He’d frightened her. “I’m sorry, Viola. I should have thought about— The door was open.” Thomas stared at Viola’s pale face, cursed himself for a clumsy fool, startling her that way. “May I come in?”
She shook her head, made a helpless little pushing motion with her hand. “Please leave.”
He dropped his gaze to the carpetbag at her feet, felt his heart drop to its level. “You’re leaving?”
“I feel under the circumstances it is best for everyone if I do. I’m sure you agree.” Her shoulders inched back, her chin lifted, but the tiny tremble of her lips gave her away.
“No. I don’t.” He took a breath, turned and closed the door to keep from taking her into his arms and begging her to stay. Please, Lord, don’t let it be too late. Give me the right words.
“I asked you to leave. I have a ferry to catch.”
Her voice was cool, controlled. The way it was when he’d first met her. Except that hint of a quiver hadn’t been there then. He grabbed hold of it as a good omen, shook his head. “I asked Hattie to give us some time, Viola. And I am not going anywhere…and neither are you…until we talk.”
She stiffened. “Very well, though I don’t see what there is left to say.”
“How about…I’m sorry.” He jammed his hands into his suit coat pockets to keep from reaching for her, and stepped forward. “That night when Dangler was here…I was hurt that you hadn’t trusted me or my position enough to tell me about your past. I knew there was something frightening you, and—”
“It was my past. And I was foolish enough to think that it had no bearing on who I am. That I could be free of it and live a clean, ‘normal’ life.” Her voice caught, she jerked her head up a notch. “That’s why I told no one. But I’ve learned that my sinful past will always be with me, and that the stain that covers me will spread to those I allow close and do harm to anyone I love.”
“Viola—”
“No, Thomas.” She blinked her eyes, swallowed hard. “There’s nothing more to be said. You cannot deny the damage I have done to the people and town of Treasure Creek. I saw the way they chose sides for and against me at church. Friends against best friends, Thomas! And I did that! Simply by being who I am—”
“Was.”
She stopped, stared at him, sucked in a deep breath and shook her head.
“You walked out of church before you heard the end of my message, Viola.”
“The one about the adulterous woman?”
The hurt in her voice lanced his heart. “Yes.”
“I don’t care to hear more.” She wrapped her arms about herself, turned her back.
He reached for her, drew his arms back and jammed his hands back into his pockets. Her hurt was too great, the pain too deep for him to declare his love. She would never believe him. He would have to be patient, let the Lord heal her heart before he asked her to let him in. Lord, help me to be patient. Give me the words, Lord!
He fastened his gaze on her ramrod-straight back. “Under the law, the punishment for adultery was death by stoning.” A shudder made her shoulders shake. He hurried on.
“That is what the pharisees, scribes and those in the crowd around them expected. A harsh rendering of judgment and a swift execution of the sentence. You see, they didn’t know the One to Whom they had brought the woman. They knew the law. But Jesus knew their hearts. He stooped down and wrote something on the ground with His finger. There is no way of knowing what He wrote. But I believe it was the Ten Commandments. And when they asked Him about the woman, and He again wrote something on the ground, I believe it was the words, ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’
“When they pressed Him for His judgment on the woman He straightened and said, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’” Conviction rang in the words. “He knew there was no one there without sin. Except Him. The pharisees, in the darkness of their ignorance, had brought the woman to the One True Judge.”
He clenched his hands to keep from grabbing her and forcing her to face him. “Every person standing there in judgment of that adulterous woman had to examine their own hearts. And one by one they walked away, convicted of their own sin. Until there was only the woman and the sinless one.” God, let her hear. “He asked her, ‘Woman, where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee?’ And when she replied, ‘No man, Lord.’ Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more.’ He acknowledged her sin and forgave her. The Lord, merciful and mighty, made her clean and set her free. And He has done the same for you. You were right, Viola. Your past is over and forgotten. It has no bearing on who you are. You are clean, Viola.”
