The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  Ashleigh closed her eyes with a sigh. A boulder of misconceptions forged from years of bitterness rolled from her heart. And a brief wave of relief breathed out along with clarity. Catherine had never been contaminated. Her gaze met her sister’s. Or not in the same way Ashleigh had. Hatred from a lie had twisted her perceptions and robbed them of their sisterhood, but she’d never known the hateful scorch of his lusts. “I wouldn’t wish for our father’s brand of affection if I were you. What he took from me can’t be repaid by any number of gifts or time.”

  “There you go, trying to lessen the blow of his rejection. How could you know what it felt like to have your own father prefer one child over another, and me the eldest?” She pointed her finger. “I’ve tried everything to prove my devotion to this family, sought a connection with one of the richest men of our sphere to save our reputation, even given up my…” Her voice caught, but she snarled through it. “And you try to placate me with an ominous excuse?”

  “Let me explain what Father’s definition of care looked like, then you can decide whether your jealousy and hatred has been worth the cost.” Ashleigh lowered her hands to her sides, gaze unswerving. “Michael didn’t take my virtue. I’ve never given myself to any man. This idea you’ve fashioned about our father? This notion you’ve nursed into a burning hatred is built on a sham.”

  Catherine’s smile coiled to a snarl. “I know what I saw, what I experienced.”

  She had no idea of the nightmare fingering through the shadows of their house, the specter she was about to unearth. Ashleigh’s scars took the form of their father’s physical betrayal, his duplicity a sick fragrance in the air of her childhood, but Catherine held scars too.

  Betrayal scarred Ashleigh. Rejection marked Catherine. Oh, the tangled web her father spun for them all.

  “Let me remind you of what you saw.” Ashleigh’s kept her voice soft, the truth’s pain clear enough without the added harshness of volume. “I was eight. You were eleven. I walked in on you and father in the library right after the dinner meal.”

  The fury in Catherine’s eyes merged with confusion and as the memory awakened, fear paled her face. Her lips shaped into an ‘o’, as if to say something, but no words formed. Her usual verbal fight fled with a sudden rush of air. A swell of compassion drew Ashleigh closer. She knew the memories she’d extracted–memories buried under years of denial and hate. Please, God, let it have only been me.

  “I came into the room and Father had you in a corner.”

  Catherine’s sharp intake of breath paused Ashleigh’s words a moment.

  “I pulled him away from you and asked him to come fix a puzzle Scott had broken. Do you remember?”

  Her wide-eyed horror answered with vivid clarity, she stumbled back onto the bench.

  “As I look back on it now, with years and painful experience as my measure, I recognize his intentions for you, but as an eight-year-old, his hovering against you and his brusque command to leave held no meaning. I simply wanted his help and in asking for it, I took your place of his misplaced and…” Ashleigh shivered. “Horrible passions.”

  “I…I can’t—” Catherine pressed her hand to her stomach and focused on some unseen image ahead of her.

  “It was the same time Father’s financial choices began to shadow our family.” Ashleigh released a long breath, tears gathering a knot in her throat. “Hindsight brings all sorts of clarity. At the time, Mother rejected him, shutting herself away for weeks. And somehow in the middle of his despair he turned to a more base release for his frustrations.”

  “He…he wouldn’t.” Catherine blinked, the battle for understanding, for comprehension of something so depraved a difficulty for anyone, let alone a daughter of her father.

  “His sickness arose in his most desperate time. Isn’t that when our true nature shines? In our greatest helplessness? Father found a child who had no idea what evil she’d uncovered with the simple request for help and attention. What he’d intended for you, he turned onto me.”

  “You have to be lying,” Catherine whispered, her fingers clawing the arm of the chair. “What you are implying…what you are saying…”

  “I know it’s difficult to believe. I wish it wasn’t true. Oh, how I wish it wasn’t true.” Ashleigh lowered to the bench beside her, but Catherine pulled away, a frightened child surfacing into adulthood. Somehow, seeing the shared wounds weaved a fragile bridge of connection with her sister she’d never known. Her false assumptions, her injured heart, stemmed from a lie which evolved into her hatred and even her obsessive need for attention. “Catherine, think about our childhood. How often did you find me weeping? Or hiding? Or seeking places to withdraw from the rest of the family when he was present?”

