Sweet Forever (6 page)

He hurried to help her up from the piano bench, fearing she might be inspired to deliver an encore. After leading the congregation in benediction, he wrestled with the thorny problem as he mingled with his flock.

The new piano, which had arrived earlier in the week, had indeed proved a mixed blessing. His heart sang remembering the joy that lit Rosaleen’s face as workers uncrated it in the parlor. A near twin to Becky and Ephraim’s instrument, it now graced the front left quadrant of the room.

Later that day, he’d caught Rosaleen walking around the piano. Watching her fingers stroking the beautiful rosewood finish of the cabinet, he’d begged her to play something from the complimentary sheet music the manufacturer had sent along with the instrument.

For the next half hour, he and Mrs. Buchanan, along with Andrew and Patsey Chapman, sat enthralled, listening to a hauntingly beautiful rendition of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”

Frustration gripped Jacob as he left the parlor to bid his parishioners good day at the front door. Shaking hands absently, he prayed for God’s intervention.
Lord, somehow You must help me find a way to replace Myrtle Stinnett with Rosaleen as pianist for worship services.
Psalm 27:14 sprang to his mind. “
Wait on the
Lord
: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the
Lord
.
”

“Well, Reverend Hale, do you not agree that the new piano is a wonderful addition to services, especially with Myrtle at the keyboard?”

Roscoe Stinnett’s question jerked Jacob from his reverie. Except for his sister, Becky, and her family, the Stinnetts were the last in the line of parishioners filing out of the boardinghouse.

Praying for guidance, Jacob chose his words carefully. “I do believe it shall prove to be a true blessing. Again, I thank you and Mrs. Stinnett for your generosity.”

He turned his attention to Myrtle Stinnett’s slight, retiring figure, half hidden behind her husband’s robust bulk. Her reticent demeanor beside her overbearing husband always evoked a feeling of sympathy from Jacob. “As for your contribution as pianist, Mrs. Stinnett, I’m speechless.”

“My playing would have been better if my rheumatism wasn’t acting up,” she murmured, her eyes not quite meeting his. Grimacing, she wrung her lace-gloved hands then lowered her pinched features until they disappeared behind her gray bonnet.

Loath to injure the shy woman’s feelings, Jacob said, “I can honestly say, I found it unequalled by anything I’ve heard before.”

A satisfied smile settled across Roscoe Stinnett’s broad face. He made their farewells and guided his wife outside to join others of the congregation visiting on the lawn.

“Jacob.”

Jacob turned at his sister’s urgent whisper.

“Is there nothing you can do?”

“I only wish there were, Becky.” He gave a wistful sigh and reached out and touched the soft, rosy cheek of his infant niece cooing in her mother’s arms. “The sad thing is, I feel sure it was not Myrtle’s idea to act as pianist but Roscoe’s.”

“Yes,” Becky agreed, repositioning the ivory crocheted wrap the baby had kicked off. “I’m afraid the man bullies her. But you know Myrtle, she’d never say boo to a goose. If only—”

“I know,” he finished her thought, “if only Rosaleen could play for services.”

“Perhaps I can help.” Ephraim, with Daniel in hand, joined his wife. “I confess I was tempted to accompany Daniel on his last trip to the outhouse.”

“But what could you do, dear?” Becky asked.

Jacob, too, wondered what his brother-in-law had in mind.

“I’m not altogether sure, but a few prayers concerning the subject would not be misplaced this week,” Ephraim told them, grinning.

As Jacob watched his sister and her family walk away, he prayed that God had given Ephraim a solution to their prickly problem. Now, if only he could convince Rosaleen to attend services.

Jacob stood at the front door shaking hands, eager to see the last parishioner from the boardinghouse. He continually cast glances down the hallway toward the kitchen where he’d last glimpsed Rosaleen.

Since the day last week when she’d disclosed her history, he’d found his course set and his heart determined. Somehow he must bring her to the knowledge of Christ’s love and salvation.

The moment he bid the last straggler good day, Jacob noticed Rosaleen heading toward the stairway with an armful of linens.

He bolted toward her. “Rosaleen”—touching her arm, he halted her ascent at the bottom step—“I saw you listening during the services. . .out in the hallway.”

“I—”

“Don’t deny it.” He couldn’t help giving her a little grin. “I was wondering if you’d consider playing for Sunday services.”

“But you have a pianist. I heard—”

“Then you realize just how desperately we require your assistance.” Jacob widened his grin.

“But, I’m not—I mean I don’t belong. . .”

The way her gaze dropped to the linens ripped at his heart. How could she not realize how talented, beautiful, and wonderful she was?

“But you do belong. You are exactly who belongs there.” Lifting her chin with the crook of his finger, Jacob forced her to meet his intent gaze. “Rosaleen, you have an amazing talent. If you heard some of my sermon today, you know it dealt with the parable of the talents from the book of Matthew. God gave you this talent. Could you not give just a little of it back?”

