The Healing Season

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Only now did she fully appreciate his selfless service to others. When they’d been in almost daily contact with each other, she had been too wrapped up in herself to truly see how dedicated a doctor he was.

  She had certainly been right about one thing, she thought to herself. He could never have given his heart—not fully—to one such as she. And he was right. She would never deserve a man like that.

  But he had been tempted by her, of that she was sure. She had done everything to entice him. She vowed never to behave in such a manner again. Ian Russell was a good man, and she would rather die than see him fall from his purity and faithfulness.

  She didn’t miss the irony that now that she could appreciate his goodness, she was determined not to throw herself in his way again.

  One morning as the two were folding laundry, Althea asked Eleanor if there was anything amiss between Ian and her.

  “No, of course not,” she’d answered hastily.

  “You seem to avoid the sickroom when he comes on his rounds. I hope you no longer feel any shame about…the way he found you.”

  “No.” She spoke the word firmly, although inwardly she questioned the truthfulness of her response.

  Althea held out a large sheet. Eleanor took the opposite ends of it and helped her stretch it out to fold.

  “Ian has been enduring a severe trial these last couple of months,” Althea said.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, her hands stopping in their actions.

  “He was feeling terribly ill. Headaches, dizziness, his vision blurring, even losing consciousness at times.”

  Eleanor felt her heart encased with a sudden chill. “What does it mean?” she asked in a whisper.

  Althea looked at her steadily. “Something very serious. As a surgeon, he has done enough dissections to know that a tumor must have been growing in his brain.”

  “Oh, no!” she breathed, collapsing in a seat.

  Althea came beside her, crouching beside her. “God be praised! He has healed Ian.”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened as she struggled to understand what Althea was telling her.

  “It’s true. God has delivered him from certain death. The headaches have disappeared, his eyesight is back to normal, and he has not fainted in almost a month, he told me the last time he was here.”

  “I had no idea…” Eleanor began, her feelings so mixed she didn’t know what was uppermost—relief…shock…sadness that she had known nothing and could have done nothing to help a man she cared for so deeply.

  “Of course not. He hadn’t let any of those close to him know anything until it was unavoidable. I reproached him for that. I told him he needed his brothers and sisters in Christ to pray for him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course we did. But everyone, including his uncle and other family members, I’m sure, has been terribly concerned.”

  “You say he is all right now? Are you sure?”

  “I’m as sure as I’m sure God’s Word is true.”

  Eleanor nodded in understanding.

  She was only beginning to learn how strong that statement was. She read the Bible as her source for life each day, hungry to know her Savior and to understand God’s purpose for her.

  One day as she read the words of Jesus, she felt convicted by a particular passage. “Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.”

  She felt Ian was justified in having much against her, and that she must ask his forgiveness. The last time they had truly spoken she had said terribly cruel things to him, and she felt them as a barrier almost as great as the shameful way he had seen her.

  She prayed for a few days, continuing to ponder the meaning of this Scripture, until finally she knew she would know no peace until she had asked Ian to forgive her.

  She waited until he had finished his rounds and was in the small room he used to keep his supplies, before knocking on his door. Her heart was beating like a kettledrum and her palms were moist, but she knew she had to go through with it.

  Ian finished packing his instruments into his bag and closed it up. He stood for a moment by a narrow window. Once again, he felt a deep gratitude welling in his heart toward God. You delivered me out of the pit, he said silently, bowing his head and thanking God for His goodness and mercy. He didn’t seem to want to do anything these days but thank Him. The world seemed a new place. He had new hope, invoking God’s Word with each patient he came in contact with.

  He was so immersed in his prayer of thanksgiving that he didn’t hear the soft knock on the door, which he usually left ajar. It wasn’t until he heard the diffident clearing of someone’s throat that he started and looked up.

  Eleanor stood in the doorway, her hands folded meekly in front of her. Her beauty never failed to take his breath away. Despite the fact that she was dressed simply, almost severely—he wondered if the dress was one of Althea’s—she still had an ethereal beauty that caused him pain. No matter how much he tried to put the past behind him, her presence opened up the wound afresh.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you—”

  He shook away the fruitless thoughts and drew a deep breath. “No, not at all. You weren’t interrupting.”

  When she said nothing more, he asked, “Is there something I can do for you?” He kept his tone with her as impersonal as possible, when he wasn’t managing to avoid her.

  She moistened her lips, and he realized she was uneasy—perhaps as much as he.

  “I’ve—” She stopped and cleared her throat, then began again. “I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.”

  He frowned. “For what?” They’d hardly spoken to each other since the night she’d arrived, and he couldn’t think what she could be referring to.

  “For how I treated you…before.” Her voice lowered on the last word and he had to lean forward to hear it. His face reddened as he realized what she was saying. He thought it had been put firmly into the past, and here she was bringing that awful day to the present.

  “I know I said—did—some unpardonable things.”

  “You don’t—” he began, unwilling to remember those times.

