Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (24 page)

“Tom wanted to show me a couple of whales he’d spotted off the coast.”

Zelma dipped her brush into first one color and then another, mixing them. “He’s always loved sea life.”

Victoria stepped behind Tom’s mother and took in the nearly finished landscape, a beach at sunset with a young couple wading hand in hand in the low tide. It was beautiful. And strangely familiar.

“Yes, it’s you and Tom,” Zelma said with a smile. “Your young love is inspiring. I had to capture it.”

Their love? She’d known she was falling in love. But she hadn’t been sure about Tom. She thought she’d caught a glimpse of it in his eyes up in the tower. But what if she’d only imagined it?

“You’re a talented artist,” Victoria said, glancing at all of the other pictures around the room. “You must have a hundred pictures scattered throughout the house.”

Zelma swirled a pinkish orange color in the sky. “I wish I could take credit for all of them. But many of them are Tom’s.”

“My Tom?”

Zelma laughed. “Yes. Your Tom. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually, it’s impossible to believe.” Victoria couldn’t imagine Tom painting anything. He’d never even shown the remotest interest in art work, hadn’t even glanced at the paintings on the walls of the keeper’s house.

“He loved to paint as a child and a young man, before he left home.” The paintbrush in Zelma’s hand stilled, and sadness transformed her features. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed deeper and the grooves around her mouth more pronounced.

“He’s never once mentioned it.” Victoria studied the pictures, as if seeing them for the first time.

“The one of the Cape Henry on Chesapeake Bay there in the middle is his.” Zelma pointed to a painting of an octagonal-shaped brick tower. “You can tell which are his by the tiny initials he put in the left corners.”

Victoria crossed the room to inspect the painting more carefully. The detail was perfect, even down to the seagull circling in a blue sky dotted with realistic-looking clouds. Sure enough, a TC was painted in the corner.

“I’m shocked.” Victoria traced the crude wooden frame that surrounded the painting. “I wonder why he’s never told me?”

Zelma laid down her paintbrush and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t suppose he told you how I lost my feet either?”

A gust rattled the window, followed by a burst of heavy rain splattering against the glass. Outside the day had turned almost as dark as night, causing shadows to spread over the room.

Victoria tried to squelch a rising sense of unease at the realization that perhaps she didn’t know Tom as well as she’d believed. “Tom hasn’t spoken much of his past,” she admitted.

Zelma sighed. “I figured as much.”

“I didn’t want to ask you about your feet,” Victoria added quickly, “because I know how it makes my mother feel when people focus on her blindness.”

“I didn’t know your mother was blind,” Zelma said gently.

Victoria nodded and turned back to Tom’s painting. “She wasn’t born blind. But once she became an adult, her eyesight gradually failed.” Victoria didn’t like to think about her mother’s disease. In fact, she tried very hard not to dwell on it. If she ignored it, she could also ignore the haunting fact that her mother had inherited the disease from her mother. Victoria had never met her grandmother, but she’d learned from her father that her blind grandmother had fallen to her death from a lighthouse tower. Her mother never spoke of it. And no one in her family ever talked about the fact that the disease was passed from mother to daughter. It was almost as if in not speaking about it they could pretend the possibility didn’t exist for Victoria.

“Mother doesn’t want people to treat her like she’s blind,” Victoria said. “So we don’t talk about it, and we act as though she isn’t.”

“I see.” Zelma’s comment was soft. She was quiet for a moment, and the steady pelting of rain on the window filled the room. “Come sit down, dear.” Zelma reached for a wooden chair near hers. It scraped across the floor as she drew it nearer.

Victoria hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about her mother’s blindness perhaps any more than Tom wanted to talk about Zelma’s feet. She supposed they were both alike in their avoidance. But Zelma patted the cushion on the chair, and the kindness in her face was too difficult to refuse.

