Lady in the Mist (31 page)

33

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As she had found necessary twice since leaving her house, Tabitha found a place to rest. Although only a few hundred yards from Mayor Kendall’s, she sank onto the low wall surrounding the cemetery and inhaled the fragrance of a nearby magnolia tree. Its sweetness calmed her with a reminder of the pleasurable aspects of life, the little gifts God had given to His people as a reminder of . . . His love?

She started to lift her left hand to rub her eyes, which felt like her attacker had walked through them with sandy boots. The shallow cut pulled, and she emitted a low moan of pain, of frustration. She needed to get the key to Dominick before something awful happened to him. Patience had wanted to go, but Tabitha needed to assure herself he was all right, see him, inhale his scent, touch his face. She needed to create memories to carry with her forever.

Is that what you want from me, God? To sacrifice everyone I love until I have only You in my life?

That, of course, presumed she could have God in her life. But when people abandoned her through death and desertion, who was left but God? If He did care, of course.

She rubbed her eyes with her right hand, then rested her palm over them against the brilliance of the day. From an oak in the yard of the parsonage, a cardinal whistled and chattered, and another answered from across the square. Children played with shouts of joy and infectious giggles, and her heart wrenched. If He was all she was going to have, she desperately wanted to believe God loved her.

A hand curved around her shoulder, large, strong, gentle. “What’s going through your head, my dear?” Dominick asked.

She couldn’t answer him completely. In no way would she make him feel obligated to stay with her. She lowered her hand and chose a half truth. “I was just remembering something my mother used to say.” Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, where a slab of pale gray granite marked her mother’s grave. Roses tumbled over the stone, half obscuring the words “Honored Daughter, Wife, Midwife, Mother.”

“I always loved flowers,” she continued. “Momma used to tell me they were a reminder that God loves us. I don’t think that’s in the Bible, but it gave me comfort after Father died. I planted that first rosebush. I used to walk past here and look at it and tell myself that God loved me in spite of my father leaving us. In spite of it being my fault because I wanted to read an herbal rather than collect eggs for him. When Raleigh left, I didn’t have anywhere to plant flowers. I had my garden at home, but it had always been there and didn’t seem to have the same impact. Then, when Momma died so soon afterward, I planted that second bush. It blooms even better than the first, but I forgot that it was to remind me I was loved by God. I felt like He’d left me like everyone else.”

“And now?” Dominick settled on the wall beside her. “Do you believe that God has abandoned you?”

She plucked at a loose thread on her dress. “I’ve certainly abandoned Him. But if I’m wrong, then what is left once you leave?”

“If we can’t prove anything against”—Dominick glanced around at the empty square and graveyard—“him, I’m going nowhere for a long time.”

“And that makes you unhappy.” She observed the tightness at the corners of his eyes and the downward slant to his lips. “What happened with Kendall?”

“I was on my way to get the key.” Dominick sighed. “If I don’t get it to him within the hour, Kendall will send me inland to his plantation.”

“And if that happens, you will remain a redemptioner for another four years and I will still be unable to see you.”

“But locked up here, I can’t spy on Wil—anyone. I am so frustrated at night, I can barely sleep.”

“If God is with us, then shouldn’t we be able to pray about it?”

“Yes, but—” He bowed his head. His hair cascaded forward in a river of shining brown, red, and gold. “You might have abandoned God, but I betrayed Him.”

Tabitha brushed his hair back behind his ear so she could see his face. “How do you betray God?”

“Seven years ago . . .” He swung his legs over the wall so he faced the graveyard, his back to the town. “It all started seven years ago at university.”

“Riotous living like what we hear of most students?” She spread out her skirt so she could take his hand in hers out of sight of any passersby. “Surely if God forgave the prodigal son—”

“I was worse than a prodigal.” Though low, his voice held an intensity that thrummed through him. “I was showing so much promise at university, I knew I’d never convince my father I shouldn’t be a vicar. So I began to write letters to newspapers, to periodicals, to print shops.” He drew one foot up to rest on the wall and looped his hands around his knee. “I used my family position to glean information, then exposed every scandal involving a man of the church, from bishops to sextons. Even if I knew the man had repented, I reported the incident.” He paused to take a deep breath.