  She shook her head, lashes fluttering with pinpoints of tears. “You wanted to make Father look for you. It was your way of getting his attention. It can’t be—”

  “My prayer for you...” Ashleigh almost reached to touch Catherine’s arm, but placed her hands in her lap instead. “…for us, is that we’ll see our past for what it truly is. That you will push aside your anger long enough to recognize I’m not your enemy or your competition. I never have been.”

  Catherine stared at her, eyes red-rimmed and haunted. She clutched the top of her blouse in a fist. “How long?” Words squeaked from her. “If this story is true, how long did it last?”

  Ashleigh stood, exhausted from the effort to control her emotions, to defend her actions. “Eight years, until I was old enough to fight him back and win.”

  Catherine gaze distanced into a memory. “The cut on his cheek?”

  Ashleigh nodded, truth burning a painful path from the lines on Catherine’s perfect brow. “I fought him and broke a mirror in my room. With one of the shards—”

  “You stopped him.” Catherine looked up. Her breaths pumped shallow.

  “He never touched me again.”

  Catherine’s expression pearled to vacant. This news redefined her world, her anger, and would take time to process. Maybe months or years. But could God use this horrible mess to restore a long-lost relationship?

  The conversation, an autopsy of her past, left Ashleigh internally beaten and bruised. The newfound sense of God’s presence comforted the ache of Sam’s absence and poured an overshadowing of grace against her undercurrent of pain. Severing him from her life left an internal bleeding of regret and loneliness she’d never imagined, and an ever deeper need for her Heavenly Father than she’d ever known. God, please replace this emptiness with You – and be enough for me…She glanced back at Catherine. And my sister.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “If you walked into the hospital right now not one soldier would recognize you.”

  Ashleigh stood by the doorway with Jessica, her pale green travel dress a direct contrast to their usual gray-blue nurse’s gowns. And her typical white nurse’s cap did little to bring out the jade in her eyes as much as the green, broad-brimmed hat she wore for her train ride to Liverpool.

  Jess grinned and touched the tip of her hat. “Until I open my mouth and set one of them back on the straight and narrow. Then they’ll know exactly who I am.” A frown pulled at her brow. “I hate to leave you here with the bulk of this responsibility. When is Louisa supposed to arrive?”

  “Next week.” Ashleigh refused to ponder Jessica’s absence. On the heels of Sam leaving, the realization nearly broke her heart all over again. “I believe David mentioned Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday it is.” David nodded as he walked up to his sister and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I had to wish safe travels once more.” His normally calm voice held the slightest shake. “I can be home in less than two weeks if necessary.”

  Jessica’s expression firmed with the look in her eyes, strong. “I will send a wire. From the progression so far, I’m expecting three months, perhaps, if God allows.” She cleared her throat. “I’d be perfectly content with a good, old-fashioned miracle too.”

  David’s palm gla
zed Jessica’s shoulder in a gentle sweep, the look on his face conveyed more feeling than Ashleigh had ever witnessed in him. His green eyes focused. A powerful intensity, magnetic and energetic all at once, created a fascinating play on the chiseled lines of his face. His usual serenity fell away in contrast to a potency of emotion equal to Jessica’s unending boasts. Breath stealing.

  “I love you.” He cupped both of her shoulders. “And will pray for you every day.”

  The earnestness in each syllable reverberated to Ashleigh. Underneath his calm demeanor beat a passionate heart. Jessica’s zeal burst out of her on a regular basis in her dry wit and furious work ethic, but David’s simmered beneath the surface, rising when necessary. Would Ashleigh’s faith, her passion, grow to be like theirs?

  He gave Jess’ shoulders a squeeze. “Whether His miracle is of this world or the next, let me know when you need me. I will do all I can.”

  Jessica took his face in her hands, kissing his cheek. “Be careful.”

