A Lady of Secret Devotion (26 page)

He also remembered his first name. It had come unexpectedly as he spent time reading the Bible. He was turning through the pages when his eyes fell upon the book of Mark.

“Mark.”

The name had such a familiar ring to it. He coursed through the pages, devouring the entire book. By the time he finished, Mark knew without a doubt that this name was significant. This name . . . was his own.

He had shared that information with the Shoemakers, and they had rejoiced with him. The doctor had told him it was just a matter of time before he completely recovered, as the memories were pouring in with regularity.

Mark trusted that the man was right in his assessment, but it did little to comfort him. Now sitting alone, facing another night of questions, Mark knew the only hope he had was in God.

“I don’t know what kind of man I was before,” Mark prayed. “I long to know—I need to know. I need to regain my life, Father.”

He glanced down at the Bible he held. It was open to the eighth chapter of Mark. He read,
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

Mark considered the words. For days now, he had turned more and more to prayer and God. He felt a peace he’d never known, despite not knowing who he was or where he needed to be. Mark felt God’s presence, and that, in and of itself, was more beneficial than all the panic and worry he’d allowed himself prior to that moment.

What if I never regain my memory? What if this is all I have?

A first name and no last name? No family, but this new group of people who seem to care greatly for me? Would it be enough?
He shook his head.

“Lord, you are all I have at this point. All that I can count on. I believe the words I read here in the Bible. What would it profit me if I remember everything and regain my world, but lose my soul? I do not know what condition my soul might have been in prior to this, but I pray that you would save me. Save me from myself and from this awful torment.”

“You look well rested,” Mrs. Shoemaker stated as Mark took his place at the breakfast table.

He took up a red-checked napkin and smiled. Mrs. Shoemaker had a passion for ginghams and had even told Mark how the fabric was from the East Indies and used to be striped rather than checked. The material graced her kitchen curtains as well as the tablecloth of blue and white upon which their meal sat. He was sure that, given time, Mrs. Shoemaker would cover her entire house with the fabric.

“I feel rested,” Mark admitted. “I spent a great deal of time in prayer last night.”

The older woman brought him a cup of hot coffee and beamed him a smile. “Prayer is always a haven of peace for me.

I’m sure it put things to right.”

“I feel it has,” he replied. “I cannot say exactly how or why, but I feel confident that in time God will show me what He wants me to know.”

“And if your memory doesn’t return?” she asked gently.

“Then I will have to believe that God has something better in store for me.” And for the first time Mark had a peace about that thought. He could give it over to God and trust that things would be kept in His hand. He felt completely renewed. Perhaps this was what it was all about. Leaning on God when life made no sense, as well as when the answers seemed clear.

“There’s ham on the stove should you want something more,” Mrs. Shoemaker said as she placed a plate in front of him and pulled off her apron.

Mark looked at the generous portion already stacked on his plate. “No, I believe this is fine.”

“I’ll be outside in the garden. I promised the neighbor across the street some of my flowers for her dinner table. She’s having a party tonight, and since I have an abundance of roses, I told her I would cut her a nice bouquet.”

“Mrs. Jameston had some of the loveliest roses I’ve ever seen,” Mark said after taking a sip of coffee. “But I believe yours would rival hers.”

Mrs. Shoemaker stopped at the door and looked at Mark with a smile. “Who is Mrs. Jameston?”

Mark didn’t even stop to think about it. “She’s the woman who employs Cassie.” He startled and looked up. There was no true memory or picture of the woman in his mind, but he knew the words to be true. “I don’t remember anything else.”

The woman chuckled. “You didn’t remember that much yesterday. I’d say we’re making progress.”

Mark nodded slowly and returned his gaze to his plate.

“Yes. I believe you’re right.”

For the remainder of the day, Mark felt a mixture of peace and anxiety. He knew peace in his soul—feeling for the first time since the accident that everything would be set right in time. He knew anxiety because having his mind back in order couldn’t happen quickly enough. Not only that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. There was something he was supposed to be doing. Something important.