He looked at her bowed head, her trembling hands covering her face, her shaking shoulders, and hated himself for contributing to her hurt. “That is the message I preached this morning, Viola. A message to remind every person in church this morning, including myself, that we have all sinned before God. That we all stand in need of God’s mercy, forgiveness and love. A message every person in the church needed to hear. A message I needed to hear. I allowed my hurt and my pride to overrule mercy and love and sat in judgment on you without knowledge—”
“Then you shall know now.”
She wiped the tears from her face and turned. The look in her eyes silenced his protest. He did not need to hear the story. But she needed to tell him.
“I was fourteen when my parents moved to Seattle. My father had purchased a business and a home for us. Three weeks later, my parents were killed in a carriage accident. And three days later, on my fifteenth birthday, the banker foreclosed on the house. I was set out onto the streets of Seattle with what necessities I could carry in my mother’s carpetbag.”
He followed her glance down to the worn carpetbag, knew it was again packed with her necessities. His heart clutched.
“I knew no one in Seattle. I was alone and afraid.” She shivered, wrapped her arms about herself. “Dengler found me crying on a park bench. He said I reminded him of his dead daughter and told me it would please him if I would stay in her room and let him provide for me until I could find a means of earning my own way. It was all a lie, of course. But I believed him.”
I believed him. Three small words that said so much. Thomas clenched his hands, fought the outrage that gripped him for the innocent, young girl Viola was then.
“A month later he presented me with a bill for my room and board. I had no way to pay it. He said he was sorry, but I would have to leave, as he could not go on providing for me without recompense. And then he offered to ‘let’ me earn the money to pay my bill and for my keep by working in his ‘house.’ I had no one to turn to for help. No place to go. And he knew it. I…accepted.” A shudder shook her. “I had no idea…”
She straightened, ran her hand along the top of the settle. “I ran away. Twice.” Her hand lifted, massaged the scar on her other hand. “The second beating was so bad I didn’t try again. Until one Sunday about four months ago, when another carriage accident happened.”
She glanced at him, turned away again. “Some of the other girls and I went for a stroll every Sunday, and that accident forced us to alter our usual path. We went by a church and heard those inside singing a hymn. It stirred something in me. When I got back to my room I dug my mother’s carpetbag out of the back of a closet and took out my mother’s Bible. It fell open. There was an underlined verse on the page. This verse….”
She stopped before the sampler on the wall, touched the last words, “With God, all things are possible.”
“My desire to leave my life of degradation and shame rose again, stronger than ever. But I had no money to pay for my escape. And no way to earn a living other than…what I had learned. I asked God to help me. And the thought came—I could become a seamstress. I did all the mending and made new gowns for the other…girls. But where could I go and be safe from Dengler’s reach? And then the customers started talking about the gold fields and laughing about a God-centered town named T
reasure Creek that allowed no gambling or bawdy houses. A town they swore they would never visit.”
He thought of Dengler and Dolph, of the scar on her hand. How brave she was to try to escape a third time. “How did you get away?”
She smiled. A wonderful, beautiful smile that made his throat tighten and his pulse pound.
“I asked for permission to go to church.” The smile died. She dropped her gaze to her hands. “Dengler agreed, as long as Dolph or Karl escorted me there, then returned after the service and walked me back to the house. He knew the church members would have no part of me. He was right.
“I sewed myself a modest waist and skirt, of the sort other women wore, and hid it under the skirt of the frilly gown I wore to church, and then waited. I still needed money. One Sunday there was a disturbance in the…selection room. While Dengler and Dolph were subduing the drunken customer, I took enough money to cover the promised back wages I had never received. Dolph walked me to church. I waited in the small lady’s room until the service started and he went away. Then I changed into my new outfit, hid my frilly dress behind a bench, covered my hair with a snood and walked to the docks and bought passage to Treasure Creek.”
Thank You, Lord, for keeping her. And for bringing her safely here.
