Rumors and Promises (41 page)

Ian dismounted Brownie and patted him on the side of his neck. He led the horse toward the lake for a drink. Release from his past burdens had come like the cool evening breeze when Elisha had prayed for him. Ian knew what he had to do, so why did his pride rear up and fight him on this other issue?

Yet if Ian wanted the credibility to advise Sophie, he needed to take Elisha’s advice. “
You need to tell her your past, what you thought you had to hide … You can be that example of forgiveness. And when she’s ready to forgive her parents, maybe you’ll both feel more ready for marriage
.”

“Lord, what will she think of me?” Silence met him other than the sucking sound Brownie made. He tilted his face toward the brilliant orange and pink of the western sky. He kicked at a stone to loosen the object from the dirt and bent to pick it up. Feeling
the smoothness of it in his hand, he then skipped the stone halfway across the water. A duck, which had been hidden in the grasses, stirred and flapped its wings.

You know the answer, son.
That still small voice of the One who knew Ian better than anybody spoke to his heart in the quiet solitude. Yes, Ian knew. He was afraid that Sophie wouldn’t see him as a knight in shining armor, ready to rescue her, as though he were some angelic messenger sent to touch her, riding in a chariot of fire.

Of a certainty, he knew Sophie would see the knight with rusty armor, dirty and disheveled, riding a horse fit for the glue factory. So it wasn’t just pride, but fear, too?
Let go of your fear.
He picked up another stone and turned the pebble over in his palm, warm from the sun on one side, cool on the other. A verse came to Ian.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

He turned the small gray stone over again, running his thumb over the thing. “You’re right, Lord, I shouldn’t be afraid whether Sophie would stop loving me. The situation is in your control—always has been. And I’m sorry for the pride of wanting her to think I’m anything more than human.” God’s power and love could work this out if he did the right thing. And if she didn’t love him anymore, their marriage wasn’t meant to be.

Bless me, Father, with your strength, grace, and wisdom.
Ian chucked the stone across the water, this time in a different direction than the mallard’s resting place. The horse nudged his arm with a wet nose. “Yes, it is time to go home before it gets too dark, Brownie.” He mounted the gentle horse once again and pointed him in the direction of the parsonage.

Sweat trickled down Sophie’s back as she took the crisp white sheets off the clothesline. She breathed in their fresh air scent. They were warm against her skin. It would have been nice to have a gentle summer breeze stir the stifling humidity. She envied the city people who flowed into the area to take advantage of the small surrounding lakes, longing for a picnic with Caira and Ian under the shade of the orchard trees at Apple Blossom House.
Ian.

Three days had passed since they had spoken. Though she was angry he’d hidden his encounter with her mother from him, she couldn’t deny the depth of emotion the very thought of him created in her. Had she completely lost the chance to become his wife? For a brief time what she had thought was impossible seemed possible.

Because of her stubbornness to forgive, everything seemed to be in jeopardy. Of course, Ian was being obstinate in this case, as well. He could at least try to see her side of things and be more patient.

Sophie bent to pick up the willow laundry basket, filled with clean linens, and carried it inside to get started on the ironing. As she pressed each sheet with a heated iron, sorrow weighed upon her heart. Biting her lower lip, she pondered her conversation with Ian. Deep within, Sophie knew that she couldn’t keep her secret forever, but surely this would be the end of Ian’s ministry.

Then there was the thought of seeing her parents. Even if she could forgive them, would they ever be able to forgive her? To accept their granddaughter? And yet if she did have any chance to marry Ian, wouldn’t she become “an honest woman,” as they’d once hoped? Unlike Charles, of whom her father approved, Ian was only a parson of modest means. He didn’t come from the family of a lumber baron, possibly willing to make a friendly business alliance with a piano manufacturer. Charles had.

Ian possessed a different form of wealth. He overflowed with love, wisdom, and kindness. He’d treated her with respect for the most part.

Charles had hidden his contempt behind a handsome smile. Sophie touched her cheek. Even as she remembered the sting of his hand on that spot, heat coursed over her neck and face. When once she had been attracted by his charming ways, with a hope for marriage and family, her dreams had turned to ashes.

Her brother, Paul, had taken her in the buggy to the Warner mansion at her request.

“Sophia,” Charles had fairly crooned. “My parents want to become better acquainted with you. Come for tea tomorrow.”

An internal tug of war between affection and fear took place within her. Perhaps getting to know his parents would help her to see another side of Charles, which would make her more comfortable about a possible engagement. “I suppose I should get to know them, as well.” Sophie gazed up and gave him her shyest bit of smile.

