“You haven’t seen him?”
Ralston shook his head. “No. Heard it both ways, but then—” Several more wracking coughs took him. “You can’t take as gospel what fellers deep in their cups say over a blackjack table.”
Jacob studied Ralston’s face. The best he could discern, the man’s answer seemed candid. “What does McGurty look like?” Madison teemed with strangers from the steamboats. A description of the man would be helpful.
The gambler’s features took on a thoughtful look. “ ’Bout your height. In his forties, I’d reckon. Black Irish. Black hair, thinnin’ some and streaked with gray. Little black eyes, dead cold as polished onyx—stares right through a body. Chills ya to your soul. Got a bit of a paunch. Likes good food, drink, and women, not especially in that order.” A wheezing cough that troubled Jacob interrupted Alistair’s description of McGurty.
“Here, take a drink of water.” Jacob filled a glass from the pitcher Rosaleen had left on the table by the bed.
“A real dandy dresser,” Alistair continued after a sip of the water had eased his cough. “Always carries a silver-headed, ebony walking stick.”
“Thanks.” Jacob offered the man his hand and was surprised at the strength of his grip, even in his weakened state. “I’ll fetch Dr. Morgan.”
Later, Jacob placed the brooch in the cigar box where he’d kept his bell money. In a few days, Rosaleen would be leaving for New York. He’d like to think that Ralston’s perception of her feelings about him were correct. Maybe they had been once. But he felt certain he’d destroyed any hope of rekindling her love.
His heart twisted as he gazed at the jeweled pin. Maybe when he presented it to her as a farewell present, she’d at least remember him with some measure of kindness.
Nineteen
After Dr. Morgan treated Alistair Ralston, Rosaleen followed him and Jacob to the hallway outside Alistair’s room.
Ephraim Morgan turned a stern look toward Rosaleen. “Jacob was right to fetch me, Rosaleen. I know you were trying to protect Mr. Ralston, but by not calling me sooner, you allowed your friend to become dangerously ill.”
Rosaleen gave him a penitent nod. She sent up a prayer of thanks that God found a way to get the doctor here without her having to break her promise to Alistair.
The doctor’s features relaxed to a reassuring smile. “He should heal fine as long as the fever doesn’t return and the wound doesn’t become infected again.”
Brightening, Dr. Morgan turned his attention to Jacob. “Becky tells me Roscoe Stinnett has offered to put up the collateral in order to procure a loan for the church. That’s great news.”
“Yes, it is.” Jacob fidgeted, seeming uninterested in elaborating on the subject.
An awkward moment of silence ensued while Rosaleen and Jacob watched the doctor descend the stairs.
Rosaleen broke the silence. “I’m glad you’re going to get your church rebuilt, Jacob. That is wonderful.” She meant it, too, but at the same time wondered if he’d taken Roscoe up on his offer concerning Sophie after all. If so, why had Jacob not told her? Was he too embarrassed to admit he’d made such a deal?
“Thank you.” His gaze skittered away from hers.
She managed to push her trembling lips into a smile. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me and went in to see about Alistair.”
“Me, too.” He grinned. “He’s not such a bad fellow for a gambler and a rogue. He’ll soon be off running his thimble-rig again with the best of them.”
“I’d like to think I could convince him to reform, but I’m afraid it is unlikely, even with all my prayers.”
“I’m sure you’ve planted the good seeds, Rosaleen. In the end, praying is the best thing we can do.” His smile faded. “You’ll be leaving with him, then?”
“No.” Rosaleen’s heart felt as wounded as Alistair’s chest. If only she could have stayed. If only things had turned out differently. “Alistair will be going places I don’t care to go now and doing things I know Jesus would not want me to be a party to.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Then you’ll be leaving on your own for New York?” His voice sounded strained. Did he want her to stay?
She fought the tears stinging behind her eyelids.
Please, Jacob, beg me to stay. Take me in your arms and tell me you want me to stay here with you forever.
She struggled to inject lightness into her answer. “Yes, I promised Alistair I’d take care of him until he’s well. Then I’ll begin my journey to New York.”
The corner of Jacob’s mouth lifted. “I’d very much like it if you’d continue to play for services while you remain in Madison. Would you do that for us and save the congregation a little while longer from Myrtle Stinnett’s charity?”
Her heart galloped when he took her hands into his. Both their gazes focused on their clasped hands.
“Yes, Jacob, I’d like that very much.” Hope withered. If he still loved her and hadn’t given his promise to Sophie, now was the time he should beg her to stay—to entreat her never to leave him. Tears she couldn’t allow him to see stung Rosaleen’s eyes. Pulling her hands away from his strong, warm fingers, she fled down the stairs.
❧
During the next couple of weeks, Rosaleen used the excuse of caring for Alistair to avoid Jacob. Though she’d relinquished the hope of ever becoming Jacob’s wife, she held tight to her newfound faith. She’d always love Jacob. How could she not? He’d led her to the knowledge that God did indeed love her and would one day welcome her into heaven.
She longed to share this promise with others. Perhaps she could find a way to use her musical talents for the Lord. At present, she’d content herself with sharing the gospel with Alistair. Though an admitted challenge, he presented a captive audience.
“Never thought you’d become a church lady.” Grinning, he shook his head, interrupting her daily scripture reading.
“I’m not a church lady. I’m a Christian.” Rosaleen closed the Bible on her lap. “Alistair, you could have died. Aren’t you concerned about what lies beyond?”
“Don’t reckon I like to give it much thought.” He grimaced, shifting to a more comfortable sitting position on the bed.
“Well, you need to think about it.” She set the Bible on the table by the bed and bent over to adjust the pillows behind his head.
“You’ll make a right pretty angel someday, Rosaleen.” His gray gaze looked a little sad as he ran the back of his curled fingers across her cheek. Then his demeanor perked up with his voice. “I do like the music, though. I never knew you played the piano.” He leaned his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
“I didn’t before I went to the finishing school. I suppose I can thank my guardian for that, even if he did send me for selfish reasons. Funny how the Lord can take a bad situation and turn it into a blessing.”
She’d been astounded at how much lighter her heart had become after she obeyed Christ’s command and forgave Wilfred and Irene Maguire. With repeated reading, she’d etched into her heart Jesus’ words from Matthew 5:44: “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
Black Jack Bill McGurty? He’d be far harder to forgive, but Rosaleen would try.
Alistair rolled his head on the pillow, his gray eyes peering at her from beneath half-open lids. “Would you sing me that song again? The one about the rock.”
Rosaleen smiled. Perhaps she could get through to Alistair with her music. She softly sang “Rock of Ages” until his deep, even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep.
A recurrence of infection along with another bout of fever had kept Alistair bedridden. But under the watchful care of Dr. Morgan, he was now showing steady improvement, causing the doctor to predict Alistair would be back on his feet within the week. Rosaleen would soon be free to leave for New York. A pang of sadness accompanied the thought as she slipped quietly from Alistair’s room and climbed
to her own room in the attic.
Knowing she would need to prepare for that day, Rosaleen stuck her hand into the mattress slit and felt for the calico sack. Finding it, she separated one of the ten-dollar notes from the fold of bills, shoved it into her apron pocket, and headed downstairs.
Exiting through the kitchen door, she paused on the path between the boardinghouse and the garden to glance back at the gray brick building. It hurt to think of leaving Madison and all the people who’d become dear to her. Yet if Jacob had wanted her to stay, he could have asked. Her heart still stung from the fact that he hadn’t.
Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin. She must concentrate on practicalities. She’d need a small steamer trunk or portmanteau to transport her few but precious possessions to New York. She could probably procure what she needed at King and Brother Merchants on Second Street.
“Rosaleen!” Patsey’s cry sounded tight with pain.
Whirling toward the garden patch, Rosaleen caught sight of Patsy’s red head kerchief, just visible above the browning leaves of the potato plants.
“I—I think the baby’s comin’.” Sitting in the dirt amid the drying vegetation, Patsey glanced down at her drenched calico skirt.
“But it’s too soon! It’s almost a month too soon.” Rosaleen fought mounting fear.
