The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  “So how long do you plan to stay in England? A year?” He swallowed the tightening in his throat. “Or more?”

  The question worked its magic and her gaze found his. “Oh, a year at the very least. There’s no knowing how long it will take to establish the orphanage.”

  Sam sighed into step. “I can’t imagine walking to the house next door and not seeing you. And there’s the fact that Dad loves you like a daughter.”

  An authentic glow lit her eyes. “Your father is a wonderful man -- and since you’ve made such a valiant choice of escorting me across the Atlantic, you’re forced to do with my company a bit longer. Scott will be thrilled to see you. You’re like the mischievous older brother he’s always wanted.”

  Sam laughed and led Ashleigh to their table, sending the room an appreciative look with his craftsman’s eye. The rose painted dome of the Dining Saloon, framed by golden arches, rose above them filtering sunlight through scenes of stained glass. Their table hugged the railing of the central well, where they could look down at the lower level of the Saloon. Sam never grew tired of cataloguing each feature in his memory. Ideas for future furniture spurned from the carvings among white plaster and carved mahogany. It was a masterpiece of fine workmanship, and something Sam was certain he wouldn’t have seen in third class.

  Tinkling glass and tings of silver mingled with the murmur of people around them. First class travel. He shifted in his swiveling dining chair. What could a furniture maker’s son know about traveling with film stars and playwrights?

  His spine straightened like the back of a chair, along with every muscle in his body. He was not meant for a life like this on a regular basis. It was exhausting. Would Catherine expect it?

  “Will there be a lot of house parties in England?” Sam tried not to wince.

  “Catherine has always maintained an active social life, Sam, even in Millington.”

  Sam’s nod came slow. “Dinners at the café and local dances sound a lot different than house parties.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m not much of a socialite, you know.”

  Ashleigh moved her hand to touch his in her usual comforting manner, but then she stopped. Her fingers curled back toward her and she finally drew them into her lap.

  Odd. He’d gotten used to her natural displays of affection. Why the sudden change? Was this about Michael too?

  “Dear Sam, you are a gentleman where it counts the most.”

  “You’ll have to show me the ropes on Thursday evening at the Talent Show.” He raised a challenging brow. “Give me some hints on how to be polished and civilized.”

  She caught her laugh. “A challenge, I see. Well I’m no expert at them, either.”

  “That’s right, I think you ended up hiding away in the library during Catherine’s dances.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but couldn’t stop her smile. “Halfway through the night I usually ended up with company, if I recall.”

  “Ah yes, it’s where I beat you in chess.”

  Her brow tilted. “Where I taught you how to beat me in chess.”

  “But the truth still remains, that I beat you.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  Sam relaxed in his chair, warmed by the playful glint in Ashleigh’s gaze. A true sister couldn’t have been any better. She fit so well into his heart. It was like she’d always belonged there. His thoughts flinched on the word ‘sister’ and his chest tightened with an unnamed feeling, deep and low. As he responded to Ashleigh’s familiar smile, it swelled just beyond recognition. She was beautiful.

  His thoughts rammed to a stop. Why hadn’t he noticed until now? He pulled at his collar and looked down at his plate without seeing it. Of course, she was beautiful. He’d always thought she was a pretty girl. He glanced back across the table. Nope, neither of those words fit the woman sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure how to handle the tightening around his heart. Whether it was from Catherine’s long absence, her refusal of him, or the braided pain he shared with Ashleigh, his relationship with her suddenly shifted into unknown planes. And wherever it was going…his heart didn’t seem to mind the detour one bit.

  Two more days of travel and they would arrive in Liverpool -- a notion which gave Ashleigh both relief and pain. The constant pull of her affections with Sam’s presence warred with the truth of her past, but she craved his closeness. His friendship. As they sat for dinner, their conversation flowing with the freedom she wouldn’t experience with her sister present. Hope wavered out of reach. Perhaps having him as a brother-in-law would be better than nothing at all.

