Mamma laid a hand on her back. “Mi dispiace,” she said again. “May God have mercy on you both.”
Ruth Bennington stood on the sidewalk in front of St. Olaf’s Church and simply stared at the beauty of the building before her. As usual, the beckoning lights from within penetrated the inky dusk, seeming to reach out and draw her inside. With a weary sigh, she climbed the stairs leading to the front door, grasped the metal handle, and let herself into the vestibule. The calming scent of candlewax and sulfur greeted her.
“Well, Lord. Will tonight be any different? Or will you see fit to grant my request at last?”
Ruth moved farther into the sanctuary until she came to her usual pew. She made the sign of the cross and sat down on the hard bench, relishing the feel of the unyielding wood beneath her.
On the altar in front of her, two tiny flames flickered. Even in the dim interior, Ruth could make out the stained-glass windows and the paintings of the saints that adorned the pale walls.
How long had she been coming to this place to worship? Forty years? Maybe closer to fifty. Ever since she and Henry had moved to Toronto as newlyweds. A soft smile curved her lips. They’d been so young back then, so naïve, with no idea where life would take them or when their roads would diverge.
Almost involuntarily, her eyes moved to the plaque under the window nearest her. In memory of Henry Ward Bennington. Gone from us too soon. From his loving wife, Ruth.
A lone tear wound its way down her cheek.
It’s time, Lord. Not that I can tell you how to manage things. But I’ve been alone for years now. I’m tired. I want to see my Henry again.
With a gloved finger, she wiped the moisture from her face and began her prayer ritual. If she were fortunate and tonight was indeed the night God chose to grant her request, she’d make sure she was ready.
Two hours later, Ruth hauled her stiff frame up from the seat, disappointment her usual companion. God had not let the life seep from her while she prayed. If only she could muster the courage, she’d do the deed herself, but images of hellfire and damnation kept her feet firmly rooted to this earth.
“Thy will be done,” she whispered, as she did every night when leaving the church.
The depressing prospect of returning home alone made her bones ache. At least when Henry had first passed away, she’d had her grandson, Thomas, living with her, so the mausoleum of a house hadn’t felt so empty. But since the boy had moved out two years ago after they’d quarreled, Ruth had done nothing but pray for her own death. A prayer that maddeningly had gone unanswered.
She shuffled past the pews, almost too weary to lift her feet. If she hadn’t paused for a brief moment at the last row, she likely wouldn’t have heard the soft moan that drifted through the air. Ruth froze, straining her ears. Had she imagined the sound?
A second later, a slight movement caught her attention. She swiveled, peering down at a huddled figure lying on the bench. Long dark hair spilled over the woman’s face, obscuring her features. She shuddered and moaned again.
Was she ill?
Ruth glanced around the empty building, a shiver of nerves rushing through her. Maybe the woman wasn’t in her right mind. Maybe she had some contagious disease.
Or maybe, like Ruth, she’d come here to pray for death.
Ruth gathered her courage and approached her. “Hello? Are you in need of help?”
The woman moved, swiping her hair from her face as she attempted to sit up. “Sì, per favore.” She was hardly more than a girl. But her eyes were glassy and her cheeks feverishly red.
Ruth took a step back. “Are you ill? Can I call someone for you?”
The girl leaned back against the pew, head lolling. “No one to call.”
No one? How could that be? Such a lovely young thing. Or she would be when she was cleaned up. “Where do you live, dear?”
The girl shook her head. “Nowhere.”
Ruth straightened. She may have led a somewhat sheltered life, but she knew when someone was in trouble, and this girl was hanging on by a thread. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She rushed out of the church, a new energy to her step. Tonight the pastor would earn every penny of his meager paycheck and leave his warm bed to give them a ride to her house.
2
Olivia awoke slowly, certain she must be dreaming. Never had she felt such a soft mattress, one that smelled of lilac and lavender. Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven. If so, she didn’t want to open her eyes. She’d just float into eternity on this cloud of comfort.
Firm fingers touched her wrist, staying there for a time before moving to her forehead.
Mamma. Taking her temperature as she did when Olivia was young.
She fought to force her heavy lids open. Only for Mamma would she give up heaven.
She blinked, trying to focus on the figure in front of her.
“How is she, Doctor?” a strange woman asked.
Not Mamma.
“Her fever is coming down. The medicine must be starting to work.”
A vest with silver buttons was the only thing Olivia could seem to focus on. She squinted, and the face of a man came into view.
“Hello, young lady. Nice to see you awake.”
“Where am I?” Definitely not in her jail cell and definitely not at home. Nor was she in the church where she last remembered being.
“You’re in my home” came the female voice. “I’m Ruth Bennington. And this is my physician, Dr. Henshaw.”
Olivia’s gaze shifted from the surprisingly young man to a tall, slender woman behind him. Her gray hair was pinned up, her eyes gleamed with intelligence, and she wore an air of authority. Enough authority to
