by Delia Parr
Victoria grinned. “Nancy loves the kitten so much she wants to keep her! I told her yes, of course. It wouldn’t be fair to expect Snowball to sit still in a basket for the long journey to New York,” she said, echoing the very argument Martha had used on the way home, an argument that Victoria had summarily dismissed at the time.
Victoria pointed to the floor near the corner of the room. “Look! Miss Ivy made up a little bed for her.”
Sure enough, there was an oval basket, lined with the same yellow gingham that covered the tables in the shop below. Martha smiled. “I have a feeling she’ll be one spoiled kitten, but if she stays here with Nancy, that means Miss Fern won’t be able to visit. She’s sensitive to cats, remember?”
Victoria frowned.
Nancy lifted a brow. She caressed the sleeping kitten. “I’m feeling so much better. Miss Fern and Miss Ivy have been very kind to let me stay here, but I was wondering if . . . if maybe I could go home soon.”
Martha cast a warning glance at Victoria, who rose immediately. “It’s been a long day. I’ll leave you two to talk,” she suggested and promptly took her leave after giving Snowball a pat on her head.
Nancy lifted the kitten and held her against her chest.
Martha sat down beside her. “Are you sure you want to go home?”
The young woman’s bottom lip, still split, but not quite as swollen, began to quiver. “Reverend Welsh says it’s a wife’s duty to be faithful to the vows she pledged before God and remain with her husband through good times as well as bad.”
Martha nodded. “And according to the Word, a man must love his wife as he loves himself. It’s also his duty to honor and respect his wife. I don’t believe Russell has done that.”
Tears welled in Nancy’s eyes. “It’s not all Russell’s fault. It’s mine, too. He . . . he wants me to forgive him and start again,” she whispered. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Martha. “Russell wrote this note to me. Reverend Welsh brought it with him today.”
Martha swallowed hard. “Do you want me to read it?”
A slight nod. “I don’t know what to do,” Nancy whimpered. “I was so frightened at first, I thought I could never go home again. Now . . . now that I’ve talked with Reverend Welsh and read Russell’s note, I believe I must. Miss Fern and Miss Ivy told me you help people all the time. Victoria even told me how understanding you’ve been, even though she ran away from home. Will you read Russell’s note and help me to decide what to do?”
Martha swallowed hard. “I’ll try.” She closed her eyes for a moment and silently murmured a prayer for guidance. Whatever message the note contained must have been a powerful one to have Nancy on the verge of relenting and going back home with her husband. If she encouraged Nancy to go home, Martha would have to be prepared to carry the guilt if anything happened to that young woman. On the other hand, what right did Martha have to encourage Nancy to leave her husband? Could she carry the burden of knowing she had helped to end a marriage that could have been saved?
The mantle of responsibility lay heavy on Martha’s shoulders, but she opened her heart as she prayed, knowing He would help her follow the right path.
24
Martha flattened the note from Russell Clifford and read it silently:
My dearest wife,
I long to see you, if only to tell you how much I grieve for the wrong I have committed against you. Though I have sinned against God and broken my vows to you, through grace I have been forgiven. Now I am begging for your forgiveness and remind you of your vow to be a dutiful wife.
If at first you think you can never forgive me, I ask you this question. How many times must we forgive others? According to the Word, seventy times seven.
As soon as you are able to travel, I want to take you home where you will once again take your rightful place as my wife. When you are completely well, we will go to meeting and stand before the congregation to pledge ourselves to one another and to His Word.
Your faithful husband,
Russell
Martha carefully folded the note and shook her head. As much as he seemed to want to reconcile with his wife, Russell Clifford also seemed a tad too arrogant to suit her. “Seventy times seven,” she murmured. “The message in the Bible is clear, isn’t it? We must forgive others for the wrongs they have done against us, even when it’s terribly hard to do so.”
Nancy nodded.
Martha let out a sigh. “I’m just a little uncomfortable accepting that the message in that verse is that simple. Just forgive. Always,” Martha admitted. “That’s my grandmother’s fault, I’m afraid. She and my grandfather raised me after my parents died,” she explained. “She was Trinity’s first midwife, and she was as good a Christian woman as God ever made. She loved and treasured the Word, and she told me over and over again that God expected us to listen to His Word, to believe it with all our hearts, and to act like it.”
Confusion clouded Nancy’s expression. “If that’s true, then I must forgive Russell, go home, and simply pray he won’t hurt me again.”
“That’s only one action. Actually, there are many ways to act and still follow the Word.” She smiled. “I remember the first time Grandmother talked to me about that. I’d just had another spat with one of the girls at Sunday school. She was a good four years older than I was. Her name was Ellen something. I don’t remember, but they moved away some years back so it really doesn’t matter.
“Anyway,” she continued, “Ellen was a bully of the first order, and she decided I was her favorite victim. Every time she pulled some nasty trick on me, I’d be a good little girl and turn the other cheek. On this particular occasion, we’d been to a church picnic, and she put something into my drink. I never did find out what it was, but someone told me later they had seen her do it. I got so sick I heaved for the rest of the day and all through the night.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “Then what happened?”
