“Keep a close eye on that one,” the orderly instructed the room’s attendant.“We caught her making a noose of her sheets.She didn’t have anywhere to follow through, but we can’t chance her coming up with something viable.”
Ah.So Mrs.Beaumont was a danger to herself.Well did Constanza understand that problem.How ironic she’d symbolically killed Katherine Yates so she could build a new life, only for Katherine’s past to be resurrected and take Constanza’s life in retribution.Life as Josephine Davis was no life at all.
Constanza shifted to her bed’s edge so Mrs.Beaumont might hear her without alerting the roaming attendant to their conversation.Bed rest was strictly a silent affair.Luckily, the long room contained a dozen patient-filled beds and made hushed talks possible.“You’re the mum of that man with the cat, aren’t you?”
Mrs.Beaumont blinked slowly, gathering her thoughts from a likely drug-induced fog.“Yes.Ezekiel is my son.Tristan is my cat.”
“He seems like a nice young man.”
A corner of her mouth lifted.“He’s wonderful, and one day he’ll be a famous composer.”
“A composer?”Oh, that was rich!Here Marcellus had been keeping Eleonora away from anyone who might even hum to themselves, and God had sent a musician to beguile her.Marcellus would find himself in the men’s ward of Longview once he found out.
“He works at Pike’s Opera House for now, but he’s writing his first score to an operetta.I’m sure he’ll be highly sought after once it is performed.”
A musiciananda man of the opera?Constanza couldn’t have chosen a better suitor for Eleonora herself.“Will you attend the opening?”If Mr.Beaumont was half as nervous as Constanza always felt, he’d want his mum there.
The small smile on Mrs.Beaumont’s lips disappeared.“No.I think it best for him if he no longer has to concern himself with me.”
Her ominous tone reminded Constanza of why Mrs.Beaumont had been brought here, and it pained her to think of a mum unwilling to fight to live for her child.“I never had the privilege of a son, but I hear they are quite partial to their mums.I think you’d be making a grave mistake in trying to number your own days instead of allowing God to.”
“God doesn’t care about me anymore.Do you think Iwantto feel this way?To have these thoughts of how to kill myself?To know I am a burden to my son?That he would be better off without me?”Tears formed in Mrs.Beaumont’s eyes and dripped down her face.“No.I want to be a whole and happy woman.Someone he can love without causing him sadness too.Our pastor told me if I prayed hard enough, studied and memorized God’s Word, and believed enough, God would heal me.But he was wrong.I’ve cried out over and over for God to take these thoughts from me, but He hasn’t.He’s abandoned me.”
“Mrs.Davis and Mrs.Beaumont, stop talking!”The attendantcalled from the other side of the room, breaking the rule for silence himself.
They quieted, but Constanza could not allow their conversation to end like that.Desperation clawed at her to give air to the question that haunted her most.
As soon as the attendant turned his back, she returned to whispering.“If a churchgoer has been abandoned by Him, what hope is there for me?I haven’t attended church faithfully since before I joined Winston’s opera company, and oh, the things I’ve done and seen since then.I cannot even begin to hope God would forgive me, for I am sure you are an innocent dove compared to my snake-like history.”
Cold, thin fingers reached across the space between their beds and touched Constanza’s arm.“There is always hope.‘For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”
“Yet you called upon Him, and you have not been saved.”
“Maybe not from these thoughts, but I have been saved from eternal death.Even when I die here, I know I will live forever with Him.He has promised it.”
“But hasn’t He also promised to neither leave nor forsake us?”
Mrs.Beaumont’s nose scrunched as if she’d bitten into something sour.“He did.”
“So God can abandon you, but He cannot abandon me?Are you the exception?Because if you’re the exception to His promise not to abandon, then maybe I’m the exception to forgiveness.”
“There are no exceptions to His promises—”
“But—”
“Which means He has not abandoned me even though I feel He has.”Deep creases formed between Mrs.Beaumont’s brows.“I will have to think on it, because I do believe God’s Word.”
“But I wrote down the truth of my past, and none of my guilt has gone away.”
“It’s not about what you confess, but to whom you confess.”
Constanza’s breath caught in her throat.Of course.How couldshe be so foolish?She’d been going about this all wrong.Neither the police nor Dr.Chalfant could do anything for the state of her soul—only a priest could provide her that.Hadn’t Father Elliott admonished his congregation to regularly visit the confessional?She hadn’t set foot in an Anglican church since she’d left home to seek a musical career, let alone confessed to a priest.There were plenty of Catholic churches in Cincinnati.They may not be part of the Church of England, but a priest was a priest, wasn’t he—so long as neither church knew she considered them the same.As a representative of God, he’d have to listen to her confession, absolve her of her sin, and determine what her penance must be.
The attendant stalked between their beds, sloshing the tea tincture over the edges of two cups.“I said no talking.Drink your tea and not another word.”
Constanza wanted to ask more questions, but the attendant stood between their beds even after they’d drunk the entire contents.
From Mrs.Beaumont’s bed, a rebellious whisper carried to Constanza.“‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.’”
