seven

His duties finished for the day, Abe entered the side door of Christ Church Cathedral, letting his whistle fade to silence out of reverence for God’s house.

Over the past few hectic days in Victoria, he’d allowed himself to get too busy so that he’d neglected his prayer time and casting his cares on the Lord. Now the burdens were weighing him down and churning through him, especially since speaking with Zoe Hart after the funeral service. Even hours later, every time he pictured her talking with Dexter Dawson, his body tensed with the urge to break up their conversation.

He hadn’t noticed Dex after the funeral, hadn’t seen him speaking with Miss Hart until it was too late. But the moment he’d spotted the man, he’d rushed over to her as fast as he could. By the time he’d reached her, Dex had already walked away. Although Abe wasn’t a fighting man, he’d wanted to stride after Dex, shove him, and yell at him to stay away from Miss Hart.

“Exactly why I need to be in your presence, Lord,” he whispered as he moved into the dimly lit side aisle. “I’m weak and sinful and in desperate need of your strength.”

At the sight of a parishioner speaking with Bishop Hills in the narthex, Abe tread quietly so he wouldn’t disturb them. Though he had many prayer spots, this church was one of his favorites. The peace of the cathedral always embraced him, and the quiet reverence soothed his soul.

The colorful stained glass, grand pillars, and high arches brought back memories of his home church in Yorkshire and reminded him of God’s calling, that he hadn’t taken up service to the church merely because he was a younger son without an estate to manage or inheritance to claim. No, he’d taken it up because he’d truly wanted to make a difference in the world, wanted to share God’s love with those who’d lost hope.

“There he is.” Bishop Hills’s articulate voice carried across the nave. “Mr. Merivale, we have just been speaking of you. As a matter of fact, the constable came here hoping to find you.”

The constable? Abe’s stride lengthened, and he veered through the transept toward the two. Did the constable have news of Herman Cox’s whereabouts? Abe had gone to the police headquarters the day Herman had abandoned the baby. He’d returned every day for updates, except for today since he’d been so busy with the funeral and his committee meetings.

“Officer Green.” Abe nodded at the constable. “How is your wife?”

“Weak, but on the mend.” The constable bobbed his head. “The medicine and prayers have been helpful.”

“Then I’ll keep praying.”

“Thank you, Reverend. You’re mighty kind, sir.”

Abe avoided Bishop Hills’s gaze. His superior would admonish Abe once again to focus on his own parishioners in the mountain towns and to stay out of matters that weren’t his concern. He hadn’t approved of Abe asking Doctor Helmcken to visit the ailing Mrs. Green, but as a result of the visit, the kindly doctor had diagnosed and treated her severe influenza. Bishop Hills was of the mind that God had appointed pastors to address spiritual issues, and that Abe was spending too much energy and time on physical needs.

“We are not a charity organization, Mr. Merivale,” Bishop Hills had said at their last meeting. “We are here in the colonies to spread the gospel and build churches. Only the gospel has the power to truly change lives, and it must remain our central focus and priority.”

Abe understood and agreed in the power of the gospel. But he lived with a lingering regret that he hadn’t done more for the file grinders of his Sheffield parish. The hard work of smoothing and shaping and polishing metal was fraught with injuries and illness. If he’d stepped in and addressed the file grinders’ complaints sooner, could he have prevented the tragedy?

Maybe if he’d validated their concerns regarding the poor working conditions and low wages, he might have been able to bring about a peaceful resolution to the tension. Instead, the workers’ discontentment festered, culminating in violence. They’d blown up a house, killing one of their supervisors, his wife, their two children.

The lost lives weighed on him. Since leaving Sheffield, Abe had resolved not to sit back and ignore the tribulations of the people he met. If only Bishop Hills could try to understand. . . .

Someday, when Abe became a bishop, he’d work to understand the men under him better. And he’d certainly advocate for more changes in church policies when needed.

“Officer Green tells me you’re involved in finding the father of an abandoned native baby.” Bishop Hills’s tone was laced with fresh disapproval.

“The miner is one I’ve met riding my circuit, Your Grace,” Abe said hastily. “His wife recently died, and he’s beside himself with grief.”

“But it’s not among your job duties to find homes for unwanted children.” Hands crossed behind his back, Bishop Hills rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Shorter than Abe by at least a foot, the bishop still had a way of looking down upon Abe and making him feel like a child.

“My intentions are to minister to the baby’s father so that he will put his hope in the Lord and in so doing be able to provide care for his daughter.”

The constable cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to say Herman Cox won’t be able to do any of that.”

“I’d at least like the chance to talk and pray with him—”

“He’s dead.” Officer Green’s eyes were grave. “I came as soon as we got the news at headquarters. Figured you’d want to know right away.”

“I appreciate that, Constable.” A disquieting worry expanded within Abe’s chest.

“Found cold as ice in his hotel bed over in New Westminster.”

“Does anyone know the cause?”

“Deputy Farthing over in New Westminster ruled out murder. He said there was no evidence of any struggle.”