“Viola—”
She turned and looked at him. He cleared the huskiness from his voice and moved close to her. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Viola. For not living up to the example Jesus set us all. Please forgive me. And please—unpack that carpetbag and give me and Treasure Creek a second chan—”
The door opened, banged against his foot. Hattie stepped inside, jiggled Goldie on her hip and smiled. “You better go put water on for tea, Viola. You got company.”
“I don’t need tea, Hattie. I only want a few minutes of Viola’s time. If she will grant me permission to come in.”
Evelyn? Viola stared, tried hard not to allow her astonishment to show as her neighbor stepped into the doorway.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to see me, Viola. But I hope you will allow me—”
“Of course I will see you, Evelyn. Please come in.” She shook off her shock at Evelyn’s contrite tone and teary eyes and stepped forward. Her toe caught against her packed carpetbag.
Thomas shot out his hand and caught her arm, kept her from falling.
She looked up, met his gaze. Warmth crept into her heart. The icy cold that had seized her began to melt away. His fingers flexed, tightened, released their hold. But not his gaze. His gaze held her prisoner.
“Please think about what I said, Viola. And please stay. Now, I will leave you ladies to your conversation.” He turned, made a polite bow to Hattie and Evelyn and walked out the door.
She wiped her palms on her skirt, got a tight hold on her emotions and looked toward her neighbor. The older woman was staring at the packed cradle and carpet bag, her face pale.
“May God forgive me for my wicked tongue.” Evelyn Harris looked up, tears flowing down her cheeks. “And you, Viola. Please forgive me. I was wrong to sit in judgment on you. And to spread those vicious rumors. Pastor Stone’s sermon showed me that. And then, afterward—” her voice caught on a sob “—when I was through at the altar… Hattie told me your story. Oh, Viola, I am so sorry.” She rushed forward her hands extended in entreaty. “Please don’t leave Treasure Creek. We need women with your integrity and courage. Please stay.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Her heart seemed light. Almost as if it would fly right out of her chest. Viola fastened her nightgown, looked down at Goldie asleep in the cradle that had been carried back into her bedroom where it belonged and whirled around for sheer happiness. She was staying in Treasure Creek!
She still couldn’t believe it. Thomas’s sermon had brought about a wondrous change in the church members. Not all of them, of course. But a good many had mended old rifts. And Evelyn Harris, Beverly Fogel and Elizabeth Dunn had come that very Sunday to apologize and ask forgiveness for gossiping about her. And when they had seen Goldie’s packed cradle and the carpetbag, they had asked her to stay in Treasure Creek. They knew about her past, and they wanted her to stay.
It was so hard for her to believe. She did not have to hold herself aloof for fear of questions about her past. She no longer had to live in fear of one of her old customers spotting her and revealing her past. She had been accepted as she was. She was free! Free, just as Thomas had said.
Thomas… The elation drained away. The one stumbling block to her staying in Treasure Creek was the one who had made it possible for her to stay. There had been something in Thomas’s eyes when he had asked her to stay. Something warm and personal and wonderful. She was accustomed to seeing admiration in men’s eyes. But this had been different. He had made her feel— No. She would not think about her feelings in these moments. Would not see more in them than was there. He had been speaking to her as her pastor. He had asked her to stay and give him a second chance as her pastor. And as a good pastor, he cared about her as one of his flock. To make it more than that was foolishness.
She walked to the living room, added a log to the coals to keep a chill from settling in overnight. Hattie suffered greater discomfort in her joints when it was damp or cold. She glanced up at the sampler, shook her head and walked back to her bedroom to finish preparing for bed.
She knew her dream would not come true. Nor should it. Love, marriage and a family were hopes inappropriate for an ex-prostitute. Especially marriage to a pastor. She gathered her thick, silky curls into a mass at the nape of her neck and reached for a ribbon. Some things were impossible, even for God. And that a fine, upstanding pastor like Thomas could ever love a woman like her, was one of them. And truly, she did not wish it.
