Wild Rose of Promise

Wild Rose of Promise

© 2007 Ruth Carmichael Ellinger

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

Cover design and Page layout by David Siglin of A&E Media

ISBN 978 1 932307 79 5

Published by the Ambassador Group

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DEDICATION

To the memory of my dear friend and sister in the Lord,

Jacalyn Ann Wilcoxon

"Memories of good times together,

Laughter and talks with no end,

I treasure each mile of the journey

With you, my beautiful friend."

-RCE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To accomplish a writing project of considerable length, a host of talented people is necessary to see the project to completion. One might say; it takes a literary army to produce a well-written book. I would like to acknowledge a few of the invaluable people who make up the team to see that our story reaches the desired end.

My Publishers, Samuel and Tim Lowry, and the incredible staff at Ambassador-Emerald Intl., have been positive and willing supporters of this project. Their constructive and helpful encouragement has made the writing of this book a pleasant experience.

I wish to express my thanks and appreciation to my editor, Adele Brinkley, who has been exceptional in her guidance and suggestions as I wrote under the demands of time schedules and the unforeseen events that arise in our everyday lives. Thanks to Pat Hammons, Sherry Plouffe, Lorna Schwartz, and Dinah Raye Smith who offered their valuable input and encouragement during the final stages of Wild Rose of Promise.

Prominent Ohio artist, Mike Major, sketched the scenes used in this historical setting, and is noted for his monumental sculptures in bronze for public and private collections across the country.

I would like to acknowledge the most wonderful people in the entire world, my husband, Wright, who is always my constant source of encouragement, my son, James, who makes it possible for me to fly safely to all my writing events, and my wonderful daughters, Kendy, Kathy, and Lucy, who are my greatest fans, and of course, my adorable and talented grandchildren, who listen patiently while their moms proofread my projects.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge all my church family. I am deeply appreciative of their gift of time that allows me to write this story and to share with others the beautiful old story of God’s pardoning love to mankind.

—Ruth Carmichael Ellinger

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Note to the Reader

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Resources

About the Author

About the Publisher

NOTE TO THE READER

For over one hundred years after the defeat of the Scots by the English at the battle of Culloden in 1746, the cleansing of the Scottish highlands continued. The Scots’ loss at this battle sounded the death knell for the historic clan system, changing forever the highland way of life, that of the clan chief and his people.

During this ethnic clearance, my ancestors came to America—some as exiles and some to find a better life as free men. The displaced Scots played an integral role in the forming and founding of the independent republic of new Americans.

To reflect accurately the time frame in which this historical fiction is set, I have used colloquial terms that are part of the historical language of the Scottish-Americans and the African-Americans. Please understand that when using these terms and spellings, they are reflective of this period in history and not meant as any offense to today’s Scottish-American or African-American people. I count on my readers to be forgiving as I write this story in its historic setting.

We know that all people are created equal, regardless of race, culture, or ethnic background. We are all God’s children by creative rights, and God is no respecter of persons. I rather like to view one’s historic speech—the lilt or turn of a vowel, the roll of the r, or the absence of a letter altogether_ as part of America’s ever-changing language and the authentic depiction of our actual development and progress. Aye, lads and lassies; tis romantic, to be sure!

—The Author

PROLOGUE

Cincinnati Ohio - 1879

THE MATRON ON NIGHT SHIFT at the boarding school shook Sarah Faye awake none too gently, and the child sat up in bed, bewildered and confused.

Git up and git dressed before I lay in to ya, said the matron with a scowl. I’m gittin’ ready to go off duty and yer to be ready when Mrs. Palmer comes fer ya, hear? Ya better keep yer mouth shut too, or you’ll be sorry.

The child quickly got out of bed, pattered to the washstand, and poured water into a basin with trembling hands. She washed her delicate features that were soft and sweet in appearance. Her hair was almost black and fell in a riot of ringlets about her face. As she peered into the cracked glass, her vivid blue eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away quickly lest the matron see her cry.

I will be brave, thought Sarah Faye to herself. Mrs. Palmer is kind and perhaps this new home will like me. She dressed quickly and went into the kitchen for a scant breakfast of oatmeal and watered down milk.

In the foyer of the boarding school, a woman waited with Mrs. Palmer, the Director of the boarding school. This is your, uh, mother, Sarah Faye. Do you remember her? asked Mrs. Palmer. Sarah Faye looked at Mrs. Palmer who was responsible for her care and was always kind to her.

