The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Ian continued reading. “And Jesus answering saith unto them, Have faith in God…whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith.

  “Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.”

  Whosoever. That meant anyone. Whosoever meant Ian Russell. And the Lord was commanding him to speak to the mountain.

  In all his reading and studying of the Scripture, all he’d read indicated God’s sovereignty over life and death. Jesus had healed all those who’d come to Him. And yet, had Ian prayed in faith? Had he truly believed in God’s willingness to heal him? Had he seen so much sickness and death in his life, he found it hard to believe that God was the same God in his day as the one who healed all those who came to Him in Judea, Samaria and Galilee?

  He focused on the words again, covering his left eye to block out the blurriness. “Whosoever shall say unto this mountain…” God was telling him to command the mountain.

  Slowly, feeling self-conscious despite being by himself, Ian raised his hand to his head. Grasping his forehead and squeezing it as if to squelch the pain ever present inside it, he spoke in a voice still gravelly with sleep.

  “I speak to this tumor inside my head and I command it to be removed and cast into the sea.” With each word, his voice became stronger. “I command it to be removed and cast into utter darkness, in the name of Jesus.”

  He reclosed his eyes and rested his head, feeling a little foolish that he, the rational man of science, had spoken like a prophet of old. Who did he think he was? Feeling the doubts resurface, Ian read the Scriptures once again, knowing his only salvation lay in them. He remembered the imperative command of the voice that had awakened him. Search the Scriptures.

  He reread the passages and felt more confident. Then his eyes followed the next verse: “And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive your trespasses.”

  The words were like a sledgehammer against him as he pictured Eleanor’s smiling face earlier in the evening, her charm directed at d’Alvergny. Loathing swelled within him, choking him. Could he forgive her? Must he forgive her? He knew the answer even before he finished the questions.

  “I forgive you, Eleanor…I forgive you, Eleanor,” he whispered to the night. “I forgive you, Eleanor…” His voice broke as tears spilled over the rims of his eyes, and his heart felt rent in pieces.

  When he awoke again, the room was light, and he realized it was late. Memories of the night returned and he touched his head. The pain was still there though diminished. He covered his good eye. The same fuzziness blurred his vision, perhaps even more acutely than before.

  As he sat up in bed, he recalled the commanding voice once more. Search the Scriptures. He couldn’t have imagined it. He reopened the Bible to Mark and reread the passage. Once again, he spoke into the silence of the room commanding the tumor to be gone. This time he cursed it as Jesus had done to the fig tree.

  After he’d washed and dressed, he decided to go to the dispensary as he’d normally do. If he truly believed the Scriptures, he must believe God had heard and answered his prayer.

  He spent the morning assisting his partner in the dispensary. Denton seemed surprised to see him at first and asked him how he felt. They discussed his condition a few minutes, but then a patient was brought in and soon they were too busy to concentrate on anything but the day’s patient load.

  In the afternoon, Ian went to the mission and looked in on the patients there. Afterward, he and Althea sat together over a cup of tea. Ian told her about his experience in the wee hours of the morning.

  “God has given you a word,” she said, her eyes alight.

  “How can you be so sure it wasn’t something my own thoughts conjured up?”

  “Because, ‘all things are possible for them that believe,’” she quoted to him. “You haven’t been studying the Scriptures diligently to no avail. The Word says if you seek the Lord with all your heart, you shall find Him, and if you turn to Him and be obedient to His voice, He will not forsake you, nor forget His covenant with you.”

  “Do I have a covenant with Him?” he asked, feeling himself too low and unworthy to be called into that kind of relationship.

  “Indeed you do, one that has been ratified by the blood of Jesus.”

  Ian stared at her, the words ringing in the stillness. The blood of Jesus. He’d always seen it as the means of his forgiveness from sins, but not as the sign of a special covenant with God. “I want to know more of this covenant.”

  Althea nodded. “I’ll jot down some Scriptures for you to read.”

  Eleanor’s life had become a living nightmare. She dared not even look at another man in a friendly manner, fearing the reprisals to come in the night when she entered her house.

  D’Alvergny was two people, the suave, urbane man about town he appeared in public and the insanely jealous lover who guarded his possessions ruthlessly from any perceived encroachment.

  He was careful never to leave marks on her where they would be visible, but he delighted in treating her roughly, goaded on by her stoic silence, not satisfied until he’d made her cry out. Then he’d let her go with a triumphant sneer. In public he was as gentlemanly as when he had been wooing her.

  Her only thought was of escape, but it was almost impossible. He’d replaced Clara, her maid, with a towering brute of a woman who had previously been a warden at Bedlam. She cooperated with d’Alvergny in humiliating Eleanor—“priming” her as she called it.

  Eleanor lived in terror of losing her job in the theater, knowing if she did she would be finished. All she could think of was Sarah and her future. So Eleanor submitted, willing to sacrifice anything for her daughter’s future.

  Althea came to visit Ian one day when he didn’t show up at the mission on his accustomed day. She found him in bed, the pain in his head too severe to allow him to focus on anything.

  After she prayed for him and read him some Scriptures, she asked him, “Whatever happened to Mrs. Neville? The last time I saw her she was recovering from the fever. I went by to visit her last week but her house has been let out.”

  He turned his head away from her. “Yes, she recovered.”

  “Praise be to God,” she replied softly. “I was grateful for her help with the children. She seemed to have a real affinity for them.”

  “Yes,” he said with a weary sigh, covering his eyes with his hand.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “It’s all right. It distracts me.”

  “Have you any idea where she’s gone? We truly miss seeing her at the mission.”

  “She landed a leading role at the Drury Lane. I’m sure the mission is the furthest thing from her mind.”

  “I see. I suppose that’s what she wanted.”

  “More than anything, it seems.”

  “I hope she is happy.”

  “The last time I saw her, she certainly looked so.”

  “Was that…very long ago?” she ventured.

  “Quite recently.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian.” He felt her hand cover the one lying on the counterpane. “You cared for her.”

  “Cared?” An anemic word to describe what he’d felt for her. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  When she said nothing more, only continued to rub the back of his hand softly, he asked, “Tell me, Althea, have you ever fallen in love with the wrong sort of person?”

  She was silent long enough for him to think she wasn’t going to answer. When he opened his eyes, he saw her partially blurred and partially clear, but was still able to distinguish a bittersweet smile.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I have.”

  He hadn’t expected that answer. Althea was to him the epitome of the truly spiri
tual Christian. Carnal passions seemed so beneath her that they wouldn’t offer the least temptation. “It must have been long ago,” he filled in for her.

  “It was actually quite lately.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. He had seen no signs of the lovesick maiden as she went about her duties at the mission, or during her work at the chapel or at the street meetings. How could he have been so unobservant? He tried to think back despite the throbbing in his head.

  “When you went away?” he asked finally, the effort exhausting him too much to say anything more.

  “Yes. I let my heart be stolen by an unbeliever, can you imagine that?” she asked with quiet irony.

  “Your employer in Mayfair?” he asked sharply, remembering the man whose young daughter had died and whom he’d seen only a few times. “Aguilar—that was his name, wasn’t it—the M.P.?”

  She nodded, looking down at her lap.

  “I’m sorry, Althea,” he said finally, knowing well how inadequate the words were.

  Her smile didn’t quite succeed. “It’s all right. The Lord sustains me. I continue to pray for his soul,” she added softly. “He’s quite broken up about the death of his daughter.”

  Ian nodded and reclosed his eyes, feeling only a deep sadness. If someone—an unbeliever—had affected Althea so deeply, what hope had he that this laceration in his heart would ever heal?

  A few nights later, Ian was again awakened from a deep sleep. He had heard a voice, this time a distinctly audible voice in the dark room, not a voice from inside his head. He craned his neck, peering into the darkness, his ears attuned to the faintest noise. But he heard nothing. It had sounded like—but no, it couldn’t have been—Eleanor’s voice, calling to him.

  What did it mean? Eleanor calling him? He began to pray for her. As he asked the Lord to guide her and lead her into the truth, he began to feel an urgency for her. He prayed for God’s protection over her. The sense of danger wouldn’t leave him. Was she in trouble? He pictured d’Alvergny, and his stomach muscles clenched in futile rage.

  The sense of uneasiness persisted so much that Ian got up and knelt by his bed, continuing to pray for Eleanor. He felt an urge to go to her and assure himself that she was all right. Where would he find her? Most likely with d’Alvergny. What a fool he’d appear if he found her at the duke’s residence. Eleanor would probably dismiss him as a scorned lover.

  The next day, the pain in his head was lessened, but his disquiet over Eleanor continued. He decided to go to the mission that night and ask Althea’s advice.

  They were conducting an open-air street meeting and he stayed on to help. Afterward, he felt invigorated by the service. To everyone’s surprise, Althea had ended up preaching when the visiting preacher had been held up by an accident. Ian had never heard a woman preach, but he could not deny that the Spirit of God was upon her. The words held conviction, and many of the listeners came forward to repent and accept the Lord Jesus as their Savior.

  When they returned to the mission, he said to her, “The Lord used you tonight.”

  “Yes,” she answered, the awe evident in her tone. “It was all right, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he reassured her. “You truly were anointed to preach.”

  She turned to him. “Yes, I could never have done it on my own. Ian.” She gazed earnestly into his eyes. “Simon Aguilar was there. He heard the message the Lord gave me to preach.”

  He stared at her. “He was there?”

  “Yes! He didn’t acknowledge me, but, Ian—” Althea’s eyes shone with hope. “I believe God must be doing something. Will you pray with me for Si—Mr. Aguilar?”

  “Of course I will,” he promised.

  She grabbed his arm. “We must pray for Mrs. Neville, too,” she added. “No matter who she is or what she has done, we must pray for her salvation.”

  He felt a conviction pierce him, and he realized he had been more concerned with his hurt than about her salvation. Again he remembered the sense of danger that had assailed him in the night. By day, he had managed to convince himself it was only the effect of darkness.