  If she kept repeating the thought like a mantra, it might make it all the way to her broken heart.

  “Is your fish okay?” Sam whispered.

  The concern in his sunrise blue eyes pulled her from her worries like a drowning man from the sea. Three more days and a train ride – then she could disappear into Catherine’s shadow and tend her wounds, free to distance her heart from an impossible romance.

  “Yes, exquisite. Yours?”

  He winked and her mantra disappeared in the drumming of her heartbeat. He used his fork to point to his plate. “I’ll have to admit first class is worth the food, but nothing can beat the company.”

  A flutter danced through her chest and knocked off the residual chill. What had Catherine ever done to deserve him? Nothing. Barely written him, and the letters she had written were paltry in comparison to his lovely messages. And now?

  The air thickened, like breathing the steam above a boiling kettle. She jerked her gaze from his to break the spell, the cool sea breeze from the open porthole a welcome balm for her cheeks. Catherine’s interests waxed and waned with her moods, an obvious juxtaposition to Sam’s consistency.

  Her history left a trail of broken hearts. Ashleigh’s gaze flickered back to Sam’s. But if Catherine did prove to be as fickle as her past, would Sam allow Ashleigh to help him heal through his heartbreak? Could he ever look at her the way she’d seen him look at her sister? Not with her secret.

  “No matter how many times we dine in this three level Saloon, I still feel like a fish out of water.” Sam laughed and shook his head. “I can’t get those clichés out of my head.”

  Ashleigh followed Sam’s gaze to the rose painted dome two-levels above them. Sunlight filtered through its frosted glass and haloed the gold and white decorations centering each table.

  “Well, with a head like yours…”

  “Sarcasm again, Miss Dougall? What have I created?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and donned his most fatherly expression. His mock frown eased into a smile. “I kind of like it.”

  “Miss Dougall?” A steward, trimmed navy suit in perfect form, lowered a silver tray to the table. “Pardon me, but you received a telegram.”

  Ashleigh released her held breath and retrieved the envelope from the tray. Controlling her natural impulses to touch him proved harder than expected, but it was necessary. She couldn’t continue to feed the impossible hope of a future with Sam. Not now. Add to it the underlying tension of their safety aboard the Lusitania and her emotions teetered too close to the edge. And then there were whispers of munitions aboard?

  “Thank you.” She focused on the paper in hand and read it aloud, thankful her voice worked at all. “Contact me when arrive. Safe trip. Jess.”

  “Jessica Ross? Your friend from nursing school?” Sam added another serving of ham to his fork. “Is she still fighting for the rights of women around the world?”

  Ashleigh tweaked a brow at his sarcasm. “She’s certainly fighting, but more for the lives of British soldiers at present. Give her opportunity, though, and she’ll throw herself in front of carriages and motor cars again in no time.”

  “She’s at the Front?”

  “She took advantage of her father’s connections as the war started.” Ashleigh smoothed her hand across the telegraph paper. “I think her primary goal now is to recruit more nurses. Evidently, there is dire need.”

  Sam’s gaze
shot up from his plate. “You’re not considering it, are you?”

  Oh dear, she’d opened a kettle of fish. Best to play ignorant. “Considering what?”

  “Ashleigh.” He lowered his cutlery until his hands pressed against the table, his lips set. Warning in his tone. Obviously, he was not fooled. “You’re not going into that war.”

  Ashleigh took her time answering, slicing at her potatoes to avoid his gaze. Michael’s face surfaced in her thoughts, followed by her father’s – both forcing her to conform to their demands. Her jaw tightened. Sam would not be the next one.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going anywhere until I’ve fulfilled my commitment to Dr. Ross for—”

  “Ashleigh.” He breathed her name on a growl.

  She steadied her expression before lifting her face to him, annoyance rising to a boil within her.