I think so, Mrs. Palmer, said the child with considerable doubt.

Of course you remember me, said the woman who wore paint on her face and was dressed in tight evening clothes. I was here three years ago and brought you some new uniforms.

Oh, yes, said Sarah Faye, I remember. I was only four then, but I think your hair was a different color."

The child was not prepared for what happened next. A sharp stinging slap across her cheek brought Sarah Faye up short, and with great effort, she managed not to cry.

That will teach you to be so cheeky to your mother, said the woman. We are going to find your father. He can take care of you from now on. I have other places to put my money and I can’t be bothered.

Is my Papa a nice man? asked Sarah Faye gulping back her tears.

How would I know? said the woman with obvious disdain for that man. Just shut up and come along.

Mrs. Palmer hugged Sarah Faye goodbye and whispered in her ear. Be brave, little Sarah Faye. I am praying God will help you.

On the train, Sarah Faye put her hand to her cheek and felt the hot smarting place where her mother had slapped her. She kept her face to the window and watched the countryside roll past so no one could see the tears. In the depths of her starved little heart, she knew she could not truly belong to this woman who said she was her mother.

Somewhere, she had a family who was different. The family she talked to in the night was a pretend family, but somewhere, she must have a real family. Sarah Faye felt a sudden determination and resolve born of her ancient ancestry rise in her soul. If it took her all her life, she would find them.

MAIN STREET

LANCASTER, OHIO

Fairfield County was the staging ground for some of the most colorful history in Ohio. Ebenezer Zane founded the town of Lancaster in 1800 near the banks of the Hocking River, home to the Wyandot Indians, and the illustrious Civil War General, William Tecumseh Sherman. Early German settlers named the town New Lancaster, later changed to Lancaster.

Modern Lancaster is distinguished by its romantic history and blend of 19th-century architecture. Lancaster is the county seat for Fairfield County, noted for its natural beauty evidenced by the famous Standing Stone, today known as Mount Pleasant. Lancaster Ohio is small town America at its best.

CHAPTER 1

Years of the Locusts

ISAAC DAVIDSON LED THE SLEEK black stallion through the gate, slapped him soundly on the rump, and turned to watch from behind the safety of the rail fence. The horse whinnied loudly, tossing his head back and forth, his liquid eyes blazing with insult. The stallion reared, his forefeet pawing the air. He turned once to see if Isaac was watching before he galloped across the field, his mane flying in the summer wind as he raced to the far end of the pasture where a group of mares grazed on a gentle rise.

Show off, chuckled Isaac as he watched the retreating stallion. I guess I can relate somewhat to that attitude, old fellow.

His eyes traversed the wide expanse of Wildrose, his country estate nestled in the heart of the Ohio Valley, in the county of Fairfield. He looked across the gently rolling fields to where the wooded slopes obscured his view. In the distance, he saw Jacob speeding along the lane astride Prince, his sorrel gelding. As they approached the end of the lane, the horse and rider cleared the rail fence in one smooth motion and then disappeared into the woods, the horse kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.

Isaac shook his head in amazement. He’s going to break his neck someday, and if he doesn’t break his neck, then he’ll be going to see Caroline, I’ll wager, muttered Isaac to himself. He lifted the leather bridle from the fence post and walked leisurely toward the stables. A slight figure clad in blue and coming from the direction of the house appeared on the footpath.

As the figure drew closer, Isaac could see that it was Delilah, her silver-blonde hair glistening like a halo in the summer sunshine. She came closer, stopping a few yards away to pluck a stem of Queen Anne’s lace. She straightened to look at him, and smiling slightly, she held out the flower.

Isaac’s heart twisted in an agony of remorse and felt for the hundredth time that summer a profound sense of loss and a grief so tangible that it was never far from his mind. If only he could turn back time and start over again, but it was useless to dwell on such thoughts, an exercise in futility, for no amount of wishing could change things now.

He searched for the protection of the old facade, the impenetrable wall around his heart, the safe retreat that for all these years had hidden him from Delilah and from anyone else who sought to find him exposed and vulnerable to life and to the unforeseen risks that it brought. For him, life had been a gamble, and although he appeared successful in the eyes of those who knew him, he felt in himself that he had lost.

Try as he might to find that old and familiar, all-encompassing wall, it was no longer there. Along with all his other self-imposed defenses, it had crumbled like the proverbial walls of Jericho, and Isaac Davidson of Wildrose was still getting used to himself, testing the parameters of his heart and the strange new emotions it evoked.

