Love's Silver Lining

by Julie Lessman

  Avoiding her gaze, he took a quick swig of his coffee, hand shaking as he set it back down. “I …” He peered up beneath heavy lids, hands gripped to his mug while he tried to find the right words to say how proud of her he was. “I can’t tell you how I admire you for bettering your circumstances like this, Rachel, aspiring to something so noble.”

  The blush deepened on her face. “Thank you, Blaze, but all the credit goes to Maggie because she literally changed my life.”

  His headache kicked up a notch as he stabbed at his eggs with his fork. Yeah, mine too.

  Just not for the better.

  “Not only did she arrange for room and board at Miss Cleary’s” —she averted her gaze while she picked at her nails—“but she gave me spiritual counsel that saved both my life and my soul, keeping me from making a tragic mistake.”

  “You mean like marrying me?” he said with a harsh laugh, avoiding her gaze while he shoveled food in his mouth.

  “No, because you never would have married me, Blaze,” she said softly, “and we both know it. But I cared about you so much that it was getting to the point where marriage didn’t matter anymore because I just wanted to give you my love.”

  He paused over his plate, eyelids sagging shut at how close he’d come to stealing her virtue and possibly ruining her life.

  God help me.

  He froze, an eerie feeling purling through him that God had done just that.

  “So, no matter how much I thought I loved you,” she continued, “Maggie saved both of us from a horrible mistake because she taught me that love without commitment really isn’t love at all.”

  His Adam’s apple jogged in his throat as he just stared at his half-eaten eggs. Shame twisted his gut over how selfish he’d been, committing to himself rather than to Maggie—the woman he vehemently claimed to love.

  God, forgive me.

  “Blaze.” He startled at the touch of Rachel’s hand, his appetite for food suddenly as dead as his relationship with the one woman he longed for. “I know you love Maggie, and I know she loves you because she and I spent a lot of time together during her lunch hour, studying Scripture.” She paused to give his hand a light squeeze. “And when we prayed, you were always at the top of her list, begging God to set you free from the pain of your past.”

  His eyelids sank closed once again, Rachel’s words piercing his heart as emotion stung in his nose.

  “And I know He will, Blaze, because that’s what He did for me—through Maggie.” He heard her shift in the booth as if to get comfortable, finally folding her hands on the table once again. “To be honest, I didn’t think it was possible to be set free—at least not for someone like me, a woman with a past, chained to a present that all but guaranteed a lifetime of imprisonment.” A soft sigh escaped her lips as she settled back in the booth. “But Maggie taught me that with God, not only are all things possible, but that Jesus came to set the captives free, Blaze. And it doesn’t matter a whit if that’s the captivity of a saloon girl destined to spend her days plying liquor …” She hesitated ever so briefly, as if concerned her words might offend. “Or the captivity of one’s mind, where bitterness enslaves one’s life as surely as it enslaves one’s soul, robbing them of the journey—and the blessings—that God intended.”

  The blessings God intended. Blaze swallowed the emotion clogging his throat.

  Like Maggie.

  “You see, Blaze, through Maggie and God’s Word, I learned that sin—be it bitterness, anger, unforgiveness, whatever—is a detour that never gets you to the right destination. My father believed in God, but that didn’t stop him from beating me, using me, or branding me as a soiled dove”—her voice faltered the slightest bit—“when it was Pa himself who soiled me.”

  Blaze’s head shot up, shock flaring his gaze. “You don’t mean—”

  Water welled as she nodded, lifting her apron to dab at her eyes. “I left after I miscarried his baby,” she whispered, “finally begging Uncle Clyde for a job when no one would even speak to me for miles around.”

  “Oh, Rachel …” Blaze reached to gently touch her hand, the nausea thick in his throat having nothing to do with the liquor he’d consumed. “I … never knew, darlin’, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am …”

  “Me too, Blaze.” She sniffed, and he immediately handed her his napkin, which she promptly blotted to her face. “Thankyou.” She expelled a heavy sigh. “So, when Uncle Clyde gave me a job, I thought I would finally be free, no longer controlled by a so-called God-fearing father. Only I ended up being controlled by something far worse. Held captive by something that darkened my soul as well as my life.”

