The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  God abides with me.

  She knew what she needed to do. Christ’s love, His strength, would be enough – with or without Sam.

  Her smile spread to pierce her cheeks. “Michael, I think I know what I must do.” She leaned close to whisper. “But I may need a nice distraction to sneak past a certain doctor and a currently overprotective sister.”

  Michael’s familiar glint sparkled bright. “A distraction? I have a boat-sized mischievous streak and five children at my disposal. If you need a distraction, just tell me when and where.”

  Sam waited in line at the train station for his turn with the ticket agent. The last time he’d arrived at the Edensbury Train station, he and Ashleigh had hired a car. He shifted his weight, hoping his pointed stare into the back of the head of the man in front of him might spur him along. He didn’t have time to wait. He was already six days and a choppy sea trip behind. He shook his head. No, he was over a month behind, with enough regret pumping through his veins to fuel the hired car.

  He glanced at his pocket watch and recalculated the time from America to England. It was nearly four in the afternoon. He could be to Roth Hall within an hour if he left soon. Please let Ashleigh be alive. He prayed it for the thousandth time, all the way across the Atlantic. The importance of grace nailed into him. Grace for one more moment with her – one more instance to let her know he’d been wrong. That he loved her and would spend the rest of his life showing her how much.

  Oh Father, please help her forgive me.

  He’d make it right.

  The man in front of him finally moved and Sam stepped to the counter.

  The ticket agent adjusted his wire rim glasses and fit a smile between a gray moustache and beard. “May I help you, lad?”

  “I need to hire a car for Roth Hall.”

  The agent clicked his tongue and shuffled through some papers. “American, are you? Hire a car?” He adjusted his glasses again and opened his own pocket watch. “Well now, we only sent out our car not ten minutes ago, but if you’ll have a seat our driver should return within the hour or so.”

  Within the hour? Or so? Not an option. Sam placed a palm on the counter and tried to keep the edge out of his voice. “Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve traveled all the way from the States to find out if the woman I love is still alive. And if she is alive, if she still loves me. And if she still loves me, if she’ll marry me.” The agent’s brows elevated with each sentence. “So, I’d be much obliged to you if there is any way I can get to Roth Hall as soon as possible.”

  “Well now,” the man said, rubbing his beard. “I’ve heard of the Dougall daughter’s illness. They’ve had a hard time, make no mistake. After the hospital was hit, we wondered what would happen to everyone.”

  Sam gripped the counter. “The hospital was…hit?”

  “Zep attack. Destroyed one side and took about six souls with it. Pure miracle it didn’t take more than six.” The man filtered through another set of papers. “But for the Dougalls taking in the wounded, there’s no knowing what might have happened to the lads. Some say the poor nurse worked herself into pneumonia.”

  Sam squeezed his eyes closed. It sounded like something Ashleigh would do. Risk her own welfare for the good of others. His heart pumped faster, warmth stemming through his chest. Oh, how he loved her. “Have you heard if she is recovering?”

  The agent shook his head, the downward tilt of his moustache, foreboding. “Last we heard she wasn’t expected to make it through the night, but that’s been a few days ago. Heard nothin’ since.”

  Sam leaned in closer, determination morphing into desperation. “Please, is there anything you can do to get me there? I’ll pay for whatever it takes.”

  The agent perked a brow and glanced to the right, out a large window. “There is one other option, sir.”

  Sam followed the man’s gaze. Staring at him through the window was the treacherous face of a cream colored horse, which looked too much like Sugar for his own comfort. His jaw tightened along with his stomach. A horse? Really? He shot a look toward Heaven, the irony almost humorous. Almost. Lord, was my pride truly as bad as that?

  For Ashleigh?

  “I’ll take it.” Sam placed his money on the counter. “Just tell me its name isn’t Sugar.”

  The agent grinned and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Sam’s shoulders relaxed. He didn’t trust anything with a name as sweet as Sugar. It never rang true, and his existence hung in the balance.

  “That mare’s name is Honey.”

