On Sparrow Hill

by Maureen Lang

  “You believe now that you possess a servant’s heart, don’t you?”

  Berrie nodded slowly, thinking of the tasks she did every day that she never could have done without the strength and assurance of knowing God had placed her where she was.

  He leaned forward, an emphatic prelude to his words. “Then your school is a success on every level. For you, the families, the students themselves.”

  “I’m not sure I expected to hear such a statement from you, Mr. MacFarland.” Then, holding his gaze, she added, “Simon.”

  He welcomed her use of his given name with a smile.

  “What of other topics we shouldn’t discuss?” she asked, wishing her voice hadn’t sounded so breathless. She’d forgotten to breathe for a moment. “Politics, for one. Shall we venture there?”

  His smile disappeared and she wondered at herself. Had that been her purpose—to cancel the sense of companionship that had been sprouting? No wonder she’d pushed every beau in London away; she knew how to fling words like cannonballs.

  “I will admit something to you, Berrie, that only occurred to me since meeting you.”

  She waited.

  “I almost accomplished hating the English, because of what happened when the potatoes grew foul those years. Ships that my factory built carried goods outside this country—wheat and barley and livestock—that could have fed the mouths that went hungry for lack of a potato.”

  The force behind Simon’s words made her wonder if he had indeed accomplished that hatred for everything English. Perhaps he wondered it too, because he glowered rather than gazed at her, until in a moment that softened.

  “I’m sorry.” His smile reappeared through the frown. “I still struggle, as you can see, to remember individuals do not always represent the whole. Precisely why God must have wanted us to meet. I need someone to remind me of that.”

  “But why would He bring someone whom you can barely tolerate? I should think He would have given you someone you would welcome.”

  Since he’d moved to the edge of his seat and leaned forward, and she’d chosen to sit on the edge of the Wolsey, they were already closer than necessary. He barely had to reach to take her hands in his. “Do you wish to convince me I cannot tolerate you, Berrie, even when I’ve admitted more than once I admire you? I’ll not accept that all we have in common is an interest in kissing. You are brave, intelligent, hardworking, and above all, stubborn. As Katie observed, you’re very much like me.”

  Berrie looked down at their hands. Something was changing here too quickly for her to sort. She should pull away. Instead her fingers wrapped tighter around his. “I’m not sure two people as opinionated as we are have business attempting even so much as a friendship.”

  He freed one of her hands, allowing his own to touch her face, to stroke her cheek from the bottom of her ear along her jaw to just beneath her mouth. “Since I’ve met you,” he said, “you’ve never been far from my mind. I don’t want you to be.”

  He was going to kiss her; she knew he was, and more than that, she wanted him to. But she couldn’t let him. That was one area in which they’d already established an affinity, one she couldn’t allow. She raised a hand, shifting farther back in the Wolsey but leaving one hand in his. “I told you—I’m not planning to be wed. Not ever.”

  He frowned. “I don’t believe you mean that.”

  She lifted her free hand to draw his attention to the room and beyond, to all it represented. “I have work. Important work. I don’t see how I can be married and work at the same time.”

  “I realize whatever I say to that will do little for my cause to woo you. If I agree that your work is important, which I believe is true, then you’ll have won any argument against marriage. If I say it isn’t important, you’ll have nothing to do with me.” He smiled slowly. “But what if I tell you I planned for you to say that and I’ve come up with a solution?”

  She lifted one brow.

  “We have two options, only one of which I think you’ll be interested in, but I’ll propose both anyway. One would be for you to hire more help and give most of the responsibility to Mrs. Cotgrave, who is obviously well qualified—”

  He cut himself off at her frown. She didn’t have to speak.

  “And the other option would be for us to have a very unconventional marriage.” Simon stopped again, his smile broader. “Did you note, Berrie, that I said the word marriage without—what did you call it?—without strangulation.”

  She tried to laugh but could barely breathe. “Well done.” Though brief, the words sounded raspy.

  “Why couldn’t we be married and both of us work? People in Ireland do it all the time.”

  She wanted to object, to stand, to leave, and started to do so, but her hand wouldn’t leave his. “I’m sure they live under the same roof, those farmers and weavers and washerwomen.” Not a very strong objection; she knew she could do better than that.

  “I admit it wouldn’t be ideal, since somehow I have a hard time envisioning you following me about in my career, and I cannot feasibly continue to stay here with you. But my shipbuilding business in Dublin nearly runs itself. It was necessary to hire the appropriate people once my father died, and it’s gone very well, though I’m away for extended periods. My work in Parliament is something else; there will be times I’m away for months on end.”

  Berrie stood, winning the battle to break contact with him. She faced the fireplace instead of Simon. The stone mantelshelf felt cool beneath her heated palms. “I’m the headmistress here. The only headmistresses I know of are either spinsters, as I plan to be, or widows, like Mrs. Cotgrave.”

  He was behind her too quickly, his hands on her shoulders. “Since I refuse to volunteer making you a widow, we’ll have to consider the options I proposed.”

  She shook her head, something forming in the pit of her stomach she’d never felt before. A battle of the greatest proportion, such odds she had no clue how to overcome. She’d been called to be a servant and yet here was someone trying to pull her back, inviting her to live the life she’d convinced herself wasn’t for her. A wife, an emissary to him and not to God alone. It couldn’t be, even though her heart suddenly yearned for that very thing, if Simon was to be part of such a picture.

  She turned to him, unprepared for how close he stood. She needed to flee, though her feet would not carry her. His lips came down on hers and she wanted to stop him but didn’t.

  Until a new sound came from the doorway. Gleeful clapping. “Oh, Simon, you’re kissing Miss Berrie! Just like Papa used to kiss Mummy. That means only one thing. You’re married now!”

  Berrie pulled herself from Simon’s gentle grasp, unable to look at either him or his sister. She flew past them both, not stopping until she reached the privacy of her room. If there had been a lock, she would have used it.

  43

  * * *

  Rebecca stared at the closed door. Lady Caroline was transferring residence from Lady Elise’s cottage to Quentin’s London flat?

  Quentin had called that morning to let her know he was going to London. How much more private was his flat, without having to share his mother’s company and the entourage she normally invited to the country cottage.

  “Well, that was odd,” Dana said to Rebecca. “Why did Lady Caroline come?”

  Rebecca tried summoning a smile but couldn’t. Oh, to have the ability to command one as contagious as Lady Caroline’s, even if it was two-dimensional. “To let me know she’s back in Quentin’s life and there’s nothing separating them now.”

  “I’m not sure about that. Do you think her faith sounded sincere?”

  “She’s moving into his flat. If Quentin’s interest is reignited, that’s all that matters.” How logical she sounded, how completely detached from the situation. She knew the anesthetizing shock of the visit would wear off and she must face the possibility of losing a future she’d only begun hoping for. The fear was there already, beginning to seep through like a fog just sta
rting to gather. Despite her hesitation to start seeing Quentin, despite all of her cautions, she’d been unable to prevent imagining life with him. There was no specific line when her imagination of the future had turned to something she counted on, only the realization that the line had already been crossed. Here she was, with nothing to protect herself against its loss.

  Lady Caroline was moving into his flat. How long before that was in the papers?

  All her life Rebecca had seen God’s hand, God’s timing. Her father had told her that her own birth had been God’s timing, having been conceived when her mother’s body was healthy and strong enough to sustain such a challenge. Since then there had been countless other instances. When Rebecca was little, just when she began begging her father for a dog all her own, God had softened his heart, and a neighbor showed up wanting to give a puppy away. And when she was older, Rebecca made a commitment to support a missionary from their church without the faintest idea how she would earn the seventy-five pounds she’d pledged. Within a week she had an afternoon dog-walking job, one that would last through the summer. Payment: seventy-five pounds. Other cases ranged from dramatic to mundane, but always, always they were there. God’s timing revealed itself to Rebecca nearly every day.

  When Quentin had arrived this past spring, just before Dana arrived as well, it was like God stepping in and giving Rebecca all she’d lacked in the past few years: a future with a man she could love, a friend with whom to share the excitement.

  But maybe she’d misread that timing. Had God allowed Dana to arrive when she did, to face her own struggle and need a friend, so the loss Rebecca might face would be put in perspective? Compared to what Dana faced, the loss of a relationship that barely had time to bud was inconsequential.

  She walked up the stairs, wanting what Dana had wanted all week: solitude, to keep company only with her worries. But Dana followed her. “You should talk to him, Rebecca. I’ve been taking up too much of your time lately, but you don’t need to babysit me anymore. You need to ask Quentin what’s going on.”

  Rebecca stopped, frigid. “You’re a fine one to give that advice, Dana. Every time your husband calls, you tell him you’re busy finishing up the records, that you’ll come back to him tomorrow. Three tomorrows have passed and here you are.”

  Dana averted her gaze. For a moment Rebecca regretted her tone, but she stood firm against the guilt. Maybe sometimes friends were supposed to offer a proverbial kick, and it was only now, knowing she would have to face her own insecurities, that she could suggest Dana do the same.

  The telephone rang in Rebecca’s office and she hurried to take it, if only to avoid the rest of the conversation with Dana. Rebecca picked up the receiver and heard Quentin’s voice. Her heart jabbed at her chest.

  “I’ll be there in a half hour.” Quentin’s voice sounded different, hesitant, but that didn’t surprise her. “There’s something you need to know.”

  She sucked in a breath and stared at the desk in front of her, certain he would tell her about the conversation he’d had with Lady Caroline the night before, about her discovery of faith, how nothing stood in their way now. Rebecca put two fingers to the bridge of her nose, thinking pressure might stop her tears once they were ready to flow.

  “I don’t want Dana to be blindsided,” he was saying, much to her confusion. Dana? “I’ve just come from Heathrow to fetch Aidan. He called last night when you and Dana were out walking, and I talked with him.”

