The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  “Would you like to sit down?” His father’s words jarred Sam back to attention. He followed his father’s gesture to one of the rod-iron chairs around the table. “I can imagine you’re hungry after your trip.”

  “What is going on here, Father? I leave for twelve weeks and come back to find my mother courting you in the back garden? If I recall, we never wanted to see her again.”

  “You never wished to see her again, Sam. A sentiment I shared with you for a while, until God healed my heart, as I pray He’ll do for you. Things have changed and—”

  “Yes, it is clear things had changed.”

  “And I think you need to hear the entire story. I’m not expecting you to like it. I’m only asking you to listen.” His father’s expression commanded attention. “And then pray about the appropriate response.”

  “Appropriate response? Given her treatment of us, I think my response was well above appropriate. Since when has she deserved anything better?”

  His father’s gaze drilled into him. “Since God is her judge and not you.”

  His father’s intensity shocked Sam to silence. Few instances rattled his father’s calm, and his adamant defense of Rosellyn Miller seemed wrong. Illogical. Yet his father was a good, solid, smart man. Methodical yet compassionate. Perhaps too compassionate? A genetic trait passed down to Sam, evidently.

  Father ushered Sam to a chair. “You know I love you. You have been my focus and the biggest part of my life for over fourteen years. We’ve comforted and encouraged each other through many things, as we will continue to do.” He offered a small smile, as if reading Sam’s doubts. “I’ve not been swayed by any of her feminine charm. She didn’t come here for a relationship. She came here for you.”

  “Me?” Sam laughed. “I can’t believe that. If she’d cared anything about me, she wouldn’t have--”

  “That was a long time ago – and nearly a lifetime of change has happened to her since then. Your anger froze at fourteen years old and has never moved or softened, though situations, time, and circumstances have. What your mother did was wrong. She will admit it fully and with great regret, but if you look a little deeper, you’ll see she’s not the same person.”

  “I don’t want to look deeper.” Sam crashed down into the chair with a moan. “I don’t want to see her at all.”

  “I’ve had four weeks to get used to her presence, but I understand your bitterness. When she first arrived on my doorstep, I didn’t want to talk to her. The letters we’d shared at a safe distance from my pain had given me a small hint into her harsh life in Chicago.”

  “I’m certain her stories were heart-wrenching.” Sam’s words tasted of sarcasm.

  “She was forced to see her choices and suffer the consequences. She needed forgiveness. As sure as a sick person needs medicine, she needed forgiveness.”

  Sam nursed his pride, inflaming his bitterness a little. “Forgiving her doesn’t mean renewing a relationship.”

  “Not completely. And we are a far cry from rekindling our relationship. It’s like meeting a new person.” His gaze focused on some distant scene. “The first two years after she left, I hated her. After a sermon particularly bent at forgiveness, I started praying God would help me pray for her. Then my prayers became less anger-driven and more sincere. When her first letter arrived last year, it was clear she wasn’t the same woman I once knew. I had no intention of being with her, but when she arrived…slowly God opened my heart to her. As I wrote to you, she’d become the woman I’d always prayed she would be.”

  “Couldn’t she have sought your forgiveness in a letter? Why did she have to come all the way over here to see you face to face? Money?”

  “The Lusitania initiated her visit, but my forgiveness encouraged her to remain.” His father sat next to him and tilted his head, considering the accusation. “I thought about money at first too, but the truth is her husband did one good thing for her. He left her with a considerable fortune upon his death for the care of their son, Clark.”

  Sam leaned forward, his curiosity perking a little. “She has other sons?”

  “Not anymore. Clark died three years ago trying to save his little sister’s life. Only a year after his father passed on.”

  Sam rubbed his chin, digesting the information, trying to remain indifferent.

  His father continued. “Mr. McCoy was a violent man who took out his anger in small and large degrees on your mother. She lost three babes before they were born because of his hard hands and subsequently broke her hip.” He gestured toward the way she’d disappeared. “Which is why she uses a cane.”

