syrup fever remedy Maynard’s Apothecary has been advertising in the Madison Courier.”
“All right.” He seemed too weak to argue. “Look in my vest pocket. There’s some money.” As usual, too many words precipitated a coughing fit.
“Don’t talk. I’ll get it.” She dipped a piece of cloth into the washbowl, wrung it out, and gently dabbed his mouth.
God, don’t let him die. I’ve seen enough death. And maybe—just maybe—I can bring him to You.
She peeled a dollar from the folded bills in his vest pocket and could not help shaking her head. Such a little bit of money couldn’t have been worth risking your life for, Alistair.
Assured that Alistair was again resting easy, Rosaleen left to purchase the medicine.
“Rosaleen.”
As she closed Alistair’s door behind her, Rosaleen jerked at Jacob’s soft voice.
“I need to talk to you.” There was a cool formality to his tone.
“I—I have to get something for Alistair.” She couldn’t bear another scathing diatribe from Jacob.
“This will only take a moment.” His demeanor seemed more contrite than condemning. “I owe you an apology.” His gaze avoided hers. “I was wrong to accuse you the other day. I’ve since learned from Ephraim that you were not at the Billiard Saloon the other night.” He reached into his pocket. What he produced caused her eyes to widen.
“My brooch! Where did you get it?”
“Constable Arbuckle found it at the Billiard Saloon. I should have given it to you days ago.” His penitent words seemed at odds with his stiff tone. “I’m sorry. I have no excuse for my actions.”
Rosaleen paused, waiting for him to ask her to reinstate their engagement. When he didn’t, disappointment surged through her. She shook her head. “It’s no longer mine. I sold it to Alistair. . .for money to go to New York.” Her voice faltered as she remembered Jacob’s angry rejection of that money.
To his credit, a look of surprise registered on his face, followed by something akin to shame. “You’re still going, then?” His voice tightening, he looked everywhere but in her eyes.
“Yes.” Her voice caught on the word. She could see no reason to stay. Jacob would soon be marrying Sophie. As fond as Rosaleen was of Sophie, she couldn’t bear to stay and watch it happen.
“Guess I should give this to Mr. Ralston, then,” he said.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she watched Jacob hold in his open palm the piece of jewelry she’d treasured all her life.
“He’s—he’s not been feeling well for the past couple of days.” She stumbled, not wanting to lie, yet at the same time, trying to keep Alistair’s injury secret. “Would you please keep it until he’s better?”
“Of course.” A hint of a smile?
Brushing past him, she fled down the stairs. Alistair needed the fever medicine, and Jacob Hale’s nearness inflicted far more torture on her heart than Rosaleen cared to endure.
❧
Jacob started toward his room but stopped at the door. He gazed at the jeweled pin in his hand. It reminded him of his love for Rosaleen. No matter what her relationship with Alistair Ralston, Jacob knew he would always love her. Why should he keep this reminder of his loss a minute longer than necessary? If Ralston had a throbbing head from drinking whiskey down at the Billiard Saloon, that was just too bad.
“Mr. Ralston? Mr. Ralston?” He rapped twice on the man’s door. Getting no reply, he pushed it open. What he saw set him back on his heels.
“Go away! She said she wouldn’t tell.” Ralston reared up then fell heavily back onto the pillow, coughing.
Like a lightning bolt, the larger reality shot through Jacob. Ralston must have been the man knifed down at the Billiard. “You’re in a bad way, man.”
Jacob walked to the bed where Ralston lay shirtless, a bloodstained bandage covering his chest. He realized, too, that what he’d imagined happening between Rosaleen and Alistair two days ago could not have been possible. Jacob’s groans echoed those of the wounded man on the bed. “Rosaleen never told me. She only said you weren’t feeling well. I supposed you’d just had too much to drink.”
“You won’t tell anybody about my. . .accident, will you, Rev’rend?” Fear flickered in the big gambler’s eyes.
Jacob glanced at the bloody bandage covering the man’s chest. “I won’t tell if you don’t want me to, but if a doctor doesn’t attend you soon it won’t matter. You’ll be dead.”
“There was a bit of a misunderstandin’ down at the Billiard a couple nights ago. I don’t want to go to jail—” A wheezing cough swallowed Ralston’s words.
Jacob lifted the bandage. “My brother-in-law is a doctor. Ephraim won’t tell the sheriff. He’ll simply tend to you.” The look of relief on the man’s face sparked sympathy in Jacob.
Tension seeped out of the man’s ashen features. “All right, but would you promise me something, Rev’rend?”
“Sure.”
“I—I don’t have much, but if I die, would you see to it that Rosaleen gets everything?”
“Yes, of course.” Jacob gave the man a small smile. “I’ve seen men in worse shape make it.” He hoped his voice carried more conviction than he felt. “Would you like me to pray for you?”
Alistair’s soft chuckle turned to a series of coughs. “Sure, Rev’rend. Rosaleen’s been prayin’ over me for two days. Maybe somethin’ will get through, huh?”
“It all gets through, my friend,” Jacob said, patting the man’s shoulder. After offering up a prayer for Alistair, Jacob added a silent prayer, asking God’s forgiveness for misjudging Rosaleen.
“I believe I have something of yours, Mr. Ralston.” Jacob fished in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the brooch. “Rosaleen tells me she sold this to you some days ago.”
“Yeah.” Alistair’s eyes grew wide and, with a deep groan, he pushed up to a sitting position.
“Was this still in your possession when you left the gambling table?” If he’d lost it in the game, Jacob would hand it back to Rafe Arbuckle to put in the sheriff’s sale.
“Yeah. I’d just thrown it into the pot, but it was still mine. I never got the chance to finish the hand.”
“You swear that’s the truth?”
“That’s t
he truth, Rev’rend.”
“Then I’d like to buy it from you.” Jacob didn’t blame Rosaleen for hating him. He’d accused her without allowing her an opportunity to explain. He didn’t deserve her love or her forgiveness, nor did he expect them. The thought skewered his heart. He could never make up for how he’d treated her, but he could do this for her. “How much did you pay her for it?”
Alistair glanced down at the patchwork quilt. “Seventy-five dollars.”
A quick anger replaced the sympathy Jacob had felt for the man. Rosaleen had offered him fifty, and his heart told him she would have offered all she had. “This is no time for a ruse, Ralston,” he growled. “I’ll give you fifty.”
“Fifty will do.”
Jacob walked to his room and reached under his bed for the tattered cigar box. A feeling of gratitude washed over him. Perhaps this was why he’d resisted spending his bell money even after the church burned.
Thank You, Jesus, for whispering to me not to spend this on new lumber.
Back in Alistair’s room, Jacob counted out the money. “Fifty dollars.”
“Put it in my vest pocket.” Ralston rammed a thumb toward his gold brocade vest draped across the back of a wing chair.
Jacob stuffed the bills into the showy piece of apparel then turned back to the man. “Mr. Ralston, I made a promise to you, and now I ask you to make a promise to me. Don’t tell Rosaleen that I bought the brooch.”
“I won’t. You love her that much, don’t you?” His soft tone sounded distant.
“Yes.” Jacob watched the expression on the man’s face closely, but Alistair gave little away. The wince could very well have been from the pain of his wound.
“She’s in love with you, too, you know.” An odd grin pulled up the corners of Ralston’s lips. “In my line of work, you learn to read people. Listen”—a frown puckered his forehead—“beware of a gent by the name of McGurty. He’ll have designs on Rosaleen.”
“She told me about him.” A sudden fear twisted inside Jacob. What if he were in Madison? “The man survived the sinking of the Cortland Belle?”
“Can’t rightly say.”
Sweet Forever Page 12