  Now her gaze flew back to Dana, panicked. Dana stepped farther into the room, a frown emerging on her face.

  “Did you tell him . . . ? You know, about the baby?”

  Dana’s eyes were wider now, filling with the tears Rebecca thought would be in her own eyes a moment ago.

  “No. Look, he’s sitting right here. He’s been worried about Dana, and I don’t blame him. I guess I should have told both of you this last night, but Aidan asked me to wait until it was too late for Dana to tell him not to come. Personally, I agreed. I told him I’d pick him up as soon as he could get a flight. It’s for the best, Rebecca.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She sucked in a breath, still looking at Dana. “I’ll tell her Aidan is on his way here with you, right now. And you’re right. It is for the best.” She hung up a moment later, facing Dana. “Now neither one of us has a way to push off what must be done.”

  Dana nodded, her face solemn. “For the best, you said.” She eyed Rebecca. “Best to get it over with, for me. You’re probably right. I know it has to be done. But for you?”

  “If this relationship is to be done with . . . the sooner the better, as they say.”

  She’d meant to sound hard or at least assured. The wobble in the middle betrayed the tender vulnerability amassing inside her.

  44

  * * *

  My dear Cosima,

  I have nothing with which to compare the moment I realized Simon was sincere in his proposal. Should I have thought of Lord Welby, who danced with me so many times that night of the ball and then asked to speak to my father when I returned from my visit to Ireland with you? No, in retrospect I am glad Lord Welby never announced intentions to my father, as I am sure any marriage between us would have been dull with our inevitable indifference.

  I am anything but indifferent to Simon. Do you know, Cosima, that although he has kissed me in a way no gentleman should, I believe him to be one? It is clear if I were back home with no future other than marriage, it would be Simon I would want without doubt.

  But my life is different now. I finally let go of my dreams for marriage. Yes, it was a struggle, yet I have accustomed myself to a future as a headmistress, to being the servant God intended me to be. How can I be a true servant and return to life in London or take it up anew in Dublin, no less than the wife of an MP, along with the lifestyle that would entail?

  Oh, Cosima, do you see how that would be turning my back on what God has called me to do? I could no more abandon this mission than I could stop breathing.

  Through my door last night, I told Simon I must have time. He gave me no more than the evening and the night. He expects to speak to me this morning after drills.

  I have no idea what I shall say to him. . . .

  “It occurred to me after I left,” Simon said, watching the others return to the manor after drills, “that the turn in our discussion last evening might have been a surprise to you. I admit I entertained the notion of marriage before yesterday, but I hadn’t meant to broach the topic so soon.”

  Berrie folded her hands together, then let them go. “I appreciate the fact that the first time you mentioned marriage it was because you believed you’d overstepped propriety, but—”

  He shook his head, slowing their step with a touch to her arm. “That first time I mentioned marriage was the first time I’d ever said such a word aloud, at least in relation to myself. Last night was entirely different. I’ve considered the matter, and I believe our marriage would bring both of us happiness.”

  “It was kind of you to share that decision with me,” she said, “though you’ve presented it as if I have no say in the matter.”

  He laughed. “Your kiss made it clear you feel the same way.”

  She stopped, watching the last of the children being led into the manor house, knowing she should be following. The moment seemed symbolic of the decision she must make: the school . . . or Simon?

  Myriad thoughts battled in her brain, making her heart beat so erratically the blood eddied along its route. She stopped. “I cannot . . . think, Simon.”

  He stepped closer. “Do you want to marry me?”

  Berrie took a step back, knowing his close proximity tainted her already unsteady thought process. There was only one thing to do, and she knew it. Be honest. “I used to hope for everything you offer.” She cast him a self-conscious smile, not used to sharing such intimate thoughts. “I wanted to be married, have children, run a household, do all of the social things my parents have always d
one. But somehow that didn’t seem to happen for me. You’re not the first person to think I’m difficult. When I saw the need for a school such as this, I knew why. I wasn’t meant to be married; I was meant to serve these children and their families instead—children many others don’t want to be around.”

  “It’s an honorable goal,” Simon said quietly.

  She nodded, holding his gaze, seeing his smile dim. “It is honorable,” she said, “and one I still want to fulfill. We’ve only just begun.”

  He was silent a long moment, looking at everything except her. Reaching a hand to his forearm, she willed him to look at her. At last, he did.

  “I don’t believe I could be both headmistress and wife if I’m to do either one very well.”

  He blinked, nodded, and stepped back, letting her hand fall to her side without his arm there to hold it up. “Yes, I can see you would think that.” He offered an ineffective smile and a quick glance. “Whatever you do, Berrie, you do with passion—wholeheartedly. Teach, argue. Kiss.”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks and she could do nothing to stop it. He was right.

  “I’ll be leaving for London next month,” he said quietly. “Katie is used to my long trips away. She should give you no trouble about that.”

  The thought that he would be altogether absent sent a wave of unexpected panic through her, though it was undoubtedly best. Could she be his friend, truly his friend? one day hope for him to find someone else to marry, and then watch it happen?