  “And what’s that, darlin’?” Blaze stared, suddenly deprived of all air.

  She looked up then, and he had a sense that the grief in her eyes was as much for him as for herself. “Sin,” she whispered, the soft touch of her fingers burning his hand along with his conscience. “I think you know as well as I do, Blaze, that when it comes to control, there’s no harsher taskmaster than sin, and no darker prison for the soul. I didn’t want to forgive my father, much as I imagine you don’t want to forgive your parents for abandoning you like they did. But true freedom lies in a clean heart, my friend, and a clean heart lies in the hand of God, where blessings abound and light illuminates one’s soul.”

  She gave his hand a light squeeze before settling back in her seat once again, the truth of her words breeching his long-held defenses. “I know you’re hurting right now, so please—let me help you like Maggie helped me. Let me teach you how to let the hurt of your past go like she taught me—through forgiveness and prayer. We’re slow right now, and Hattie told me to take all the time that I need, so we can drink coffee and talk all night if you want.” She gave him a tender smile, the love and compassion in her face dismantling any denial he might have. “Because I know in my heart, Blaze, that God aches to not only show you how much He cares … but how much He longs to set you free.”

  A muscle convulsed in his throat while he pushed his plate away, his throat too swollen with emotion to utter a single word as he gave a silent nod.

  He just did.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  “It is never too late to try what we may do.” The words of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton rang through the crowded parlour of noted suffragist Dr. Clemence Lozier with all the authority and assurance of the woman herself.

  But for the first time in her life, Libby wasn’t in agreement with her esteemed mentor and champion of women’s rights. Never too late. She nodded politely on the outside along with the others, but inside her heart was breaking.

  Because sometimes it is.

  Speaking in honor of her seventieth birthday celebration hosted by Dr. Lozier, Mrs. Stanton continued addressing some fifty women in the room, her face aglow with a passion that truly belied her seventy years. “But if our senses are not so keen as in youth, our spiritual eyes behold the unfolding of many glories we never saw before …”

  Libby swallowed hard, reflecting on the “glories” she’d never truly seen before.

  The joy of Finn’s company.

  The strength of his character.

  The thrill of his affection.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted her peppermint tea to her lips to savor both it and Mrs. Stanton’s words, but the only thing she heard were Finn’s words the night she turned him away.

  No, Libby, a real man would stand up to a woman who’s wrong.”

  A woman who’s wrong. The tea trickled past the emotion that clotted in her throat.

  Just like she was for Finn.

  Wrong because she couldn’t control her temper. Wrong because she couldn’t trust him. And wrong because she would only continue to hurt him over and over again.

  “My home is in New York, and there will be no ‘later.’”

  “And so, in summation, let me just say … we see visions and dream dreams of celestial harmony and happiness of the complete fulfillment of all our earth-born plans and p
urposes, begun in youth, in doubt and weakness, but finished at last in faith and victory.”

  Faith and victory.

  Libby rose to applaud with Maggie and the others, but her heart constricted when she realized that she had neither. Not the strong, stalwart faith of Finn, Maggie, or Mrs. Poppy, nor the victory that very faith had brought into their lives. Victory where, unlike her, they’d chosen God’s way instead of their own. Her eyelids flickered shut as reality struck hard.

  Such as Finn’s patience when she’d challenged his temper.

  Or Maggie’s willingness to forgive both her stepfather and Blaze.

  Or even sweet Mrs. Poppy, always full of joy despite the early loss of her husband.

  Libby slowly sank into her chair while all the others rushed to speak with Mrs. Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, two heroes in their midst who sought to better the lives of women.

  But today, there was only one hero Libby wanted to speak to, one woman who had already bettered Libby’s life as goddaughter and niece, and now the best friend she’d ever had.

  “Oh my, wasn’t that wonderful, Aunt Libby?” Maggie reclaimed her seat with a contented sigh, reaching to give Libby’s hand a quick squeeze.

