Enchanting Nicholette

by Dawn Crandall

  I didn’t bother to answer him or reclaim my seat on the sofa. Mr. Hawthorne and I merely remained as we were for a moment, seemingly unable to stop staring at one another.

  And I didn’t know how to move.

  The maid arranged everything on the other side of the spacious room, and my father stayed near the cart, waiting for us to join him.

  After a few moments of silence, and trying with everything in me to seem as if we’d just had a very normal discussion, I asked him with a little more strength to my voice so that my father would hear, “Would you like some tea, Mr. Hawthorne?”

  “I would love some, Mrs. Everstone,” he answered, his expression so adorably earnest, I had a feeling his thoughts ran along the same lines as mine.

  As we walked together to the other side of the room, he spoke to my father.

  I tried to remain calm, tried not to spend too much of my time gawking at Mr. Hawthorne like a schoolgirl, for he was devastatingly handsome. And even though I did this, I could tell that Mr. Hawthorne had his eyes on me through it all. He watched my every move, obviously not caring what my father thought.

  And even though every single look thrilled me, the uncertainty of when I would next see him, and be able to bring up the subject of better quipping the girls, unnerved me.

  Most of the tea turned out to be a blur of meaningless conversation. Mr. Hawthorne primarily spoke to my father about a number of things that didn’t concern me in the least. And after perhaps half an hour, Father asked me to show our guest out while he returned to his study.

  Once Mr. Hawthorne and I were again at the front door, he turned to me, his top hat in hand. He looked very much as if he were ready to leave, but I couldn’t let him yet. Not now that we were finally alone without the prospect of my father rejoining us. I had so many things I wanted to ask his advice about.

  “Mr. Hawthorne, I’ve been thinking about something—everything—you said at the park last week, and I wanted to ask…is there something more that could be done for young women who might not have the guidance needed to know where to place themselves once they’ve come of age? I don’t know many skills myself, at least ones that would help them, but there must be something more we can do to help them from falling prey to men like Ezra Hawthorne.”

  “There is indeed something,” he replied regarding me now with a different kind of look than he ever had before. It was something more than mere attraction, something like astonishment. “I know for a fact that something along these lines, perhaps an apprenticeship program of sorts, would be a great help to the young women looking for appropriate jobs.”

  “Yes, a program for the older girls, maybe to line jobs up for them as they graduate, or maybe temporarily place them in households where they could receive substantial training in different skill sets, and then also, at the same time, gain references.”

  “I like where your thoughts are headed, Mrs. Everstone,” he stated with a wide smile. “And I think what you’re saying needs to be brought to attention. I know for a fact that Dr. Wellesley from Trinity Church would be open to hearing more about this sort of thing from someone like you. What do you think about telling him more about these ideas of yours sometime?”

  “Well, they’re just ideas. I don’t really know what to do.”

  “But just think, it could be the first step in seeing your ideas become an actuality. And wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Yes, it would.” There were already knots in my stomach at the mere thought of going before anyone besides Mr. Hawthorne regarding such things, but I also knew it would have to be done in order for anything to ever become of my ideas. “I’ll go…if you go with me.” I smiled bashfully.

  “It will need to be after my dealings with Ezra are complete, but I’ll make the plans, and we’ll see what happens. I’m certainly looking forward to it.”

  “Me too…surprisingly.” Taking a deep breath, I didn’t know what else to say, besides, “I don’t know what Father will think if he comes back through and finds you still at the door.”

  “Oh, right. Though, I think he would understand my dilemma.” Mr. Hawthorne seemed a little distracted as he placed his hat upon his head. “Good day to you, Mrs. Everstone.”

  I hadn’t meant I wanted him to leave, but Mr. Hawthorne turned and stepped toward the door, his hand lingering on the handle. After a moment, he turned around again with a look in his eyes, a steady examination of me. He lifted his hat off and took a quick step, almost into me. He steadied himself with a hand cupped behind my neck, brought me close, and put his lips against mine.

  He pulled away, but remained with his hand at my neck, his forehead against mine, and whispered, “You’re enchanting, Nicholette. Especially when your heart is showing.”

  Cocking a little smile—probably at my utter willingness—he let go of me and placed his hat back atop his head. He then turned around, opened the door, revealing a downpour of rain outside, and left without another word.

  I stood stunned by his forwardness—and his abruptness—and watched him disappear into the pouring rain. In a daze, I closed the door and pressed my back against the wide doorjamb.

  The details about the afternoon swam through my mind. Everything he’d said, and my responses—and then that kiss.

  I’d never been kissed like that before, so without warning...and all I could think or feel, suddenly, was with that kiss, he’d soundly placed a key into the lock of my heart and begun to turn it. To unlock it.

  And oh, how I wanted my heart to be unlocked. By him.

  Then there were his last words to me...I’d heard similar things before, many times, but never had those times meant more to me than hearing it from him. And even more so because I knew his compliment hadn’t been meant merely regarding my outer appearance.

  He’d meant he thought that about all of me.