“What about suicide?” Even as Abe spoke the word, a weight of sadness and fresh guilt fell upon his shoulders so that he slumped deeper into his coat. He should have done more for Herman, should have gone to visit him after his marriage to Rose, shouldn’t have left the hospital the other day without first praying with him.

“Deputy Farthing didn’t rule out suicide,” Officer Green replied. “But he couldn’t find any proof. From all appearances, the man died in his sleep.”

“Looks like his baby is truly an orphan after all.”

Bishop Hills laid a cautioning hand on Abe’s arm. “We are not equipped to handle orphans, Mr. Merivale. You must allow Officer Green to take the infant and do his part.”

“Oh no.” The constable stepped rapidly away. “I can’t take a babe back to headquarters. We aren’t equipped for such a situation either. Not in the least.”

The bishop scowled. “Then surely you can find someone among our community willing to house and care for the infant until a permanent solution is found.”

“We’re not an orphanage.”

“Neither are we.” Bishop Hills waved his hand toward the nave as if to make his point.

Abe’s mind whirled with a hundred thoughts in a hundred directions. He didn’t know what to do any more than the constable or bishop. But he did know he had to try to help the child. “Herman wanted me to find a good home for the baby. Perhaps if I spread the word around town, someone will come forward.”

“Mr. Merivale,” the bishop said, “in addition to not being an orphanage, we are also not a foundling placing agency. I forbid you to waste your time and energy any further on this matter, especially since we both know how futile such efforts will be.”

Because the child had a native mother? Abe was sorely tempted to blurt his question. But he bowed his head and silently prayed for the grace to be submissive to his superior as well as for wisdom in how to handle the matter.

“The best solution is for the baby to live within the native community,” the bishop continued. “Officer Green, I suggest you take the child out to the Northerner’s Encampment and leave it there.”

“He cannot simply leave Violet at the Northerner’s Encampment.” Abe’s objection came out more forcefully than he’d intended.

Bishop Hills lifted his brows, his eyes full of censure.

Abe reined in his mounting frustration and continued more calmly. “The Encampment isn’t what it used to be. So few natives are left, and fewer are coming to trade, especially this time of year. Taking the child there would be the same as delivering her to a grave.”

“No need for theatrics, Mr. Merivale. I’m sure someone at the camp will have pity on the orphan.”

“One of the bride-ship women is looking after the child.” For the first time since Zoe Hart had insisted upon caring for Violet, Abe was grateful she’d taken the baby into her charge. “She’s mentioned wanting to keep the child—”

“The child should be placed with someone of its kind. Besides, a single woman isn’t fit to take on the responsibility of raising a child.”

“My sentiments too, sir,” Officer Green said.

“She is seeking a husband,” Abe admitted even as he rejected the idea of her marrying Dexter Dawson. “If she gets married, then she’ll certainly be a fit mother from what I’ve witnessed.”

“Even so,” the bishop said, “such a placement should remain temporary with the end goal of returning the child to her people.”

The constable and bishop spoke a few more minutes, voicing their concerns. By the time Officer Green took his leave, Abe’s nerves were pulled taut, and he was in need of prayer even more than before.

As he started toward the apse, the bishop called after him. “A moment, Mr. Merivale. You received a letter from Elizabeth this morn.”

A letter from Elizabeth? Abe’s heart jumped within his chest. Although it was slightly early in the month for Lizzy’s usual correspondence, he had a sudden keen need to hear from her. Perhaps she’d responded to the letter he’d sent last autumn with the marriage proposal. In the several months it took for his letter to reach her and then the months it would take for her letter to get to him, it was unlikely this was her answer. Yet it was still possible. . . .

Returning to the bishop, he took the outstretched envelope, which contained Lizzy’s familiar, neat handwriting. Eagerly he retreated to the front pew and lowered himself. Then, exhaling, he opened the correspondence, held it to his nose, and tried to breathe in her sweet fragrance.

After the miles the letter had traveled to reach him, the only scent upon the paper was the mustiness of the cargo hold where it had lain while traveling from England to the Pacific Northwest.

Smoothing out the paper, he began to read. My dearest Abraham, I have been delaying this letter for some time and realize I can no longer do so. In fact, by the time you receive this letter, I will likely already be married.

Married? What did she mean? He scrambled to read the next sentence. I am to marry Daniel Patterson of Rithet on Christmas Day.

Abe’s pulse leapt forward at double speed. She couldn’t possibly be marrying someone else. Not when she’d promised to wait for him. Not when they were so right for each other. Not when marriage had entered his thoughts more and more lately.

Daniel and I have spent much time together over the past year, and we have grown in our affection for one another. I do believe I love him, Abraham. I pray you will understand and be happy for me.

Something hot and sharp stabbed Abe’s chest so that he couldn’t breathe. Lizzy loved another man. She loved another man and not him. While they’d never declared their love for one another, he’d assumed she loved him. She always had, hadn’t she? And he’d certainly always loved her.

Why had she changed her mind? And how in the world could she expect him to be happy for her?

