The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  She spent the days sitting at the narrow dormer window sticking out of the slanted roof, staring at the ugly building opposite. She refused to go below. Her shame was too complete. Her only action since arriving at the mission had been to ask Althea to deliver a note to Sarah’s family telling them she’d gone away on holiday and would write more fully at a later time.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of facing anyone—not even Sarah. How could she ever look her daughter in the eye knowing how far she’d fallen? Her daughter deserved better.

  “She refuses to come down or see anyone,” Althea told Ian. It had been three days now, and he hadn’t seen her since the night he’d brought Eleanor here.

  “Are you sure she is all right?” he asked yet again.

  “Physically, I believe so,” Althea replied, as she sat across from him in his cramped office at the mission. “I detected only bruises and…” She looked down and bit her lip.

  “And?” he insisted.

  “Lacerations,” she answered reluctantly.

  “Lacerations! Why didn’t you inform me sooner?”

  “I—” She shrugged helplessly, as if having no adequate response. “I’m sorry, but she didn’t want me to say anything to anyone. I cleaned and dressed her wounds. I…I think she’d been beaten…or whipped,” she added softly.

  Ian wanted to kill the man. He wanted to throttle the life out of him. His hands quivered to wrap themselves around the man’s fleshy neck and squeeze until the veins popped on his forehead and his eyeballs bulged out. He wanted to see d’Alvergny suffer, his lips distended in helpless agony.

  Ian stood from his desk, the chair scraping back harshly from the abrupt movement. He shoved a hand through his hair, turning away from Althea, who watched him in concern.

  What had gotten into him? Where was the man called to love his enemies and exhibit Christ-like love to mankind? Nothing would satisfy him but that d’Alvergny pay in kind for what he’d done to Eleanor.

  And she? What did she deserve? How could she have submitted to such a monster? He’d asked himself the question so many times he didn’t expect an answer anymore.

  Althea had already told him Eleanor didn’t want to see him—feeling too ashamed, according to Althea—but Ian was no longer sure he wanted to see Eleanor. What was there to say? She’d proved herself every bit as ambitious for worldly gain as she’d appeared when he’d first met her. She’d stopped at nothing to achieve her desire for acclaim and her West End address.

  Ian felt nothing but disgust…and sadness.

  “Are you all right?” Althea’s soft voice came to him from behind.

  “Yes, I’m perfectly well,” he replied through stiff lips.

  “How are you feeling, physically?” she asked, coming to stand near him.

  He glanced sidelong at her, almost afraid to speak the words. “My headaches seem to…have lessened.”

  Her eyes widened and she brought her hands up to her mouth. “Praise God,” she whispered.

  He said nothing, afraid to speak his hope aloud.

  “I shall continue thanking our Lord for this miracle,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said, truly grateful for this sister in Christ.

  Eleanor turned from the window. “Come in,” she said, recognizing Althea’s soft knock.

  “I brought you some supper,” she said with a smile, entering the twilit room. “Let me light a lamp.” Eleanor let her gaze follow Althea’s movements, setting down the tray, lighting a lamp, smoothing down the counterpane of the bed where Eleanor had been lying down.

  “There, that’s better, a bit cozier, isn’t it, with the light?” she asked. Eleanor knew she didn’t expect a response anymore. “Come, I’ve brought you some slices of bread and butter, a nice hot bowl of soup, and a cup of tea.” She gave her a smile of encouragement.

  Eleanor sighed, unable to disappoint the expectancy in the other woman’s eyes. She sat obediently like a child, but the effort of lifting knife and spoon seemed too much.

  Althea bowed her head and was saying grace over the simple meal. “Come, let me cut this bread for you. Cook just baked it this morning.” Althea held it out for her. Lifting her hand as if it weighed a stone, Eleanor took it from her and bit into it, the texture feeling like crumbling clods of dirt in her mouth. She chewed until she could finally swallow it, but the effort of another bite was too much.

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” Althea said softly.

  Eleanor suddenly couldn’t abide the kindness and consideration a moment more. “What could you possibly know about it? You are—a—a good woman.” She said the words like an insult. “You’re the kind of woman Ian is waiting for—pure and gentle. You’ve probably never thought an unkind thought in your life.”

  Instead of the protest Eleanor expected, Althea’s gray-blue eyes only looked more kindly at her. Eleanor turned her face away, covering it with her hands. “Oh, why don’t you go?” she asked wearily. “Just leave me. I don’t deserve anyone’s attentions.”

  “Oh, my dear, there’s nothing so terrible it can’t be forgiven.”

  Eleanor felt her lips trembling, but she wouldn’t give in to tears. “What did you ever do to deserve forgiveness?”

  “Once I felt as vile as you do right now. I felt I’d never be clean again.”

  Eleanor looked at her against her will. “What did you do, tell your parents a little white fib?”

  “I was used as abominably as you by a man who passed himself off as a gentleman to the world.” She gave an ironic chuckle. “I don’t know why it seems it would have been any more acceptable if it had been a man who didn’t hide the fact that he was a scoundrel.”

  Eleanor swallowed, her throat suddenly too dry. “What happened? I can’t imagine you sold yourself to a man in return for some material gain.”

  “No.” She looked down at the dinner tray, her fingers folding the cotton napkin she had brought for Eleanor. “He forced himself upon me.”

  Eleanor stared at the other woman. “How did it happen?” she finally asked, her voice as low as Althea’s.

  “He pursued me and pursued me. Everywhere I went, he was there. It was my coming-out, you see. He insinuated that I was no better than my mother.” She looked at Eleanor. “A chorus girl at the opera in Paris.”

  Eleanor looked in wonder at the woman she’d thought a paragon of virtue. Her background was not so very different from her own.

  “He terrified me with threats of exposing my background to my fashionable friends if I didn’t return his favors. He finally cornered me one night and took from me what he had no right to take.”

  Eleanor brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I wanted to die. I felt more shame than I could possibly bear. I thought I had deserved this vile abuse, because I believed this man’s words that I was tainted from birth.”

  “No!” Eleanor cried out.

  Althea gave a sad smile. “Nevertheless, for a long time I believed it so.”

  “Is that…is that why you came here?” Eleanor asked at last.

  “No, that came much later.”

  “What…how…” Eleanor found it hard to articulate what she wanted to say, not sure she knew, herself. “How did you bear it?”

  “I found that there was One who could love me. In spite of my filth, in the absence of any self-worth, He found me worthy of His love.”

  Eleanor looked confused. “But you’re not married…?”

  “No, but I am loved and cherished beyond measure.”

  Eleanor waited, puzzled.

  Althea leaned toward her, taking one of her hands in her two. “Eleanor, Jesus loves you so very much that He gave His life for you. He wants to wash you as you’ve never been washed. He wants to give you a new life. He wants to show you how very lovable you are.”

  Althea’s voice broke, and Eleanor found she couldn’t restrain the tears she’d been holding back until now. The words held such promise, although Elea
nor found them impossible to believe. But they sounded so lovely. To be loved. The little girl playing in the gutter, her face smeared with dirt; the young girl, her body beginning to display womanly curves, being groped by rough masculine hands in the dark of night; the young woman, willing to sell that body to the highest bidder in order to achieve fame and fortune. How could there be someone to love that person?

  “No, it’s not possible.” She hung her head, the tears splashing atop their joined hands. She couldn’t wipe them away, her hands held captive.

  “It is possible. Oh, Eleanor, all you have to do is open your heart and receive His love. He’s waiting for you to ask Him in.”

  “He can’t want me. No one wants me, not now.”

  “He does. He was willing to be brutalized for you. He suffered for you. He gave His very life in the cruelest death, so that you could partake of His life.”

  Eleanor stared at Althea. How much she wanted to believe.

  “All you need to do is ask Him to come into your heart. Tell Him you want His forgiveness. He’ll cleanse you of every man’s touch.”

  Eleanor shuddered, remembering each sordid act she’d ever engaged in. “Help me, Althea. Help me! I don’t think I can do it! You were an unwilling victim. I defiled myself willingly, time and again. You can’t know what kind of life I’ve led. Oh, God, I deserve to die,” she cried, her head down.

  Althea pressed the napkin to Eleanor’s face, and smoothed the hair away from her brow. “‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.’”

  Eleanor stared at Althea. The words were like a balm to her battered soul. They convicted her and yet promised life. They dared her to believe.

  “Oh, God, forgive me,” she sobbed, feeling Althea’s arms come around her and hold her. She clung to her.

  “Tell Jesus you accept that He died for your sins.”

  Eleanor nodded acceptance.

  “Tell Him you receive Him and His sacrifice.”

  Eleanor sobbed the words.

  Althea prayed some more with her. When they had finished, Eleanor felt calmer. She wasn’t sure what impact her prayer would have with God, but she felt the burden of self-hatred had lightened as she prayed.

  “Oh, Eleanor, the angels are rejoicing in heaven right now.” Althea laughed and gave her another hug.

  Eleanor hugged her back, feeling for the first time as if Althea was a sister.

  “Come, you must eat something.”

  Eleanor looked down at the food, realizing for the first time in days she felt hunger.

  As she ate, she realized nothing had changed. She was still in hiding. Sarah had no idea where she was. She couldn’t go back to the theater. D’Alvergny was a subscriber to the Drury Lane. If he was capable of orchestrating an accident at her old theater, what wouldn’t he do to make sure she was dismissed from the Drury Lane Company?

  Yet she no longer felt the fear and despair that had gripped her since d’Alvergny had terrorized her so ruthlessly.

  She smiled tentatively at Althea. “No one knows I am here, not even my friend Betsy. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Why do I feel suddenly…unafraid?”

  Althea smiled. “Because you have an army on your side.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ian didn’t go to the mission for a couple of days. He forced himself to stay away, knowing there was nothing he could do to help Eleanor, except pray for her. He divided those days between praying and meditating on Scripture verses in his room and visiting the dispensary for only a few hours each day. He’d never felt so useless in his life, and yet he’d never felt so close to God.