  She stopped his interruption with her next words. “I have no excuse, except to say I was a different person then.” Her lips lifted in a slight, bemused smile. “I hardly know that person anymore. I hope you can forgive me for the awful way I behaved toward you.”

  He said nothing, not knowing what to say. A plea for forgiveness was the last thing he’d expected. What did she mean exactly? What was she asking forgiveness for? Her cruel taunts the day he’d kissed her? Or for having made him fall in love with her? His lips twisted. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be held responsible for that—only his own stupid folly.

  “Well, I’ll leave you. No doubt you have many patients awaiting your attentions elsewhere.”

  Wait, he wanted to say, unwilling to have her to leave yet. In a bid for time, he asked, “What are your plans now?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d like to pay a visit to Sarah.”

  He nodded. “She’d like to see you, I’m sure.”

  She looked down at her clasped hands. “She’s my daughter, you know.”

  He stared at her, astounded by the sudden revelation. Of course…he should have guessed. “I didn’t know,” he replied slowly.

  She met his gaze. “Yes. It happened when I first ran away from home. The manager of the traveling theatrical troupe who took me in and gave me work—” She looked past him, as if unable to endure his regard. “He fathered her. He must have seen some talent in me, because when I began to increase, he didn’t want to lose me. He could have abandoned me then, but instead he paid a couple from the troupe—the Thorntons—to take me in. They were tired of the life on the road and were ready to settle down so they agreed. I stayed with them just until Sara
h was born, and then rejoined the troupe.

  “I only got to hold Sarah a few days and give her suck—” her voice cracked, and Ian’s heart wrenched with pity “—before having to say goodbye to her.” She cleared her throat. “Louisa and Jacob have been good to her, and they’ve let me visit as often as I can. I was waiting until she was older to bring her to live with me.”

  “And now?”

  “Now?” She spread her hands wide in a shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can ever be a mother to her at this late stage, but perhaps I can live close by. I had such great plans for her,” she said with a sad smile. “Now,” she repeated, “who knows? God knows,” she ended with a calmer smile.

  “Was that why you went with d’Alvergny?” he asked, wanting to know. It was the first time he’d named the duke in her presence.

  She flushed and looked down at her hands again. “That was one of the reasons. I was waiting for the day to have enough money to bring Sarah to live with me. But don’t fool yourself. It wasn’t the only reason. I wanted a part at the Drury Lane. He promised it to me, and he kept his word.”

  “Were those the only reasons?” What was he looking for? For her to admit that what d’Alvergny had said was true?

  “The Lord has shown me how I also did it out of contempt for myself.”

  Ian didn’t expect that answer, and he had to struggle to make sense of it.

  “He has shown me it has been that way each time, although I never realized it until now. That is why I hated those men.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a fingertip. “The only time I thought I was in love, with the gentleman who taught me the manners of a lady, it was a desperate kind of love. By the end, I probably hated him more than anything because I felt he’d taken everything from me and given me nothing of himself in return. I hated feeling helpless…and abandoned.” The last word was said almost in a whisper.

  Ian felt sickened by the disclosure, not thinking anything could have disgusted him more than d’Alvergny’s words. Now he wiped a hand across his mouth, not sure he wanted to hear anything more. For her, this might be cathartic, but for him it was a torturous ordeal, showing him afresh how hopelessly wrong she would have been for him.

  He remembered his uncle’s words. It takes a strong man to resist the role of rescuer to a damsel in distress. Was this what his uncle had meant? To resist would have saved him countless agonies, but had coming to her rescue been inevitable, requiring a much stronger man? Was he just as big a fool as every man who’d admired her?

  Her next words surprised him, pulling him out of his hopeless questioning.

  “You once asked me what my real name was.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was Maisey. Rather common, don’t you think?”

  “No, it’s a pretty name,” he found himself saying almost automatically, still too stunned by everything else she’d told him to take it in.

  “Maisey Moore. Not very elegant for a stage name.”

  When he said nothing, she waited a bit. The silence hung between them awkwardly. She sighed. “Well, that is all I wanted to say. Goodbye, Ian.”

  Before he could stop her, she had turned and left the room.

  He let the hand he’d lifted drop back to his side. What was the point of detaining her? He’d already settled that she could never be the one for him.

  Eleanor sat with Sarah in the farmhouse parlor. After Sarah’s delight in seeing her, Eleanor had taken her hand and told her she had something serious to talk about. She proceeded to tell her that she was her real mother.

  Now she sat back, waiting for shock and accusation. Instead, Sarah’s face looked radiant, and she threw herself into Eleanor’s arms. Eleanor braced herself to keep from falling backward and returned the hug tightly.

  “You mean you are my real mama? Oh, I always hoped it to be so! And now it is. I can scarcely believe it!”

  “Are you sure you are not disappointed?” Eleanor asked, when they’d loosened their hold on each other. “All those years I told you such a lovely tale of your parents, and now the truth is your mother is only a simple actress on the stage—not a very good one at that—”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed, still looking at Eleanor in awe. “Not a simple actress. You are the most beautiful, the most wonderful person in the world.”