  “Yes,” he replied slowly, “we must pray for her.”

  “You take me for a fool! Well, it shall be for the last time.” D’Alvergny yanked her toward him, his menacing face looming over her.

  “I did nothing,” she protested.

  “You went off with Lord Alistair while I was in the card room.”

  “I did nothing of the so—” Before she could complete the denial, his beefy hand shot out and backhanded her across the cheek. Her head snapped back. She nursed her cheek with her free hand, the only thought going through her mind that the bruise would show. He had promised nothing would mar her face.

  Before she could wrench herself out of his grasp, he hit her again. She cried out and tried to cover her face. “Stop it. I swear I’ve done nothing against you—”

  “Tell me what you promised Lord Alistair and Viscount Stanley and every Tom, Dick and Harry who surround you like a bevy of flies to meat!” His voice rose with each word until he was shouting and shaking her as if that would produce the truth. No entreaty would convince him. It was as if he wanted to make her admit a lie, just to give him a reason to punish her. His saturnine face was contorted with rage, and for the first time she truly feared for her life. When his hold slackened a fraction, she grabbed up her skirts and bolted for the door, but she had no hope of escape that night.

  His heavy footsteps overtook her and he dragged her after him to the bedroom.

  Eleanor heard the scrape of curtains against the rods. She opened her eyes to the bright morning sun. It was then it all came flooding back to her, as one eye barely cracked open and the other was caked in crusty tears. When she tried to move, pain everywhere brought an involuntary moan to her lips.

  “You’re awake, then?” The maid’s coarse voice jeered at her. Eleanor pulled the sheets up higher, not wanting the woman’s eyes on her naked body.

  It was a fruitless gesture. The large woman took an end of the sheet in one hand and flung it away from her, baring her face and half her torso.

  She chuckled. “I see His Grace did a fine work on you. You look like the inmates at Bedlam, them that misbehaved.” Her laughter deepened. Before Eleanor could say anything, she turned away and wrung out a facecloth in a basin.

  “Here.” She threw the rag onto Eleanor’s exposed cheek.

  “Oh!” Eleanor sucked in her breath as the frigidly cold, damp cloth hit her bruised skin.

  “You’d better keep it on if you want the swelling to go down on that pretty face o’ yours.”

  Eleanor clutched the cloth to her throbbing cheek, pulling the sheet back up to cover herself.

  “Well, I’d best draw you a bath, as ’Is Grace expects me to have you ready for him tonight. I don’t know as you’ll be up to anything by then!” Again she laughed as she left the room.

  When Eleanor was alone, she tried to stand. Her legs threatened to buckle under her. She wondered if she had broken anything. She felt her rib cage. Although everything felt sore and swollen, it was nothing to the pain she had felt after her fall in the theater, so she was reassured. She examined her body. It seemed mostly welts and bruises from d’Alvergny’s riding crop and manhandling. She shuddered, preferring to block out everything from the previous evening.

  All she knew was she had to get away. She must think. Where could she go? What was she to do? What about Sarah? Feeling the threat of tears, she bit down on her lip, willing herself to be calm.

  Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she began to pace the confines of her bedroom, trying to come to a resolution. She peered at her bruised face in the mirror. She wouldn’t be able to be seen in public, much less onstage, for days.

  Her life was over. The stark reality stared back at her. Despite her reluctance to go back into the past, she couldn’t help remembering how many times her face and body had shown similar marks from her stepfather. Stepfather was too good a word
to describe him. Her mother’s lover. She shuddered, feeling the nausea rise again.

  Suddenly she covered her face with her hands and collapsed in her chair. How many times she’d sworn after she’d escaped him that she’d never let a man do that to her again, and here she had fallen for this man’s promises. How could she have been so fooled? Her shoulders shook with the sobs that finally came forth.

  When she could cry no more, she knew she must act. She would not stay under this roof another night. When another maid, a young girl, came up later in the morning with a breakfast tray, Eleanor turned to her. “Can you send a boy from the mews to deliver this message?” She handed the sealed note along with a guinea to the wide-eyed girl.

  “Oh, mum, yes, mum, straightaway,” she stammered, curtsying, her eyes fixed on the gold coin.

  Eleanor waited impatiently all day for some sign that her note to Betsy had been delivered, hoping against hope the note wouldn’t be intercepted, that Betsy wouldn’t have a performance that night, or a rehearsal in the afternoon.

  At last, in the late afternoon, Betsy arrived. By then, Eleanor had packed a small valise with some overnight things. She glanced in distaste at the many dresses that hung in her dressing room. The majority had been purchased with d’Alvergny’s allowance, and she wanted to take no reminder with her.

  When Betsy arrived, she took one look at Eleanor’s face and brought her hands to her mouth. “What happened?” she asked in a shocked whisper.

  Eleanor brought her fingers up to her jaw, feeling afresh how awful her face must look if it horrified her friend so. Another wave of despair swept over her. “I…I…can’t explain,” she faltered. “I need your help.”