by Lori Wick
“Yes, dear.”
“Is Henry a believer?”
Lizzy had prayed about that very thing and asked herself that question many times, but she had never voiced it out loud.
“Why do you ask?” the older sister inquired, sounding calmer than she felt.
“It makes no sense to me that Henry can be as selfish as he is if Christ lives inside of him.”
“That’s a very profound observation,” Lizzy said, moving a soft, cool cloth to Cassandra’s brow.
“Have you ever talked with Henry about the matter?”
“No, have you?”
“No,” Cassandra was forced to admit. “What do you think Henry would say about his salvation?”
Lizzy looked pained and skeptical. “Probably that he’s reserved but in church every Sunday, and what more does God expect?”
“But, Lizzy, how can he feel that way when he hears the truth each week? When Pastor Hurst and Pastor Greville are so good about explaining how God’s plan works?”
“You forget, Cassie, that I answered for him. He hasn’t actually said that. Maybe that wouldn’t be his response at all.”
Cassandra nodded in agreement. It really wasn’t fair to put someone else’s answer on him, but his life did cause one to wonder.
“What brought this to mind?” Lizzy asked.
“Oh, just the fact that he hasn’t even checked on me today. I wouldn’t want him to catch anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to poke his head in and say hello.”
“Maybe he did that while you were sleeping.”
Cassandra’s head full of dark red curls moved against the pillow.
“No, he didn’t. I asked Mrs Jasper, and she said he’s been in his study all day.”
“Well, there are several hours left in the day; maybe he’s still coming.”
For a moment there was silence in the room.
“You’ve forgotten again.”
Lizzy looked confused, her beautiful blue eyes looking down at the woman in the bed.
“Forgotten what?”
“That I’m not a five-year-old waiting for Father to come home.”
Lizzy looked stunned this time.
“How often do I do that?” she asked when she could find her voice.
Cassandra only smiled, and Lizzy’s sigh held more than a little weight.
“I guess I’ve a need to baby someone, Cassie, and you’re it.”
“I didn’t mean it as a rebuke, Lizzy, but clearly you’ve had some of the same thoughts about Henry as I have. Maybe if you didn’t see me as the baby we could have spoken of it before. It would have done my heart a lot of good.”
Her sister was so right that Lizzy could only stare at her tired, pale face. She did see her as the little one, the one who needed to be protected, when in fact she’d proven over and over that she was a smart, capable woman in her own right, not just the baby of the Steele family.
“Don’t give up on me, Cassie. Please.”
The youngest Steele smiled warmly, albeit weakly.
“Never, Lizzy. Never.”
Chapter Five
Pembroke
“You have a visitor,” Harriet announced—as she enjoyed doing—to her nephew when Cassandra arrived on Saturday morning, causing Tate to smile and wait for Cassandra’s usual greeting.
“Hello, Mr Tate.”
“Hello, Cassandra. How are you?” Tate asked, truly wishing to know.
It had taken her a few days to get back on her feet—she was still pale and a bit thin but definitely on the mend and most anxious to be out.
“I’m very well, thank you,” Cassandra answered and then added, “you won’t catch anything.”
“That,” he said firmly, “is the least of my worries. Are you certain you’re up to this?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Shall we go ahead with DeMitri’s Pomario?”
“Please.”
It was much as it had been on other days, Cassandra reading and Tate relaxing, but that lasted for only 30 minutes.
“Cassandra?” he interrupted her.
“Yes?”
“Are you enjoying this book? We can pick another if you like.”
“No, I quite like it, but thank you for asking.” Cassandra began to go back to the page she had opened but stopped. “Do you like it, Mr Tate? Do you wish to change?”
“No, I’m enjoying it very much. It’s an interesting story, isn’t it?”
“Yes. At first I didn’t like Antonia, but she’s beginning to grow on me.”
“What didn’t you like about her?” Tate asked.
“Her expectation that nothing would go amiss in her life, almost as if a calm, well-placed life was her due. That’s utter foolishness, and she was naive to expect it.”
“But what of her station? Wouldn’t she naturally expect such a life with her father’s position?”
“As a child maybe, but when she was old enough to face the realities of life, surely she should have been able to see that things don’t always go as we assume, and that all the money in the world can’t bring back someone or something you love.”
Tate had such a thoughtful look on his face that Cassandra halted. Had she insulted him? Had she spoken out of turn? She determined then and there to find out.
“Do I need to apologize for something, Mr Tate?”
“No, I quite agree with you. Antonia has taken a long time to grow up.”
“Indeed. It was nice to even hear her admit it.”
“When did she do that?” Tate sat up a bit straighter.
“In the music room with her old nanny.”
“I missed that part.”
Tate listened as the pages turned and then Cassandra read from that scene.
“I must have faded off on those pages.”
“Are you tiring?”
“Not right now.”
“Shall I go on?”
“Please.”
Cassandra did without further delay. Several times she caught herself forgetting that anyone else was in the room. She sank into the pages of the story, and seemingly in an instant, more than an hour had passed.
