A Bible verse came to mind. Proverbs three, verse five.Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean notunto thine own understanding.
She tried to quiet her spirit. Her own understanding was failing her once again, and the Scripture said she needed to trust in the Lord ... with all her heart.
“God, I do trust you, but I do not understand this. Not even in part.” She felt tears come to her eyes. “Help me, please.”
CHAPTER17
Faith found the house quiet when she returned. The Clifton sisters had gone out on some mission, and Mimi and Clementine were at the school, teaching. Faith had no idea where Nancy might be, but it was just as well. She didn’t want to talk to anyone just now.
She deposited her satchel in her room and wondered what to do. Her thoughts were completely fixed on Samuel Lakewood’s being responsible for her dismissal from the college. Part of her wondered how she might get back at him for what he’d done. She was angry and hurt, and the idea of hurting him in return was at the forefront of her mind. However, she knew that wasn’t what God would want. God would call her to give it over to Him—to let go of the wrongs done to her by man and trust that He could make all things work together for good.
“But how can any good come of this?” She sighed and stretched out on her bed. “What am I to do, Lord?”
She heard the knocker sound at the front door. The last thing she wanted was to entertain someone coming to call. Perhaps Mrs. Weaver would hear it from upstairs and take care of itherself. When the knock came again, however, Faith knew no one else would save her from the task.
She took her time but finally opened the door to find a young man, probably no more than sixteen. He held out a piece of paper.
“This here is for Miss Faith Kenner,” he said. “No money needed. The captain already paid me.”
Faith took the folded paper and smiled. The only captain who would be writing to her was Andrew. “Thank you.” She opened the note as the boy made his way back down the walk.
We’re in Portland, and Remli demanded I invite you for lunch. He’s making beef pasties.
Smiling, Faith felt a sense of calm. She could go to lunch and explain everything that had happened to Andrew. He might have some good ideas as to how she could fight the situation. And if all else failed, she’d arrange a trip home to see her father and get his legal advice.
She went back to her room and began to plan what she would wear. Andrew was used to seeing her in her uniform. It might be nice to put on one of her better outfits and do up her hair in a more fashionable style.
Faith studied herself in the mirror. Her reflection served as a reminder of all that she kept hidden. Her Cayuse heritage was disguised by the way she dressed as well as the icy blue eyes she’d inherited from her mother. In the summer, Faith’s skin tanned to brown, making her look more like her Indian ancestors, but she always did her best to stay out of the sun, lest someone question her. It wasn’t so much to keep people from hurting her as it was to protect her mother. While familyknew the truth, no one else did. Not even her mother’s closest friends were privy to the story of Faith’s conception, and Faith intended to keep it that way. If the truth leaked out, her mother would suffer.
Even though it was only nine o’clock, Faith went to work readying herself for her visit to theMorning Star. She found Nancy’s curling iron and started it heating, then went to figure out what she would wear. Faith only had a couple of winter outfits to choose from and settled on a dusty rose wool suit with a high-collared white blouse. Once she’d donned this, she let down her hair and brushed it out until it gleamed. Next, she began to curl it, and finally she pinned it up, doing her best to keep it simple yet stylish. When this was complete, she fastened a cameo her parents had given her for her thirtieth birthday to her collar and then pulled on the outfit’s matching jacket.
She looked again at her reflection. There wasn’t even a hint of an Indian staring back at her, yet Faith couldn’t help but frown. The lie was getting harder and harder to stomach, especially in light of all she’d said in her lecture. How could she convince others to see Indians and whites as the same when she didn’t see it that way herself? Yet to confess the truth would ruin her mother’s reputation as well. After all, while people may have surmised that the women of the Whitman Mission were raped, no one spoke of it. The gentler phrasewere forced to be wives to the Indianswas always used when speaking of what had happened, and of course no one mentioned any children conceived from that ordeal. Faith had to believe other women had gotten pregnant, and yet no one ever admitted as much. Had they sought out a midwife and gotten rid of their babies? Had they had them as her mother had and given them up—sentthem away? Perhaps they had miscarried from the stress, but the fact was that no one mentioned any child being born out of that situation. If Faith were to speak openly of her ancestry, what might the repercussions be?
Finishing with her toilette, Faith dabbed a bit of perfume behind each ear. She so seldom wore the expensive scent that she felt almost ridiculous using it now. Perhaps Andrew would think her silly for her manner of dress and hair arrangement, not to mention the perfume. She hesitated, wondering if she should just change back to her uniform.
“Hello?” Mrs. Weaver’s voice called from the hall.
“Hello, Mrs. Weaver.” Faith opened her bedroom door. “I’m going to have lunch with Captain Andrew on his boat. What do you think?” She gave a twirl.
The old woman smiled. “You look lovely. I believe your captain will be pleased.”
Faith started to correct Mrs. Weaver that the captain was hardly hers, but she knew it would do little good. “What can I do for you?”
“I heard you speak to someone at the door.”
“It was just a delivery boy bringing me a message from the captain.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re all dressed up, but it’s Alma. She has a sore throat that’s gotten much worse, and now she’s running a fever.”
Faith nodded. “Let me come and examine her.”
“I was hoping you might do exactly that.”
Retrieving her black bag, Faith followed Mrs. Weaver upstairs and found Alma resting in bed. The tiny black woman looked worn out.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’re unwell, Alma. I will try todetermine what’s wrong and see if we can find a treatment. How long has your throat been sore?”
“Started last night. I thought maybe I just needed to drink more water. It didn’t help, and then came the fever after breakfast.”