Martha chuckled. “Grandmother Poore sat down on my sickbed the next day and told me to listen up. She said the good Lord gave us good common sense, along with His Word. She said she admired me for trying to be a good girl, especially since I’d had some problems of my own playing pranks in the past, but by turning the other cheek time and time again, all I’d done was to make Ellen bolder and more of a bully.”
After she wiped away her tears, Nancy caressed the kitten on her lap. “What did you do to make Ellen stop bullying you?”
Martha laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise you’ll keep it our secret. I wouldn’t want to tarnish my reputation.”
Nancy attempted to smile, but winced. No doubt, her bottom lip was being sorely tested by all this conversation.
“The next time I saw Ellen,” Martha began, “was a few weeks later. I was coming home from the general store with a basket of eggs. My grandparents built and operated the tavern that used to be at the edge of town where East Main Street meets Falls Road.”
“The tavern that burned down last fall?”
Martha nodded.
“I heard about that,” Nancy said.
“As I was saying, Ellen saw me as I was going home. It had rained earlier that day, and the roadway was just one puddle connected to another by thick, smelly mud. We didn’t have the planked sidewalks we have now.
“Ordinarily,” Martha continued, “I would have turned around and headed back to cross over the stream by using the bridge near the confectionery, but this time, I kept walking straight at her.” She laughed. “I was so scared, I was afraid I’d shake myself right out of my boots, but I kept hearing Grandmother’s advice to stand up as a child of God and refuse to be bullied anymore.”
“So what did Ellen do?” Nancy asked.
“She stayed true to her nature and thought I’d do the same. She tripped me when I tried to pass by her. I sprawled flat on my face in the mud, dropped the basket of eggs, and broke almost every single one, save for one.” Martha chuckled.
“Ellen was so sure I wouldn’t retaliate, she just stood there laughing at me. Until I took that egg and promptly cracked it right over her head. Fortunately for me, she must have been shocked silent by what I’d done, and I had the chance to tell her if she ever bullied me or anyone else again, I would make sure she regretted it.”
Nancy giggled. “Did you get in any trouble?”
A smile lit Martha’s heart. “Trouble? Heavens, no. Grandmother Poore was so proud of me, she let me have double dessert that night. She waited for Ellen’s parents to show up demanding an explanation, ready to defend me. I don’t know what Ellen told them, but they never did.”
“And she never bullied you again?”
Martha shook her head. “Never. Of course, I did have to forgive her for tripping me. That took a bit of time.”
“I can see why!”
As Martha reminisced, providing more details to her tale, she recognized a strong similarity between Ellen the Bully and Russell the Brutalizer. Each had victimized someone smaller and more vulnerable. Each had counted on the Word, in some perverse way, to give them power over their victims.
She glanced at Nancy and saw, simmering in the depths of her eyes, the truth that Nancy recognized the similarity between Ellen and her husband, too. If so, she might stand up to him to try to keep him from hurting her, like Martha had done, but he was much too big and too strong to ensure that that would work.
If anything, Martha was certain she was now prepared to do almost anything to keep Nancy safe—realizing that returning home with Russell was not a good idea.
She patted Nancy’s knee. “According to my grandmother, to forgive and turn the other cheek is good advice for when someone speaks sharply to you or cheats you or is unkind to you. So in a way, what Russell is telling you in his note is right. We must forgive others, even though the good Lord doesn’t expect us to go out of our way to give anyone the opportunity to be unkind to us.
“On the other hand,” she cautioned, “when someone threatens you with physical harm, or repeatedly strikes you, like Ellen did to me or like Russell has done to you, we must forgive, of course, but we must put a stop to the brutality or risk losing our health or our very lives.”
Nancy bowed her head.
Martha put a finger under the younger woman’s chin, tipped her face up, and turned it so they could look directly at one another. “You have turned the other cheek, Nancy. More than once. You have forgiven your husband, time and time again. You must find a way to forgive him again for what he’s done, but that doesn’t mean you must put yourself back at risk by returning home with a man who has proven himself to be incapable of keeping his promise not to hurt you anymore. Regardless of what Reverend Welsh or your husband tells you to make you feel it’s God’s will that you return home, I want you to remember this: You are God’s child. He loves you. He would never ask you to be faithful to vows you’ve made to any man who repeatedly brutalizes you. You are too precious to Him.”
She paused and took Nancy’s hand. “It would take courage to return home, but it will take greater courage to claim your birthright as a child of God and live your life free from terror or pain inflicted upon you by someone who claims to love you.”
Nancy’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I don’t know what’s right anymore. I’m so confused. After I heard what Miss Fern and Miss Ivy had to say and saw . . . saw those horrid scars on Miss Fern’s neck, I thought I just had to run as far away as I could. Then Reverend Welsh came, not once, but twice. When he came today, he brought me Russell’s note, and I thought I had no other choice but to go back home,” she cried.
Martha put her arm around Nancy’s shoulder and embraced her. “You don’t have to listen to anyone. Only God. He’ll tell you what to do. If you pray very hard and ask for His help, He’ll guide you to make the right decision. He always does. That’s what Grandmother Poore taught me all those years ago, and she’s never been proven wrong. Not once.”