“Reckon you’d best tell that to this young’un.” Groaning, Patsey doubled over.
Rosaleen’s mind raced with her heart. Andrew was down at the building site of the church with Jacob. She didn’t know whether it would be better to help Patsey up or have her sit until she could get Andrew.
Oh God, just help me know what to do.
Drawing a deep breath, she forced her mind to rational thought. Mrs. Buchanan will know what to do.
“Just sit still, Patsey. I’ll find Opal.”
Patsey’s answering groan warned there might not be a moment to spare.
Racing through the kitchen, Rosaleen began calling for Opal.
“Rosaleen, what on earth—” Opal began as she emerged from the dining room.
Interrupting, Rosaleen caught her hand. “Patsey’s in the garden. I think she’s in labor.”
Opal paled and bolted for the kitchen door.
Rosaleen ran to catch up with the older woman’s long-legged strides, directing her to the spot where she’d left Patsey.
“Come on, Patsey, you can’t have this baby in the tater patch.” Opal grasped Patsey under the arms and carefully but firmly lifted her straight up.
Together, Opal and Rosaleen helped Patsey into the house.
“I know it won’t be easy, Patsey, but we must get you upstairs to a bed,” Opal urged in a no-nonsense tone as she and Rosaleen practically carried Patsey between them.
“I can make it,” Patsey gasped. “Ain’t gonna’ have this chil’ on the floor or the dining room table, neither!”
Rosaleen breathed a relieved sigh when they reached the second floor.
They maneuvered the mother-to-be into a room Rosaleen had readied for prospective boarders. Opal yanked the covers down on the bed, sat Patsey on the edge of the mattress, and then turned to Rosaleen. “I’ll get her into a nightdress. You hurry and fetch Andrew and Jacob.”
Rosaleen flew down the stairs, out the boardinghouse, and up Mulberry Street. She raced down Main-Cross Street and just missed being hit by a passing carriage.
Oh God, give me strength and speed.
By the time she reached the church, her burning lungs felt as if they might burst.
“Rosaleen!” Jacob caught sight of her and threw his hammer to the ground with a thud. “What’s happened?” Running to her, he drew her into his arms and held her while she gasped for breath to speak.
“It’s Patsey.” She gulped a lungful of air. “The baby’s coming.”
At his wife’s name, Andrew dropped the wheelbarrow of bricks he’d been pushing, paying it no heed as it toppled and spilled its contents onto the ground. His dusky face blanched to only a few shades darker than Jacob’s, and he raced for the wagon.
Her legs spent, Rosaleen sagged against Jacob. She allowed his tightened arm around her waist to propel her to the wagon. He helped her up then climbed to the seat beside her.
Andrew hollered and smacked the reins down hard against the mules’ backs. The animals bolted, causing the wagon to lurch to a dizzying speed.
The wagon bed full of lumber bounced and clattered as they careened along. Rosaleen clung to Jacob, fearing they might overturn at the junction of Main-Cross and Mulberry. There, they narrowly missed a wagonload of pork barrels.
Ignoring the frightened neighs of the rearing horses and the angry protests of their driver, Andrew urged the mule team around the corner, stopping only when they reached Opal Buchanan’s boardinghouse.
In a blur, Patsey’s husband leaped from the wagon, bounded to the porch, and shot through the front door.
Jacob helped Rosaleen down then climbed back to the wagon seat. “I’ll go get Ephraim,” he called over his shoulder as he turned the wagon around.
Rosaleen nodded and headed inside. Upstairs, she informed Opal and the expectant parents that Jacob had gone to fetch Dr. Morgan.
Andrew nodded but kept his eyes fastened on Patsey’s face, scrunched with pain. Kneeling beside his wife’s bed, he gently took her hand in his. In soothing tones, he whispered words of love and encouragement.
“First babies always take a while,” Opal said lightly, bathing Patsey’s face with a wet cloth. But the lines around the older woman’s mouth looked tight.
When Dr. Morgan arrived with Jacob, the concern on his face struck fear in Rosaleen’s heart. He immediately banished her and Jacob from the second story. He allowed Opal, and on Patsey’s insistence, Andrew, to remain in the room.