Reluctantly, Victoria sat down, and she didn’t resist when Zelma reached for her hands and clasped them in hers. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t pressure you to talk about your mother’s blindness until you’re ready.”

Victoria would never be ready, but she kept that to herself.

“However, I want you to know that I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to talk about my condition. I think it’s better for us to be open and honest about everything rather than pretend nothing is wrong with me. Because the truth is, I don’t have feet. I can’t walk. And it doesn’t help us to ignore my condition.”

Victoria should have guessed that Zelma would be as frank about her lack of feet as she was about everything else. Even so, Victoria was surprised by the ease and openness with which Zelma discussed the matter.

“I lost my feet from severe frostbite,” she continued, her gaze unflinching. “At the time, James was an assistant keeper at Cape Henry Lighthouse in Virginia. It was the winter of 1864. Tom and our older son, Ike, had both joined up with the Jessie Scouts.”

“Arch, one of my bodyguards, was a Jessie Scout,” Victoria started. But then she caught herself, unsure how much information Tom would want her to share.

Zelma’s eyes widened, and she studied Victoria’s face for so long that Victoria wondered if perhaps she’d said something entirely wrong. “Arch is a good friend of Tom’s,” Zelma finally said. “I’ve only met him once, when he came to visit Tom after the escape. But I liked him, even if he’s part of the reason Tom chose to be a bodyguard.”

Victoria inwardly cringed and prayed that Zelma wouldn’t make any connections and figure out that Tom was actually her bodyguard. She attempted to steer the conversation to a different topic. “What do you mean ‘after the escape’?”

“You do know that the Jessie Scouts were spies and involved in dangerous missions behind Confederate lines?”

Victoria shook her head. Arch had told her only the basics, probably a watered-down version fitting for a young lady. But Tom had never once spoken of his days as a Jessie Scout. She was embarrassed to admit that she’d never known he was one.

“I wasn’t too keen on my boys being involved in such duplicitous operations. But once Ike became a scout, we couldn’t sway Tom. He always wanted to do everything his big brother did. He rode off one night to join up with Ike, and there was nothing we could do to stop him.”

Zelma released a long heavy sigh. “Only the Lord knows what kind of trouble those two faced every day. I still can’t bear to think on it. I prayed harder and more often in those two years than I ever have before or since.” She paused and glanced down to her folded hands, as though she’d traveled back in time. She was quiet again, and the raging of the wind and rain echoed in the room.

“God answered my prayers,” she finally said in a voice so low Victoria almost couldn’t hear her. “His answer wasn’t what I expected. It usually never is.” She set her shoulders and continued in a stronger voice. “One of the other assistant keeper’s sons was fighting for the Confederates and sent word that Ike and Tom had been captured and were sentenced to hang as spies.”

Victoria’s muscles tightened at the thought of Zelma’s anguish at getting the news.

“James rode off immediately for Petersburg, where he thought they were being held. But not long after he left, the assistant keeper’s son showed up in the middle of the night and told me Ike and Tom were being held less than two miles away. He put his own life at risk to tell me. I was grateful, but I had no idea what to do, especially without James.”

Victoria squeezed Zelma’s hand. “You don’t need to tell me any more, if it’s too painful.”

“It’s all right, dear.” Zelma patted her hand. “I moved as fast I could in the dark of night. But the ground was marshy and wet. And it was January. By the time I reached the Confederate encampment, I’d lost feeling in my feet. I had to wait in the shadows for another hour before I discovered where the boys were being held. By that point, I could hardly walk. But God continued to provide the strength I needed. I was able to cut Tom’s bindings loose. Unfortunately, the boys were both too weak to stand and make a run for it. So of course, Ike insisted that I take Tom. But Tom wouldn’t have anything to do with the plan, wouldn’t hear of leaving Ike behind…”

Victoria waited for Zelma to continue. But she didn’t say anything more.

“What happened next?” Victoria finally asked, her pulse pumping hard at the image of the dark, cold night and both Zelma and her sons’ lives in danger.

