The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  Jess shot back a glare—a respectful glare so as not to incur wrath—and stood. She walked to the sink and rinsed off her plate before placing it in the tub of soapy water for washing, avoiding everyone’s curious looks. “I don’t have a particular interest in anyone except Jude and Faith at present, so all of these painfully obvious hints are a waste of good scheming, if you ask me.”

  Grandpa stood and stretched out his back, taking his plate up to the counter to slide his scraps into the pummy dish. Jude’s dog definitely didn’t go hungry too often, but with Jude’s arrival, the scraps decreased significantly. The boy ate like a man.

  Jess took the plate from Grandpa’s hands and scrubbed it with more force than necessary. He’d practically licked it clean.

  “Speaking of August, we ain’t seen him in two days. Do you know if he’s all right? He rarely passes by without stoppin’ in.”

  Cliff’s expression took a distinct turn, and Jess put the plate aside. Something was wrong.

  “Jude, would you run out and give some of these pummies to the dogs?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shot up, delivered his plate, and disappeared out the back door.

  Jess wiped her fingers on her apron. “What is it?”

  “August is down at the chapel working today.”

  “We didn’t see him pass,” Grandpa said.

  “Why didn’t he come by and get some dinner?” Granny stood too, Faith now asleep in her arms. “What’s happened?”

  Cliff braced his palms against the counter and raised his gaze to Jess’, hesitating. Her stomach tightened for the awaiting blow. “I reckon you’ll hear about it soon enough, but I didn’t want you to jump to the wrong conclusions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “August is afraid of what ya’ll will think about him since he’s recently been falsely accused.”

  “What?” Her grandparents’ response came in unison.

  “Seems someone wrote letters to contacts in Germany sharing particular information about Allied movements on the Front. August and two other men were framed for the job.”

  Everyone grew quiet. Her grandpa placed a hand to Granny’s shoulder.

  Not again. Not another traitor hurting people she loved! It didn’t make sense. Anna’s story about their childhood and August’s disinheritance? August’s apparent kindness to her family and especially the children. Her faith faltered. But she’d been wrong before. Worked alongside a doctor serving wounded and dying soldiers who’d betrayed them all, and nearly killed her brother in the process. What if... what if she was wrong again?

  Grandpa shook his head, his hand coming down on the counter with a thud. “That makes me plumb mad. We’ve been gettin’ on just fine in this community with these men for a year and someone comes along now, at the end of their stay, to cause trouble? And for August, of all people?”

  Cliff picked up his jacket and hat from a seat nearby and started for the door. “I’m just glad Ruser and the other officers know a lie when they see one. Now, I gotta get back. I’m working the evening shift tonight, but I sure do appreciate a good supper, Aunt Lillian.”

  Granny palmed Cliff’s cheek with her customary love-pat. “You can stop by any time. You always gotta place here, boy.”

  “So does August.” Grandpa added. “Tell him that when you see him.”

  Cliff looked her way, his expression beckoning her forward. “Walk me out, Jess. Will ya?”

  Jess followed Cliff to the porch, late afternoon light waxing long and orange across the backyard. He stopped by the steps and tilted his head to examine her face. “I saw it on your face in there. The doubt. You’re worried August is guilty.”

  “Anyone’s capable of treachery if given the right incentive, Cliff.” Her defenses riled against him, the old stings reviving her anger. “Even someone as seemingly sweet as August Reinhold.”

  “The only thing August Reinhold and Lt. Snyder have in common is where they were born.” He jerked his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “Good grief, Jessica, whatever else you suffered from the war, please tell me it didn’t steal your common sense. Use the clear-headedness I’ve always admired in you and see the truth.”

  “I don’t have time to listen to your platitudes, cousin.” She turned toward the door but he caught her arm.

  “Stop it. Just stop it. The world is filled with hurting people, but that doesn’t give us the right to sentence innocent ones to the same fate as the guilty. August had nothin’ to do with what happened to you in Europe, but you’ve been punishing him since you got home for crimes he didn’t commit.”

  Cliff’s words propelled her to the attack. If nothing else, she had to defend herself, protect her anger. “And you’ve been encouraging Jude and even my grandparents to welcome him in like a long lost son. What do you really know about this stranger, Cliff?”

  “He’s not a stranger. He’s my friend, and if your head wasn’t fogged with bitterness, you’d see the truth as plain as Jude does.”

  “You have no idea what happened to me. What I’ve been through.”

  “No, I don’t know all you’ve suffered, but do you think I don’t understand what it feels like to be betrayed? By God? That raw wound of utter loneliness and pain of thinking God would allow something so unjust to happen to me?”

  He spoke directly to her heart, naming her scars. She nearly buckled from the agony of the fight. Every logical thought in her head recognized her irrational assumptions and screamed ‘foul,’ but her stubborn heart refused to release the pain and fury.

  Cliff jammed his hat back on his head. “When Elizabeth and our baby died, I knew. I could have competed with your screams at God.” His fist rammed into his chest. “I still hurt from that loss on a daily basis, occasionally weep for the family I don’t have, but there comes a time for mourning to end and life to start again.”

  “And condone what happened?”

