The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  As shock and anger tempered to grief, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to talk to his father about it. He’d written to Ashleigh earlier in the week, attempting to bridge the chasm between them. But where would it go from there? Their relationship had shifted like the sea, hadn’t it? From friendship to romance to… He groaned. What? He was only certain of one thing. He missed her. Her laughter, her camaraderie, her tenderness. Air stuck to his lungs like trying to catch a breath after smelting an iron backing to a chair. He needed her.

  A movement of white and blue from down the hill caught his eye and brought his feet to a stop. A young girl sped from the back of the house up the hill. She wasn’t running directly toward him, but to his right, taking a path to the forest tree line. A few times she glanced behind her, as if she thought someone might be watching her, but otherwise her feet made no attempt at a detour. She bounded forward like an animal of the forest, golden hair trailing in long waves.

  Sam’s grin started before he could stop it. Was she his little sister? Fiona? He’d imagined a prim and proper little thing, but the golden-haired runaway didn’t appear to fit the description. A few times throughout the last week, he’d allowed himself to wonder about her – curiosity tugging him to peek at Grandmama Dougall’s house each afternoon to catch a glimpse.

  She could be some haughty, spiteful child molded in his mother’s image. Letting another person into his heart, especially one of the female variety, took risks. He hesitated a moment and then stepped toward the hill in time to see her start climbing a tree. His grin twitched a little wider. And just maybe he’d get along with her fine.

  He strolled down the hill, hands fixed in his pockets and guard up, whistling a tune of his approach. As he neared, he shaded his eyes from the late afternoon sun and looked up. She was waiting, golden-gaze fixed on him. She swung a branch lower, her white tights showing off trim legs and black boots.

  She wrinkled up her freckled nose, surveying him. “Are you my brother?”

  Sam tilted his head to examine her right back, enjoying the game. “That depends. Are you Fiona?”

  Her eyes lit and she nodded. “You look like me.”

  He let her words sink a little deeper, and it didn’t hurt as badly as he thought it might. “And you are quite the tree climber.”

  She shrugged, looking to the treetop and back. “I always tried to keep up with my brother, Clark.” Her chin turned a proud tilt. “He took care of me, you know. That’s what big brothers do.”

  A sudden protectiveness squeezed Sam’s chest. It was a new thought, but not foreign. He’d felt like a big brother to Ashleigh and Scott for a long time, but here was a blood-sister. From the spark in her eyes, she didn’t seem in need of protection.

  “I see. And what did you plan to do up in the tree?”

  Her hair spilled over her shoulders as she stared down at him, a mischievous grin perched on her lips. “I was trying to hide from Mother long enough to sneak up a good tree.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She’s terribly fixed on seeing me refined.”

  His heart warmed even more to this bright-eyed spirit. He worked up an appropriate grimace. “That sounds awful.”

  She rolled her golden-hued eyes. “You have no idea how awful. She is determined I shall not fall into sin as she did, but I have tried to explain how climbing trees and fishing have very little to do with sins. I’ve not heard Father McClay mention one of them from the Bible.”

  Sam laughed. She reminded him, with all her determination, like another little girl who used to fish and climb trees. A little girl who grew up to steal away his heart. The ache resurrected with full potency.

  “Well, as I understand it, some of Jesus’ best men liked fishing.”

  She snapped her fingers, another contradiction to a refined lady. “That’s exactly what I told Mother. And there was a short man who climbed a tree. The only reason Jesus told him to climb out of the tree was to go fix supper, not to make him more refined. He changed them all on the inside, where it counts most.”

  “I believe you have a clear argument.”

  She studied him a long time. He shifted his feet under her honest, umber gaze. “You don’t seem unpleasant at all.”

  “Unpleasant?”

  She nodded, brow crinkled. “You haven’t even tried to come meet me yet, and you’ve been home over a week.”

  Sam rubbed the heat of embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck. “There isn’t a simple explanation.”

  “You know what.” She shimmied down the tree like an experienced tree climber and propped both hands on her little hips. Did girls really start bossiness this young? “You just need to stop being angry with Mother.”

  Sounded simple when she put it that way.

  “If you don’t I’ll never have your father as my father.”

  A shocked laugh shook Sam’s shoulders. “You want my father for your father?”

  She looked at him as if he didn’t have a brain in his head. “Of course, I do. He smells like lemons.” She sighed. “And I love lemons.”

  Yes, she was his sister.

  “And he has a pleasant laugh.”

  Sam’s grin stretched broader. “So a good father should smell like lemons and have a nice laugh?”

  “Well, of course. It’s what I prayed for.” Her eyes widened. “And his kindness. He’s not tried to hit me once, not even when I fell on one of his new chairs in the furniture shop and smashed it to bits.”

  A ribbon of fire exploded in his chest. Hit her? Who would ever stoop so low as to hurt a child? As horrible as the loneliness and rejection felt after his mother left, he’d always had the solid love of his father.

  “No, my father would never hurt you, Fiona.”

  “And he’s not hit or screamed at Mother, even when she did some very bad things to him. His voice is soothing, like a bubbling brook. I think a good father should be kind, don’t you?”

