Air hissed through Jackson’s teeth.
“Indeed.” Charles smirked. “There was nothing quick about it, so I argued the point and she…em…let’s just say it didn’t end well. She stomped out the door. I stormed into the bar, where I intended to nurse my fury for the rest of the night. But after a single drink, I knew regardless of my feelings that I ought to see her home. Night had fallen by then, and you know how these streets are.”
“Hey! Have a care, boy.” Jackson sidestepped a demon of a street sweeper as they crossed the road. “Even in broad daylight one must keep on his toes. So, what happened when you caught up to her?”
His gut clenched tight as a vise screwed all the way shut. He’d relived that moment too many times to count, all of them waking him up in a lather of sweat. Slowly he shook his head. “God, have mercy on us all.”
“Come on, old man. It couldn’t have been as dire as the look on your face. I’ve suffered many a tongue-lashing from Kit and I’m still standing.”
“Would that had been the case. But no.” His throat closed, and it took several gruff clearings to get any words to pass. “I found Edwina bleeding out on the pavement from a brutal mugging. The murderer was never found.”
Jackson’s step faltered. “Oh Charles…I am so sorry. That is a bitter pill, the bitterest.”
He gritted his teeth, glad for the sudden uptick in pedestrians to bind his frayed emotions into a solid rope to hang on to. He didn’t even have an opportunity to speak again until they passed a trinket seller pushing a cart laden with jingling bells. “I suppose some good came out of it.” He shrugged. “I vowed then and there to become a police officer.”
“And a fine officer you are.” Jackson clapped him on the back. “A regular brick.”
“Thanks, but that’s not the only vow I made that night. I promised myself I’d never get close to a woman again. Edwina was killed because of me—because I let my anger rule. I won’t endanger another woman, especially not Martha. I cannot risk failing her.” He cut Jackson a challenging stare. “Iwillnot.”
Jackson merely shook his head. “Look, Charles, what happened to Edwina is tragic. There’s no doubt about that. But it’s God who brings beauty from ashes. Don’t push away that gift. It is never prudent or wise to stiff-arm God.”
“I hardly think that is what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He scowled. Was it not apparent? “I’m protecting Martha, that’s what.”
“What a load of rubbish!” Jackson stopped in the middle of the pavement and folded his arms, a rock not to be moved, forcing pedestrians to flow around them. His stance left no choice but to hunker down and weather his storm.
“Martha Jones is a strong woman, capable of protecting herself; but even were she not, God alone is her keeper. You, my misguided friend, are called to love her, to fend for her as best you can, but hear me, and hear me well.” He jabbed Charles in the shoulder with his finger. “You are not now—nor ever will be—her ultimate protector. I know that is a hard lesson, one I’ve had several chances to learn with Kit. God knows I’ve failed that woman a hundred times over, but even so, I’d not trade the time I’ve had with her for anything in the world. I love her, as I believe you love Martha, and love covers a multitude of sins. So, pursue that. Pursue love instead of dwelling in past failure. That path can only lead to a denial of the present and a forfeiture of the future.”
Jackson’s words washed over him like a bucket of ice water, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Was that what he’d been doing? Living so much in the past that he couldn’t dwell in the present? Had he truly been ruining his chance at any sort of a happy future? Ruining Martha’s chance as well? Was holding on to fear and disgrace making him into a selfish monster?
He stumbled sideways as a burly man bumped into him, but he hardly noticed; and for a brief moment right there on a busy London street, he dipped his head.
Oh God, give me wisdom to know if I am living a lie.
A big hand squeezed his shoulder, Jackson’s voice lowered to a healing balm. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, my friend, it is that God’s love and grace is sufficient no matter what. Trust in that. Trust in Him. And for heaven’s sake, tell Martha. She’s of a keen enough mind to decide for herself if she wants to take on a scoundrel such as you.” With a final squeeze, Jackson released him.
“I will think on what you’ve said.” And he would, because suddenly a whole new world of hope had opened up before him.
“Good.” Jackson angled his head towards a frowning stationer in a doorway who was flipping his CLOSEDsign to OPEN. “Because if we don’t get moving, that owner might nudge us along with a letter opener to the backside.”
Charles set off with a snicker. “So, back to the Coleman thing…are we square?”
“We are, though I’m not sure Graybone will thank you for his new housemate.”
“Is that where you’ve stashed him?”
“For now, and hopefully not for long. But you said that”—he aimed a finger towards the coffee mug swinging on Charles’ hip—“was for several reasons. What else have you got?”
“Something I think you’ll like even less than the Coleman situation.” He tugged his hat towards a blue-coated constable passing by, as did Jackson, and once a “good morning” was exchanged by all, he faced his friend. “I’ve already been to the station for an early morning questioning session with Mr. Gilliam, only to find a bit of an uproar in the holding cells. One of the inmates died during the night.”
“Who?”
“Blackjack.”
“Blast it!” At the “Oh my!” of a lady in a hat so bedecked with feathers the thing might actually take flight, Jackson lowered his tone. “How did he die?”
