Love's First Bloom (9 page)

Trust in Him
.

Those were the very last words her father had spoken to her in the final moments before she left with Capt. Grant. She missed him desperately. How she longed to hear the whisper of his voice when he said farewell each morning before he took to the streets. Or the sound of his boots when he cleared off the mud before he entered the house at the end of the day to share supper with her.

She fought the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks by clenching her jaw and taking long, slow breaths of air, and her throat tightened with guilt. Deceiving others in the village about her true identity might be necessary, but deliberately withholding the truth from a minister, especially this very kind minister, was even more difficult.

Her conscience trembled, striking chords of need that tempted her to put her trust in him. But fear that she would somehow put her father’s fate at risk forced her to keep her secret to herself. “Yes, yes I do have Lily and … and family to take us in. Your words are very comforting. I think perhaps,”

she added with sincerity, “you’ve found the heart of your message for this week’s sermon after all, since trusting in God is quite often a challenge for any believer.”

When Rev. Haines finally glanced over at her, his smile was back. “Perhaps I have. Thank you.”

She cocked a brow.

“For listening to an old man’s troubles and reminding me to trust that He would guide me to the message He wanted me to share with the congregation this week,” he explained, then offered his arm. “Come. I think it’s time for both of us to get started on the rest of our day. Let me walk you partway home, at least. I promised Spinster Wyndam that I’d drop by for breakfast, and I don’t want to be late.”

She took his arm and they started across the bridge. “I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”

“She’s been a bit sickly of late, but I have no doubt you’ll meet her soon,” he replied. “She’s nearly eighty now. Lived all her life in the village, but still hasn’t given up her favorite pastime, I’m afraid.” He met her gaze of curiosity with a bit of a grimace. “She’s a relentless matchmaker.”

When Ruth stiffened, he patted her arm. “Don’t worry. She’s still too determined to make sure she introduces me to someone so I marry again to bother you, although that may change once she finally meets you. And in the meantime, you shouldn’t worry about Mr. Spencer bothering you when you’re working on your garden, either,” he offered when they stopped at the end of the bridge.

She let go of his arm. “Oh?” she prompted, anxious to learn more about the man.

“He stopped by the parsonage yesterday to tell me that he wouldn’t be attending services until he was more fully recovered. I’d like to think that he was sincere, but in truth, he was so adamant about how much he valued his privacy while he was recuperating, I think he was more interested in making certain I wouldn’t drop by to invite him to join the congregation. He really doesn’t seem to want any visitors at all.”

“He does appear to be rather obsessed with his privacy,” she seconded.

He raised a brow. “Then you’ve spoken with him.”

She nodded and moistened her lips. “Just this morning. Briefly.”

“I thought I spied you talking with someone, but you were just a bit too far away for me to know for certain. At least you now know that you won’t have to worry about trying to find another place for your garden.”

“But how would you know he agreed to let me—?”

“I took the liberty of making certain he understood that you might need a bit of privacy yourself, and he should think long and hard before he tried to keep a poor young widow away from her garden.”

“But why would you … I mean, I appreciate that you spoke up for me, but why would you do that?”

He grinned a bit sheepishly. “When I was first called to my ministry here many years ago, Jane Canfield always made certain there were flowers at Sunday services. I thought I might convince you to do the same.”

“Of course … assuming I actually get to put some plants into the ground,” she replied, but she felt guilty for not telling him that she planned to no longer be here when the plants actually had flowers in full bloom.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about Mr. Spencer stopping you. Before he left the parsonage, he assured me that he wouldn’t mind at all if you did your gardening there.” He looked over her head for a moment and waved at someone on the other side of Main Street before glancing back at Ruth. “I’m sorry. I really do need to talk to Mr. Landrus now that he’s spotted me. Would you mind awfully much if I left you here?”

“Not at all,” she said.

While he crossed the street, she turned and clomped down the alley. “Jake Spencer, you’re a miserable man. Just because you’re in a bit of pain, that’s no excuse for being so mean to me,” she grumbled, frustrated that she had practically begged him to let her return to her garden when he knew he had already promised Rev. Haines that she could.

When she remembered that he had only agreed to her request after she had promised to do errands for him, she stomped even faster. “You’re more than miserable. You’re a conniving, manipulating … ugh!” she cried, too annoyed to think clearly enough to find just the right words to describe him.

She slipped back into the storeroom and sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. “Poor man, indeed,” she said, loosening her laces and tugging off her boots. “If I had any other place on this earth where I could find a piece of ground for a garden and some privacy, I wouldn’t step one foot on that precious land in front of that cabin you rented. Not one.” She grabbed her boots with one hand and the railing with another before she started up the stairs.

She had not climbed more than two steps before she had to slow her pace because the bottoms of her feet were so tender from the ill-fitting boots. She mounted two more steps, stopped abruptly, and groaned in frustration. She had left her garden tools in his shed, but to make matters even worse, she realized she had forgotten her shawl, which meant she had to go back and fetch it later.

“Mercy!” she exclaimed and grumbled her way up the rest of the steps. She eased the door at the top open and was barely in the hall before she caught the aroma of fried bacon. With her stomach growling, she stopped in her room only long enough to deposit the boots before hurrying down to the kitchen.

Phanaby met her in the hallway. “I thought I heard you come home,” she said and handed Ruth several newspapers. “Amos Sloan sent these over special, just half an hour ago when the first ship at the docks was unloaded, because he was afraid once the news spread, he wouldn’t be able to keep his wife from selling them at twice the price. Reverend Livingstone’s trial is over, Ruth. It’s finally over.”