  He took the Lord’s words “Seek ye my face” to heart, and replied like the psalmist David, “Thy face, Lord, will I seek.” One night he felt God’s presence; it was like being filled to overflowing and for the first time in his life he understood the term “filled with the Holy Spirit” the apostles spoke of in the Book of Acts. At that moment all he desired was to fall to his knees in worship. He could spend the rest of his life in worship.

  He stood and raised his arms heavenward and began to thank God for His goodness and mercy. After a few moments, he felt it was not even himself praising God, but the Spirit of God within him flowing through his mouth in a paean of joy, the words no longer intelligible to him, known only to God, his entire being consumed by worship for his Creator.

  It was then he really began to believe that the Lord was Jehovah Rapha, the Lord, his healer. I am the Lord that healeth thee, the same words spoken to the children of Israel in the desert, were beginning to be true for him.

  The night following her praying with Althea, Eleanor accompanied her to a service in the chapel. It was the first time she’d ventured from her rooms since she’d arrived. She sat close to Althea and met no one’s eyes as they squeezed into the crowded pews.

  She didn’t participate in the singing, unlike the times when she’d come before and had joined her voice to the ones around her, taking pride in its purity in contrast to the unschooled ones. Now she felt unworthy to sing words like “And in all our praise of Thee may our lips and lives agree.”

  But when the preacher began to deliver his message, she forgot those nearby. He preached Jesus Christ and the gift of salvation He came to bring the world. With every point he made, she felt the walls around her breached. When he spoke of a woman who thought her sin so black it couldn’t be forgiven, Eleanor sat riveted, wondering how he knew her. But he wasn’t speaking of her, he was referring to a woman in the Bible.

  “She deserved to be stoned to death.” The preacher’s forefinger pointed to the crowd. “How many of us didn’t deserve death for our sins?

  “But her Savior, Jesus Christ, took that vile sin of hers on the cross with Him. He shed His blood on the cross that she might be set free from the law of sin and death. Hallelujah!” The preacher’s voice rose, his forehead glistening with perspiration from his exertions.

  “Jesus shed His blood on the cross to cleanse us from our sin. No one loves you with that kind of love. The Word says your father and mother may forsake you, but then the Lord will take you up…”

  His words went on and on, but Eleanor sat stunned by that last statement. She who’d known no love from father or mother, she whose father had forsaken her before she’d ever been born, and whose mother had turned a blind eye to what her lover was doing to her daughter, felt the last wall come down.

  “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Come!” The preacher’s voice rose. “Come to the altar. The Savior’s voice is calling you.”

  Eleanor rose, needing no one’s prompting, and followed the many who were going forward. At the altar she knelt and the tears began to flow as the preacher led them again to pray to receive Jesus as their Savior.

  As she finished the prayer, someone came over and laid hands on her head and began to pray for her. Eleanor felt a warmth flow over her body, and all she could think of was the blood of Jesus washing away her sin, making her clean for the first time in her life.

  The shadows and oppression, like serpents being untwined from her heart and mind, slipped off her, and she felt God’s love enveloping her.

  Ian observed Eleanor’s kneeling figure from the rear of the crowded chapel, and he prayed that God would make Himself real to her as He had to him. He could only feel profound gratitude to God for leading her to Althea and a place where she could hear the gospel.

  All those months he’d known her, he’d made no inroads. The Word said some were to plant, others to water, but that God was the one to give the increase. Ian could rejoice that God had used others to bring Eleanor into His kingdom.

  The days following were a revelation for Eleanor. She spent her days reading about Jesus in the gospels. Little by little, she emerged from her shelter and came down to visit with the children. They were overjoyed to see her and soon she was helping out again.

  Even thoug
h she knew the Lord would protect her from d’Alvergny, she did not go back to the house he had given her. She sent for her coach and a few of her belongings. She was not ready to return herself, however. After another few days had passed, she went to the Drury Lane.

  “You are resigning from the company?” Stephen Kemble asked in an incredulous tone. “What has happened? You didn’t show up and d’Alvergny sent round word that you were indisposed, and now you come almost a fortnight later, saying you want to resign. The show is doing very well, I might add.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said quietly, having read the reviews. “Congratulations.”

  “You don’t seem overly interested that Miss Parker has filled your role quite satisfactorily.”

  “I’m glad she was able to do so.”

  “What are you going to do? Are you getting married?” he asked, stating one of the few reasons a young actress might quit the stage. “Did you find a rich man to support you in style?”

  “No, I’m not getting married.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, then? Come into an inheritance?”

  “You could say that. But I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it yet.”

  “Well, I congratulate you. I hope you’ll become a patron to the theater, then.”

  She rose and bade him farewell, amazed at the indifference she felt at leaving the place she’d worked so diligently toward for more than a decade. “Goodbye, Mr. Kemble. Thank you for the opportunity you gave me here.”

  When she emerged into the pale February sunshine, she smiled up at the sky. She felt free—from the past, from her dreams, from every living being. The future was before her, a nebulous sea, and the present was to be lived.

  As the days passed at the mission, Eleanor saw Ian every few days when he came to see patients or to attend a meeting at the chapel. She observed him from afar with a deep sadness, reluctant to place herself within his notice after the way she had treated him and how he’d seen her.