“Why?” was all Tabitha could think to say, as she tucked her abandoned fingers into her pocket.

Dominick snorted. “I wanted the church to refuse to ordain me.”

“You couldn’t simply engage in riotous living?” Tabitha asked, then laughed. “That was a silly question. I expect the church wouldn’t be surprised if a young aristocrat engaged in riotous living while a student.”

“Precisely.” Dominick half smiled. “And believe it or not, I didn’t want to engage in that kind of behavior. Drinking to excess and gaming and . . . other forms of debauchery didn’t appeal to me. I had a deep faith in God that said those things were wrong.” He sighed. “A pity it didn’t tell me that destroying the credibility of men serving God, most of them sincerely, was wrong too. I felt so self-righteous, so certain that all vicars and curates were like the ones my father kept around him in the livings he controlled. When I uncovered a new slip in proper behavior, I rejoiced in the man’s fall from grace as more grist for my scandal mill.” His tone dripped with self-loathing.

Tabitha laid her hand on his arm but said nothing. She couldn’t work out how she felt about his revelation enough to express any emotion or reasonable reaction.

“Of course, no one knew who was writing the letters except for one of my Oxford tutors,” Dominick continued, still using that note of disgust. “He advised me to stop, that I was hurting men who didn’t deserve to be hurt. He told me God would forgive them if they asked, and it wasn’t my place to force these men to confess or lose their positions. But I wouldn’t listen.”

“And did anyone lose his position?” Tabitha asked.

“No.” Dominick shook his head, sending his hair shimmering in the sunlight. “But one man lost his wife.”

“What?” Tabitha stiffened.

Dominick gave her a sidelong glance. “Despicable, aren’t I? I discovered he’d had an indiscretion a few years earlier. A print shop made broadsides about it, and a few days later, his wife left him.”

Tabitha caught her breath.

Dominick plunged on. “He went after her, publicly begged for her forgiveness. She gave it, and on the way home . . . on the way home . . .” He covered his face with his hands. A shudder ran through him.

Tabitha wished they were alone so she could wrap her arms around him, absorb some of his pain instead of making him bear it alone. She settled for tugging one of his hands down and holding it between both of hers in silent support.

He kept his other hand over his eyes as he choked out, “She died . . . in a carriage accident. I—I as good as killed her.”

“Did you make him misstep in his marriage?” Tabitha pulled his other hand from his face. “Did you make her run off instead of staying to talk things out with him?”

“No, but—”

“Then you didn’t kill her.” She squeezed his hands. “Yes, you probably shouldn’t have exposed their private concerns to the world, but they made their own choices.”

“A pity their son didn’t see it that way.” Dominick’s voice was dry, his face tight. “He left his mother’s funeral to find out who had written that broadsheet. He exposed me for writing the letters and challenged me to a duel. You know the rest.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I have damaged too many lives and you are much better without me, but I don’t want you to be—without me, that is. It’s merely that . . . Tabitha, I must make up for the lives I’ve damaged. If I can save lives, prevent a war, even prevent more young men from being stolen, perhaps then I can find my way back to my earlier relationship with the Lord. But I can’t do it as a bondsman. My uncle was wrong. But we couldn’t think of another way to get me here.”

“Maybe that’s what God wants of you.” Tabitha inhaled the magnolias and glanced at Dominick’s face to remind her of God’s beautiful creations. “If He is involved in our lives and we want Him to be, then it’s possible He has a reason to keep you here in bondage.”

“What, more punishment?” Dominick snorted. “I suppose it’s nothing less than what I deserve for what I did. If I could punish myself, I would. I’d go back and go into the church rather than hurt anyone as I did.”

“Would you really?” Tabitha felt a little ill. “Would you want that much to please your father? Would you serve the church now if your father still wanted that of you?”

She could scarcely breathe while she waited for his answer. If he said yes, then she knew he had made up his mind about their future.
God, I sure hope You’re with me and I’m wrong about You not caring.