He watched her delicate brows slant into a V. “Jacob,
I wouldn’t want to cause problems between you and your congregation.”

Though her concern touched him deeply, his heart lifted, detecting a tiny crack in her resistance. He rushed to take advantage of the opportunity, however slight. “Would you take the position if it were open?”

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, and then after a moment’s hesitation, murmured, “Yes.”

Jacob felt himself exhale a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Don’t be concerned about injuring Myrtle Stinnett’s feelings,” he told her. “I am quite sure she would like to relinquish the position as much as the congregation would like for her to. I’m also confident that the good lady has other talents far more obvious than those musical.”

❧

The following Wednesday afternoon, Jacob sat at the desk in the parlor, immersed in preparation for the next Sunday’s sermon.

Suddenly, Rosaleen’s soft voice pulled his attention toward the doorway. “Jacob.”

As always, Jacob’s heart quickened at her presence.

“Mrs. Stinnett is waiting in the front hallway and wonders if she could have a few minutes of your time.”

“Yes, of course, Rosaleen. Please show her in.”

Jacob’s mind raced, trying to imagine what the woman might want. He found himself unprepared for the sight of Myrtle Stinnett dabbing at her eyes with a lace kerchief.

Hurrying to the distraught woman’s side, he gently ushered her to the green velvet upholstered settee. “My dear lady, whatever could be the problem?”

After situating Mrs. Stinnett, he turned to Rosaleen. “Rosaleen, would you please bring Mrs. Stinnett a cup of tea and some of Patsey’s little seed cakes?”

“Yes, of course,” Rosaleen said, hurrying toward the kitchen.

“Please tell me, Mrs. Stinnett, what has so distressed you?” Jacob pulled the white and yellow silk-upholstered armchair nearer to the settee.

Seeming to have collected herself to some degree, Myrtle Stinnett winced as she twisted the lace kerchief in her lap. “I am sorry to have to inform you, Reverend, but I can no longer act as pianist for the congregation.”

“And why would that be, Mrs. Stinnett?” Inwardly rejoicing, Jacob knew he must walk a very fine line. Surely no one would have been so discourteous as to have commented on her lack of musical ability. Careful not to suggest any such thing, he simply waited for her response.

“I had an appointment this morning with your kinsman, Dr. Morgan.” She glanced down at her gloved hands folded in her lap. “It’s my hands, you see.”

“Your hands?”

“Yes. As I mentioned to you after services last Sunday, I suffer from rheumatism. My hands have been hurting worse than ever, and Dr. Morgan suggested that playing the piano for services may further aggravate the inflammation.” With her left hand, she rubbed the knuckles of her right.

“I know this leaves you without a pianist, and I know Roscoe, too, will be so disappointed. . . .” Her words broke on a soft sob. She dabbed again at her eyes. “But it seems to be either that or my sewing, and I simply will
not
abandon my needlework.”

“No, no, of course you mustn’t.” Jacob reached over to pat her hand, his heart going out to the woman. “I’m sure someone will step forward and fill the void.”

Suddenly she sat straight up, a flash of inspiration registering on her face. “I nearly forgot. My niece, Sophie, will be arriving
next week from Miss Ely’s Young Ladies’ Academy in
Cincinnati. She has undoubtedly mastered the piano. Why, you must know her—Sophie Schuler? She hails from your home village up in Hamilton County.”

“Sophie Schuler is your niece?” Stunned by the revelation, Jacob barely noticed Rosaleen enter with the tea and cakes.

“Why, yes. When Sophie was born, I promised my sister, Gerite, Sophie’s mother, that Roscoe and I would see to her formal schooling.” Murmuring a thank-you to Rosaleen, Myrtle accepted the offered tea. After pausing to take a sip, she chatted on about how she planned to bring Sophie into Madison’s social circle and hoped to persuade her niece to make Madison her permanent home.

Allowing the woman to prattle on uninterrupted, Jacob found his mind flashing back to his earlier acquaintance with the young Miss Schuler. He’d known Sophie since she was a child. Two years ago, while spending a summer with his brother’s family, he’d briefly courted the then seventeen-year-old Sophie. However, at that time, he’d felt the seven-year age difference too great, and they’d gone their separate ways—him to Madison and her to. . .
her to a young ladies’ academy
.

“Oh Reverend, I feel so much better.” Brightening, Myrtle Stinnett nibbled on a seed cake, her attitude much revived. “Of course Sophie can play the piano!”

Jacob’s heart slumped with his shoulders.

Oh Lord, help me. What am I to do now?

A sharp glance from Opal shushed Patsey, drying up her chuckle.

Patsey’s inadvertent disclosure only added to Rosaleen’s discomfort when an hour later, sitting beside the piano among a parlor full of worshipers, she found herself in the last place she’d wanted to be.

Rosaleen had been prepared to dislike Sophie Schuler, but she couldn’t. Throughout the service, she’d found her attention drawn to the girl.