  David nodded, his expression returning to its usual calm, except for a residual spark in his eyes. “And you.” He turned, passed a gentle smile to Ashleigh, and disappeared into the front room.

  Jess turned a watery gaze on her, smile hitched in pixie-style. “Are you sure you want to spend your time convincing Sam when such an impressive, not to mention handsome, man walks the halls of this hospital as single as a solo?”

  Ashleigh’s smile fought against her heartache, and won. “Tempting, but my heart is holding out for a more stubborn fellow, I’m afraid.”

  Jessica’s brows shot high. “Oh, don’t let David fool you. He’s as stubborn as Grandma Dougall’s posture.” Her wink tickled another grin. “But in matters of the heart, I think you might be the champ.”

  Ashleigh worried her lip. “I’m praying for…a miracle. For you, and me.”

  Jessica angled her head in challenge. “When I arrive in Asheville, do you want me to find him and slap him? I’d gladly oblige.”

  Ashleigh shook her head and laughed. “I think it’s time for me to sort out what God wants for me. If it’s Sam?” She swallowed down a lump of fear. “Then I wouldn’t complain, but he needs to know the truth, and then make his decision free of any reservation.”

  She placed an envelope in Jess’ hand, reluctant to release it.

  Jess raised her brow.

  “If you have opportunity, would you give this to Sam? It…it explains everything.”

  Jessica pulled the envelope free and pointed it at Ashleigh. “It’s the one way to clear all doubt.”

  “Exactly.” Ashleigh threw her arms around her friend’s shoulders and barely stayed her tearful appreciation. “I love you.”

  Jess sighed into the hug. “I can’t promise I won’t try to slap some sense into him too.” She drew back enough to prove her sincerity with a pointed look. “Literally.”

  A few tears spilled over. “If it would work.”

  “If it doesn’t, you don’t need him anyway.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I have a very eligible brother who would make a fantastic alternative.”

  Ashleigh took Jessica back into her arms. “I am going to miss you beyond words. You can never know how much I love you.”

  “Oh yes, I can.” Jess hugged back. “The next time I really need you, I’ll find out.”

  Sam’s conscience ate a hole into his well-coaxed anger all the way across the Atlantic. Lies by omission were just as wrong as deception, right? Ashleigh’s deceit was as contemptible as his mother’s or Catherine’s, wasn’t it? Memories from his time with Ashleigh aboard the Lusitania resurfaced and plunged him into more doubt. She’d loved him, hadn’t she? He’d known no greater friend, not even in Michael. Every selfless act she’d offered, every tender word? She’d attempted to keep him at bay, he’d seen it.

  What could it all mean? How could he move forward with the knowledge of her intimacy with Michael?

  He groaned, tired of sleepless nights, tossing between prayers and anger. And sun-soaked days aboard the Saxonia filled with Scott’s clear admiration of his sister. He didn’t want to hear about Ashleigh’s virtues. He wanted to let the anger seethe and harden against the pain knifing through his chest at her absence.

  And then there was guilt. He should have gone back to her. Ten years of friendship deserved an explanation, if nothing else. He squeezed his will against the compassion. Wasn’t she just like his mother, though? Whether the need had been to use him to make another man jealous, or keep the truth hidden so she wouldn’t have to feel the sting of rejection, it all came down to one thing. Self-seeking deception.

  Maybe getting back to work in the furniture shop was exactly what he needed. His father’s quiet life. The consistent reward of hard work. And a long walk into the mountains. He groaned. No, the emptiness in his chest had an Ashleigh-shape to it no one or nothing else could fill.

  After taking Scott to Grandmama Dougall’s home, Sam directed the hired car up the road to his. His father’s occasional mention of letters only triggered more anger. His mother’s betrayal burned with more raw emotion since England. If he remembered correctly, her husband had died some years back, evidently freeing her to come seduce his father. Heat rifled a fresh wave up his spine. He would not let her hurt his father again.