Her brother left her at the door, carelessly, bent on spending time with other friends that evening. Why hadn’t she implored Paul to stay for the visit? Charles’ parents were actually on an extended trip. He had convinced Sophie that he needed the uninterrupted time with her before telling the staff to leave them alone and closed the two of them off in the parlor.

Sophie set the iron down and put her hand to her heart. Even as she thought of how an internal alarm had gone off during the time alone with the scoundrel, her heart had set to pounding. Sophie sat in a kitchen chair, which rocked on uneven legs and fanned herself, rehearsing in her mind how she’d felt helpless to escape.
Why didn’t I think of climbing out the window? Or breaking it to draw attention?
She sighed. Once her heart slowed to a normal pace, Sophie stood back at the ironing board, continuing to press the sheets, fold them, and stack them.

Heat arose from the iron even as her face had burned with anger and shame, alone with Charles in the parlor.

“Sophia, you can make this easy and nice for yourself or unpleasant for us both.” He’d grasped her wrist so tightly, the skin stung under his touch as she attempted to twist out of his grasp.

“I thought you loved me.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“Please stop this. Ask my father for my hand, anything, but not—”

His mouth engulfed her lips with roughness and whisky-laden breath, making her gag. Nothing could coerce her to willingly give Charles something which didn’t yet belong to him. He pushed her against the brocade fabric of the chaise, muffling her screams with his large hand. Sophie, overwhelmed, nearly unable to breathe, fainted. On regaining consciousness, the assault was over. She’d lost her innocence.

“Was it so bad, darling?” Charles sneered. “I thought you were more of a woman.”

She was speechless as bile rose in her throat. Shaking, she was able to eke out a few words. “I want to go home.” And vomit.

Sophie climbed into the carriage he ordered, wrapped in a shawl of Mrs. Warner’s a shy maid had brought her, with unspoken sorrow in her eyes. Sophie had stood alone, avoiding the footman’s study of her. She had thought it couldn’t get worse, but it had.

Her girlish infatuation turned to disgust at the sight of Charles. Any suggestion of marrying the monster had brought tears to her eyes.

“Ow!” Sophie pulled her hand away. Lost in memories that had been seared into her mind and heart, she had grazed the side of her hand with the iron. She pulled butter from the icebox and rubbed the burned area with the greasy balm, soothing the pink skin with its coolness.

Plunking down in a seat at the kitchen table, Sophie found Esther’s Bible left open from her morning devotions. Her gaze was drawn to the top of the far left-hand column where verse three of Psalm 147 caught her eye.
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
How had she forgotten such words existed in scripture? Truly, she hadn’t given God the chance to heal her.
But when she was tired of running, she’d found Stone Creek. And Ian. And friends.

Sophie had been busy blaming God, angry at Him for what had happened to her. Yet, in her pride, she’d never admitted she’d been a little too trusting of Charles, or perhaps naïve. Of course, that didn’t excuse what he’d done to her in any way, preying on her innocence.

As painful as the whole situation had been, she went to sleep each night with a smile, thinking of Caira’s antics and how much she loved her daughter. Sophie wouldn’t have traded her for anything. What a precious gift her daughter was.

The Lord had allowed her to experience Ian’s healing love and friendship, as well as the kindness of Esther, Maggie, and Gloria. Perhaps God wasn’t as far away as Sophie thought. She closed her eyes, allowing the curative words of the verse to fill her.
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
God, I need a whole lot of healing and binding up. Please help me.

Once the stinging on her hand and behind her eyelids subsided, Sophie blotted the butter off with a cool rag so she could continue her chores. She took the last sheet from the ironing board and folded it neatly into place in the basket with the others.

Traipsing up the stairs with fresh linens in her arms, Sophie walked as lightly as possible, hoping not to disturb Caira or Esther from their naps. She thought she would start in James’ room. First, Sophie parted the curtains to let some light in. She cracked the window open, wondering how James wrote or slept in such an oven. Papers had been strewn on the floor or perhaps fallen from his tiny desk. Other sheets of paper were crumpled into wads splotched with ink. She shuffled some of them, placing them on the writing table, and sighed.

The corner of what appeared to be a Detroit newspaper stuck out from the bottom of the pile. Sophie’s fingers itched to pick
it up. James wouldn’t mind, would he? She pulled it out.
Detroit Free Press.
She just wanted to peruse it for a few minutes, then she would fold it back up, tuck it into its resting place and get back to making up the beds with fresh linens.

Holding the paper up to the light coming through the window, she skimmed the headlines and thumbed through the paper, looking over some of the articles. One page had been dog-eared. Sophie scanned the print. A headline screamed at her.

CHAPTER 24