  Libby’s lips twitched as she angled a brow, offering a smile that helped chase some of her melancholy away.

  Maggie grinned. “I mean … wasn’t that wonderful, Libby?” she said again, obviously having trouble dropping the formality as Libby had requested on the train.

  “Yes, but I must admit”—Libby sagged back into her seat with a withering sigh far less content than Maggie’s—“I’m not sure I completely agree with Mrs. Stanton that it’s ‘never too late to try what we may do.’”

  Her gaze trailed off into a sober stare as she thought about her propensity to always choose her own will over that of those whom she loved. Her parents, Maggie’s mother, Finn, Finn’s family, and even Maggie at times—and she doubted that at the ripe, old age of thirty-nine, she could ever hope to change.

  “Ah, but God’s mercies are new every morning …” Maggie said softly, her whisper surrounding Libby like a hug, “and great is His faithfulness. Which means, Libby, it’s never too late to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing …” Libby repeated, a quiver of despair threading her tone, “if one can actually do it. But what if one can’t?” She searched Maggie’s face for an answer she’d never been able to find on her own.

  Maggie grasped her hand. “But that’s just it, Libby—you can because ‘you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you’!” She leaned in, her tender smile glazed with moisture. “Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.”

  The good and acceptable and perfect will of God. Tears stung the back of Libby’s eyes.

  If only …

  “What are you afraid of, Libby?” Maggie whispered.

  A muscle convulsed in Libby’s throat as she fought to keep the saltwater at bay, grateful their seats were in the back row of the room where no one could hear. She bolstered her courage with a deep swell of air, ashamed to admit that her own godchild had more faith than her.

  “You know, Maggie,” she whispered, “your mother was the most loving and patient friend I ever had.” She patted Maggie’s leg with a misty smile. “Until you.” She turned to face her goddaughter, gratitude flooding that Maggie—like her mother—loved Libby just as she was.

  Like Finn, she suddenly realized, and a lonely ache splintered her heart.

  And God?

  “Your mother would always say, ‘Libby, God is just waiting for you to get out of your own way.’” A tiny smile flickered on her lips as a memory surfaced that pricked at the back of her lids. “Whenever she and I went on an outing, Alfred would drive us in the carriage, of course, and it drove your mother to distraction that I always insisted on sitting up front with her driver. ‘Why can’t you just sit back here and relax with me?’ she would say, but somehow I just couldn’t.”

  The smile faded on Libby’s lips as her gaze lagged into a faraway stare. “Sitting up front gave me an element of control, I think, where I could see where I was going and make sure Alfred didn’t run off the road. ‘You’ll never get where God wants you to go, Libby,’ she said, ‘unless you sit in the back seat.’”

  Libby smiled and dashed a hand to her eyes. “But, of course, I never did.” She expelled a heavy sigh while she patted Maggie’s hand. “You asked what I’m afraid of, Maggie.” Her smile was sad. “I’m afraid to trust men.”

  “What men?” Maggie stared, the innocence of her eyes comforting Libby somewhat that this sweet girl would never have to experience what Libby had.

  Libby sat back, arms folded to her waist in protective mode, feeling even now, the fury of what a powerful man had done to her. “All men,” she whispered, knowing it wasn’t fair, but she didn’t know how to change. It was as if her heart had been stunted from the point of impact, and there was no way to heal the damage. “Including my father, Finn, and even …” She closed her eyes, not wanting to say it out loud for fear she would lose her soul.

  “God?” Maggie whispered.

  There was no way to stop the flow of water, and Libby shot to her feet to go, terrified someone would read her awful secret in the tears on her face.

  Rising along with her, Maggie glanced at the groups of women throughout the room. “Why don’t we step outside for some fresh air?” she said quietly as she grabbed her and Libby’s wraps before leading her toward the front door. Carefully closing it behind them, they both put on their coats before settling into a wide, padded swing on the porch. Maggie offered a tender smile. “That way no one can see us except the One who can see the pain in our souls.”

  The pain in our souls. Begun years ago for Libby, courtesy of a good friend of her father’s. A man of power and prestige who paved the way for her father’s success.