He skimmed the rest of the letter, hardly able to take in her words—how she and Daniel had gotten to know each other during their mutual volunteer work, how her parents had encouraged the match, and how she enjoyed spending time with him.

While no one can ever compare to you, Abraham, I have realized Daniel is a good man who will provide me with the stability and family I long for.

Was Lizzy implying he wouldn’t be able to give her stability and a family? Surely she knew he would do so once he returned. After his time as a missionary, the church would assign him a sizeable parish. As a rector he’d give her a comfortable life with everything she could ever need or want. Hopefully one day he’d become a bishop, which would bring even more prestige.

Had she simply grown tired of waiting for his return? He let his mind sift back through the letters she’d written in recent months. She hadn’t hinted she was weary of his absence. She hadn’t hinted at discontent with their arrangement. And she certainly hadn’t hinted she was falling in love with another man. At least, he didn’t think she had.

Why hadn’t she said anything? He would have sent for her earlier. She could have sailed to the colonies a year ago, and they could have been married by now. As it was, she probably hadn’t received his proposal until she was engaged and planning the marriage to Daniel Patterson, much too late to change her mind.

He read over her letter again, this time his eyes burning and his chest throbbing. When he finished, he crumpled the sheet, let it drop to the floor, and then buried his face in his hands.

Lizzy was married. The woman he adored was no longer his. The woman who would have made a perfect wife and helpmate belonged to someone else.

Oh, Lizzy, what have you done? his heart cried with an ache that drove him off the pew and down to his knees.

He needed to pray, needed to cry out to the Lord, but he couldn’t find the words. All he could think was that Lizzy had left him for another man. She’d rejected and tossed him aside with no warning. Hadn’t given him the chance to try harder. Hadn’t explained her feelings until too late.

If she’d truly cared about him, she would have given him more warning, wouldn’t she? How could she be so selfish to think only of herself and not of him in the least?

If that was the woman she’d become, then he was better off without her. He didn’t need her. He’d find someone else and be a good husband and show Lizzy all she’d missed by not marrying him. Eventually she’d regret her choice. Then she’d come to him and tell him she’d made a mistake and missed him.

“Pastor Abe?” A woman spoke above him.

He didn’t want to be disturbed right now. He wasn’t in the frame of mind to speak calmly or kindly to anyone. All he wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts.

“Are you marrying me?”

He jerked his head up to find Zoe Hart standing beside him. Her long hair was free of its knot and hung in waves over her shoulders with strands at her temples pulled back into a pretty twist. If he’d thought she was beautiful before, she was stunning now with her hair spilling about her in a glorious dark canopy. She peered down at him with her green eyes framed by those lush lashes.

Had she just proposed marriage to him?

Her question was so startling and unusual, he couldn’t make his mouth work to formulate a response. He could only stare and try to understand why she wanted to marry him. Of course, she was desperate to find a husband in order to keep Violet. She’d told him at the funeral earlier that she’d even consider marrying Dexter Dawson if she had to.

Maybe Dex had turned her down. Maybe she couldn’t find any other man willing to marry her and take care of Violet. And maybe she figured he might be willing, since she knew he felt responsible for Violet’s care.

“Well?” Miss Hart glanced toward the narthex, which was empty. Thankfully, Bishop Hills had gone on his way and hadn’t seen Abe’s breakdown over Lizzy’s letter.

At the merest thought of Lizzy, hurt shot through his veins. Since Lizzy was married, nothing was holding him back from taking a wife. He could get married and then write another letter to Lizzy and tell her he’d found someone else. At least she’d know he wasn’t pining over her, that he’d moved on just as quickly as she had.

Miss Hart’s brow furrowed. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

He dropped his head, the reality of Lizzy’s letter hitting him again. But just as quickly as the pain came, anger rushed in and chased it away. He pushed himself up until he was towering above Miss Hart.

“When do you want to get married?” he asked.

“I thought it was to be tonight at seven.”

“Tonight?” He swallowed hard and looked around the empty nave. Could he really do this? An inner voice told him such a move was rash. After all, he was the one who’d been urging caution with the new brides, urging the men and women alike to take their time and not make impulsive decisions.

But after Bishop Hills and the constable’s admonition to take the baby to the Northerner’s Encampment, his worry over what would become of the child had doubled. He had to find a viable solution quickly.

“If you’re not willing to do it,” she said, “then maybe you can check if there’s someone else—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

“Then you’re planning on it?”

Why shouldn’t he? Although his mind rapidly started to give him a dozen reasons why he needed to be wary, he shoved the warnings aside.

Miss Hart watched his face expectantly. The lamplight from the sconces reflected in her eyes, deepening the green and turning her skin to a creamy porcelain. If he married Miss Hart, at least she was fair on the eyes. He’d never get tired of looking at her. Her beauty was untamed, almost exotic compared to Lizzy’s no-nonsense looks.

“Very well,” he heard himself saying even as his chest burned again with the pain of losing the woman he’d always wanted. “I shall marry you.”