“Will you spend the summer here or in London?” Hugh asked as they set out for the school again.
“Both,” Catherine replied. “After a fortnight here, I plan to move into the boarding house across from Ryle’s. I’d like to be fully prepared when classes begin. If I’m allowed to graduate, that is.”
“If? Your marks are very good.”
“Thank you. But having spent the first two years practically hanging on by my fingernails, I’ll breathe easier when the certificate is in my hand.”
“As it will be.” With a cautious look, he said, “I’d like to introduce you to my family. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”
“I’d like that,” Catherine said.
“Excellent.”
“But I warn you . . . I’ll be a little nervous.”
“Oh, but you’ve no need to be.” He gave her a wry smile. “But then, I was more than a little nervous over meeting yours. Perhaps its one of the universal trials of falling in love . . . fear of the other’s parents.”
Falling in love? Yet they continued on as if he had simply commented on the weather. Five times her heels struck the new grass between them, six, seven. And still he said nothing.
Dourly Catherine recalled their conversation in the garden on Cannonhall Road. While Hugh may have rightly complained that men had the more difficult role in courtship because they were expected to take the initial steps, the women’s role was just as difficult. Women were constrained from expressing any feelings from the heart until the man had done so.
“Did I just say what I think I said?” Hugh said at length.
A heaviness settled in Catherine’s chest. Was there regret in his voice? With affected casualness she replied, “That you were afraid of my parents?”
“No, the latter.” He stopped walking, and because he still held her hand, Catherine stopped too, though she did not allow herself to look at him. But oddly, she could sense his smile.
“This is rich, Catherine,” he said, stepping around to face her. “I hardly slept last night, laboring over just the right words to say—and then to have it slip out like ‘how do you do?’ ”
Perhaps the men have the most difficult role after all, she thought, raising her eyes to meet his. “You could try again.”
His eyes shone. “Yes, I could do that.” He took her other hand. “I love you, Catherine. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. The fact that you’re in the world makes it a better place.”
“You thought that up last night?” was all she could say for the lightheadedness.
He shook his head, raised her folded hand to kiss a knuckle. “Just now.”
“It was lovely,” she murmured. “Shame you wasted all that wakefulness.”
“It wasn’t wasted.”
He still smiled, but a bit of anxiety had crept into his brown eyes. Somehow in her hazy state of mind, Catherine realized he was waiting to learn if her feelings matched his.
“I love you, Hugh,” she said softly.
There was a mutual moving together, his arms going about her, their lips meeting. “Nice,” he said when they drew apart a bit for air.
“Nice,” she echoed, but with quickened pulse, for she could hear hooves, see the little cloud of dust billowing about a horse and rider in the east. Hugh dropped his arms, and they resumed their walk two feet apart, as if they were no more than acquaintances traveling in the same direction by happenstance.
Mr. Jakes, stable master of Sutton School, touched the brim of his hat as his horse cantered past.
“That could have been my father,” Catherine said. “We should hurry.”
They continued on at faster pace, but stopping every several paces for another kiss. That ceased when they crossed a rising and the school came into their sight.
Hugh sighed. “I’m a happy man,” he said, and began whistling to match their steps.
A scene from the past struck Catherine’s mind like lightning.
The whistling stopped abruptly. “Is something the matter, Catherine?”
She blinked at him. “Matter?”
“You were frowning.” With a worried look, he said, “Have I been too forward?”
“No.” Self-consciously, for it was humiliating to admit even to Hugh how she had allowed someone to demean her so, Catherine explained. “It’s that song. Lord Holt once chided me strongly for knowing it. He said it was low-class tripe.”
“Low-class tripe? Indeed?”
She shrugged. “He had refined tastes.”
“I beg to differ,” Hugh said, touching the tip of her nose. “But I’ll never whistle it again, if it makes you sad.”
“Actually . . .” Catherine smiled. “It reminds me of how fortunate I am.”
“Yes?” He grinned back at her and took her hand again. “Well then, it has just become my favorite song.”
And as if to prove it, he started singing as they resumed their walk, his clear baritone floating in the fine spring air.
“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease,
That daring young man on the flying trapeze.
His movements were graceful, all girls he did please
And my love he has stolen away . . .”
Forty-Three
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving
Her trembling pennant still look’d back
To that dear isle ’twas leaving.”
On the last day in June, 1884, random sniffs came from the occupants of the chairs arranged on the ground of Emily Davies Court, as well as from the fourteen young women seated upon the platform as Miss Bernard read from Thomas Moore’s “The Journey Onwards.”
“So loth we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,
To those we’ve left behind us.”
The University of Cambridge still refused to confer degrees upon students from the two women’s colleges. But to students and faculty, the certificates soon to be awarded represented as much industry and tenacity as if they were diplomas. The women on the platform had passed the finish line, even though they had been forced to run outside the track.