  Sam braced himself against the grief on his father’s face. His mother made her choices, as sad as they were. Shouldn’t he be glad for her pain to provide some sense of retribution?

  The very thought cracked the edge of his resolve. He’d seen children die. All ages, sinking with a massive ship into the frigid Atlantic. The sorrow ingrained on each memory of the Lusitania along with the plaintive cries of hundreds and the ominous silence that followed. She’d lost three children at the hands of her husband, and the other one?

  Sam closed his eyes and released a long breath. Praying for a hint of his father’s calm and reason. “And you think all this is true? That she’s not making it up to influence you?”

  “She has a few pictures, but I didn’t need them. The pain is clear. Fiona confirms it too.”

  “Fiona?”

  “Your sister. She is eleven.”

  Sam blinked. “My sister?” Comprehension unwound. Of course, if his mother had children, they would be his siblings.

  “She’s the only one to survive of the five children from your mother’s marriage to Mr. McCoy.” Father’s lips tilted in a small smile. “You will love her, Sam.”

  Sam placed his head in his hands, thoughts reeling against feelings; assumptions and pain vied for understanding. “I don’t know what to think. How can you push away all those wrongs and years of loneliness and bitterness, to let her in?”

  “By recognizing I was as much in need of grace as she.” Father placed his palm on Sam’s knee, a comfort from years of camaraderie. “Do you think my years of hatred, wishing she was dead, were right either? Now to know what wounds she’s suffered, and by her own choices, grieves me for her. She doesn’t only harbor pain, but guilt too.” His stare needled Sam’s conscience. “There are so many scars.”

  Sam stood, his father’s gentleness and call for grace rubbing like sandpaper against his wounds. “This is too much, Father.” He jabbed a hand through his hair, the throbbing in his head now keeping time with his pulse. Ashleigh came to mind and he ached worse. “Will I have to see her? Talk to her?”

  Father lowered his head, braiding his fingers together in front of him. “Only by chance if you wish, but I hope in time you will try, if nothing else for my sake. And Fiona’s. She can’t wait to meet you.”

  Sam pinched his eyes against the pain in his head and his father’s magnetic pull. He’d do anything for his father…almost anything. Reconciling with his mother pushed their relationship to its borders. “I… I need to go for a walk.”

  “The footpath to the falls might be a good direction. I cleared it off a few weeks ago.”

  Sam jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded, starting in the direction of the familiar path up the hillside. He swung wide the garden door to leave.

  “Sam.”

  He turned to his father’s call.

  “I love you, son.”

  Sam swallowed hard and nodded. He nearly ran from the scene, taking long strides toward the tree line. His chest collapsed with a sob as the burning in his eyes turned into tears. He walked faster, if in an attempt to outrun his anger or sorrow, he wasn’t sure. Higher he climbed up the trail, stopping midway to look back over the houses below.

  The Blue Mountains framed the horizon, highlighted by the orange haze of sunset. Grandma Dougall’s gray Victorian, a classic beauty, nestled among the hillside. He needed to see wha
t Ash thought. Bathe in her friendship and comfor—

  Reality broke in. When he’d left England, he’d not only lost his future bride, but his best friend. The pain doubled him over and he crumbled to the ground. Oh dear God, help me. What am I supposed to do?

  Scenes from his last few days with Ashleigh crowded into his aching skull. Kisses and conversations. Looks and touches. Celebrations and pain. Besides his father, she’d been the closest person to him during the past year, and now?

  He couldn’t have misread her. The hurt in her eyes when he’d left her at the hospital knifed fresh pain and tears. Extreme stress would have brought out the lie at some point or other, but she remained consistent. Loving him with her actions and words. His chest pinched tight at the thought of her kiss and the vision of her kissing Michael in a more intimate way.

  She didn’t love Michael. He was certain.

  But could he love her even with the knowledge of her past with Michael in his head? Was it truly in the past? His pride hammered a pounding ‘no’, but his heart, his spirit cried a very different response. He was utterly lost in the madness of all the broken pieces and scars.