  “That’s crazy talk. Your hurt and grief’s jumbled up your thinking. You’re so blind by what you think God’s done to you, that you’ve forgotten what God has done for you.”

  Anna’s words from earlier came back to mind. Jess fought against their accuracy. Cliff’s too. “He’s allowed some of my friends to die, thousands of young soldiers, almost my brother, and then—” She stopped before confessing Snyder’s horrible assault.

  Cliff shook his head. “Listen to yourself. You keep using the same argument over and over. You’re digging your own hole to nowhere.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and grimaced at him.

  “The only thing bitterness does is change you, not Him. God doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need me.” He stepped closer and gentled a palm on Jess’ shoulder. She stiffened against the unwanted sting of tears at his compassion. “But, Jess, he does even better than that. He wants us. He chooses us. He left Heaven to rescue us.” Cliff shook his head, his own eyes swimming with sunset-tears. “Because when the heartbreak comes, we can see there’s something bigger than our pain. His love gives us strength to let go and trust Him for the purpose.”

  She recoiled, jerking her arm free from his touch. “I can’t let go. There’s no justice in letting go. The death, the utter waste of life, the treachery? If I let go, who will grieve for those who’ve lost their lives? Who will fight for them? Who will seek to justify the wrong that’s happened to so many?” To me. She pinched her eyes closed, the nightmarish visions, the unwholesome betrayal striking a fresh sting. “It sounds easy to say God will take care of it, but when it comes down to the truth—”

  “You want to seek justice on your own? Revenge?” His words seethed, his eyes alight. “Then what, Jessica? Will your justice bring you peace then? Can you bring back the dead? Restore whatever inside of you that’s lost?”

  He stepped close and tugged her into his arms. “You’re still going to feel as empty and lost, even if you find whatever ‘justice’ you’ve defined as the answer.” His words breathed over her hair, burdened with a fading
sorrow. “You have a choice. To trust God for the peace you crave and this justice for your soul, or to continue to live in the turmoil of ‘unfair.”

  He drew back from her, searching her gaze with a watery one of his own. “Life is unfair. But even in that knowledge, our measurement, our gauge, is skewed.”

  She ran the back of her hand across her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “What is fair? What is unfair?” Cliff squeezed her shoulders to punctuate the questions. “The only way we can truly answer those questions is to be able to see the vastness of time and how each choice, each decision, plays out in eternity.” His grin quirked despite a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t have that ability or knowledge. And unless something remarkable happened to you over in the war, you don’t either.”

  His words hollowed her out, clawing at the anger she clung to. “Then what do I do?”

  “You already know, that’s why you’re fightin’ so hard, because you don’t like the answer. Trust has always been hard for you.” He shook his head, stepping back to bestow a comforting smile on her. “I’m not sure why, but it always has, and this war made things worse. There’s a voice inside of you, calling you back to the peace you once knew. It can calm this fury and quell your thirst for justice, because He’s already taken on all the injustices for us. Only He can set your torn heart back to rights.”

  Cliff distanced himself with another step and tipped his hat. “It’s your choice. Your justice... or His peace. You can’t hold onto both.”

  Jess stood on the porch long after Cliff disappeared down the road. She wanted to block everything he said, push it away from infiltrating her justified resentment, but the truth seeped through the cracks in her faulty logic.

  The trail to the chapel beckoned her to follow, abate her curiosity, and perhaps confirm the pestering truth about who August Reinhold really was. Was she ready to accept whatever answer met her down the leaf riddled path?

  She walked forward, leaving behind the house and her fear of being wrong. The afternoon sounds of busy forest animals and birdsong came to life around her, awakening her dormant soul to the music of the wood around her... and the God intrinsically connecting it all together? Cliff’s sermon preached a harsh gospel to her anger, but deep inside, she felt the cleansing peroxide of truth, burning at hatred and hollowed-out fear.

  This struggle against peace wearied her to her soul. She fisted her will and looked up to the trees branching together overhead like an arbor.

  “I can’t do this on my own. I don’t know how, but if you’ll help me let go, I’ll try to trust you. So, please help me....” She took a deep breath and stepped out into the clearing.

  Her breath caught.

  What had only been a skeleton of her beloved chapel a week ago now emerged from her memories in actual size and form, only better. The steeple tower framed the entry way, as it had before, except a gaping hole waited above the doorway for some special addition. A window, perhaps.

  A beautiful ribbon of carving, the design an intricate weave of ivy, dripped down the edges of the doorframe in an immaculate fashion, as lovely as her father’s massive country estate or her sister-in-law’s beloved Beacon House.

  Jess stared, lost in the amazement of rediscovery, as if her prayer materialized before her in tangible proof. She glided forward, entranced, emotions bubbling to the top in complete abandon. This chapel, filled with memories so excruciating and sweet, stood almost restored to something even more beautiful than she remembered. How was that possible?

  A consistent thud pinged from inside. Hammering. August.

  With quiet steps, she approached, taking in the unfinished but carefully fashioned work of a dedicated craftsman, a lovely restoration of something mangled and destroyed.

  I will restore your heart.

  A prayer caught in her throat with a sob.