Dominick gazed into the cemetery for several moments. Somewhere a wagon rolled along the cobblestones. A woman called, and the children’s play ceased. For a full minute, the town lay in silence save for the humming of bees in the flowers.

His inhalation of breath sounded like a wave against the shore in the stillness. “If I could find my way back to a harmonious relationship with God, I would love to serve Him. If I could be forgiven, what better way to thank Him?”

“Then we must get this key back to Kendall.” She produced the object from her pocket. It shimmered before her misty eyes. “And I’ll do the spying for you.”

“You want to be rid of me so quickly?” He gave her a half smile.

“I want you to be at peace so soon.” Aching in every joint, she headed for Kendall’s house.

Dominick fell into step beside her. “You should stay here. Letty will take care of you. You’re too tired and injured to walk home.”

“I want to be alone.”

So that only God would witness her breaking heart.

“Take this to Kendall.” She handed Dominick the key. “I’m off.”

“No, wait.” He caught hold of her elbow. “Tabitha, at least let me walk you home.”

“You can’t. You have work.”

“Kendall will understand. He’s not an unreasonable man.”

“Any man who threatens to flog another is unreasonable. It’s barbaric to inflict pain like that.”

“Like my father?”

Tabitha didn’t answer. She feared if she opened her mouth, she would demand to know why he would prefer to please a man who had scarred him for life and left him to die, over a woman who wanted to bring him nothing but healing. Yet what were the commonplace words her mother always told patients in extremis?
Only God is the true healer.

So that must mean she could only pray for Dominick, not heal him herself.

She needed to go home and think about that. Praying meant admitting God was there, that she’d been wrong. And if she was wrong, she needed to repent of the sin of denying God’s presence. The idea made her quiver inside.

She rested her hand on a fence rail for balance. “I need to rest, Dominick, but we can talk when Mayor Kendall will let you get away. If we’re to get you free, we need to plan how I can help you . . .” She glanced at the nearby house, too close with its open windows for mentioning names.

“I shouldn’t let you. It’s too risky.” He touched her cheek. “Perhaps there’s another way, something that won’t involve you. Doing so seems wrong.”

“It’s my choice.” She touched his cheek and turned away.

“This evening before sundown, if I can persuade Kendall to let me go,” Dominick said behind her.

“Your hour is almost up. Take care of that key.” Tabitha made herself walk briskly away. When she rounded the corner, she slowed according to her strength. Getting home would take a while.

She pictured her future without Dominick. She had an apprentice. She could take on more. Her life wouldn’t be empty. She would have a great purpose. The country was growing all the time. It needed women healers. And if war came, the women would need to take over for the men.

She wanted to accept the notion wholeheartedly. But an emptiness remained, a gap like a hole in a window, where wind and rain and cold could seep in.

“If You’re there, God,” she murmured as she traversed the square, empty in the heat of midafternoon, “then I need You to fill that hole. I’ve been seeking for others to do this, a man to give me children, and that’s all fallen through. You’re my last hope of anything permanent, forever, secure.”

Tabitha leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She needed sleep. She needed time to let her shoulder heal, but Dominick didn’t have time. She would have to start spying on Wilkins that night.

She headed for home again. Twice more she paused to rest. Her shoulder ached. Her head ached. If she slept until dark, maybe she would feel refreshed enough to carry out her plan, flimsy as it was.

She was a hundred feet from her garden when she saw a man lying on the ground outside the gate.

Raleigh. Raleigh. Raleigh.
His name rang through her head with each thud of her heart, each slam of her foot on the ground.

He’d escaped. He’d returned to her. Unlike Dominick, he had nowhere else to go, and this experience would teach him not to wander. She might not love him as she loved Dominick, but he was good and kind, and they’d been friends forever.

She charged forward and dropped to her knees beside the man.

It wasn’t Raleigh.

“Donald,” she said in a quiet voice, “can you hear me?”

Donald Parks opened his eyes. “I . . . can hear . . . you. Just . . . tired. Swam . . . forever.”

“You can sleep later.” Tabitha began to examine his head and neck for signs of injury. “You need to tell me now what happened.”