Speak Through the Wind (30 page)

When I was pregnant.

“I was met just outside of your building by one of those men—quite tall, he was, with a kind face and a rather hooked nose—”

Sean.

“—who made it quite clear that it was your own safety at stake if I were to try to contact you and bring you home. I had written the letter and asked if he would be so kind as to give it to you at some opportune time. I see he did.”

“He did.”

A few minutes passed as they sat quietly lost in their own thoughts. Reverend Joseph puffed on his pipe; Kassandra picked at her skirt.

“It is never an easy thing for a man to admit to being a coward, Kassandra.”

“Now, stop that. You did what you thought was best.”

“No, I did what I thought was safe and convenient. But to do what is right in this world, to follow God’s directive is rarely that.”

He studied his. pipe for a moment before setting it down on the table next to his chair. Leaning forward, he reached for Kassandra’s hands and held them tightly as he spoke.

“I have already asked God to forgive me of my shortcomings, for my failure to care for what He entrusted to me. But I must know that you forgive me as well.”

“How could I—” she began, though her throat was nearly too choked to speak, “how could I ever be one to forgive? I am so …”
Defiled? Beaten? Unworthy?

“Do not forget, my child, that no matter what you may think of yourself, you are still a child of God. Do you know that?”

“No,” she said, her eyes burning like they hadn’t since the fire.

“Then there is another way I have failed you, if I did not instill that truth.”

“You do not understand,” she said, tearing her hands from his grip and pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes in a vain attempt to stop her tears. “You don’t know what all I’ve done. Been.”

“You’ve nothing to confess to me, Kassandra. And there is no sin too grievous for God to forgive. He loves you.”

“He could not possibly love me.”

“Remember what the Bible tells us:
It is of the L
ORD’S
mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not They are new every morning.
We may feel that we have failed Him, but—”

“I mean He could not possibly love me and allow such horrible things …”

“Oh, now, Sparrow …”

He reached for her hand again, and she took it, allowing herself to be pulled from her chair and brought closer to him. Then, just as she had all those precious evenings as a child, she sat on the woven rug at his feet, her head resting against the cool leather of his chair, and every bit of the past four years poured out of her, unchecked. She told of dancing with Ben in the parlor the afternoon just before she left. That he hadn’t married her; that she hadn’t insisted. Imogene and the babies—all those beautiful, poor, doomed babies. And her own. Not the one inside her now—there would be time enough for that later—but Daniel. The screeching rats in the cellar the night he was born. The horrible silence the morning he died. His funeral; her flight. Rape.

“Child. My child,” Reverend Joseph said, his long fingers gently stroking the top of Kassandra’s head. “Why did you not come home to me?”

“I was at the church the day you married Mrs. Hartmann,” Kassandra said, taking a moment to wipe her tears and blow her nose with the handkerchief Reverend Joseph had given her some time ago. “But Ben was there, too. And I just could not imagine how I would fit into your new life.”

“How did you fit into his?”

“I am sure you know.”

She couldn’t give voice to the humiliation of her years spent above Mott Street Tavern. Couldn’t bring to life all of those men—those who survived her alcohol-clouded memory.

“So you see,” she said; shrugging, “I do not see how God and I could ever truly love each other.”

Reverend Joseph laughed. “Aren’t we lucky, then, that God is capable of so much more than we are?” He leaned forward in his chair and, with one finger hooked beneath her chin, forced Kassandra to turn and look at him. “We can never be sure why God doesn’t choose to rescue us from our mistakes. But we can be sure it’s not for lack of love for us. There is always a reason,
kleinen Spatz
, for the trials we endure, even if those trials are the consequences of our own poor judgment.”

“And do you really think He can forgive all I’ve done?”

“If He could not, the death of His Son would have been in vain. You are His child, Kassandra. You prayed to Him in this very room many years ago and made Him the Lord of your life. He has never left you, not in all this time.”

She tried to look away, filled with shame at all she had asked God to endure with her, but Reverend Joseph would not allow her to.