  And his daughter’s demise.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Libby clutched her arms to her waist, her voice frail when she finally spoke. “He … tried to … rape me,” she whispered, her shallow breathing making her light-headed as she began to tremble. The memory boiled both fear and fury within her that even now, sealed her vow that no man would ever control her again.

  “What?” It was a rasp of shock, uttered from the lips of the most innocent woman Libby knew.

  “Senator Lawton McAllister,” Libby said, the very name causing bile to rise. “He was a friend of my father’s back in New York, who came to visit after we moved to Virginia City.” Her jaw hardened to rock. “But he was no friend to me at the age of fourteen.”

  Maggie stared with saucer eyes that glistened with tears. “He … he defiled you?”

  “He tried, but something happened … so all he defiled was my soul.”

  “Oh, Libby!” Maggie clutched her tightly. “I am so very sorry.”

  Libby laid her head on Maggie’s shoulder, the horrific memory somehow more tolerable with Maggie in her arms. “He was my parent’s guest for the weekend and came to my room in the night. I would have screamed, but he pinned me to the bed with his body and silenced me with his hand while he …” She swallowed hard, the memory of his groping beneath her nightgown thinning her air. “I was completely helpless, Maggie, and he was in complete control, telling me if I screamed or ever told anyone, he’d make sure my father would lose his job and never find another.”

  “Oh, Libby.” Maggie swallowed hard. “How … how did you … stop him?”

  The hardest of smiles curled on Libby’s lips as she remembered the stunned look on his face. “With my dinner,” she said with no little pride, “all over his beard.”

  Maggie gasped, horror hitching in her throat. “You … threw up on him?”

  “Liver and onions, with a side of creamed spinach.”

  Maggie put a hand to her mouth, the tears in her eyes a stark contrast to the bitter twist of Libby�
��s mouth. “Oh, Libby … I am sick to hear this and so very sorry,” she whispered, wrapping Libby in a tight hug.

  “Don’t be.” Libby inhaled deeply, suddenly aware that the horror and hate she’d carried around all these years had lost some teeth in the telling. “I’ve never told this to another soul, so somehow telling you sets me free, Maggie, which means now you really and truly are my deepest and dearest friend.”

  Maggie clasped her hand. “I’m glad.” A shadow flickered across her eyes as she quietly studied Libby for a moment. “But it’s been my experience that true freedom is found in forgiveness.” She paused. “Have you … forgiven him, Libby?”

  “Him?” A chill pebbled Libby’s skin as she sagged back in the swing, wiping the wetness on her face like she wished she could wipe the hate from her soul. “You mean ‘them’?”

  “Them?” Maggie blinked, the shock in her voice underscoring the disbelief in her eyes. “You mean there were more than one?”

  A harsh laugh erupted from Libby’s throat. “Oh, yes, several suitors who made it perfectly clear it wasn’t marriage on their minds. Which is why I stayed as far from men as possible and why I put poor Harold off for over ten years. But it was a lesson learned the hard way, I’m afraid.”

  “How?” Maggie’s voice was soft and low, but the thread of fear in it was loud and clear.

  Libby’s ribcage expanded, her exhale suddenly as wobbly as her limbs. “A man I met my first year teaching at Vassar—the brother of the Dean. His name was Peter, and he was very nice, very handsome, and I was smitten. We shared a love of literature, especially Shakespeare and Mark Twain. After a number of lovely outings, I was halfway in love, or so I thought.”

  Libby involuntarily shivered, more from the tainted memory than the chill of the brisk November air seasoned with wood smoke. “Several months into the relationship, Peter took me out to lunch followed by a lovely buggy ride. Only it wasn’t so lovely when he brought me back to my room at Vassar,” she whispered, swabbing at more tears in her eyes. “I was a corridor teacher, you see—those who lived on and oversaw a particular floor of the dormitories, but it was summer break, so most of the students were gone. Those who stayed behind were out for the afternoon, attending a play with my roommate, Amelia, and other corridor teachers, so the dormitory was fairly empty.”