Guilt-ridden, Rosaleen sank forlorn to the settee in the parlor. She’d spent too much time the past couple of weeks with Alistair, shifting a larger portion of the household work to Patsey. Now Patsey and her baby might have to pay with their lives. The thought was more than Rosaleen could bear. Slumping forward, she sobbed into her hands.
“Ephraim has delivered lots of babies. I’m sure everything will be fine,” Jacob’s quiet voice comforted.
“It’s my fault,” she choked through the sobs. “I spent too much time attending to Alistair and not helping Patsey.”
His soft voice murmured consolation. “No, my dear Rosaleen. No.” Sitting down beside her, he gathered her into his arms and rocked her against him. “You know Opal would never allow Patsey to do more than she should. You felt an obligation to Mr. Ralston. You are not to blame—not in any way.”
Rosaleen wondered how she could have been so selfish. Why had she not once thought of Patsey’s condition during the past two weeks? “If anything should happen to Patsey or the baby, I don’t know if I could bear it.” Devastated, she clung to Jacob, weeping against his neck.
“Shh, my sweet, don’t do this to yourself. It is not your fault. Ephraim says many times babies come early and only God knows why.” He pushed away enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I think we should go to God right now, don’t you?”
She nodded, reluctant to leave the haven of his embrace.
Holding her hands in his, he pressed the side of his face against hers. His breath felt soft, warm, and comforting against her ear as he whispered a prayer for Patsey and her baby’s safety.
❧
The sound of an infant’s lusty cries caused them to spring apart. Jumping up, they ran to the bottom of the stairs.
After a few breathless moments, Dr. Morgan came to the second-story landing at the top of the stairway, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. “It’s a boy,” he announced, grinning. “He’s a bit small, but by the sound of him, there’s nothing wrong with his lungs. Patsey’s exhausted but doing well,” the doctor said before returning to Patsey’s room.
“Thank You, Jesus!” Jacob shouted his prayer of thanks.
“Yes, Jesus, th
ank You! Thank You!” Rosaleen echoed, wiping the tears from her face. She felt weak as the tension drained away from her body.
Jacob and Rosaleen fell into each other’s arms, their mutual relief gushing out in joyful laughter. When Rosaleen pushed away, Jacob gazed into her eyes. His smile faded as he whispered her name. Suddenly his eyes closed and his arms tightened around her, his mouth capturing hers.
Returning his caresses, Rosaleen floated for a glorious moment in the fantasy of her beautiful dream before reality gripped her. No! I mustn’t do this. Not until Jacob makes his intentions clear. Not until he asks me to stay.
Shaken, she pulled away from him and fled upstairs.
After Dr. Morgan left, Rosaleen tidied up Patsey’s room, glad to have something to take her mind off the kiss she’d shared with Jacob.
Opal washed the newborn infant then swaddled him in a soft cotton towel.
“He is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Rosaleen said, tensing as Opal placed the tiny, squirming infant in her arms. “I’ve never held a baby, let alone a newborn baby.”
“You’re doin’ fine. Just support his head,” Opal instructed with a smile.
“We’ve decided to call him Adam, since he’s our first,” Patsey said, grinning from her bed. “Andrew couldn’t wait to git over to Georgetown to crow about him.”
“I should think so, with a fine son like little Adam here.” Rosaleen carefully deposited the mewling baby in the crook of his mother’s arm.
Offering to start supper while Opal tended to the new mother and baby, Rosaleen descended the stairs. Jacob was nowhere in sight, and she was glad. Her heart still quaked from their impulsive kiss.
As she neared the bottom step, three quick raps sounded at the front door. She answered the door and blinked in surprise to find Sophie Schuler’s beaming countenance.
“I’m afraid Jacob is not here,” Rosaleen said, managing a weak smile.
“It’s not Jacob I want to talk to. It’s you.”
“Me?” What business could Sophie have with her? The answer came as swiftly and unexpectedly as a stiletto through the heart.
Sweet Forever Page 13