“I should go,” Cassandra said, having glanced at the clock but for the first time not wanting to leave.
“Are you able to return on Monday?”
“Yes, I shall plan on it.”
“Don’t come if you don’t feel up to it,” Tate remembered to put in, wishing for the first time that he could see her in order to gauge for himself how she might be feeling.
“All right. Goodbye, Mr Tate.”
“Goodbye, Cassandra. Thank you.”
Not until Cassandra made her way from the room and climbed into the coach for home did she notice her fatigue. Wanting to be fresh for church in the morning, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. A portion of her heart, however, lingered on Mr Tate. She wasn’t sure why he was on her mind, and that only caused her to wonder all the more.
Newcomb Park
“This week went by so swiftly,” Cassandra commented almost a week later as she and Lizzy took birthday gifts for Henry to the parlor.
“It rained all week, Cassie,” Lizzy reminded her. “I felt it dragged a bit.”
Cassandra looked surprised.
“I think it might have something to do with the fact that you go to Pembroke every day. I noticed that you even stayed longer a few times.”
“It must be the book,” Cassandra concluded. “We find it rather fascinating and can’t put it down. We’re almost done with it. I’m not sure what we’ll read next.”
Lizzy stared at her sister, but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t help but ask herself whether Cassandra had noticed how often she referred to herself and Mr Tate as we.
“So do you think you’ll keep going back?”
“I think so. The whole point is for relaxation, and it seems Mr Tate is getting plenty of that.”
“And are you enjoying it?” Lizzy asked, but this time Cassandra heard something in her voice.
“What are you up to, Lizzy?”
“I’m not up to anything.”
Cassandra looked skeptical, especially when Lizzy turned to the glass above the mantel and checked her hair.
“I just can’t help but wonder,” Lizzy admitted, her back still to her sister, “if things might not get a bit personal between you and Mr Tate.”
Cassandra blinked.
“Lizzy, he can’t even see me.”
Lizzy turned to face her. “What does that matter?”
Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, but no words formed, at least not for several seconds.
“It just does!”
Lizzy laughed. “That was an interesting conclusion.”
“Come now, Lizzy, don’t be planting ideas in my head. You’ll make me uncomfortable in the poor man’s presence.”
“All right. I won’t tease you.”
Cassandra looked at her. “But you’ll be thinking it, won’t you?”
“Only what I’ve said to you; nothing more.”
Cassandra nodded. That was a fair enough answer, and it brought the conversation to a good close. And only just in time. Dinner was about to be served, and after that—the gifts. Both women were excited about the presents they had to give.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” Henry told her sincerely, looking again at the leather notebook. It was the type he always liked, and this time the leather had been dyed a dark green, just the color of his study.
“I have another gift to present to you,” Lizzy said, passing a small, unwrapped box in his direction.
Henry took it wordlessly, his brows rising when he saw the contents. Both women laughed when he brought out a bug—a huge, dead beetle to be exact—lying on a bed of straw.
“Edward sent it,” Lizzy put in, “and it wouldn’t hurt my feelings in the least if it stayed in your office.”
“I rather like it,” Cassandra offered, leaning close to have a look. It was the largest insect she’d ever seen, very black and thick.
Henry bumped the straw just then, and the bug appeared to move. Cassandra sat back in a hurry.
“Are you sure it’s dead?”
“Very,” Henry told her, but it was obvious he was amused.
“I think Lizzy might be right, Henry. I can see it gracing the shelves of your study.”
This actually wrung a smile from Henry, and after seeing it, Cassandra went for her gift. It was a bit cumbersome, but she didn’t ask for help as she set it near his feet.
“This one is from me.”
Henry tore back the wrapping, saw the name “de Witt,” and froze.
“What have you done, Cassie?”
“Benwick had just gotten it in. Are you pleased?”
Henry was silent as the rest of the wrap gave way, but every part of his being radiated pleasure. He opened the book slowly, as though it was already a prized possession, studying the detail and touching the pages with reverence.
Cassandra didn’t expect him to say very much, but she would have appreciated something. She looked over at Lizzy, who had just glanced her direction. Both women shrugged a little.
“Henry?” Cassandra finally tried.
He looked up to find his youngest sister smiling at him.
“Thank you, Cassie,” he said simply, smiling back at her and returning to the colorful pages that showed maps of the world.
Cassandra tried not to be disappointed. She worked at not carrying her heart on her sleeve but couldn’t quite pull it off this time. She had to ask herself at that moment whether she hadn’t come with more expectations than she should have. She was also forced to ask herself whether a small part of her heart had been trying to buy Henry’s love, or at the very least, his attention.
Pembroke
“Much as I’m enjoying the book, Cassandra,” Tate said when she arrived on Saturday morning, “would you mind terribly if we did something different this morning?”
“Not at all.”
Tate reached to the table beside him and found his Bible. He handed it to Cassandra.
“I would like to recite to you from Psalm 113. I’d like you to correct me if I get words wrong—but if I hesitate, give me a moment to find my place.”