  If God is nothing else, He is a rescuer of the lost.

  Hadn’t Ashleigh said that? He closed his eyes to remember. Everyone needs second chances. Yes, she’d said that too.

  His heart cracked with pain between longing for her and fear of giving up this hardened hate for women like his mother. Second chances? He’d tried to do things the right way. Make the right choices. Treat people with respect and honor. But here he was, weeping in the dirt on the side of a mountain, alone.

  He looked ahead to the horizon, a masterpiece of orange, yellow, and red hues. No, not alone. Could God make sense of this catastrophe and the blubbering of a confused man? He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and stared at the fiery sky. There was only one way to find out.

  After too long trying to sort things on his own, it was past time to ask the One he’d cried out to for years. Guilt riddled a path to the rest of his emotions. Was that all God was to him? Is that the only time he sought Him, when he couldn’t fix things on his own?

  His spirit cried an answer to drive the guilt a bit deeper. Something…no Someone needed to rescue him. In the silence of the rustling leaves, surrounded by the sweet scent of dogwood blossoms, Sam opened up his heart and his future to His Father. He was lost – and needed a rescue.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Ashleigh rubbed the back of her neck after a long day bent over wounded soldier. Five surgeries and an influx of new wounded kept her working back to back the entire day. She couldn’t complain. David worked as hard as all the nurses, barely stopping for a meal. His steady voice and assertive command of stressful situations settled on people, including her. He maintained perfect control, almost too well. His emotions never flared to anything beyond…pleasant.

  The workload hadn’t slowed since the first soldiers arrived, and a part of Ashleigh was grateful for the distraction. Her heart went out to many of the poor fellows, stuck in thin-mattressed-cots for long days. She’d entertained the notion of visiting Lady Cavanaugh again, if nothing else to tell her of the work of other great ladies who took much better care of the wounded. But at least Lady Cavanaugh had provided sufficient funds for a proper Surgical Theater, instead of operating without appropriate supplies.

  And Catherine? Her presence in the hospital over the past week afforded an unusual combination of uncertainty and hope. If guilt spurned her to move among the wounded masses, then it was the best use of guilt Ashleigh had ever seen. On occasion she would catch Catherine watching her, an unreadable expression on her pale face.

  They’d barely spoken, unless to assist patients. The worst had already been spoken. Their father was a monster, their childhood laced with lies.

  Yet along with the horrible truth came a softening to the relationship with her sister, but what about Sam? God’s comfort tended her wounds, but failed to quell the festering ache in her heart. Work helped. The children comforted and distracted her, and seeing Michael taking responsibilities of carpentry to earn his board added a dose of contentment, but her heart longed for Sam. The taste of his love ruined her to the option of anyone else.

  She mentally forced God’s truths to her mind – an arsenal to combat the ache of her shame, the emptiness of her loss.

  Laughter cascaded down the stairwell from above and lured her for a lunch break and visit. Caroline, a seven-year-old girl just arrived from Manchester, held a ball. Her dark hair, cut short from her previous placement, hung round her face in ebony ringlets.

  With her tongue clenched between her teeth, she rolled the ball down the hall. Ashleigh hurried to the top of the steps in time to watch the ball knock over three of the five milk cartons lined at the other side. Michael cheered from his place by the cartons, Lance, a five-year-old at his side. Eight-year-old Charles waited for his turn after Caroline, their oldest orphan at ten. Kara sat in a chair by the far window, rocking Edith, Lance’s baby sister, both left without family after a London Zeppelin raid.

  “Nice, Caroline. You might end up as a professional bowler with rolls like that.” Michael’s encouragement brought a bright blush to the girl’s cheeks. Poor thing knew little of such affection.

  “Wonderful shot,” Ashleigh added coming among them. “I think you might be a natural.”

  Caroline’s smile widened to reveal some missing teeth. “Thanks, Miss Ashleigh. I’m even better at baseball.”

  Ashleigh met Michael’s gaze and they shared a smile.

  “We’ll have to plan a showing in the back garden later. What do you say?”