  “Most certainly.” He crouched before her, watching the animation of her expression shift. Oh, what had this little girl known? Pain at such a young age. Wounds he couldn’t comprehend.

  Her grin crinkled her nose again. “Mother keeps smiling the joyful smile all of the time.”

  “The joyful smile?”

  She studied him again with a puzzled expression, sunlight glinting off her hair. A place in his heart opened up for her. A sister.

  “The smile of your whole face. The kind that makes your eyes light up and warm the person next to you.” Her golden brows shot high. “You’re wearing one right now.”

  “Am I?”

  She winked and he embraced the immediate love for her. “I think you’ll do just fine as my older brother.” She measured him with another long look. “We only need to have you stop being so angry with Mother.”

  “Fiona,” called a voice from the house.

  Fiona lips twisted to a pout. “It’s Mother.” She stepped past him and stopped. “I’m sorry she was a bad mother to you. She told me she left and it hurt you, but she’s not a bad mother now.” Her expectant look demanded his attention. “God has such a big world with so many people, I don’t suppose all of them will take the same road to get to Him. I’m sorry Mother’s road took her away from you to find God, but it brought me about, and I’m fairly glad to be alive.”

  “Fiona.”

  The call nudged her a few more steps away. She walked backwards to keep talking, her hands dancing in the air as she spoke. It was pretty clear she liked talking, and he didn’t mind listening. “And I should like having you for a brother. Carl’s been in heaven for two years now and I’m in desperate need of a brother again.”

  His mother’s choices led her to a harsh life, one littered with unimaginable grief. Could the loss, the ache, have changed her as it did Michael?

  “I hope you will stop being angry with Mother and give her a second chance.” She offered him a deep curtsy topped with an adorable smile. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

  She skipped off in the direct
ion of Rosellyn, who stood in the back garden of the Dougall house, shielding her eyes from the late sun. She took Fiona in her arms and ushered her to the house, hesitating a second before entering. With a slight lift of her hand, she waved.

  He offered an easy nod, keeping his hands in his pockets. A second chance? Ashleigh’s face came to mind.

  His pulse jerked to a faster beat. All of her compassion and tenderness with him. Their teasing and conversations. Had he thrown it all away over a stint of jealousy? And he didn’t even ask her if Michael had stolen her virtue, or if she freely gave it. Hadn’t she hinted to having something taken from her when they spoke in the garden about Kara?

  What had he done! His pace turned into a run. He’d write her again tonight, maybe even send a wire when he was next in town. Find a way to reopen their communication. Her response would direct whether he needed to entertain insane thoughts about another Transatlantic crossing, or painfully sever their tie. The thought pierced him. He’d rather have a broken Ashleigh, than no Ashleigh at all.

  Darkness wrapped around another day of work and the hospital finally lulled into its evening hush. The sweet scent of magnolias hitched aboard the early September breeze as Ashleigh stepped out into the garden. A few loose strands of hair blew across her cheeks, blessing them with a refreshing violet touch after the stench of the operating room. She had no room to complain.

  Thanks to the begrudging, yet generous gifts of Lady Cavanaugh, David’s operating theatre was in top order with the most up-to-date supplies, but the needs remained staggering. Soldiers came with gas blindness, various grades of amnesia or disorientation, gangrene, respiratory troubles and many other illnesses. The list drew out in a long blend of various difficulties these poor men would probably keep for the rest of their lives.

  The reality of God’s closeness provided a cloak of comfort, even three weeks after Sam left with no answer. Grandmama’s letter had arrived two days earlier and provided insights into Rosellyn Miller’s return, so there was a good chance Sam had little energy or time to put his mind to her heart – or at least she kept comforting herself with the thought. But hope’s thread frayed with each passing day.

  Grandmama’s letter offered words of love and peace which encouraged Ashleigh’s newfound faith of God’s nearness. He would have to be enough. Perhaps God’s dream for her never included a family except for those who had no other. She glanced back at the stone walls of the hospital to the East Wing, the lantern light from the boys’ bedroom dimming.

  Four children arrived two weeks ago, giving Ashleigh another distraction from the ache Sam left in her heart. The older girl skittered around, fearful of any loud noise. She’d lost her mother in a London raid and her father on the front lines. Her little sister, barely five, danced about in a fairy world – perhaps protecting her from the hideous truth of war. The two boys came, rowdy and curious, but desperately seeking affection. Michael’s charisma proved the perfect match for these lost little boys, and his humility calmed them. He and Kara practically ran things on their own, especially with David’s need for her in the hospital – especially since Jessica’s departure.

  Fresh light streamed out from the doorway and Michael’s silhouette moved forward. The moon’s radiance shone bright and full against the garden shrubbery. He limped ahead, weight steadied against his cane, but his movements more fluid than last week. She knew a year ago he would have rather died than live life as a lame man, but he carried his weakness with him now as a banner, almost. Just this week he’d told her his leg reminded him of how much he must trust in Christ for strength instead of himself. Was God changing her in the same way? Creating trust?