  Of course it was. Sam’s gaze fastened on the agent, whose moustache twitched from a hidden smile. With a deep breath, and a prayer of complete dependency, he faced Honey and possibly the end of his life.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Kara emerged in Ashleigh’s doorway as a squeal echoed from downstairs. A crash followed along with a child’s laughter. Kara’s auburn brow jotted north. “I believe you ordered a distraction, Nurse Dougall?”

  Ashleigh reached for her cape, a smile at the ready. “Exactly what sort did Michael conjure up?”

  Kara folded her hands in front of her and closed her eyes in surrender. “He told the children they could play hide-and-seek from the salon to the state drawing room, of course being mindful of the wounded.”

  Ashleigh felt her eyes widen from cheekbone to hairline.

  “Michael Craven!” Her mother’s voice carried through the corridors.

  Kara didn’t so much as flinch. “Needless to say, your mother is having fits.”

  “No doubt.” Ashleigh pulled her cape around her shoulders and snatched her cane, unsure how well her legs would manage the walk.

  “If you’re going out, Miss, would you tell me which direction so someone will know to keep a watch out?”

  Another crash sounded from below and Ashleigh peered passed Kara to the hallway.

  “Whoa, whoa there, little fella, that silver platter is much too heavy for—” Michael made a sound like a groan and Kara shifted her attention toward the stairs, more concern lining her face.

  “I’d better go and help him before someone truly gets a beating.”

  Ashleigh’s grin pulled against her cheeks. “I believe his plan might have spread broader than he expected.” She placed her hand on Kara’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m walking east toward the family cemetery.”

  Kara’s chin tucked in assent. “Then you best be on your way.” Another round of children’s laughter rippled toward them. “I don’t think your distraction has a long life if Mrs. Dougall’s nerves have much to say about it.”

  Ashleigh slid from the room and down the back stairway. No doubt the near-destruction of the main floor had pulled all extra hands to secure control again. Michael’s plan worked perfectly. She’d have to give him a hug of thanks later.

  A cool breeze and the rolling hills greeted her like a friend, welcoming her into the open spaces. Nursing at Roth had kept her indoors recently, and compounded with her illness, it had been a long time since she’d taken in the freedom of a country walk…or ride. Though her steps weren’t as quick as if she’d been at full health, she made good progress, breathing in the fresh scent of magnolia blossoms. Today, their aroma hinted of lemons.

  Tears blurred her vision and faltered her steps. Lemons. The pulse of Sam’s love beat warm waves of sweet longing through her veins. But God would be enough.

  Refusing Michael’s proposal strengthened her certainty.

  Dear God, please help me let him go, if I must.

  The footpath curved away from the house and followed a hill to a walled garden. Dark red and pale pink rose vines climbed the entry to the family cemetery. Their fragrance ushered her to stop and take in the sweet scent. She glanced through the entry. Centuries of gravestones lined from one wall to the next under the canopy of a great white magnolia. She caressed a soft rose blossom between her fingers and then picked two crimson blooms, stepping over the threshold into the solemn place.


  Substantial roots weeded across the ground, twining through the pale gravestones to finger across various areas of the cemetery. White Magnolia blossoms fluttered down to the earth, a gentle rain of tender touches to the graves of her family members who had passed on, bringing a white-washed beauty to the solemn place. Years had worn its hands across the stones, fading names and dates, cracking stone against stone, but memory served as a faithful guide.

  She weaved a path between the markers, her gown leaving a hush of noise at her feet as she stepped over the patches of tall grass and faded earth. Nothing breathed as quietly as a cemetery. Even the wind faded to silence between the rock walls, barely nudging more blossoms from the bow overhead. Determination moved her forward, pushing her to take her future into her own hands and find some resolution. She couldn’t be ruled by her past any more.

  Sunlight filtered a flickering thread between the green-swathed branches of the magnolia, shadowing a patchwork against the ground and broken stone. Sparse grass reminded her of the relative newness of her father’s grave among the others. Her mother, brother, and sister had brought his body here for burial. She knew which plot he would take, but she’d never seen it.