  “You don’t belong at the front lines. It’s hard enough for men to see the—“

  “Must I continually repeat myself?” She kept her voice controlled, even consolatory, though stomping his foot would have been more gratifying. “I am quite capable of making my own—”

  “It’s not only about the danger, Ashleigh. It’s about the pain of watching people suffer or seeing a human stoop to the lowest level of morality. You’ve never had to deal with things like…”

  “Haven’t I?” The whisper took on more volume than she’d planned and heat bolted from her stomach to her face. If he only knew. “Lest you forget, I have worked as a nurse for two years and as far as the ill effects of man’s decadence, I am keenly aware—”

  “I know what happened with Michael hurt you, but when it comes to the depravity of human nature in war?” He tossed his napkin on the table and sat back. “You and every other woman—”

  “And traveling toward war-torn waters isn’t meant for women either? What will you do about that one, Sam? Turn the entire ship about?”

  “You don’t understand. War is the province of men, not—”

  “That is enough.” Each bone in her body trembled to move, attack, something. How dare he presume she was as weak-willed and pampered as her sister? “Don’t you think every mourning widow or fatherless child is as much a part of this war as the soldiers?” She drew in a deep breath. “We will not agree on this point. Let us divert our conversation to something safer, shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s talk about safety.” His fingers chopped the table, causing tiny waves in the water glasses. “I love your kind heart. It’s one of the most beautiful things about you, but your compassion always gets you into trouble. Going to the front lines is as safe as jumping off this ship. You can’t save everyone, A—”

  “I would rather take risks on something as noble as compassion then allow fear to stifle my life and anyone else’s I might influence. If this war lasts two years, maybe three, my brother could enlist. If America joins, then you?” She pushed herself away from the table and tried to keep her voice down. “God forbid that one of you should be injured and there isn’t a nurse willing to risk her hat pin to help you.”

  “Calm down, Ashleigh. You know that’s not what—”

  “And what did you mean?” She crossed her arms and waited. Should she dare hope he might impress her with a logical reason? She would never be more than a child to him, and she was full up of men pushing her about like a pawn on a chessboard.

  Sam leaned forward, elbows propped against the table, fingers threaded through each other and that infernal big brother expression pasted on his face. “You’re not even twenty-three, Ashleigh. There are some things women aren’t supposed to—”

  “Excuse me.” She stood and tossed her serviette onto the table. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.” She lifted her hand as Sam followed her to a stand. “No, please stay. Eat. Fill your mouth with something besides words you’ll regret.”

  She fled from the Saloon, but even in the throes of annoyance a swell of pride surged higher. She’d spoken her mind to Sam – not backed down like a child. Her feet slowed. And she wasn’t afraid of his wrath or retribution. He would never really try to force his will on her. Not Sam. There was a sweet freedom in the thought.

  She barely made it to her stateroom before Sam caught up to her. In one quick motion, he tugged her into his arms. His warmth spread through her, shocking her anger and body completely still.

  “I’m sorry, little girl.” His breath fanned the top of her head where his chin rested. “I just want you to be safe.”

  She closed her eyes and soaked in the moment. Perfect. His embrace filled empty spaces in her heart no one else had ever touched. And this was what she could never have. Tears squeezed beneath her eyelids. His lemon scent made sour so sweet.

  No! She hardened her thoughts against them and stepped out of the haven of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her escape. His hands cupped her shoulders, his face close and oh so tender.

  “I don’t like the idea of you putting your life in danger.” His expression softened to a smile. “But you’re right, there’s no one else on this Earth who’d take better care of the wounded than you.”

  The tension seeped from her body and loosened her hold on her tears.

  Sam’s thumb moved to sweep one from her cheek and a glimmer of something alive and beautiful passed between them. It registered in his eyes. Attraction? From him? It couldn’t be.

  She fluttered back from his touch, stung by the painful irony. “I forgive your mule-headedness, this time.”

  He blinked from his trance, brow crinkled in confusion. “Yes, um...” He tilted his head and examined her face again. “Well, with my track record I’m sure there will be more opportunities for your forgiveness.”