  Eleanor could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. “Oh, dear, no…I’m not that.” Her lips trembled so that she couldn’t continue speaking.

  Sarah, as if sensing her mother’s uncertainty, took her two hands in hers and said, “I have always loved you above anyone else. Even more than Mama and Papa Thornton or my brothers and sisters.” She hesitated a moment. “Even more than those imaginary parents you told me about all those years.”

  The tears were rolling down Eleanor’s cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them. “Did you really? But you always seemed so eager to have me tell you the story about them.”

  “I was. I loved hearing it. It was like a fairy story. But I still loved you best of all. You were real. You were here. Those people seemed so perfect, they couldn’t have been real.”

  Eleanor fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief and blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “You’re right. They were too perfect. That was my mistake, wasn’t it? I should have given them each a slight flaw. Perhaps a mole on your ‘mother’s’ cheek and crooked teeth for your ‘father.’” She smiled at Sarah through the tears welling up in her eyes once more.

  Sarah laughed with glee. “Or a limp when he walked. He could have been wounded in battle.” After they both laughed heartily, Sarah asked seriously, “Tell me—Mama.” She hesitated only a moment over the name. “Why did you make them up?”

  “Because I wasn’t good enough for someone as perfect as you. I was only a lowborn actress. And what I told you just now is true. I wasn’t married. I couldn’t even give you a papa.”

  “So I don’t have a papa? It’s not Papa Thornton after all?”

  “No, my dear,” Eleanor said quietly. How could she explain to an innocent ten-year-old the truth? “Papa Thornton loves you as his real daughter.” She looked down at their hands. “Please don’t ask me about your real papa. Someday when you’re older I’ll tell you about him. I promise,” she whispered, too ashamed to look at her daughter.

  “Oh, Mama, don’t be sad. You mustn’t be sad when you’ve just told me the most wonderful thing.” She squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “You are my mama. You don’t know how often I wished it so. Every time you spoke about how you and my make-believe mama were the best of friends and told each other everything, I would think afterward how true that was of the two of us. How could we not be related when we thought about the same things and liked the same things and told each other all sorts of things?

  “Can I come and live with you now?” she asked eagerly. “Is that why you told me now?”

  “Partially. I do want us to live together. I just don’t know where that will be at the moment. I was thinking perhaps of getting a little cottage out here and living near you…”

  Sarah looked disappointed. “Oh, I was so hoping to come to London with you.” She brightened. “But if we live here, I will still be next to Papa and Mama Thornton.”

  “We don’t have to decide this minute. We’ll talk with Papa and Mama Thornton and see what they think.”

  Eleanor embraced Sarah once more, grateful to the Lord, who had restored her daughter to her after so many years.

  She didn’t know what else she would do with her life, but she trusted the Lord would make a way for her to be with her daughter soon.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eleanor knew it was time to get on with her life, although she didn’t yet understand which direction it would take. She’d already told Althea of her departure from the mission. Although Althea had expressed regret at her leaving, she promised to do all she could to help her. In the days following, Eleanor continued to help at the mission, finding peace in the simple rhythm of everyday chore
s.

  “Hello, Eleanor,” Althea greeted her when she stopped by the small medical office to get some supplies.

  “Hello.”

  “I need your help.” Althea was standing in front of a table laden with medical bottles.

  “Of course. What would you like?”

  “I need to get some prescriptions from the apothecary. Ian usually brings them from his uncle’s but he won’t be in today, and I’m afraid we’re a bit shorthanded this morning.”

  “Would you like me to fetch them?”

  “Could you? His uncle’s apothecary is at St. Thomas’s.”

  “I know where that is. I’ll go immediately.”

  Eleanor found the herb garret easily enough, but when she entered, there was no one there but the young apprentice.

  He recognized her right away and smiled broadly. “Mrs. Neville! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to collect some prescriptions for the mission.”

  Jem looked around. “Mr. Russell, Sr., didn’t tell me of anything that needed to be collected. Maybe Ian already took them.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “You could ask Mr. Russell himself. He’s in the herb garden just down the road a bit.”

  Ian’s uncle. Suddenly Eleanor felt a curiosity to meet the man. It might be her only opportunity. She smiled at Jem. “Yes, I shall go there.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you there?”

  “No, that’s kind of you, but I think I prefer to find it on my own, if you’ll direct me. It’s a beautiful day to visit a garden.”

  “That it is. Spring is finally making an appearance. Too bad I’m cooped up here.”

  She smiled in understanding.

  Eleanor followed the street to the building he’d indicated. When she stepped under the thick stone arch, she gasped in delight. Through it lay an oasis of green. The first tender shoots of grass lined the brick walk-ways. Rectangular beds of dirt were set out in rows down the length of the hidden courtyard. Bright clumps of yellow edged them where the first daffodils were opening up. Birds twittered in the bare branches of the trees.