Secrets of Sloane House(77)

“Good.” She rose to her feet. “Now, let’s get you settled in your room. I want you to rest for a bit now, and then Reid will take you to his father’s room and introduce you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reid stood up as well. “I’m very glad you are here, Rosalind. I’ll knock on your door in an hour.”

“Yes, Mr. Armstrong.” She ached to thank him again. Ached to call him Reid, ached to step into his arms like she did at the church. But this was neither the right place nor the right time. Instead, after sharing a long look with him, they parted, he darting off to a room down the hall, she following his mother up the stairs.

The staircase was winding. At the top of the stairs, the hallway broke into thirds. To Rosalind’s pleasure, she noticed each wing was painted a slightly varying shade of gray. The wing Mrs. Armstrong guided her down was faintly blue in tint. Small prints of botanicals dotted the narrow hallway. The effect was soothing.

Her room was at the end of the hall. It was small but well appointed. Though it wasn’t nearly as grand as Veronica Sloane’s, it was a far cry from the small room at the top of the Sloane mansion where she’d stayed with Nanci.

“I hope you will find this comfortable, dear,” Mrs. Armstrong said.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Before the lady could rush off, Rosalind said, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“You don’t need to. We want to help you find your sister. And if that can’t be done, we want to help you, dear.”

“I’m grateful, but I’m afraid I don’t understand why. From the very beginning, Reid, I mean, Mr. Armstrong, has been so kind to me.”

“It’s probably because you’ve been kind to him as well.”

“Not all the time,” she admitted.

“Well, there might be another reason. We believe in Jesus, Rosalind. Do you?”

“I . . . I think so. I mean, I have faith.”

“Jesus did so much for so many, never asking them what was in it for him. He taught us all to be kind and to help those in need. We’re Christians. And we have faith.” She shrugged. “I’m not explaining myself very well. All I can say is that it gives me much happiness to help you. To not just say I want to make a difference in someone else’s life, but to actually do so. I think Reid is much the same way.”

“I’m grateful. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to say I’ve done the same.”

Mrs. Armstrong’s eyes turned luminous. “Oh, you dear child, you don’t see it, do you?” When Rosalind shook her head, she added, “You already have sacrificed yourself for someone you love.” She waved a hand around the room. “Think of all you have already done for your sister! You’ve left your home, and you’ve worked hard to learn information. You’ve humbled yourself for her.”

“But none of it has helped. Even though I’ve tried so hard, nothing has changed. I’ve still failed.”

“You don’t actually know that, do you? You don’t know how the Lord has been working through you. You don’t know how your efforts have rubbed off on other people and encouraged them to open their hearts to Miranda. You don’t know, because you can’t know. Only the Lord does.”

Rosalind wanted to believe Mrs. Armstrong’s words. “I hope you are right. I would like nothing better than to know that I’ve helped Miranda in spite of my mistakes.”

“I can’t promise all your efforts will have a happy outcome, Rosalind. No one can promise you that. But I can promise you that your faith will carry you through. Faith helps us all survive both the lowest points in life and some of the best.”

She turned and left, leaving Rosalind to her thoughts.

She thought about what Mrs. Armstrong had said and couldn’t help but be struck by how right the words sounded. After all, she knew a lot about surviving the hardest of times. But she’d certainly never thought about surviving good times too. But it did make sense. Each moment in her life made her a different person than who she was before. Both the good and the bad influenced her in ways she never could have imagined.

The fact that she was able to keep going? That was something to celebrate. To even praise God for—again and again and again.



Satisfied that Rosalind was getting settled in her guest room, Reid was doing his best to get through a large stack of his father’s correspondence when his mother entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, but I think we need to talk.”

It seemed to him that they’d been doing little but talking. “Can it wait? I want to post some of these letters before dinner this evening.”