Founder Miss Emily Davies stepped up to the podium to deliver the address.
“Miss Bernard, Miss Welsh, Distinguished Professors and Lecturers . . .”
On wings of reverie Catherine soared away from her place in the second row, to King’s Cross Station, where she stood shivering with excitement. Graduation had seemed as distant as old age, those four years ago. Now she realized that the wind of which the poet spoke had been there all along; gently, almost imperceptibly filling her sails to carry her on toward ports that could not even yet be seen.
She looked out through the gap between two mortarboards at the familiar faces on the second row, just behind the professors and assistant lecturers. Mother and Father and Jewel. Sarah and William. Uncle Daniel and Aunt Naomi, Bethia and Danny. Aunt Phyllis, Uncle Norman, and their children. Catherine could not stop the wind, but God and family would always be the mainmast that supported her sails.
“ . . . we end one journey together and begin a new one . . .”
She blinked and forced herself to pay attention to the address. It wasn’t that she did not admire Miss Davies profoundly, but her brain was overstimulated from the intense activities of the past several days; finishing up compositions, packing, singing around the piano for hours last night with soon-to-be-former schoolmates.
“ . . . this momentous occasion, we forge the fourteenth link in an unbroken chain of education, initiative, and industriousness . . .”
Hugh smiled at her from the sixth row, as the front rows were reserved for family members. His letters were tied with a ribbon in her packed trunk. The one that had arrived two days ago said, While I hope your tenure next year at the Ryle School is fulfilling, I cannot but hope you will not grow too attached to the place.
She would have
no memories of the ceremony if she did not pay attention, she told herself. Reluctantly she shifted her eyes from Hugh to the podium.
“ . . . support and guidance of your families, you took the first tenuous steps toward a commitment to lifelong learning, which will prepare . . .”
She felt Peggy’s hand touch hers. How pleased she was, that her friend would soon be the first woman chemist employed by the Hassall Commission. As they clasped hands, Catherine’s mind took another flight, this time to a table at the Nave and Felly Inn, where Sarah was counseling her to put her friendship with Peggy before her desire to correspond with a certain young man. How right she had been! For Catherine was fully convinced that, had she sacrificed Peggy’s friendship for Hugh in those days, she would have neither in her life at this moment. Peggy would have rightly felt betrayed, and Hugh would have eventually been frightened off by her neediness.
“ . . . challenges of this industrial era require women with keen minds, yet not at the expense of faith and integrity . . .”
Pay attention! she ordered herself again. But her eyes soon fastened upon a woman in the very last row. Catherine had overlooked her before, for the wide-brimmed hat and dark spectacles did not allow for a lasting impression. In fact, the only thing distinct about her was her height. And on second look, the familiar set of her shoulders.
Milly!
Even though the eyes were shielded, Catherine could tell she was the focus of her stare. On the heels of that realization came the thought, She doesn’t even realize you’ve forgiven her.
Of course, she had a good excuse for not informing Milly. But for that one sighting last summer, their paths had not crossed. And did God even expect that of her?
Applause brought Catherine back to the ceremony. Miss Bernard had the podium again, and one by one, called each graduate from the first row, then the second. Catherine sent a quick smile to her parents when her own name was called. All certificates awarded, the assemblage rose to its collective feet for the benediction, delivered by one of the professors, Reverend Starling.
“May the Lord bless you and keep you. As we walk life’s pathway, may we ever keep our eyes trained upon His holy light, so that our feet are ever pointed in the direction of righteousness, and mercy toward others.”
Mercy toward others echoed through Catherine’s mind. While forgiving Milly and Sidney had been an act of obedience, mercy would be the act of easing Milly’s obvious torment.
“Amen.”
After a respectful moment of silence, graduates stepped down from the platform into the arms and congratulations of family members and friends. Catherine’s cheeks were kissed, her back patted, her certificate passed about—until Mother took it, saying it would never frame properly if it became too wrinkled. Father stepped away and returned with a hand upon Hugh’s shoulder. In all the activity Catherine noticed that Aunt Phyllis kept her distance from Sarah, but there was nothing she could do about that.
As groups began drifting toward the dining hall entrance for refreshments, those with cameras gathered themselves in small groups for photographs. Uncle Daniel began setting up his camera on the tripod. Several feet away Mr. Somerset did the same.
“Children in front, now,” Uncle Daniel ordered, motioning. “Women on either side of Catherine, men in back.”
Catherine spotted Milly again, standing just to the side of the gate, looking again in her direction. But Uncle Daniel became a benign despot whenever the camera was in his hands, so she submitted herself to standing in the center of the group, smiled when directed, and waited for the flash. Blinking at black spots, she looked again toward the gate. Milly was moving toward a carriage.
“What is it, Catherine?” Hugh asked.