Nancy struggled free. “Even if I wanted to leave my husband, I have nowhere else to go. I have no way to keep myself.”
“There are people who care about you, who will help you,” Martha countered.
Nancy tilted her chin just a tad. “I won’t know for sure what to do until I speak to Russell. He’s not just a friend or a neighbor. He’s my husband. Maybe he’s learned from this awful experience, just like Ellen did after you taught her a lesson, but I will pray tonight that I will know what to do after we talk.”
“If you insist on seeing him tomorrow, then you will, but Miss Fern and I will be here with you.”
“All right.”
“We’ll have to get you ready, too,” Martha suggested. “I’m afraid the gown you wore when you arrived still needs mending.”
Nancy shuddered. “I don’t think I want to see that gown ever again.”
“You’re about Victoria’s size. I’m sure she has a gown you can borrow. There’s not much we can do about your bruises, though, but I think Russell should see what he’s done to you.”
Nancy reached up and touched her cheek.
“I’ll send Victoria back in so you two can decide about your gown for tomorrow, and I’ll warn Miss Fern about Snowball, too.”
“Thank you,” Nancy murmured, “but I thought Victoria said she was tired and going to bed.”
Martha chuckled. “I think she’s more likely waiting for me to leave so she can sneak back in here to see the kitten.”
Martha left the room and slipped out into the hallway. She found Fern dressed in a robe with a nightcap on her head as she sat in the chair with the rolling pin on her lap. “I wouldn’t go inside,” Martha warned. “Nancy’s adopted the kitten.”
Fern scowled.
Martha chuckled. “Don’t worry. Nancy’s well enough to spend time downstairs now so you can still talk with her. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. We can go to meeting together. Afterward, Nancy wants to see her husband, but she’s agreed that we can both be there with her.”
Fern shrugged her shoulders. “If the snow keeps up, there won’t be meeting. There’s nearly another foot on the ground already.”
“We’ll see, then.” Martha went directly to her room, with all intentions of praying for a blizzard that would cancel meeting tomorrow and make even walking about town impossible—if only to give them all a little more time before Nancy and Russell met face-to-face. She was also torn, since Aunt Hilda would be bringing her beloved husband to meeting as a grand surprise for everyone.
There were no easy answers this day. Maybe it would be different tomorrow.
Long after Victoria and Nancy had resolved the question of Nancy’s wardrobe for her meeting with her husband tomorrow and everyone in the household had taken to their beds, Martha was still wide awake, sorting through myriad thoughts and emotions.
She punched at her flattened pillow to give it some life, then curled back onto her side again. She was not really worried Russell would try to slip in to see Nancy. She was not worried about Nancy, either. Physically, the girl was really healing well—a benefit of her youth.
Tomorrow, Martha would know whether she would have to go up against Reverend Welsh, as well as Russell Clifford, and support Nancy’s right not to be forced back into a marriage that could be deadly, assuming that’s what Nancy ultimately decided to do.
Martha was not truly worried about Samuel or Will, either, but she did harbor guilt for interfering in their lives to such an extent that they had run away together. Instead, she tried to be grateful for the strong bond between them. Perhaps one day Samuel would write to her, through Will again, and let her know where they were and how they were faring.
She rolled to her other side, only to be met by more troubling thoughts. Within a day or so, depending on the storm, Victoria would be leaving again, but at least this time Martha would know where her daughter would be going. Martha also knew she could rely upon June and her husband to provide Victoria with the guidance she needed, but she could no
t help wondering if Victoria would have been so anxious to leave again if they had had a home of their own.
To compound her thoughts, Thomas’s proposal once again echoed in her mind. With the storm outside, she hoped he had found shelter for the night. A small part of her chafed at his insistence she turn over her patients to Dr. McMillan. Had she been a man, like Dr. McMillan, no one would have suggested setting aside her life’s work in order to travel or marry.
The very unfairness of it filled her eyes with tears. She should not have to choose between the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and the work that had given her life sustenance and meaning for so long.
Just because Thomas chose to give up his leadership role in the community and leave Trinity to chase some ephemeral idea of how to spend the rest of his life did not mean she could do the same thing. She sniffled and wiped away her tears. For once, she gave herself the gift of self-indulgence and gave herself a good cry, without even the slightest shadow of guilt to spoil the moment.
She had had it all once before with John. Why couldn’t she have it again with Thomas?
“Because Thomas is . . . he’s . . . Thomas!” She bolted upright, suddenly remembering he had left something for her before starting on his journey. She rose and lit the oil lamp, but kept it low to keep from disturbing Victoria. She scanned the room, visually searching for the note, but saw nothing. . . . There! A thick note was lying on top of Grandmother’s diary, which sat on the bottom ledge of a table separating her bed from Victoria’s.
No wonder she had not seen it before! If she had made the diary entry for little Lavinia Stern, she would have found it before going to bed. She reached down and retrieved the note. She’d have to remember to make the entry in the morning, but she was too curious about Thomas’s note to wait a moment longer.
As she opened the note, her fingers trembled, and a key dropped onto her lap. She wrapped her left hand around the key and quickly read Thomas’s short message:
