A Lady of Secret Devotion (25 page)

“But how long will it take?” Mark questioned. “I cannot go on indefinitely accepting your hospitality. I have a debt to pay you and no idea of how to do so.”

“I am hardly worried,” the man said. “God brought you to us to care for, and we will see to the task until it is complete. We have plenty of room.”

Mark shook his head. “I feel hopeless.”

“Son, there is no hope only where there is no God. You cannot allow the devil to get the best of you. Why don’t you spend some time in prayer and the Bible? It will comfort you.”

“But is there nothing else we can do to help my memory return?”

Dr. Shoemaker took up a book and considered it for a moment. “I have read all that I could on your condition. This book offers as much authority on abrupt memory loss as is available to me, but in all of my searching, I come to the same conclusions. Most situations of amnesia are reversed in time. The swelling of the brain takes time to reduce and as the brain heals, your memory should return.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Mark asked bitterly. “Then what?”

“I cannot say. I suppose we shall have to simply take it one day at a time, and see to that matter when there is no other choice. You must maintain your faith.”

“But I don’t know that I had any to begin with,” Mark said, getting to his feet. “I find the Bible comforting and familiar. I find myself feeling quite at ease with the things you have shared with me. But still, I cannot say I have a faith to fall back on. I cannot say that I was a man who put his trust in God.”

“I feel confident that you were.” Dr. Shoemaker put the book down and leaned forward. “Mr. Smith, you have endured a tremendous ordeal. You have suffered injury and overcome great obstacles. If you were not already a man of God prior to this event, I believe that you are one now. Surely no one can face such a brush with death and not desire to know what lies on the other side.”

Mark nodded. “I know that much. I feel certain that things you’ve shared with me are nothing new. Even as I read the Bible, I find passages familiar. Bits and pieces of stories that come back to me.”

“And all of that is good news. You simply must give your mind time to mend.”

Mark sighed. “I suppose you are right. There is little else I can do.” He noted the clock on the wall. “Mrs. Shoemaker will wonder what is keeping us so long.”

The doctor smiled. “Supper will see us both comforted. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Late that night, Mark found sleep impossible. He got up and lit a lamp, hoping to drive away the dark thoughts that tormented him. He couldn’t make sense of anything in his life. Here he sat in Trenton, New Jersey, having no idea where he’d come from or where he was headed. He didn’t even know what significance Trenton or New Jersey might have held for him.

He ran his hands through his hair and suppressed a desire to cry out in frustration. His isolation and loneliness were nearly more than he could bear. The doctor and his wife were kind and generous, but he didn’t know them. He didn’t know himself.

Mark went to the window and stared out on the darkened neighborhood. The world seemed completely quiet and at ease. It was as if he were the only man in the universe suffering such a malady.

Cassie.

The name came back to haunt him. They had said he’d called for her over and over when they’d first found him. Was she his wife? Did he have a wife? Was Cassie the woman who appeared to him in his dreams?

He closed his eyes and conjured that image. Golden brown hair pinned in gentle curls atop her head. Brown eyes that seemed to take in everything. Finely arched brows and a perky little nose that had been dotted with several freckles from days spent in the sun without her bonnet.

“Riding a horse,” he whispered. He could see the image in his mind and felt certain that the woman had some connection to him through horses. He searched his memory to see if something else might come to him, but the image blurred just as the woman smiled at him.

Mark lit a lamp and sat down on the bed. He lifted the Bible Dr. Shoemaker had lent him, opening to the forty-second chapter of Isaiah. The words seemed to jump off of the page and pin themselves to his heart. He read them aloud.

“ ‘I the Lord have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will keep thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles; To open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house. I am the Lord: that is my name: and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven images. Behold, the former things are come to pass, and new things do I declare: before they spring forth I tell you of them.’ ”

Mark looked at the words again. He felt just like a prisoner, locked in a cage of his own inability to remember. Blind to whom he might be and where he might belong.

“I need to remember, Lord. I read these words, and I feel that I must have relied on you in the past. The comfort here is evident. The words familiar,” Mark prayed, his eyes ever fixed on the Bible.

Behold, the former things are come to pass, and new things do I declare.

The words seemed to hold some sort of message for him.

Could it be that God didn’t want him to remember the past?

Was there something so terrible there that God had blotted it from his memory so that he couldn’t be hurt by it any longer?

Mark closed the Bible and began to pace. Dr. Shoemaker had told him all of the details of the accident. The train rails had separated, causing the wheels to disconnect. The first six cars, including the engine, had gone off the track and crashed into the woods that ran alongside the railroad. Dozens of people had died. Dozens more had been injured.

He wanted to remember the sights and sounds of that accident, but nothing came to him. Exhausted, he threw himself across the bed, not even bothering to turn down the lamp. Perhaps if he left it burning, he would feel less terrified of the darkness in his mind.

Cassie rose feeling restless the next morning and felt only the desire for a bath. It had been unbearably hot throughout the night and her thin gown was drenched in perspiration. Fears of disease were now rampant in the city as news came that one neighborhood or another was experiencing sickness. Cassie worried about Mrs. Jameston but knew the woman would not want to leave Philadelphia. Cassie had even mentioned the idea to her, hoping that the older woman’s bouts of illness might leave her if she went to a cooler climate, but Mrs. Jameston thought it too much fuss at this late date.

Three knocks sounded on her door, followed by a pause and three more knocks. It was Ada. Cassie went to let her in and smiled at the sight of the woman.

“I have a tepid bath waiting for you,” Ada told her.

“You have no idea how I long for just that. I’ve not even checked in on Mrs. Jameston yet.”

“The night was quite warm, but Mrs. Dixon said there are signs of rain. That might cool things down a bit.”

“We can only hope.” Cassie reached for the door, then cast an apprehensive look over her shoulder at Ada. “Where is Mr.

Jameston?”

“He’s already left. He said something about needing to conduct business. He had Wills saddle his horse and told him not to expect him back before nightfall.”

Cassie breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door. “That is good news. Perhaps we will have a peaceful day.”

“Cassie . . . uh . . . there is something,” Ada called, as if uncertain how to continue.

“What is it?” Cassie turned to catch Ada’s fretful expression.

“I don’t know if it’s important or not, but since you haven’t heard from Mr. Langford, I thought I might mention it.”

“What?” Cassie asked, coming to where Ada stood. “If you know something, please tell me.”

“That’s just it. I do not know if it is relevant or not.”

“Tell me anyway,” Cassie pleaded. “As it is, I have nothing to even consider.”

“Well, it’s just that I was visiting my friend across town.

Her husband works for the railroad and . . . well . . . she said there was a bad accident.”

“An accident?” Cassie felt a sense of dread wash over her.

“Yes. A train derailed somewhere in New Jersey. It was mentioned in the paper, but since Mrs. Jameston doesn’t take one, I suppose we didn’t realize it.”

“Could Mark have been on that train?” Cassie asked, horrific images passing through her mind.

“Well, I can’t say, but it did happen on the day he left to go to New York, and the train was . . . well . . . it was known to have come through Philadelphia.”

Cassie felt the wind go out from her. Her vision seemed to blur and her head began to spin. “I don’t feel very well,” she said as her knees gave out. The thought of Mark being dead—of lying in a grave all this time—was more than she could bear.

O God, please don’t let it be so!

CHAPTER 20

D
ays continued to trickle by, and still there was no word from Mark. In two days it would be August. Cassie’s desperate need for information caused her to write a letter to the management of the boardinghouse where Mark had stayed. She hoped they might offer her some kind of insight. When Mr. Westmoreland, the boardinghouse proprietor, showed up in person, Cassie feared the worst.

“Is he dead?” she asked without thinking.

“I don’t know, actually,” the stocky man told her.

Cassie had directed him to the sitting room, grateful that Mrs. Jameston was relaxing in her garden. She didn’t want the woman to hear the bad news firsthand—if there was any information to be heard.

“I do know that Mr. Langford was on the train that derailed. I’ve been able to get that far. However, while there were many deaths from that accident, Mark’s name was not listed among them.”

Cassie slid into a chair, feeling her strength give way in relief. “If he’s not among them, then where is he?”

Westmoreland took a seat in the red fan-backed chair and shook his head. He twisted his hat in his hands. “I don’t know.

Neither does his family, for I’ve had a telegram from them and sent one in return. They are trying to investigate from their end. They didn’t know that Mr. Langford was traveling to meet up with them in New York, and therefore didn’t realize that anything was amiss until I contacted them.”

“People don’t just disappear, even when involved in accidents of this magnitude,” Cassie said, shaking her head.

“Besides, surely he would have had some sort of identification with him.”

“It’s hard to tell. The wounded were taken to various places, so it’s hard to know exactly where Mark might have gone. I’ve been told several of the injured were mentioned in the newspaper, but their names were given and family notified.”

“I don’t understand any of this. What are we to do?”

Westmoreland gave her a weak smile. “We feel—that is, Mark’s family and I—that it’s imperative I journey to Trenton.

Apparently, that was the nearest town to the accident. They took most of the survivors there to be treated. Some of the injuries were quite serious and required hospitalization. I’m thinking perhaps I can learn more in person than by simply posting inquiries. I cannot help but believe that it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Or it could be very bad. If he’s unconscious and unable to tell them who he is, there would be no way of finding his family.”

“I believe the hospital would have put that much information in the paper as well. I will go there, nevertheless, and investigate the matter thoroughly.”

“I wish I could accompany you,” Cassie said, knowing even as she spoke that such a thing would be impossible. “I cannot bear to think of him injured and alone.”

“Miss Stover,” Westmoreland began, then paused to look around. He lowered his voice. “I know about the game you and Mr. Langford were playing.”

Cassie started at this and stiffened. “Excuse me?”

He looked around again and rubbed his chin. “I know about the investigation.”

A sense of relief eased over Cassie. It was good to at least have someone else who understood the nature of their situation. “Then you must know I fear that Mr. Jameston might have done something to Mark.”

“I understand your concern, but I seriously doubt it to be the case. The train accident was from pure neglect. The rails were warped, as I understand it. Jameston couldn’t have done anything to cause that. Besides, he would have had no way of knowing that Mr. Langford was on that train. The trip was decided at the last minute.”

“But what if Mr. Jameston took advantage of the accident?” Cassie questioned.

“How would he do that, Miss Stover?”

Cassie realized the senselessness of her suggestion. “You’re right, of course. I’m grasping at straws and hoping to find answers.”

“That’s why I will go to Trenton. I know that if Mr. Lang-ford is there and injured, he would want someone to notify his family. Especially if he is seriously injured and unable to give information over for himself.”

Cassie nodded, but the thought of Mark in such a condition nearly drove her to tears. “Will you let me know as soon as possible?”

“I will. I’ll send a telegram to you here, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me right away. It may take days or even longer to track him down. I’ll start with the railroad management and then the hospital. Trenton is a good-sized city, however, so it may not be a simple task.”

Cassie reached into her apron pocket and brought out a handful of coins. “Take this for your trouble. It’s not much, but perhaps it will help.”

“No. Keep your money, miss. I told Mr. Langford’s folks the same. I have no need of it.” He got to his feet. “I’ve grown to care about Mark. I will be as quick about this as I can. In fact, I will leave immediately. Try not to worry in my absence.”

She shook her head. “That would take a miracle.”

He smiled. “Then a miracle is exactly what we need.”

The past few days had yielded some hopeful clues for Mark. He had begun to remember little things. The faces of his parents, although he couldn’t recall their names or location, had come more frequently to him. He could remember a friend named Richard and knew that the man was dead. But he couldn’t remember how or why. The thought gave him great sorrow, as if he were losing the man for the very first time.