Zelma sighed. “I’ll leave the rest of the escape details for Tom to share with you. I think those are his to tell when he’s ready.”

“Obviously you and Tom made it.” Victoria wanted to know how, but she didn’t push.

“At first we didn’t think Tom would live,” Zelma supplied. “But he eventually recovered physically, even if he never did make peace with what happened.”

Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t told her about being a Jessie Scout. Maybe it brought up too many painful memories.

“As hard as the doctor tried to save me from losing my feet, they were too frost-bitten after being wet and cold for so many hours. He had to amputate them to save my life.” Zelma smiled, and there wasn’t a hint of anger or regret in her eyes. “God used my feet to save my son’s life. It was worth the sacrifice. I would have given up my entire life for him if it had come down to it.”

Heat pushed at the backs of Victoria’s eyes, and emotion clogged her throat. “You’re a remarkable woman, Zelma.”

She shook her head. “I don’t claim that it was easy learning to live without walking. It’s forced me more than ever to rely upon the strength and joy of the Lord.”

Victoria wished she could say that she’d be able to face future trials with as much courage as Zelma. But if she couldn’t muster enough courage to face just the
thought
of a trial, how would she do when a real trial came?

“The Lord has brought me to a place of peace and acceptance over all that happened,” Zelma continued. “But Tom isn’t there yet.”

“How do you know?”

“During the past ten years, his longest visit was only two days.” Zelma’s voice wobbled.

Victoria squeezed Zelma’s hand, hoping to lend her a measure of comfort, although she wasn’t sure there was any for a parent who’d experienced such heartache. “We’ve been here two weeks. So see, that must mean he’s on the mend.”

Zelma’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You’re right. God’s doing something in his life. And I believe He’s using you to do it.”

“Me?”

Zelma nodded. “With you at his side, Tom can no longer run away from his fears. He has to stay and face them.”

Run away? From fears? Tom had once accused her of doing that very thing. Was he guilty of the same?

She stood, anxious to talk to him, to allow him to bare his soul to her. She’d wrap her arms around him and ensure him that she understood. Their time on the sofa that night couldn’t come soon enough.

T
he storm shook the keeper’s house, and Victoria was afraid the shingles would tear away with each new strong gust. She huddled under the covers in the darkness, unable to sleep knowing that Tom was out there with his dad.

Since the storm had begun, Tom had only come back to the house once. He’d been drenched and windblown and had informed them that he and James would both be working the night shift for the duration of the storm. Victoria had sent a basket of food back to the tower with him. Then she’d provided a simple fare of bread and leftover stew for her and Zelma.

She’d washed the dinner dishes, tidied the house, and finally helped Zelma prepare for bed. Since Victoria wasn’t strong enough to carry Zelma up the stairs to the bedroom, she’d made a bed on one of the settees in the sitting room for the sweet woman.

After lingering long enough to inspect all of the pictures on the first floor to find out which ones were Tom’s, Victoria had ascended to her room. She’d prayed the storm would cease so that Tom could come in and they could have their regular talk, especially because, after Zelma’s disclosure, she had so many questions she wanted to ask him. She was struck again by how little she actually knew about him and his past.

When the storm showed no signs of abating, she gave up hope of seeing him, donned her nightgown, and crawled under the covers.

After tossing and turning, she finally fell asleep only to be awakened some time later by the blare of the fog signal. The “beee-ooohhhhh” was like a low throaty groan amidst the angry rumble of thunder and testy whine of the wind. Occasional flashes of lightning revealed the low thick clouds that now hung heavy over the water and would make travel hazardous.

The fog signal tapered off, and she tried to make herself comfortable in the humidity of the damp night. She closed her eyes, but another long mournful groan of the fog signal startled her to full wakefulness. As she listened for several minutes she finally realized that the obnoxious horn wasn’t stopping any time soon, that the noise blared about once a minute and likely would continue to do so for the rest of the night.