He quietly studied Delilah as she stood there in the sunshine, shyly holding the flower towards him, her eyes full of hope. She spoke then, her voice soft and expectant. A flower named for a queen, she said, her voice revealing nothing.

They were only a few yards apart now, and he could see the color of her eyes, eyes that had always reminded him of still deep pools in autumn, a time when the fallen leaves reflected brown and gold and green from the tranquil deep.

Aye, and so it is, Lilah, Isaac answered softly. And will ye be a lookin’ for me now? Is anything wrong?

She colored slightly, and Isaac saw confusion cross her features. Clearly, Isaac Davidson was unaccustomed to Delilah seeking him out. Only when some urgent business matter needed his attention or if one of the children was hurt would Delilah Davidson come in search of her husband. But the children were grown, and there was no business scheduled for today.

No, nothing is wrong, Isaac. I had some leisure time and thought, thought that maybe you would like to show me the new foal, she said with some hesitation.

Isaac closed the remaining space between them and took the lacy blossom from her hand. His throat tightened and he turned away, looking across the expanse of green fields and hoping she did not notice his embarrassment or his discomfiture. He focused on the spot where Jacob had entered the woods. Thunderation, he thought with self-disgust. Why can’t I just look at her without feeling this constant haunting regret? When will it ever end?

He turned towards the stables. Come on, then. Let’s have a look.

They walked to the stable that housed the new foals before they were turned into the pasture. Isaac opened the heavy doors, and Delilah followed to a stall where a day-old foal on long wobbly legs stood close to her mother. The mare whinnied nervously at seeing visitors. Alert and sensitive to any threat of danger, she carefully observed the intruders, tossing her head and moving closer to the foal.

Isaac rested his arms on the low wooden gate and made soft clucking noises with his tongue. He looked down at Delilah who barely reached his shoulder.

Well, Lilah, what do you think?

Why, she is absolutely beautiful, Isaac. Smiling with delight, Delilah looked up at him and asked. Will you keep this one?

Aye, I’m thinkin’ she’s a keeper, a bonny lassie of rare beauty. Just look at those legs. She’ll be a champion trotter, to be sure. Talking softly to the new mother, he unlatched the gate and quietly entered the stall. The mare whinnied nervously as Isaac reached for her halter. Holding it firmly, he stroked the neck of the new mother until she calmed and allowed him to examine the foal. With experienced hands, Isaac checked the foal from her downy ears to her tiny hoofs.

She’s a bonny wee lassie, this one. Will ye be a namin’ her for me, Lilah?

Me, Isaac? Delilah asked, surprised by her husband’s question.

Aye, of course you. Who else can I be a talkin’ to? Slip in here now, Lilah, real quiet like, and stand next to me. Just feel her velvety-like coat. She’s as soft and sleek as goose down, and a right lively one she be, too. Isaac’s eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure.

This wee filly is a standardbred trotting horse, continued Isaac. That means her forelegs move in unison with the opposite hind legs, or when the right foreleg moves forward, so does the left hind leg, and so on. The wee filly be bonny, aye, to be sure.

Delilah moved carefully into the stall, and with the light brush of her hand, she caressed the silky coat along the warm neck of the newborn foal. Then, she laughed with pleasure.

I never cease to marvel at the miracle of God’s creations. She is such a little beauty, Isaac, and should have a beautiful name, too. Don’t you have something in mind?

No, Lilah, not this time. His eyes crinkled with a smile as he inspected the foal. I’ve been naming horses for so many years that it seems I’m plum out of names. Delilah studied the foal closely and watched while Isaac ran his hands over the sleek muscled flanks.

What hour was she born, Isaac?

Early morning, just after dawn.

She has that curious mark on her face that kind of looks like a star. How about Morning Star? Does that sound suitable for a Wildrose filly? Isaac straightened himself to his full height. He was well over six feet, powerfully muscled from hard work, completely masculine, and ruggedly handsome for all his sixty plus years.

Aye, I’m thinkin’ it does, Lilah. Morning Star it is, then. We’ll add her name to the ledger of Wildrose breeds, and when she’s two years, she’ll be listed in the National Trotting Registry, too. I’ll be a tellin’ Jacob to log in Morning Star, born July 14, 1879. She has a name now, and a good one at that.