  Though his gravestone boasted a chiseled appearance from the well-carved and well-paid hands of the stone cutter, its cold surface mirrored the lifeless lot of the rest of his ancestors. Ashleigh smoothed the roses’ petals between her fingers, mentally rehearsing her words to the ghost of her past. He’d asked to be buried here, brought all the way from America.

  A cross marked the top of the stone with the sharp edges of his name underneath, followed by the dates of his birth and death. Her father. Anger flared its familiar flame, stirring up the ready hatred. She fought it and dropped to her knees. Rehearsing her prayer had given some confidence, but in the wake of seeing his name carved in stone, her courage dwindled a little. She’d clung to her anger for so long, could she let it go?

  “I cannot do this on my own, God. You promise to be my good and loving father. Give me strength to do what I cannot do.”

  She unfisted her hands and placed the twin roses on her father’s grave, their dark blush a stark contrast to the gray stone. She closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh strength of hope and releasing her anger in a long steady breath. The shadow of his sin lurked near her, tempting the fury to rise. Her father’s whispers breathed of distorted love and twisted promises. She battled them with Christ’s words and her trembling faith. My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

  “I forgive you.”

  Her breath stilled. A sudden swell of peace whispered through her spirit. No trumpets. No fanfare, but an understanding of what true freedom involved. Sacrifice. Of her hatred and bitterness…and herself.

  The breeze brushed cool against her tear-dampened cheeks.

  Her eyes flickered open to a sight which encouraged…laughter? It bubbled up and joined the chorus of wind and birdsong from over the wall. The white magnolia blossoms fell to her father’s grave and covered over the crimson roses like snowfall. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.

  White. Pure. For her? She looked up into the sky, new tears streaming unguarded down her face. God’s grace makes her pure. “Thank you, dear God.” Her whisper hushed with the gentle rustle of leaves, as life swirled into the quiet. New life. New…hope.

  She wiped a hand over her cheeks and stood, leaning against the cane for support, as she followed the path out of the cemetery. With one last glance over her shoulder she left the bitterness of her past where it belonged--with the dead. There would always be scars, but with God’s grace, the shame wouldn’t haunt her any more.

  The countryside stretched green and alive from her perch on the hill outside the cemetery. Edensbury’s smokestacks and a few roofs lined the horizon. She breathed in the air of a free woman and marveled at how her clarity of spirit even seemed to affect her vision. Brighter colors. Fresher air. God would be with her, even if the rest of her days were spent alone.

  A sudden movement in the distance flickered into view among the sprawling hillsides. She took a few steps from the shadow of the cemetery wall, examining the steady movement of a horse and his rider. They rode with purpose, at a gallop, but the rider’s posture marked him as ill-equipped for the endeavor. A novice, no doubt.

  Stiff and tight, his jacket flew behind him like a wave of panic. She touched a gloved finger to her smile as the memory of her ride with Sam ushered another sense of longing. The poor rider even reminded her of Sam, golden head bright with afternoon sun and a tense posture which was sure to have him sore in the morning.

  The horse turned in her direction, its graceful run and the rider’s rigid style a distracting mismatch. Perhaps they brought a missive for a soldier in treatment at Roth, or a message from Grandmama. A current of concern pushed her a few steps toward home, but then she stopped. Instead of taking the road toward Roth Hall, the pair started for the hill. The cemetery hill. The one in which she stood.

  Who on earth…?

  Her heart quivered to a faster rhythm. Breathing shuddered shallow. A sudden weakening of her knees had her shifting her weight to her cane. Every gallop which narrowed the distance between her and the rider cast more clarity on her tentative suspicions.

  Sam?

  As the horse scaled the hill, his face came into view. Sam. His gaze locked with hers and time suspended. Sam was here? On horseback? She pressed a fist to the pounding pulse at the base of her throat, old insecurities swooping in to threaten her newfound peace. Had he received her letter? Did he know the truth?