“I came to you this afternoon,” he continued, “asking you to forgive me for my sins against you. I did that knowing you would. You must believe, too, that God will grant you grace, my child. Then simply confess to Him and ask for His grace to bring comfort to your heart. I am guessing that your heart has not known such comfort in quite some time.”

“Not since … not since Ben.”

“And can we expect that Ben will be coming back to reclaim you?”

Kassandra closed her eyes and saw the blazing inferno that had consumed what had been her home for so many years. For just a moment she could once again sense the acrid smoke at the back of her throat and feel the heat on her face. Most of all, though, she saw Ben leaning out of the little second floor window to throw down her boots, then disappearing into the black.

“No,” she said.

“Well, then,” Reverend Joseph said, holding his smile long enough for Kassandra to notice the deepening of the lines at the corners of his eyes, “you must remember that when God forgives our sins, He takes them fror our hearts and throws them as far away as the east is from the west. You must try to do that, too, Sparrow. Hold on to the fond memories, but toss the others away. You are home again now This is a new life for you, if you would like to make it here.”

“I would,” she said, standing.

Reverend Joseph stood with her and folded her into his long arms. She felt like a very little girl again—exhausted from crying, weak from confession—being held aloft by a father’s embrace.

“Reverend Joseph?”

He moved his hands to her shoulders and stepped back to look down into her face. “Yes, my child?”

“Will you pray with me?”

“Nothing else could be such an honor.”

She felt a twinge of guilt as Reverend Joseph braced his hand on the back of the chair to lower himself to his knees on the rug, but that feeling soon disappeared when she felt the enormous power of having him there beside her as she lifted her voice to God.

“Heavenly Father,” she prayed. Then stopped.

How could she begin to list all she must confess? Her body went cold though her face was flushed, and soon the hands clasped so fervently at her breast could no longer stay interlocked. She felt her fingers unclasping, felt her arms unfolding as she lifted her hands high above her head. An offering. Of herself. Of her sin.

“My Father,” she began again, “You know my sins. You know even those I cannot name …”

With each word of contrition she felt her body grow lighter, as if her uplifted hands could somehow pull her from her knees. She felt it, then, starting at the base of her spine and rolling across her shoulders. Light. And lightness. Years of hatred for herself and for God simply sliding away. It was a feeling of pure joy pure relief. Like that first gasp of air when she escaped the fire around her.

Then she felt something else entirely. Something deep within her. A tiny flutter, like a tiny, cool, flickering flame.

She opened her eyes. “Reverend Joseph?” she said, then politely waited for his
Amen
before continuing. “There is one more thing I must tell you.”

They agreed it would be best if the reverend himself broke the news of Kassandra’s pregnancy to Mrs. Hartmann.

“She’ll be just as thrilled about it as I am,” he’d said before ushering Kassandra out of his study so he could resume planning his sermon for the next morning. Though he had been nearly unflinching and gracious at her announcement, his reserved nature gave little evidence that he was “thrilled,” and Kassandra had no delusions that his wife would be, either. To avoid any awkwardness, Kassandra requested that she have her supper in her room that evening.

Reverend Joseph hadn’t tried to pin down a month for the baby’s arrival, and Kassandra hadn’t tried to give him one. Each time she had tried any sort of calculation, she’d been so overcome with pain she had to shut down the very memories that would give her the answer.

Last night, though, after her prayer, everything changed. For years she’d lived with shame so close to her that it was like some fuzzy image held flush to her nose. But through her prayer, and through God’s forgiveness, she’d been able to take a step back. And another. And another, each breath taking her further away until every significant moment since Daniel’s death lay mapped out and clear before her.

She was a prostitute. She was pregnant. Two facts that could never be changed. But
she
was changed, was forgiven, and nothing would ever make her go back to that life again. And nothing—
please, God
—would take this child from her.