“Is your Bible in English?” Cassandra asked as she began to turn to the book of Psalms. She was rewarded by the sound of Tate’s full laughter.
Cassandra smiled hugely as she watched him. That he’d found the question highly amusing was clear.
Harriet suddenly appeared at the door, having heard the noise. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” Tate answered, although his voice was still full of laughter. “The joke continues. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Harriet gave Cassandra a smiling, wide-eyed look before agreeing and going on her way. Tate got down to business moments later.
“ ‘Praise ye the LORD. Praise, O ye servants of the LORD, praise the name of the LORD. Blessed be the name of the LORD from this time forth and forever.’ ”
“ ‘For evermore,’ ” Cassandra corrected quietly.
“ ‘For evermore,’ ” Tate repeated and picked up where he was. “ ‘From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same the LORD’s name is to be praised. The LORD is high above all nations, and his glory above the heavens.’ ”
Tate took a moment to think, and then went on, needing no help at all. “ ‘Who is like unto the LORD our God, who dwelleth on high, who humbleth himself to behold the things that are in heaven, and in the earth! He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dunghill; that he may set him with princes, even with the princes of his people.’ ”
Tate paused for this last verse, his mind searching. “Is it, ‘He maketh the barren woman…’?”
“Yes.”
Tate nodded and finished: “ ‘He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children. Praise ye the LORD.’ How did I do?”
“Very well. I’m extremely impressed. I fudge on words all the time. Yours were nearly perfect.”
“Thank you,” Tate said humbly, but he was ready to go on. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to choose another psalm for me to memorize. Not too long.”
“All right,” Cassandra said, wishing to go easy on him. “How about 117?”
Tate smiled. “That has only two verses in it.”
“You already know that one?” Cassandra sounded chagrined.
“Yes, and it sounds as though I should teach it to you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, sounding embarrassed.
“Well, let’s try.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mr Tate.”
“That’s good to know. Repeat after me,” he said, ignoring her. “ ‘O praise the Lord, all ye nations.’ ”
Cassandra saw no help for it. She was there to help him relax, and if this was going to work, then she would do it. She repeated the words back to him, over and over again, and then Tate told her to try both verses on her own.
“ ‘O praise the Lord, all ye nations; praise him, all ye people. For his merciful kindness is great toward us; and the truth of the Lord endureth for ever. Praise ye the Lord.’ ”
“Cassandra Steele, you close that Bible this instant!”
Cassandra’s laughter filled the room.
“How did you know?”
“I could tell that your head was bent, the way it is when you read.”
“I told you I would fudge.”
“That wasn’t fudging; it was cheating,” he told her, trying to sound firm but unable to stop smiling. “Here we go now, this time without the Bible.”
Cassandra did as she was told, and by the time she was ready to leave, she knew Psalm 117 by heart, every word perfect.
“Thank you for coming,” Tate said as she made to exit.
“No, Mr Tate, thank you for teaching me those verses. I didn’t think I could do it word perfect.”
Tate smiled. He was still smiling when his aun
t came to check on him almost an hour later.
“Cassandra,” Harriet called to her the moment church was over; she hadn’t even had time to move from the pew.
“Good morning, Mrs Thorpe. How are you?”
“I’m very well, and I wanted to catch you before you left.” Harriet sat next to her, turning so she could see her face. “Is it still working for you to come each day, or have we completely ruined your schedule?”
“Not at all. I can always fit it in, and on those days when it is impossible, Mr Tate has been very understanding.”
Harriet took the younger woman’s hand.
“I can’t thank you enough, Cassandra. He so enjoys your visits. They give him something to look forward to.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, but you must believe me when I tell you that I no longer come just for Mr Tate. I enjoy the visits too.”
“I’m glad, my dear. I would love to invite you to dinner and tea, and offer you our hospitality, but I must give Tate as much time as he needs.”
Cassandra squeezed the older hand, which was still nearby.
“Don’t give it another thought. I don’t expect such things. We want Mr Tate to heal. That’s all that matters right now.”
Harriet hugged her. She couldn’t help herself. Cassandra gladly returned the embrace, thinking she had made a lovely friend.
Lizzy, watching them from a little ways off, smiled as well, but for an entirely different reason.
Brown Manor
“Hello, love,” Weston said softly, sitting down on his own bed and watching his wife’s eyes open. He leaned to kiss her before asking, “How did you end up in here?”
“I was tired of my room, so after my bath, I told Jenny I wanted to move. Do you mind?”
Weston’s smile was intimate. “Since when do I mind finding you in my bed?”
Anne smiled back at him.
“How was church?”
“Excellent. We’re still in Jonah, and I shall tell you all about it after we’ve eaten.”
“I would like that.”
“Oh! Before I forget, Marianne Jennings will be coming tomorrow.”
“Good. Will she bring any of the children?”
“I don’t know. She might assume, just as Judith and Lydia have, that one visitor at a time is enough.”