  “I can play too,” Charles added.

  Ashleigh brought her hands together in a single clap. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”

  “Miss Ashleigh, might I have a few words with you?” Michael tilted his head toward the small dining room.

  Ashleigh led the way into the room and Michael followed, cane in hand. “I didn’t want to mention this in front of the children, but I finished the bunker in the side garden.”

  She nodded and fought a chill at the thought of one of the monstrous airships making its way this far north of London. “It’s unlikely the Zeppelins would come to our town, isn’t it? We have no prize to offer them.”

  “I think fear is their prize, and they can encourage it in any town. I’d rather be prepared.”

  “Of course.” She patted his arm. “Thank you for taking care of it. I pray we never have need of it.”

  He ran a palm over his face and sighed. “Me too.” His grin quirked. “Perhaps, after the war, we can dig it out and build a swimming pool. I tried to convince your grandmother to do that in her backyard, do you remember?”

  Ashleigh crossed her arms and chuckled at the thought. “You tried to convince Grandmama of quite a few schemes, if I recall. You and Sam kept a ready set of adventures on hand, I believe.”

  His gaze sobered. “Any news from Sam?

  “No, I can’t imagine I’d hear anything so quickly. It’s only been a few weeks, and with mail as unpredictable as the war, I doubt I’ll hear anything soon.” She sighed. “If at all.”

  Michael leaned against the wall, removing extra weight from his weak leg. “He’s stronger than I was, Ash. I was arrogant and prideful. If I’d had an ounce of the awareness I have now, nothing could have kept me from loving you all the days of my life, but it took the Lusitania and this--” He gestured to his leg. “--to humble me and show me what really matters. Faith and family.”

  “You’d have loved me?” She angled a brow at him, the heat of challenge rising into her voice. “Even with my past?”

  His gaze never faltered, not even a flinch. “We all have a past.” Sadness quieted his voice. “It took losing everything to realize it. God knew how stubborn this head was.” He tapped his forehead. “He had to use extreme measures to get through to me.”

  She smiled, still in awe at the person he was becoming. Str
ange to feel freedom talking to a man about her past and not suffocating from shame.

  Michael leaned closer, tenderness and understanding softening his features. “You’re not the person your past whispers to you. That’s what the family who rescued me told me. And I have a feeling you’ve been carrying around your father’s disgrace a long time. No matter what you yelled at me on the Lusitania.” His smile sloped and he touched her arm. “I think it’s time you started seeing yourself like I do, or even better, like God does. Not what’s been taken from you, but what’s been given to you.”

  “And what is that?” She shifted a brow and glanced around the room. “A leaky building, a hospital full of wounded soldiers, and a friend who lectures me?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of all the things you have here, the beauty and strength.” He tapped her chest and then waved to the children in the hallway outside. “And there.” His green-hued gaze locked with hers again. “And thank you for calling me your friend.”

  And he was. Forgiveness was a powerful thing, dissipating her anger toward him and rekindling a sweet friendship, must sweeter and more genuine than before. Her mind turned to Sam. Would he ever accept her, flawed, bruised and all? She wanted the same freedom with him – to be accepted…loved by the man she loved most in the world.

  Hope whispered its song again. She snatched at the melody. Michael’s words forced her to listen. How did God see her? Even with her horrible past and the anger she’d harbored towards Him, He loved her – completely. As she was.

  “Thank you, Michael.” She grabbed to the sliver of hope and held tight. “I pray Sam comes to the same realization, without having the inducement of a near-death experience.”

  Michael nodded. “Me too, Ash. Me too.”

  Sam stepped from the car and stretched out his back. He’d spent the last week from dawn until dusk at the furniture shop, trying to work out his frustrations and sort out all the insanity of his life. But above all to avoid seeing his mother. It had worked for the most part – only catching glimpses of her as he passed Grandmama Dougall’s. She would raise her palm in welcome, expecting nothing, and each time he focused on making it to his home without acknowledging her presence. And his father told him he’d wait until Sam was ready to talk.