When Kassandra walked into the kitchen the next morning, Reverend Joseph was quietly sipping his tea and looking over his sermon notes while Mrs. Hartmann slathered jam on her toast with such ferocity that the soft swoops of hair over her ears quivered with the effort.

“Well, good morning,” she said, pausing in her task and smiling at Kassandra with a visibly valiant effort at cheerfulness.

She knows.

“Mrs. Hartmann,” Kassandra said, slowly approaching the table and stopping just short of pulling out a chair. “I … I understand if this upsets you.”

“Upsets me?” She set her knife down with deliberate gentleness. “Why, don’t be ridiculous. The Lord hands us all kinds of things in life, doesn’t He? What’s the sense in getting upset?”

“Good morning, Sparrow,” Reverend Joseph said. “You look very nice this morning.”

“Thank you.” At the reverend’s gesture Kassandra sat at the table and smiled over her shoulder when Jenny came to fill her teacup, “I am so looking forward to going to church with you this morning, Reverend Joseph.”

“When was the last time you’ve been to church?” Mrs. Hartmann asked, her smile never leaving her face.

“Not since … I left.”

“Doesn’t matter a mite,” Reverend Joseph said, laying a comforting hand on her own. “God hasn’t changed a bit.”

“That may be,” Mrs. Hartmann said, “but I think it would be best if we didn’t rush right out and make this news known to everybody in the neighborhood.”

“Not tell everyone that the child’s come home?”

“Well, certainly we’ll let them know that Kassandra has returned,” Mrs. Hartmann said, “but there is this other … business.”

Kassandra looked down into her empty plate and folded her hands in her lap.

“This other
business
, Dianne, is a child. We above all people should realize what a blessing it is.”

“A blessing, of course, Joseph. But there are circumstances to consider. What might people—”

“I do not mind staying home this morning,” Kassandra said, looking up in time to catch the look of relief on Mrs. Hartmann’s face before she switched it to match the look of concern on her husband’s.

“But, my dear,” Reverend Joseph said, “you know you are most welcome in the house of God.”

“I know that, but I am a little tired, still. And my dress—”

“Do you see?” Mrs. Hartmann chimed in. “The poor dear would feel miserably out of place.”

Kassandra nodded along, though she couldn’t imagine feeling more out of place in God’s house than she did in this one.

“Well, if you’re certain, Sparrow,” Reverend Joseph said. “I’ve kept your prayer book all these years. If you like, you may read from it, and this afternoon I can share my sermon with you.”

“That sounds just lovely, doesn’t it, Kassandra?”

“It does,” Kassandra replied, trying her best to smile warmly at Mrs. Hartmann. “And I must tell you that my Bible—well, it was Clara’s Bible. And the fire—”

“Think nothing more of it,” Mrs. Hartmann said, picking up her spoon and digging into the bowl of warm porridge Jenny set in front of her. “I have scores of lovely Bibles, and I’d love to give you one to have as your own. Now, isn’t it nice to have everything settled?”

The usual stream of after-church callers flowed through the front parlor of Reverend Joseph’s home, and though Kassandra was not instructed to stay in her room, she was not invited to join in the visit, either. She spent much of the afternoon alternating between sitting in her chair, looking out the window, and dozing on her bed. She also took time to open the Bible Mrs. Hartmann had handed to her before bundling into her fur for the walk to church. The words were so familiar, even as they flew past her eyes, but she could not settle her mind or her spirit to find any true meaning.

I want my child to grow up knowing Your Word, Lord. From the day it is born. Before it is born, even, so it can be so much stronger than I am.

Finally, remembering a buried teaching from Reverend Joseph, she leafed through the pages to find the Psalter and began to read aloud the first psalm.

“Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the L
ORD
…”

The words were unfamiliar on her tongue, speaking to the truth that she’d turned her back on, if she’d ever fully embraced it at all. She realized she had become like the ungodly—the chaff driven away by the wind. Blown from Fifth Avenue to Five Points and back again. No direction, just at the mercy of the winds.

“Not for my child,” she prayed aloud. “Not for you, my little one.”