Thunder & Roses

Chapter Twenty One

After a long silence, he said dryly, "That's a bit extreme. What would your father have done without you?"

"My father hardly knew that I was alive." Her throat closed, as if retaliating for the fact that she had said aloud what she had never admitted to herself.

And Hero , damn him, understood the significance of her agonized statement. Voice more controlled, he said, "You didn't feel that he loved you?"

"Oh, he loved me," she said bleakly. "He was a saint—he loved everyone. He had time and compassion and wisdom for everyone who asked. But I couldn't ask, so there was never any for me." She kept her head down, unable to look at Hero. "You're the only one who ever asked what it was like to live with a saint, so I'll tell you the truth: it was pure hell. The first thing I learned from my mother was that God's work was more important than the preacher's family, and we must always put that work first. I tried so hard to be what my father expected, to be devout and serene and generous, as good a Christian as he and my mother were. I suppose I believed that if I made my father's life easy enough, eventually he would have more time for me. But he never did."

Her mouth twisted. "When you told me how he helped when you came to Westgate, I was jealous because you had so much more of his time and attention than I did. Not very generous of me, was it?"

"It's very human to want a parent's love. Perhaps we never get over the lack of it."

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she said miserably, her nails biting into her palms. "Your family was far worse than mine. At least my father never sold me, or said that he wished another girl was his daughter. And when he remembered, he always thanked me very politely for taking such good care of him."

"It's simple to hate someone who has openly betrayed you," Hero observed. "Perhaps it is more corrosive and painful to resent a selfless saint who has betrayed you in more subtle ways— especially when everyone in your community assumes that you must be selfless and saintly, too."

He understood too much. Angrily she wiped the tears from her eyes. "But I'm not a saint. Though I didn't mind giving, I wanted something back, and I've never stopped resenting the fact that I didn't get it. I'm selfish and greedy and I deserved to be driven out of Zion Chapel."

"Why do you think you're a fraud?"

She stared at her hands, which were knotted together. "The heart of my religion is direct experience of God. In the early days of English Methodism, John Wesley personally interviewed prospective members of the society to be sure that their experience and belief were genuine. If that had been done to me, I would have failed, for I have never—not once—experienced the sense of divine presence. I've seen it in others— sometimes when I was talking to my father he would stop listening and gaze into the distance, his face glowing as the spirit flowed through him."

Her voice broke. "I was jealous of that, too. When I was younger, I prayed for hours every day, asking God to let me feel, if only for an instant, that spiritual connection. But even though my mind believed, my heart was empty.

"The horrible irony is that others learned of my prayers and assumed that I was deeply pious. When I declined a leadership role in the chapel, it was thought that I was becomingly modest. I should have told the truth, but it was easier to pretend to be what others thought I was. Acting saintly and selfless made me seem to be a real person. But since I met you, all my pretenses have crumbled away, one by one, and now there's nothing left. I'm not a real person at all."

She didn't know that he had risen and crossed the room until his fingers lightly brushed her tangled hair. "You seem very real to me, Jo, even if you're not the woman you thought you were." His fingers slipped around her head and caressed the taut nape of her neck. "It will take time for you to learn who you really are. The old has to be destroyed before there is room for the new, and it's a painful process. Though in the long run you'll be happier, I'm sorry for my part in bringing you to this. I know it sounds contradictory, but though I've wanted to ruin you, I never wanted to hurt you."