“Milly.” She nodded toward the gate. “I think I need to go to her.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“I will,” she said, giving him a quick smile. To everyone within earshot she said, “I’ll join you for refreshments in a few minutes.”
“Catherine?” Jewel said, but there was no time to explain. Holding mortarboard clamped to her head with one hand, hefting her gown up a couple of inches with the other, Catherine hurried out the gate. A cabby was helping Milly into the carriage.
“Milly!”
Milly turned. The cabby sent a curious look over his shoulder.
Catherine closed the remaining twelve feet to stand at the side of the carriage. “I’m glad you came, Milly.” As the words left her lips, wonder of wonders, she discovered she sincerely meant them.
With a shrug, the cabby climbed up into his box. Milly removed the spectacles to reveal indigo eyes that were red-rimmed and shadowed. “How can you say that?” she said thickly.
“Because I truly am. I forgive you. I only want your happiness.”
“Happiness,” Milly whispered as if no longer acquainted with the word.
“Milly?”
Milly blinked at her. Tears quivered from her lashes. She dabbed a handkerchief at them and rose from her seat. “Oh, Catherine!”
When she stepped onto the pavement they fell into each other’s arms, Milly weeping and saying over and over how sorry she was, and Catherine patting her back and insisting she was forgiven.
“Are these hysterics by invitation only?”
Peggy’s voice. It was then that Catherine realized she should have pointed Milly out to her friend before leaving the platform, for Milly’s elopement had hurt Peggy almost as much as it had hurt her. She stepped aside so that the two could embrace. The weeping began anew.
“You’ll join us, won’t you?” Catherine asked when the tears subsided and the two finally drew apart.
“Yes, please, Milly.” Peggy blew her nose into a handkerchief. “Everyone will be so happy to see you.”
Milly sent the brick building an uneasy glance. “No . . . I can’t. It took every bit of my nerve just to come to the ceremony.”
Catherine nodded. “We understand.”
With reddened eyes wide Milly looked at her. “But please tell your Aunt Naomi I will always have fond memories of the macaroons she used to send you.”
“I will,” Catherine promised. Suddenly the request struck her as oddly funny, in spite of the gravity of the moment. She snorted through her nose in an effort to hold back a laugh.
Both looked at her.
“What is it?” Peggy asked.
“I don’t know, it’s just—” Another snort escaped her. Catherine covered her mouth and nose with a hand, but could not stop her shoulders from shaking nor tears from forming in her eyes.
Milly smiled. Peggy let out a little chuckle that rolled into a laugh. A fraction of a second later Milly caught the same affliction. The three laughed until Catherine’s sides ached, Peggy began hiccuping, and Milly was wiping her cheeks again. This time with a smile, though the levity had not driven away the sadness lurking behind her eyes.
They said their farewells. Catherine and Peggy watched Milly’s carriage until it turned out of sight.
“That felt good, didn’t it?” Peggy said as they linked arms and started toward the school building.
“Very good,” Catherine replied.
They parted to join their families inside the dining hall. Father and Uncle Daniel, William, Uncle Norman, and Hugh were engaged in a friendly argument over whether Cambridge or Oxford would win the Henley Regatta next month. Jewel and Bethia and Muriel were discussing whatever interested seven-through-twelve-year-old girls. Six-year-old Danny watched, fascinated, as a boy his age demonstrated how to crack his knuckles. One twin—Catherine wasn’t sure which—sat making fork rows through the icing on his cake as if bored to tears, while the other listened to the men’s discussion as if mildly interested. Amazingly, Aunt Phyllis was admiring Sarah’s photograph of John, as Aunt Naomi and Mother looked on.
Mother glanced her way and moved apart from the women to hand her a fork and dish of butter cake with pineapple glazing. “I know you like pineapple. This is delicious.”
Catherine tasted it. “Mmm. Very good.”
“Do be sure to thank Miss Davies for such a moving speech.”
“Was it?” Catherine said before thinking.
The grey eyes filled with disbelief. “Catherine. You didn’t daydream during your own graduation.”
“Well . . .”
“For four years you’ve looked forward to this day,” Mother said with a longsuffering sigh. “And you won’t even remember the most important part of it.”
Catherine leaned forward to kiss her soft cheek. “I’ll never forget the most important part.”
LAWANA BLACKWELL has eleven published novels to her credit including the bestselling Gresham Chronicles series. She and her husband have three grown sons and live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
www.lawanablackwell.com
Books by Lawana Blackwell
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THE GRESHAM CHRONICLES
The Widow of Larkspur Inn
The Courtship of the Vicar’s Daughter
The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark
TALES OF LONDON
The Lady of Mayfair
Catherine’s Heart
The Jewel of Gresham Green
A Table by the Window
www.lawanablackwell.com
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Catherine's Heart Page 47