Isaac opened the gate, and they left the stall, latching the gate securely after them. Then they exited the stables, leaving behind the tangy odors of hay and horse and aged leather. They stood for a moment in the bright sunshine, their eyes adjusting to the light. Delilah shaded her eyes against the glare and glanced timidly at Isaac. A melancholy look had settled in his eyes, and when he returned her glance, some unspoken emotion passed between them.

Lilah, Isaac’s voice was low and mellow and tinged with sorrow. Lilah, I know how hard you are trying and I want you to know, it’s glad I am that you came, but don’t feel you must be involved in my life, in what I am doing. His clear blue eyes sought hers, trying to read her purpose, hoping with all his heart that she understood what he was saying, but he couldn’t be certain. The gulf that had separated them for so many years was so vast, and although they were both attempting to bridge it, the distance seemed like an abyss, deep and uncrossable.

Don’t feel you must oblige me or humor me, Lilah. I know you aren’t truly interested in horses. It’s all right. I understand. I just want you to . . . to . . . . His words trailed off, drifting into silence. He looked away again across the fields to where his stallion had run, and he, Isaac Davidson, Master of Wildrose, wanted to run too, but to where?

Hurt and disappointment gathered in Delilah’s eyes. For so many years, they had been at crossed purposes, and Delilah had purposely stayed away and established her own safe haven, far from Isaac’s unspoken rejection of her and of her faith. Isaac had left their bedroom years ago after Elizabeth was born.

To preserve appearances and a semblance of home and family, Delilah had created her own world, her own quiet life, apart from her silent and inexplicable husband. She had turned to her children and involved herself in their lives, devoting herself to making Wildrose a comfortable home for Isaac and their family and for all who came and went.

Isaac and Delilah had drifted farther and farther apart, living under the same roof in respectful acceptance of their conflicting choices. There had been no quarreling, no charges of blame, or assigning responsibility, only the long years of silence, years of unspoken and unanswered love.

This past spring, after years of agnosticism and bitterness, Isaac Davidson had yielded his life to Christ. Now he was unsure of the way, not wanting to force a relationship that was not genuine, especially a relationship that had grown cold and silent over the years. If Isaac and Delilah Davidson still cherished feelings of warmth or any vestige of those early, playful years, this was not apparent to the casual observer. But underneath their pretense of indifference, an intense desire was growing, a true longing to recover what had been lost through their unequal yoke.

The change in Isaac Davidson had been immediate and profound, astounding his family and the entire community for that matter. His conversion to Christianity had been total and indisputable. His new life, however, had left him with little experience in living the Christian life and little understanding of what God expected of him. He floundered about like a fish out of water, struggling against the forces that would draw him back, and against an endless tide of doubt and unbelief. He spent much time pondering his past failures, those long-ago days with all their dark and haunting memories.

Delilah was careful not to overwhelm her husband with the strong meat of God’s Word. She felt giving her stalwart husband the spiritual milk suitable for new babes in Christ was somehow unbecoming when it was she who offered it. After all, Delilah Davidson had been a Christian since her girlhood and had trusted God for many years now.

Except in matters concerning her faith, she had always respected Isaac’s authority and been a dutiful wife and a loving mother. She praised and honored Isaac in the presence of their children and before the entire county. No one ever guessed at the disparity that stood between them like a stone wall, unforgiving and insurmountable.

However, this one irreconcilable difference, her faith in God and his abject lack of it, had alienated them for most of their married life. The unequal yoke had been difficult to bear, but Delilah had borne it in silent suffering. If she ever felt neglected and abandoned, no one knew it. She blamed herself alone, for she had known better than to marry an unbeliever. Still, she had loved Isaac Davidson. All through the lonely years she had loved him, loved him in secret and silent suffering.

Isaac James Davidson, Master of Wildrose, was at a loss to understand how to walk the new path he was traveling, but he was certain of one thing: God had saved him, taken away the sin and bitterness, and removed the relentless anger that had dominated his life. God had lifted the reproach of his erring ways and set him on a new course. This new course, however, was unfamiliar and strangely filled with a mixture of fear and hope.

Then, there was Delilah. He had not returned to her, not yet. He wanted to be sure, sure of himself and certain of her desire to come back to him. No, he had not returned to the sunny room on the second floor, the room they had once shared together, the room he had abandoned so long ago, but he knew that one day he would return.

Timidly, Delilah placed her hand on Isaac’s strong arm and lightly rested it there. He could not look at her just then. Instead, he continued gazing across the fields, searching his heart and trying to understand. Then Delilah spoke, her voice soft and gentle, her words hesitant and faltering.