  Before the motorcar puttered to a stop, Sam had the door open, foot dragging the dusty drive. He jumped from the seat, grabbed his luggage, tipped the driver, and left his trunk where it fell. His father was probably exhausted from having to put up with her presence. Surely he couldn’t have meant the words in his letter. A second chance? Not for her.

  A sweet sound of a woman’s laughter drifted with the scent of dogwoods on the warm summer breeze. It came from the other side of the house, where the old rock wall wrestled ivy and rose bushes to frame a little garden. Everyone who knew his family called it Abram’s Garden, because of his faithful tending. Not even Biltmore, with its architecturally designed grounds compared to the simple beauty of his father’s garden. Rose scent emerged as he rounded the corner of the house.

  A chink in the stone wall gave him a small lens to view the occupants. Sitting on a bench he built, his father entertained a woman, face turned away from his view. Her hair shone the color of oak-finish, the same hue as his own, and knotted at the back of her head. His mind fought the recognition his heart made. His father was a reasonable man. Not prone to sudden emotional decisions – especially with a woman who threw commitment out with the slap of a year-long affair.

  The look on his father’s face brought Sam’s hurried steps to a stop. Pleasure. He hadn’t seen a look of such joy on his father’s face in years. The image should have heartened his own happiness, but for the woman who influenced it. Unbelievable. He would not see his father wounded again.

  The woman turned her face toward him, then, eyes sparkling in mid-laughter, and he tensed all over. Time had placed lines around her eyes, but she appeared unscathed otherwise. Probably even considered attractive by some. And just like Catherine, she was using her beauty to railroad a good man.

  Rosellyn Miller returned without one scar, but he’d be sure to remind her of the ones she left behind.

  He released a rush of air through his nose and pushed his way through the garden door. Both faces looked up as the door crashed open. Father stood and stepped forward, arms open and eyes wide. “Ah, you’ve arrived.” He grabbed him so firmly it distracted Sam from his anger for a second. “I’m so glad you are safe.”

  Rosellyn came to a slow stand, her hands twisting in and around each other. Was she plotting how she’d sway Sam like she’d obviously done to Father? Well, he’d learned his lesson. He wouldn’t be fooled again. Sam stepped out of his father’s arms and gestured to Rosellyn.

  “What is she doing here?”

  Father’s smile fixed and he nodded. “It’s a long story. Would you like to sit as we explain?”

  “We?” Sam stared at Rosellyn, who had the fake decency to glance down. “There is not
hing I need to hear from her.”

  “Sam.” His father’s tone held a slight reprimand. Sam’s anger rebelled against it. “As justified as your feelings are, she is my guest and will therefore be treated with respect.”

  Air burst from Sam’s lungs in shock. Respect? How could father bear to look at her, let alone laugh with her in the garden? He looked from his father to Rosellyn and back, his pulse pumping a rapid drumbeat in his ears. “Then I will come back later, when I won’t be a threat to your guest, because there is no way I can show respect to someone who betrayed her family and then abandoned them.”

  “Samuel Miller, you will not—”

  “Abram.” Rosellyn’s soft interruption stilled his father’s rebuke. “He is right. I’ve done nothing to earn his respect, only his hatred.” She picked up her parasol from the bench and walked toward the house. “You’ve had more time to adjust. I believe your conversation would be best suited without my presence. This is Sam’s home, not mine, and he should feel the freedom to speak however he needs.” She passed by him, her gaze flickered to his, a flash of gold, her voice almost…gentle? He tensed at the thought. Catherine’s had been too.

  She disappeared through the garden gate, a cane at her left barely noticeable but for the awkward limp. Sam released the breath he was holding, and the vice grip on his bag. His case fell with a quiet thud to the earth.

  Father stared at the closed garden gate for a moment and then turned back to the table set with sandwiches. He’d entertained her, and from the look in his eyes, he had…feelings for her. Sam’s stomach revolted. How could he? Well, Sam had a few feelings for her too, but they involved more of her leaving than staying. Was it a curse that smart men were idiots around beautiful women? He certainly felt its truth, all the way to his broken and confused heart.