Her heart wilting, Rosaleen was forced to admit that the young woman would be a perfect match for Jacob. Her honey blond hair peeking from beneath her rose-studded bonnet matched his almost exactly. Her pale blue eyes were but a few shades lighter than his.

Squished between her aunt and uncle on the black horsehair sofa, the quiet, petite young woman seemed the picture of demure grace. Sophie’s carefully fashioned side curls framed her face in gold ringlets. With the slightest movement, they brushed against her alabaster cheek that bloomed the pale pink of wild roses. Mostly, the Stinnetts’ niece kept her gaze fixed on her white-gloved hands, clasped in the lap of her rose taffeta skirt. Occasionally, however, she’d cast a shy glance up toward Jacob, who stood preaching from the open Bible draped across his outstretched arm.

From her vantage point beside the piano, Rosaleen squirmed on the gold velvet-upholstered hassock. She wondered if anyone was actually listening to Jacob’s sermon, as all eyes seemed trained on either Sophie Schuler or herself.

Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her balled fists into the lap of her blue chintz dress. Self-conscious, she felt sure everyone would recognize it as one of Becky Morgan’s cast-offs.

After the initial butterflies in her stomach settled down, she’d actually enjoyed playing for the service. Jacob’s introduction had been mercifully brief and simple, describing her as “Mrs. Archer, an accomplished pianist in Mrs. Buchanan’s employ, who’ll be filling in at the piano for a time.”

Also, she’d been surprised to find herself enjoying watching him preach. What she heard bore scarce resemblance to the fire-and-brimstone sermons her former guardian had leveled at his congregation. Jacob’s voice, tender and moving, spoke of God’s enduring love and His calling of all to repentance.

All!

Jacob’s impassioned but gentle voice reading the words of Jesus brought tears to her eyes. Could it actually mean what it said? Could it mean her?

She found the picture Jacob painted of Christ as the Good Shepherd a compelling one. One she longed to grasp. Yet she could still hear Wilfred Maguire’s contradicting words ringing in her ears.

“
You are a harlot’s spawn—wicked and irredeemable.
”

It was all so confusing. Which was right? Which was wrong? Rosaleen didn’t think she could bear opening her heart, hoping to find inclusion, only to learn that Jesus’ invitation did not apply to her and that her former guardian had been right.

She looked at Jacob then at Sophie Schuler. One way or another, her heart seemed destined to be broken in Madison, Indiana.

At the conclusion of Jacob’s sermon, Rosaleen watched for his nod. Taking her place at the piano, she accompanied the congregation in their singing of “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.”

During the benediction, she sat quietly, feeling very apart from the others in the room. Did God actually hear Jacob’s heartfelt words? Would he hear hers? The last time she remembered expressing anything that resembled a prayer had been that night in the river when she’d feared drowning. Had God heard her? Had it been His hand that saved her?

“Rosaleen.”

Jacob’s voice startled her from her musings, and she whirled around on the piano seat. Rosaleen hated the jealousy gripping her as Jacob approached arm in arm with Sophie Schuler.

“Rosaleen, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” He smiled, glancing affectionately at the diminutive blond girl beside him. “This is Sophie Schuler, an old friend from my home village.”

Standing, Rosaleen smiled, surprised at how easy and genuine the response came.

“Sophie, this is Mrs. Rosaleen Archer. She has graciously agreed to act as pianist for our congregation until such a time as you might feel prepared to accept that duty.”

“I—I don’t know. Oh Jacob, must I?” Sophie murmured through her fingertips she pressed against her lips.

Rosaleen saw stark fear glisten in Sophie’s pale blue eyes.

“Why, no. Of course you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

As Jacob patted Sophie’s hand, Rosaleen felt a pain in the vicinity of her heart.

“Mrs. Archer is such a wonderful pianist. I’m afraid the piano was not one of the studies at which I excelled during my education at Miss Ely’s Academy for Girls. Would you mind terribly continuing your music ministry, Mrs. Archer?” Hope shone from the girl’s eyes.

At once, Rosaleen felt both ashamed of her own jealousy and compelled to relieve the girl’s anxiety. “No, of course not.”

Glancing at Jacob, Rosaleen experienced a flash of irritation when she saw him fight a grin. She realized he was reacting to Sophie’s suggestion that her piano playing was some sort of “ministry.”

“Like my Aunt Myrtle, I’d much rather do needlework,” Sophie admitted. “But I do dread telling Uncle Roscoe. He’s already out of sorts because I spend so much time with Edith Applegate.” She raised her chin in a defiant pose. “But Edith was my very best friend at Miss Ely’s, and I can’t help it if Uncle Roscoe is angry with her papa.”

Rosaleen remembered Opal mentioning the falling out between Roscoe Stinnett and Edward Applegate. According to Opal, when Edward Applegate left Riverfront Porkpacking to start his own pork packing business, the two men became bitter rivals, undercutting one another at every turn.

“Why don’t you leave your uncle to me,” Jacob offered, to which Sophie responded with a grateful smile.