I didn’t come out of obligation, Isaac. After all the years, I realize how difficult it must be for you to trust my sincerity. I came because I want to be with you, Isaac. I wanted to see you, and I hoped that you. . . that you wanted to see me, too. Isaac looked at her then, his eyes studying her face. With one finger, he lifted her chin, and for a long moment, he looked into her face, his eyes questioning, searching for an answer.

It’s glad I am that you came, Lilah. I just want things to be right between us. I don’t want to hurt you again, to feel the pain of my old life, the hurt I caused. I am thinkin’ that you don’t need to be bothered with my horse business, the training, the buying and selling, the endless care of the creatures. You don’t need to concern yourself with my work, my interests. I want no pretense, Lilah.

He took his hand from her chin. Oh, how much he wanted to kiss her, to take her in his arms and hold her close to his heart. He did not trust his own heart or his own emotions. He felt weak and vulnerable whenever she was near. It was foolish, he knew, for the old life and the wall he had hidden behind for so long was no longer there.

In fact, he no longer knew how to respond when there was no ready escape; no refuge for what might hurt him. He found no hiding place when he chose to ignore a circumstance involving his wife. He had lost control. God was in control now, and it was difficult to let go of the reins, but he knew that he must. Moreover, he must be honest with Delilah. Isaac Davidson had to be real.

Do you think I am pretending, Isaac? She knew he was trying to be candid and open with her, but at the same time, his words stung her to the heart. She dropped her gaze and bit her lower lip. I realize that I don’t know much about horses, but I want to learn. I should have learned, learned long ago. She lifted her eyes and looked into his face, silently praying for understanding.

Will you ever forgive me, Isaac? I want to be with you, I do, and I’m not pretending. I want so desperately to redeem the lost years, if only you will let me. Delilah brushed at a wisp of hair that was blowing lightly across her face.

And, I did love seeing the wee filly . . . Morning Star, Delilah continued. She is our Morning Star, Isaac, our new beginning. She has no past to haunt her, only a bright future ahead. Those awful lonesome days are past, and in the past, they must remain. In the Bible, the prophet Joel says that God will restore the years the locusts have eaten, and I believe He will do that for us, Isaac. She looked so pitiful standing there, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears.

At her tender words, Isaac cast off his remaining reserve, pulled her to him, and wrapped her in his arms. His lips caressed her hair, close to her ear. Oh Lilah, my bonny lass, it’s pleased I am to hear it. There must be hope for us, even after all this time. But I don’t know how to let go of my own ways, my own thoughts, and it’s me, Lilah. I’m the one who stands in need of forgiveness, not you . . . not you. His pain was almost palpable.

My coldness, my indifference, he continued, it haunts me continually, plagues my mind with doubt and makes me wonder if God truly forgave me, and Lilah, I don’t know how to make the past with all the blunders and hurts right again.

She pushed him back a little and cradled his face in both her hands. God has forgiven you, Isaac, and so have I. You cannot make the past right again. That can never be. We cannot turn back the time, so don’t let the past with all its bitterness and regret blight our future days together.

She placed a hand along the rough beard of his cheek. We can do this, Isaac, with God’s help. He can restore what the enemy has stolen away. We cannot change the past, but we can change the future. Do not grieve any longer, my love. The past lies buried in the depths of God’s mercy, in the sea of His forgetfulness. Let this be our morning, Isaac. Jesus is our bright and morning star and He will help us, this I know.

Her words of faith and hope filled Isaac with renewed determination. He did not understand a lot about his newly found faith, but he was certain of one thing: he loved Delilah, loved her God, and nothing else in this world mattered. He had loved her for all those silent and lonely years, when he had no words, when he had no hope, but now, new hope sprang up in his heart.

He kissed her then, not caring that he heard hoof-beats approaching from Wildrose Lane. He would not let another moment pass without redeeming a portion of the lost years. For one instant, he wondered if the rider was Jacob, and if he would say he had seen them kissing by the stable doors and in broad daylight. Then, he thought no more about the rider or what the rider might think, for he was lost in the sweetness of his own bonny wife . . . his Delilah.

CHAPTER 2

Shadows over Wildrose

REINING HER HORSE TO A sudden stop at the end of Wildrose Lane, Elizabeth saw her parents standing near the stable doors, their heads close together and their eyes shining, as if they shared some special secret.

Good morning!