  It was only a flicker of attraction. Nothing more. Easily doused with time, and…Catherine. “I’m certain it will take all of your stubbornness to match my sister’s, as you well know.”

  The intensity of his stare continued. He gestured with his chin toward the hall. “Come back to the Dining Saloon and eat.” His brows gave a playful wiggle. Her stomach squeezed tight. “I promise to play nice.”

  “Thank you, but I think I should like to retire for a while.”

  “I’m sorry, Ash.” He stepped forward, palm trailing down her arm and leaving a tingle. “You know I mean well, even when I’m bossy.”

  The gentleness in his eyes deepened the wound. She waved him away. “Go on. Finish your meal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He paused, watching her a little longer. His smile inched broad. “Fine. I’ll let you get away with hiding for now, but I’d better see you then.”

  Ashleigh slid into her stateroom and sighed onto the bed, fresh tears marking warm trails down her cheeks. How could she keep pretending with Sam Miller in her life? Her natural regard for him made conversation easy, but nothing prepared her heart for his touch. How could she continue the charade? How could she cool the lightning attraction blazing through her? She picked up her grandmother’s letter again, seeking the closest tangible piece of her possible. Could she provide hope? Insight? Strength to make it to Edensbury?

  Dearest granddaughter,

  Many people face heartbreak throughout their lives. Some fall under the weight of their sorrow, some harden like stone, and others blossom from it, as lovely as a winter rosebush in bloom. Trials are a part of life, and pain with those trials. It grieves me to see you face so many within your young life. How you choose to heal from these wounds will determine what will become of the woman inside of you.

  We are not promised an easy journey. A world filled with broken people will only produce broken hearts in one way or another, but God lives inside of you – the mender of broken things. He has guided you throughout your life, and he holds you even now.

  God lived inside of her? Then where was He? Hadn’t He seen what was happening?

  You may not feel his presence, but deep in the most hidden places of your heart, He is with you. The still small voice of love and comfort. You are His and He has a specific plan fo
r your life.

  Evidently the plan didn’t involve a husband and children. What man would want her? Ashleigh glanced in the mirror. Her pale face and hollowed eyes bore little resemblance to a child of God. If she could look inside her heart, she’d see even less of a reflection. She didn’t even want to talk to Him. What possible plan could God want with her filthy heart or stained life?

  God has given you the unique talent to hear and heal people. Few are called to such an intimate selflessness, but God chose you for it. Take the gifts you have, the life within your breast, and use it to bring hope to others. When you hurt, do not hold it close to your heart, clenching it so tightly you cannot see anything but your own pain – reach out. In helping others, you will find healing for your own heart.

  A prayer almost formed on her lips, but she snapped her mouth closed. She didn’t need Him – and He didn’t love her. In only a few more days, she could disappear back into a life of nursing and hope her grandmother’s words rang true.

  Chapter Six

  Sam stood at the entrance of the Saloon Lounge and pulled at his uncomfortable cravat. Why did sacrifice have to come wrapped in a tuxedo? He leaned against the wall and watched the entourage of glitz and glamour pour past him into the immaculate room.

  The sweet scent of wine mingled with the trill of laughter and drew his attention inside the Lounge. Sam’s craftsman’s eye took in the Georgian style architecture surrounding jade green carpet. Dark mahogany framed the softly lit room, encasing the walls from entryway to the green marble fireplaces at each end, which must have stood 12 to 14 feet. It was beyond anything he’d ever seen, a masterpiece of woodwork and color, topped with a vaulted skylight of stained glass depicting the months of the year. Unbelievable.

  His father wouldn’t be able to view the rich colors from Sam’s photographs, but at least he could appreciate the workmanship shown in the black-and-whites.

  Millionaires and film stars? Musicians and businessmen?

  His photography and his father’s furniture business had given him a secure and comfortable life, but nothing in his little mountain home came close to this. It was a spectacle of wealth. A vision of the perfect life?