The Healing Season (27 page)

“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 Eleanor 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 mas
culine 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.”

I
an 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 though 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.

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 seri
ous. 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.