  10

  The Summercourt Wedding

  “A faithful friend is a strong defense;

  and he that hath found him hath found a treasure.”

  —Louisa May Alcott

  Saturday, August 5, 1893

  Trinity Church, Coplen Square • Back Bay, Boston, Massachusetts

  It was good for you to come.” My mother gently touched the edge of my sleeve as she whispered this. She smiled, tried to convince me that what she said was the truth.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  I’d not been to a wedding since my own, and already, though the setting was as different as could be, I wondered how I would make it through.

  Glimpsing the wedding decor, which consisted of thousands of light-pink roses and large white ribbons, I couldn’t deny they added just enough softness to the darkly wood-trimmed sanctuary to make for a romantic wedding atmosphere. The immaculate stained glass windows on every great wall of the sanctuary lit the room with beautiful, colorful shadows that, even in midday, made the electric lights seem dim.

  My parents and I moved along in the line of guests filling the vestibule slowly, for the sanctuary was already mostly filled. The wedding was of such high profile, the church would likely be filled to capacity. However, since my parents and the Summercourts were such good friends, we would have a seat up front, no matter that we’d been a little later than planned.

  And therefore, so would I.

  Did anyone notice me? Did they remember coming to my wedding two years ago? And how nothing happy had come of it?

  My last moments in the carriage with William came back to me: he’d been an incredibly attractive man, generous and loving…and willing to wait for my love. He’d been quite confident I would eventually fall in love with him, and honestly, I was probably well on my way, now that I thought back to our time together…

  Until he was taken from me.

  His death had been my undoing. The pain of going through everything my wedding day had turned into…I couldn’t imagine how my heart would break if something like that ever happened to me again.

  Having gone through such a tragic loss, br
ought so low by all of it and then forced into my depressing two-year mourning period, I’d wondered for months where God had been in all that happened. How could He have given me so much and then allowed it all to be torn to shreds? I’d had everything and was left with nothing.

  Nothing but my inheritance and Fairstone, which was now Everthorne.

  Suddenly, I’d had enough of the wedding.

  Without answering Mother, I pulled back the next time the long line of guests moved toward the grand doors of the sanctuary. “I’ll be outside.” I squeezed my mother’s hand. “I just need some time alone.”

  “Perfectly understandable, dear,” was Father’s reply.

  And they let me go. I weaved through the throng of guests, all those people looking forward to seeing Clyde Summercourt and Bianca Worthington joyously join their lives together.

  Taking the steps down to the brick-laid courtyard situated at the front of the gigantic church, I noticed there weren’t too many guests behind us in the line to notice me. And regardless of their stares, I turned around the corner of the church in the direction of a small grass clearing, where there was another smaller building to the grand church—a small chapel and some other rooms referred to as the Parrish House.

  A covered path lined with pillars of limestone made up the corridor connecting the two buildings and then wrapped all the way around a secret little space called the Garth Garden, which was tucked between the church and the Parrish House.

  The enclosed garden was just to look at from the surrounding covered pathway and Parrish House windows, and not something to actually enjoy from within, as only a small limestone path circled through it. But there would be plenty of privacy offered at the Parrish House, since everyone else there was much more concerned about being seen than hiding away.

  I hurried down the brick path toward the building and up the steps to the pillared corridor. Stone steps led to the upper level of the Parrish House and also a door to the main level, which I found unlocked. I entered and found a dark little hall with doors to both the right and the left.

  Trying the one to the right, I found it also unlocked. Closing the door gently behind me, I turned to face the little room. It was small, with a fireplace along the wall and a small desk situated in front of a bay window at the end of the room, overlooking the small church garden. Finding such a cozy place was unexpected. And I didn’t want to leave, to go back to see Bianca walk down the aisle in her white dress, so happy to marry Clyde.

  Crossing the room to the window facing the garden, I let out a long breath. I sat in the wooden desk chair, not caring what it would do to my gown, only that I needed to collect myself adequately before returning to the crowd. And hopefully return before my parents were seated up front. I didn’t need the added mortification of being escorted to the front all alone.

  A glimmer of sunlight streaked through the shadowy room, falling across the desk, revealing an open Bible pushed to the far edge of the desk.

  Suddenly seeing it there brought another less-traumatic memory from my wedding to mind, that of the verse I’d read that day. It had been my favorite chapter of the Bible, and one in which I’d unfortunately not recalled for some time. Not that I hadn’t read my Bible in the last year. Far from it actually, but I’d always avoided going back to Psalm one-twenty-one since…since everything about my life had fallen apart.

  Reaching across the desk, I pulled the Bible toward me and slowly turned to the book, feeling almost nervous, wondering if there would be the same comfort the words had provided so long ago, before that day.

  I flipped through the pages until I found it, and then I stood, holding the Bible, preparing myself to read the words. I’d been taught to revere the spoken Word of God, and that if the words were read aloud, one should stand in worship.

  And so, standing, facing the window overlooking the Garth Garden for its abundance of light flooding in, I read the words aloud. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.”