Throughout the day, flashes of memory came back to Mark.

He began to see images and numbers, towns and names in his mind. He remembered Ruth and knew that they’d been married. She was dead, of that much he was certain. He couldn’t remember how long ago this had happened, but the pain was not as intense as it had been in remembering Richard. This gave Mark reason to believe that Ruth must have died quite some time ago.

And always there was Cassie. She seemed to remain with him through the best and worst of it. He had taught her to ride a horse, but she was afraid. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew that she had trusted him to help her. More than this, however, Mark felt certain that he loved Cassie—that she loved him. Were they married? Were they engaged?

The next day brought a few more answers. Mark was reading the newspaper, trying hard to find anything that seemed familiar, when he scanned an article about a policeman who was shot in the leg trying to stop a thief. Mark’s head immediately filled with images. There was a large man with curly hair and another man with shoulder-length brown hair and icy blue eyes. The two images were mixed together for several minutes before separating to reveal the man with the cold, harsh blue eyes to have a leg wound like the police officer he’d just read about.

Mark put the paper down and closed his eyes to focus in on the man and his injury. His memories remained muddled, but Mark felt certain that man was trouble. The other image, however, bore a little more clarity. Mark remembered the man was named Wesley or Wester or something along those lines. He knew the man was his landlord, but he had no understanding of where he knew him from otherwise.

Dr. Shoemaker came home for a short time and found Mark pacing in the living room. “You’ll hardly do yourself any good this way.”

“But I want so much to remember,” Mark said. “The peace I had earlier is gone now. I suppose it’s because as some memories come back to me, it goads me into wanting more and more.”

“And in time it will all come back,” the doctor told him. “At least for the most part. There will most likely be things you don’t remember. Those associated with the accident for instance.”

“I don’t care so much about remembering the accident.” Mark sat down and took the newspaper in hand. “I’ve read enough about it and heard you discuss the matter. I don’t feel at a loss in not being able to remember something so horrendous.”

“You know, I did have a thought,” Dr. Shoemaker said, nodding toward the newspaper. “What if we were to put a notice in the papers for the towns along the railroad’s path? We could find out where the train originated and then post an announcement in the major cities.”

“What kind of announcement?”

Dr. Shoemaker rubbed his chin. “Well, we could describe your features and explain that you had been injured in the railroad accident and had no memory. We could ask for anyone who might be missing a loved one fitting your description to contact us here.”

Mark felt a surge of excitement. “That might very well work.”

“When I return home this evening, we can figure out what to say.” The doctor got to his feet. “Whatever else, do not lose hope. You’ve already come so far.”

Mark knew the doctor was right, but he couldn’t help turning his attention back to the newspaper in hand. The article had triggered memories. Who was to say that other articles might not do the same?

The hours ticked by in frustration. Mark tried to concentrate on the printed pages for so long that he gave himself a fierce headache and decided to lie down for a short rest. He had no sooner dozed off, however, than new pieces of the puzzle began to fill in. He dreamed of kissing Cassie and of her telling him at the train station that she was no longer pretending— that she really loved him. He struggled to see the name on the depot wall but couldn’t make out the letters.

The scene faded, much to his frustration, and in its place came a petite older woman who smiled and handed him a dapple gray. “You must teach our Cassie to ride,” she said. A little girl danced around him and chanted, “Teach me, too, Mr.

Langford. Teach me about horses because Mama and Cassie are afraid.”

He woke with a start and called out the girl’s name. “Elida Stover!”

Mark sat up and pressed his hand to his temple. The little girl was Cassie’s sister. Cassie Stover. Cassandra Stover.

His eyes widened as a flood of memories returned. “I’m Marcus Langford. I live in Boston.” He shook his head. “No. I’ve been living in Philadelphia.”

More memories inundated his mind. He fell back against the pillows laughing. “I’m Marcus Langford!” he cried out.

Mrs. Shoemaker knocked on his door. “Are you all right, Mark?”