She slid the ribbon beneath her other hand and looped it over the mass of hair she clutched. In spite of the kindness being exhibited toward her by the present church members, marriage to her would hurt Thomas’s ministry. And she could not bear that. She would be content with Goldie and Hattie as her family. She formed a bow, tugged it tight. All the same, there had been a moment—before Hattie and the other women had interrupted—a moment when Thomas was looking down into her eyes….
She stepped out of her slippers, climbed into bed and pulled up the covers, looking out the door to watch the flames licking at the log. His look had meant nothing. It was only Thomas’s caring as a man of God. She knew it was only her traitorous heart wanting the foolish, selfish dream that had been born within her, the night she designed Frankie’s wedding dress, to come true. But it gave her something to dream about. And everyone needed a dream.
She turned onto her side, cuddled into her pillow and sighed. “God, thank You for showing me what I should do. And for allowing me to stay in Treasure Creek.”
Thomas splashed off the soap, ran a hand over his face and neck to check for any missed whiskers, then grabbed a towel and dried off. The sun streaming in the open window beside him glinted on the mirror. He leaned over the washstand to better see his reflection, looked into the green eyes peering back at him. Yep. There was a definite scheming look about them. He grinned, swished his razor clean, dried it and laid it on the stand.
Would she like the washbowl and pitcher? Maybe plain white had been a bad choice. He probably should have bought one with flowers, or a vine or something. He frowned, picked up the washbowl and tossed the soapy water out the window. Every furnishing he’d bought so far had been with an eye to the day when he brought Viola Goddard to the parsonage as his bride.
But she sure wasn’t cooperating with his plan. She was a little cool the few times they had run into each other around town. And now that the Lord had set him free from his guilt over Louise’s and Susie’s deaths and provided this home for him, he was having a hard time maintaining his patience. He was as eager as a kid with a first crush to tell her he loved her.
He shook his head, walked into the bedroom and snatched his shirt off the bed. He couldn’t believe how much he
loved her. His wanting her for his wife went clear to his toes and then some. He shrugged into the shirt, buttoned it and tucked it into his pants, eyeing the other folded shirt on the bed. His lips twitched. It had sure been hard to make the sleeve catch on that nail—the one he’d deliberately left sticking out of the fence he was putting around the garden area he’d spaded up in the backyard. If any of his neighbors had been watching, they must have thought he was crazy, leaning against the fence and jerking away a half-dozen times or more while he dug in the same spot.
He chuckled, put on his jacket and picked up the shirt. It would have been easier to just rip the sleeve, but this way he had a true story to tell if Viola asked how the tear happened. He would confess that he had made it happen after they were married.
Married. To Viola. That sounded good!
He stepped out into the short hallway formed by the stairs that climbed to the loft on his left, and the small office on his right. An office. He shook his head, glanced in the door at the desk and chair that crowded the area. The only other piece of furniture was the chest that held his books he had Jimmy Crow bring down from his hut. He grinned. Mack had apologized because the room was so small, but it was larger than the whole of his hut. And a site warmer and drier.
Three strides brought him to the living room. He stopped, looked around. The size of the house was still a shock. Other than those few days he’d spent at Viola’s, recuperating, and then in his room at the boardinghouse, it had been so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to live in a house you could actually walk around in. One with sturdy walls and a solid roof that didn’t drip water on you every time it rained. “Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May this home always be filled with those who love You and are called according to Your purpose.”
He stepped outside onto the porch, looked down the road and smiled. Her cabin was there, at the end of the road. Close, but not close enough. Nothing would be close enough until he had her in his arms. But he had to earn her trust and her love before that could happen. And a few accidental meetings around town weren’t enough to accomplish that. He had to see her, spend time with her, woo her. And he intended to do that no matter how many shirts he had to tear. He tucked the blue cotton excuse for his visit under his arm and started down the road with determination in his every stride.
Gold Rush Baby Page 18