  Ashleigh hugged herself and smiled in welcome. “I needed a bit of fresh air before turning in. Aren’t you exhausted after managing the boys for three hours this afternoon?”

  Michael shrugged. “It was good for me. Stephen loves playing ball with friends.” He pointed toward the bench with his cane. “Care to sit for a spell?”

  She lowered herself, resting her wearing legs. It wouldn’t be wise to sit too long for fear of falling asleep. Even now her eyes drooped under the long hours. “Only a few moments. I need to make certain Kara doesn’t need my help.”

  “Kara is fine. She could take on the entire hospital by herself, I believe.” He settled next to her, waving at the space between them. “To guard both our reputations.”

  She laughed at his teasing grin. “Well, we wouldn’t want to tarnish them, now would we?”

  He stretched out his legs and lifted his right to cross over his left. “Speak for yourself, friend. I’m taking God at His word that all things are made new.” He braided his hands behind his head and leaned back. “I’d like a clean start in the right direction.”

  She looked over the dark horizon and breathed out a long stream of air. “So would I, Michael.” It sounded like a lovely dream.

  They sat in amicable silence, the breeze shuffling a few fireflies through the night and ushering the sweet scent of earth and roses.

  Michael suddenly sat up straight and turned toward her, minding a careful movement of his right leg. He opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped to study her face. His hesitancy tightened her spine in warning, but she wasn’t certain why.

  “An idea just came to mind. It’s probably a bad one.”

  Ashleigh felt both of her brows lift with her smile. “I feel duly warned.”

  His expression turned serious. “You know all about my past.”

  “Yes.” The word formed slow and deliberate.

  He drew in a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on hers. “And I know all about yours.”

  She grimaced and nodded.

  “What if—” He looked down at her hand resting on the bench between them. “If Sam doesn’t respond, Ashleigh. If he doesn’t—”

  “I can’t think about that yet, Michael.” She shook her head and fisted her hand into her lap. “Not yet.”

  “I understand, and I won’t push anything until you’re ready, if you ever are.” He covered her hand with his. “But know this. You don’t have to be alone. If I get another chance, I’ll love you the right way.”

  She drew her hand from beneath his. The very thought pulsed more pain and longing against the heartbreak Sam left behind. “I can’t give up on him, Michael. I love him.”

  Michael’s smile softened. “I know you do. Lucky guy.” His gaze moved from her face to focus on something beyond her. “And I hope you both have—” His smile froze and a look of horror dawned on his moonlit face.

  “Oh no.”

  A noise like thunder rumbled over the fields. Ashleigh turned in the direction of his stare across the vast countryside to a glowing ball of fire in the distance. Another explosion rocked her confusion, with the soft light of the moon clearing up any doubt.

  Hovering in the night sky, a gray mass of German tyranny, flew a Zeppelin airship.

  She jumped to her feet. “No. It can’t be coming for us. Not here.” Its nose pointed directly at the hospital. “We’re a town of civilians.”

  Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the hospital door, limping at his fastest pace. “Nurses help British soldiers, farmers provide food for them, and the elite in country houses fund the war effort. From the Huns perspective, there are no civilians.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  A loud whistle sounded from behind as Michael pulled her through the doorway. Another explosion followed, closer this time. Shafts from the search lights glared across the field outside and a siren sounded from nearby, piercing the night sky like the wail of a child. Ashleigh and Michael met Kara on the steps to the second floor, each girl at her side.

  “I am taking them to the bunker. I can’t manage the boys too. They’re in a state.”

  “We’ll get them.” Michael nodded and ran past, with Ashleigh on his heels.

  Stephen stood crying from his crib and Charles framed the wall, back pressed tight against it as if frozen in place. Both b
oys were petrified. Roving lights filtered in through the window and danced across the floor, alerting them to the Zep’s nearness. Oh dear God, please keep us safe.

  Another explosion almost shook the ground. The wail resounded again.

  Michael grabbed Stephen from the crib and Charles rushed to cling to his side. Ashleigh scanned the room and the empty beds. A certain five-year-old was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze flew to Michael’s where fresh awareness dawned.

  “Where is Lance?”

  An explosion to their left shook the building and sent Stephen’s cries into a new volume.

  “He might have come looking for me. He does that when he’s afraid.”

  Ashleigh threw a blanket at him from the bed and started from the room. “Get the boys to the bunker. I’ll check your room.”

  “No, Ash.”

  But she was already out the door, running down the hall to Michael’s room. She slammed open the door and looked around the room, no sign of the boy. “Lance?”

  Her mind spun through possibilities. She snatched a blanket from Michael’s bed and started down the hallway, pushing open doors and peering inside. “Lance, darling, please come out.”

  Suddenly a thought came to her. The pantry. The sister who brought Lance to them said he’d almost starved before they found him, and had a tendency to hoard food. In fact, Kara mentioned finding him there on several occasions, food stuffed in his pockets. It was worth a chance. She ran into the small room they used for dry storage. Huddled in the corner sat the dark-haired runaway.

  “Oh, Lance, come here.”

  Ashleigh opened her arms and the boy ran into them, a loaf of bread in one hand and crackers in the other. “We must get to a safe place.”