“Come in! Come in!” He jumped to his feet. “I’m Marcus Langford. I live in Philadelphia!” He grabbed up the older woman and lifted her in a fierce embrace. Laughing, he set her back down and took hold of her shoulders. “I remember now. I remember.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, the Lord is good. He has answered our prayers.”

Mark suddenly stopped and remembered that part of his life as well. God had taken him from a place where his faith was based on the relationship he had with others. God had taken him to a place where Mark had to meet his heavenly Father face-to-face—all on his own. No parent to guide him. No wife to encourage him. No friend to bring him, kicking and protesting.

“He has answered our prayers indeed, Mrs. Shoemaker.” He smiled and took hold of her again and hugged her tight. “In more ways than you could even begin to imagine.”

CHAPTER 21

M
emories were still filling in the emptiness of the last few weeks the next morning as Mark made plans to head back to Philadelphia. First on the agenda, he wired his parents in Boston. They would be frantic with worry about his well-being. Cassie would be worried, as well, but with only three hours separating them, Mark preferred to go to her in person—especially now that he remembered her declaration of love.

He smiled and hummed to himself as he thought of seeing her again. He would make his own declaration and ask Cassie to be his wife. The thought filled him with a feeling of completion such as he had not known since Ruth’s death.

Still, he couldn’t say there weren’t some regrets in leaving Trenton. After borrowing some money from the doctor, Mark found himself at a loss as to how to say good-bye. The doctor and his wife had been his lifeline since the accident. Their care had seen Mark recovered, and their patience and tenderness had kept him calm as he waited for his mind to come right. He cared a great deal for the Shoemakers.

“You are like family to me now,” Mark told the older man and his wife. “I cannot find the words to tell you how much it means to me that you would take a stranger into your home and care for him like a son.”

“It was what the Lord would have us do,” the doctor replied. “We’ve always been in the business of lending aid whenever we could.”

“I will not forget it,” Mark declared. “And I’m certain my mother and father will not. I know my mother will wish to correspond with you and offer her personal thanks.”

“That is hardly necessary,” Mrs. Shoemaker said. “We were happy to help.” She came and embraced Mark as if he were her own. “God go with you, Mark.”

Mark held her tightly for a moment, then released her and turned to the doctor. “Thank you.” He shook the man’s hand and met his gaze. “Thank you for the physical help, but also for the spiritual guidance. I feel whole for the first time in a long, long while.”

“I’m glad,” the man answered with a hearty smile. “God knew what He was doing when He put us all together.”

A knock sounded, drawing their attention. Mark let out a yell when Mrs. Shoemaker opened the door.

“Westmoreland!” He shook the man’s hand vigorously. “I am so glad to see you again.”

“As am I to finally find you. We have been quite worried. Your folks, Miss Stover . . .”

Mark laughed. “I can well imagine. I’ve had no memory of anyone until yesterday. Well, there were bits and pieces for some time, but it all came clear for me just yesterday. I’ve wired my parents but thought to simply get on a train and head back to Cassie. I thought it might be easier to explain in person.”

“I promised her that I would telegraph when I found you.”

“Well, we could, but I happen to know that the train will leave for Philadelphia in twenty minutes. I cannot be late, even to send a telegram.”

Westmoreland nodded. “Perhaps it would be best to simply arrive. After all, this will allow you to get there before nightfall.”

Mark turned back to the doctor and his wife. “I feel terribly remiss. This is a good friend, Mr. Westmoreland. August, these are the Shoemakers. Dr. Shoemaker and his wife cared for me after the accident.”

“How do you do?” the man said, tipping his hat.

“Very well,” Mrs. Shoemaker declared. “Especially now that our Mark has been reunited with a friend. We will not feel so bad about sending him off with a companion.”

“Mr. Westmoreland, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you,” the doctor added, “but I fear I am overdue to visit a patient. Mark, I will bid you farewell and God’s blessing.”

“Thank you, sir. I feel that the latter has already been bestowed.”