  August bent low, the muscles in his back moving with the swing of his hammer, revealing his strength. His golden head, uncovered, glistened in waves from his hard work in the silence of the forest. Alone.

  Jude’s innocent comment swept through her. The best folks do good even when no one’s lookin’.

  The hinge in her spirit swung wider—to God, to hope, and to the possibility that this man was much more than she’d allowed him to be. Someone she... wanted.

  ***

  August nailed another floorboard into place. Only a few more and the oak floor, though unfinished, would be complete. Much like the framework, with its walls and temporary holes for the windows he hoped to add shortly, the chapel had taken form, almost a replica of what stood previously except for a few additions of August’s own design. A grander steeple capped the entryway with a pinnacle surprise waiting to finalize its simple beauty.

  He almost smiled but for the aching reminder of his loss. Even if the Carters appreciated his finished product, with the rumor of his letter paired with Jessica’s natural distrust, could they trust him?

  Not Jessica. He’d only recently earned a smile and some heart-warming banter, but her trust still dangled beyond reach, trapped in wounds he couldn’t touch, no matter his patient pursuit.

  Dear God, what would you have me do?

  A crunch of leaves paused his work. He waited for another sound, another hint to the creature invading the quiet of his sanctuary, but silence greeted him, so he finally abated his curiosity and turned. Jessica Ross stood in the doorway, her hand on the frame as if posed for a painter. Her straw hat veiled part of her downturned face, but not enough to keep her mesmerizing gaze from finding his.

  The green of her blouse brought out the paler hues in her eyes, captivating him until only force of will drew his attention back to his work.

  “You have heard of the letter?” His words echoed back to him off the oak walks.

  “Yes,” she replied, barely above a whisper.

  He hammered another nail to fill the silence, the skin on his back tingling in awareness of her presence. Was she taunting him? Laughing at him? Reveling in how right she’d been not to trust a German?

  He gripped the hammer, giving the nail an unnecessary beating until he dented the wood. With a sigh, he placed the hammer down and stood, turning to face her. “Why are you still here? All your suspicions are confirmed, yes? I am the traitor you hoped.”

  She didn’t flinch. Her expression remained impassable except for those large unfathomable eyes. They delved into his with a curiosity and... compassion he’d not seen before. She took another step into his handiwork, her gaze never leaving his.

  “You have my grandparents in an uproar of worry, August Reinhold.”

  His fist clenched at his side, waiting for the blow of accusation.

  “Do you realize how much food my Granny cooks on a daily basis to make sure you eat some of it?”

  He blinked, taking in her question. Her... acceptance. His fingers unwound and the tension in his body fled.

  She stepped closer, her countenance serious despite the levity in her conversation. “And Grandpa thought you were dying of some horrible disease because he hadn’t seen you in two days, so I advise you to stop by the house on your way back to camp to assure them you are well.”

  His grimace relaxed as he searched her face. “I’ll be certain to do so, Miss Ross.”

  She examined the chapel, her look of appreciation deepening the warmth in his chest. Blonde curls framed her face like a softened halo, begging his work-wearing fingers to test the texture. She accepted him? Even after the letter? He almost shouted in triumph and took her in his arms.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Now, we have a few hours of daylight left.” Her grin spread with a tip of her brow. “And I think you could use some help.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The train hissed to a stop in front of the small Hot Springs depot and Jess adjusted her gloves, feeling conspicuous in her Sunday best on a Thursday. A few people waited on the platform with her, some dressed in their finest, and others less so, but each givi
ng Jessica a solid look as they walked past her.

  A flash of coral and embroidery descended from the train steps, fitted to the elegant figure of her sister-in-law, Catherine Ross. Jess enjoyed the responses of the bystanders as much as seeing the feisty and familiar face.

  People actually stopped in mid-conversation, probably wondering if some actress from the moving pictures or a cover model from The Delineator or The Ladies World graced the small-town with her presence. In fact, it might have been the most interesting sight since the Germans took up residence next door.

  Catherine’s sapphire eyes searched the platform and finally landed on Jessica. Her red lips slid into a genuine smile, lighting her entire face. “Well, it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sense of style, sister dear.”

  Jess laughed and rushed forward, wrapping Catherine in a hug—or as close a hug as their mutual hats would allow. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you all.”

  “Three months is a long time for a father.”

  Alexander Ross followed Catherine down the steps. All at once, Jess was wrapped in the warmth of sandalwood, sweetness, and her father’s arms. She buried her face into his shoulder, pushing her hat to the back of her head, but she didn’t care. Her vision blurred so she closed her eyes to pinch back the tears.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  He tipped back her hat even more and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know I’ll detract from the style, but a father is allowed such liberties.”

  “And ready forgiveness, as he often reminds me,” came Catherine’s quick reply, paired with a playful tilt of her dark brow. “Which is fairly easy to give, I must say.”

  Father squeezed Jess’ shoulders once more and then gestured toward Catherine. “She works very hard to fill the void of your spirited presence.”

  “You know as well as I that her particular brand of determined was there well before I left.”

  Catherine’s smile turned impish along with her smile. “And it’s served me well. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with spirited, determined women, isn’t that so?”