Trembling with joy and disbelief that the nightmare had finally ended, Ruth stared at the headline in the
Sun
for several long heartbeats and whispered it out loud: “Not guilty.”

One by one, she scanned the headlines in the
Herald
, the
Transcript
, and the
Galaxy
, all of them dated several days ago, to make certain the verdict was the same in each newspaper before she remembered to breathe. Her heart fairly quivered with happiness, and with tears pouring down her cheeks, she finally looked up and met Phanaby’s gaze.

Phanaby was crying now, too. “Reverend Livingstone’s been acquitted! He’s been acquitted! Now he can continue with his ministry so he can help other women like you,” she managed and swiped at her tears. “Most folks won’t be satisfied with this verdict, and they wouldn’t understand why we are simply overjoyed,” she cautioned, “but it’s a blessing to be able to share this news with you here, in the privacy of our own home.”

Ruth smiled through her tears and trembled with many emotions that wrapped her heart with a joy not even Phanaby or Elias could understand. They did not know that Rev. Livingstone was her beloved father.

Now his faith in God had been rewarded and he was free.

Now the whole world had to accept that he had been wrongly accused of a very horrific crime, and when she clipped these articles and added them to the ones she had cut out from the newspapers before, she would not have to fear there would be any more.

And now, one day very soon, she would finally be able to go home and reclaim the life she had left behind.

Praise God, she was going home!

Ten

Glancing down at the little girl she carried on one hip, Ruth smiled, noting that Lily had a wardrobe far finer than Ruth had ever owned. Lily looked like an angel this afternoon. Her pale blue frock was just a shade lighter than her eyes. The dainty embroidered daffodil that rested in the fabric right over her heart was nearly identical in color to the ringlets that framed her pudgy little cheeks, although most of her hair was hidden by a sweet little straw bonnet with butter yellow ribbons tied beneath her chin.

For once, the little imp was even acting like an angel while Ruth carried her up Water Street to complete a number of errands. Instead of constantly squirming and trying to climb down, Lily sat contentedly, chattering her usual gibberish while she played with the trim on the collar of Ruth’s gown.

Ruth caught a glimpse of the two tiny white scars on her wrist, and her smile deepened. Lily had not bitten her again, either, which was a relief since she did not know if she would ever have the courage to put Phanaby’s advice into practice and bite Lily back.

When they reached Main Street, she set Lily down onto the planked sidewalk. “Hold still a moment,” she urged and tugged at the hem of Lily’s frock until it fell neatly again in gentle folds that reached the top of the toddler’s shoes. “Now remember, you mustn’t let go of my hand,” she cautioned and folded her hand gently, but firmly, around Lily’s tiny hand.

Lily looked up at her and smiled broadly enough to add a charming dimple to each cheek. “Lily good.”

Ruth chuckled. “Yes, Lily is a good little girl,” she replied, hoping this little charmer would remain on her best behavior until they got back home again. Ruth was careful to keep her strides short, and they made slow but steady progress together without Lily trying to yank free to toddle off on her own.

Unlike earlier in the day, Main Street was now noisy and bustling with activity at midmorning. In between wagons loaded with swamp moss and cedar headed east toward Dock Street, where their cargo would be loaded onto packet ships, she could see groups of shoppers hustling in and out of stores on either side of the street.

She nodded and waved to several women, along with their children, she had met at Sunday services and chuckled when Lily raised her free hand to wave, too. She was grateful none of the women stopped or crossed the street to chat, because she honestly could not remember any of their names.

When a farmer drove his cart so fast the wheels kicked up a cloud of dust, Ruth stopped and brushed herself off and watched with amusement while Lily imitated her actions. In all truth, ever since Phanaby had shown her the headlines in those newspapers a few hours ago, Ruth had been too overjoyed to mind much of anything, and she was actually looking forward to reading the entire articles after she put Lily down for her afternoon nap.

She did not tense when the stagecoach passed by, because she no longer had to worry that some traveler passing through the village might recognize her or that a reporter who was looking for her had just arrived. She did not mind stopping twice to re-tie the laces on Lily’s shoes. She did not even cringe when she thought about running into Jake Spencer later when she went back to retrieve her shawl while Lily was napping.

For one very simple reason: The world around her was filled with joy that made her feel safe and secure again because her father had been acquitted. No one could possibly have any interest in her whereabouts now, and she knew it was only a matter of days before she would be going home.

“Home! Home!” Lily cried as she tugged and tugged on Ruth’s hand, urging her to turn around. “Home!”

Unaware that she must have spoken some of her thoughts out loud, Ruth stopped in front of the butcher’s shop and bent her knees to be at eye level with the little girl. “We’re not going home yet. We have lots of errands to do, remember?” she said as she tucked an escaped curl back beneath the bonnet.

“Home,” Lily whispered. “P’ease home.”

The toddler’s eyes darkened and pooled with tears, reminding Ruth of a summer sky that suddenly threatened rain. She wiped away the single tear that escaped and patted Lily’s cheek. This little girl could not say more than a few intelligible words. If she could put words to the anguish that glistened in her eyes, Ruth had the distinct feeling she would tell Ruth that she wanted to go back to the only home she had ever known, too.

For the first time since she had taken charge of this little girl, Ruth also realized they shared another bond, a secret hidden from everyone else who lived here in the village. Both Ruth and Lily had lost their mothers at a very young age, and although Ruth did not remember the events surrounding her mother’s death, she knew what it was like to be confused by the deep void in her life.