  But I didn’t get further than that before I had to stop. I sat back on the wooden desk chair. It had seemed like a cruel joke to have that chapter read at my wedding, then have everything that had happened not an hour later fall upon me.

  But now, two years later, I realized it was again everything I needed to hear.

  I so desperately needed His help now. I wanted it more than to going to the wedding in the next building…I wanted to be done with the fear my own tragic wedding had created in me. I wanted…so much more.

  Mr. Hawthorne’s open request of me as we’d finished our conversation in the park echoed unceasingly through my mind. Put your guard down. Let me in.

  Closing my eyes, I buried my face in my arms atop the desk and tried to pray. But all I could think about was Cal Hawthorne, and everything he’d done—everything he was. His passions, his directness, his determination to see things happen for the good of the helpless...they all moved my heart to want the same things. To be so much more.

  Everything I knew of him, had learned from him, spurred me into feeling something startlingly new, and quite suddenly, I realized I didn’t want to live like this, so terrified of the “what ifs” of my life. Not if there was so much more to do for others. Not if someone like Mr. Hawthorne was waiting, clearly ready and wanting to make me love him.

  And that was precisely when I realized I wanted him more than I wanted to protect my heart from the dangers of the unknown. Ever since meeting Cal Hawthorne, my soul had yearned for his, and I couldn’t seem to grasp any of the excuses I’d been telling myself for the last few months, excuses I could hardly fathom anymore.

  I wanted this and so much more. Because for as much as I’d tried to fall in love with William, my feelings for him had never come anywhere close to what I felt for Cal Hawthorne, and it had happened in such a short time.

  God, I’m sorry I haven’t relied on You the way I should have regarding this. Please help me feel as if I can move forward. I want to be strong enough. I want to not be scared anymore. I don’t want to be too scared to love him.

  My courage bolstered, I lifted my head from my prayerful position. But even as I admitted my willingness to fall for Mr. Hawthorne, the thought of actually going through with it created a veritable wall between me and my moving into the sanctuary, where I would likely see him after the ceremony.

  What would I say to him?

  “Yes, you’ve been correct, I’m scared to death. And I don’t know what I’m doing, but please continue on as you have been, and I promise to give in to you”?

  From the sanctuary next door, the pipe organ started the deep, long musical tones of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” Bianca would be entering the sanctuary soon, just as I had almost exactly two years before to the same music.

  Exiting the little room, I hurried down the hall and opened the door to the stone-covered pathway. The only way back into the service from where I was, without circling halfway around the church again, was to enter from the front corner of the massive sanctuary. But the pews were so tucked away nearest that door, it would be almost impossible to see the altar while seated there.

  Which was perfect.

  I wouldn’t be seated with my parents, but at least I could say I’d attended the wedding. And as for not being noticed, it helped that the sanctuary was absolutely awe-inspiring in height, towering stories and stories over everyone’s heads. No one would be paying attention to me on the outskirts of the room in such a grand place.

  Before reentering the church, I took a deep breath.

  I opened the tall, heavy door slowly and entered the vestibule. But from there, as I faced the tall double doors into the sanctuary, I was unable to move. Just as I’d felt when I’d been standing at the main entrance of the church, waiting to be escorted in with my parents, I was afraid of the memories coming back.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the door’s metal handles.

  After standing like that f
or a few moments, I heard the rector’s voice echo from the pulpit. He read something from Song of Solomon, but I didn’t know what until he spoke a phrase I knew.

  “I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go.”

  Everything in me felt these words, and knew the truth.

  I would not let him go.

  I didn’t want to let Mr. Hawthorne go. I wanted to keep trying, to find a way for my heart to heal. So I could be his.

  I knew the essence of those chapters, and many of the quotes regarding love from Song of Solomon. William had quoted parts of it to me many times in the eleven months we’d been engaged. He’d loved me, and he couldn’t wait to marry me, for me to be his in every way.

  I knew this, and I knew there was an intriguing side of marriage that Mother had never had the courage to speak to me about. But William had. He hadn’t wanted me to be afraid or nervous. He’d wanted me to look forward to our marriage.

  And I had been. If the things he’d been able to make me feel with only a passionate kiss while we were secreted away in a back hall for a soiree was any indication, I had a feeling I would have enjoyed whatever it was a wife was supposed to feel for her husband.

  God, I want what I experienced with Mr. Hawthorne during those first few minutes of our acquaintance, more than I’ve ever wanted anything with anyone. I want his love more than I’ve ever wanted anyone’s love before.

  Just as this prayer swept through me, I felt a bit of a release from inside my heart, as if a shell had been broken away. And within a moment, I heard the door that connected the vestibule to the covered garden pathway creak open behind me.

  “I had hoped you’d come.”

  Turning, I found Cal Hawthorne, as handsomely dressed as ever, if not a little windswept. He’d taken off his top hat and had set it on the bench by the door by the time he’d said this. I was quite stunned to have been found by him, and I had yet to find any words when he continued.