  Heat fled her face, her cane bearing more weight than it had only moments ago.

  The horse slowed to a stop a carriage-distance from her. Sam followed with a clumsy dismount. She would have grinned, if she hadn’t been so concerned about her weakened knees keeping her upright. His skill resembled the status of her stomach at the moment – off-balance. With a stumble and a toss of the reins over the saddle, he turned the full, lovely attention of those cerulean eyes on her, lips set in a frown.

  Breathing congealed in her lungs. He marched toward her with purpose, his red-rimmed gaze holding her in place. Tears even glistened on his cheeks. What would she say to him? How would she explain?

  He didn’t give her a chance to sort it. Without a moment’s hesitation, his palm slid across her cheek, cupped the back of her neck, and pull her to him. She barely had time for a gulp of air before he drew her into a kiss to bring all her doubts to a full and utter stop.

  It took every ounce of strength he had to control the impulse to run to her. Alive. The shadows under her eyes and the pallor in her cheeks hinted at her recent illness, but she stood as a vision in royal blue, mouth as wide as her eyes. His chest tightened with each purposeful step he took. Her eyes widened as he closed in, those beautiful eyes he loved. Tears burned. She was beautiful and breathing. Thank God.

  He was like a starving man, craving one touch. He’d almost lost her, and in his pride, he’d almost given her up. Never again. A gasp escaped her as he pulled her to him and covered her soft lips with his. She tasted of sugar and home. Sweetness and safety. Everything he ever wanted, God wrapped in this dear friend. A sob rattled him. Was it hers or his? Oh, how he loved her.

  His hand roamed to her damp cheek – damp from her tears! He lurched to a halt. With the hurt he’d given her, not to mention the pain from her father, how could he nearly attack her like this? He cringed and tried to pull back, but couldn’t.

  Her hands held him against her, knotted into his hair. And she was kissing him back, with the same fury as he’d started. She wanted him. Another sob shook him into action. He kissed her everywhere his mouth touched – her violet scented hair, the soft curls at her temples, her cheeks, salty with the taste of tears. No one else could satisfy his heart. Her skin beneath his lips, her body melting into his, soothed the ache he’d built at the thought of
losing her, and ignited a swelling fire. Ashleigh. His Ashleigh.

  He couldn’t get enough. One hand dug through her hair, while the other tugged her deeper into his embrace. His palm smoothed down the line of her back, pressing her closer. He left a trail of kisses across her jawline to her ear. When her voice broke through the silence with a gentle moan, it drew his mouth back to hers. Her fingers moved, cool and trembling against his cheeks and her lips opened for him, warm and inviting. This was home. Right here with her. Why had God been so good to him?

  He kissed her until her sobs melted into raspy breaths that matched his, until her fingers tangled in his curls, until he couldn’t get any closer and still be respectable. She was alive and…from the way she kissed him, she still cared about him. Still loved him? Her smile spread against his lips in answer as she drew back.

  His gaze roamed her face, and his fingers followed. He caressed her swollen lips which held a ruby glow from his assault. Her palm slid down his neck to rest on his chest just over his heart.

  “Sam.”

  The sweet whisper of his name urged him forward for another quick kiss. He pushed tear-dampened tendrils back from her face and palmed each of her cheeks. “I was a fool, Ashleigh. Please, forgive me for hurting you. For not listening to you when you had so many wounds.” His chest shook with a stifled sob. “For not being the friend you needed me to be.”

  “You…” She gazed at him in wonder. “You received my letter?”

  He trailed his thumb across her cheek and outlined the corner of her lips until she smiled. “More like a personal message from a terrifying American nurse.”

  Ashleigh’s smile spread wide, eyes aglow. “Jessica?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “And…and you still want to kiss me like—”

  He stopped her words with a kiss to dispel her doubt. His hand slid down her arms and back up to cradle her face. He touched his forehead to hers, surveying every part of her face. From the walnut-colored eyes to the tip of her puffy lips. He’d almost lost her. “I love you my dear, beautiful friend.”