by Lori Wick
“Oh, no, and I gave her such an unkind look! What have I done?”
“Harriet, listen to me. Try to believe me when I tell you that I’m not going to overdo. Try not to worry so much.”
“I will, Tate, but what’s to be done about the way I treated Cassandra?”
“Well, she’ll be here tomorrow; you can speak to her then.”
“What if she doesn’t come?”
“Then you can go to her.”
“Yes, yes, that’s good,” the older woman replied as she used her hankie to mop her suddenly warm face. “I’ll do that. I’ll talk to her tomorrow as soon as she comes.”
Tate smiled in her direction.
“I’m sorry, Tate.”
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet,” he said, his voice forgiving. “And thank you for caring so much.”
Harriet went to hug him, her heart aching over the events of the last few minutes. She debated sending word to Cassandra on the spot, telling her she was sorry to have intruded and that she was welcome whenever she liked, but face-to-face repentance was best. She might not sleep well tonight, but that was a small price to pay for making things right with Cassandra Steele.
Newcomb Park
“I did something today.”
It was late. Cassandra had sought Lizzy out in her room. Both women were ready for bed. Lizzy was brushing her hair. Cassandra climbed onto the bed behind her, took the brush, and worked with long methodical strokes.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Lizzy prompted when Cassandra didn’t immediately speak.
“I went to see Mr Walker. I went to ask him if he and Henry ever talk about spiritual things.”
“What did he say?”
“He said they didn’t, but that he plans to speak with Henry.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not exactly certain.”
Lizzy shifted to see her in the lamplight.
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“I said that Henry confuses me with the way he goes to church but puts things ahead of people. I added that he’s self-centered.”
“Was Mr Walker surprised?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem to be. Henry is so relaxed with him, ready to speak on many subjects, but Mr Walker can’t be missing the fact that Henry is utterly silent when we go to church.”
A part of Lizzy wanted to wail and ask Cassandra why she would do such a thing, but in that she saw her own cowardice. She’d known for years that Henry’s walk of life was not as it should be. Cassandra was right. He was much too happy with possessions, not people, surrounding him.
Lizzy turned back away, and Cassandra went on with the hairbrush.
“Are you vexed with me, Lizzy?”
“No, I’m vexed with myself and my own timid heart.”
“Do you think Henry will learn what I’ve done and change toward me?”
Lizzy gave a sad little laugh. “He doesn’t talk to us now, Cassie. What could really change?”
On this note the women fell silent. Cassandra brushed Lizzy’s thick mahogany-colored hair until it was perfectly smooth and then moved to sit beside her. The moment she did, Lizzy took her hand and began to pray.
The days were warming swiftly. Flowers were in riotous bloom on nearly every hillside, a sight Cassandra enjoyed as she trailed Henry on his morning ride. They raced along the ridge, Henry’s horse beating hers easily, but Cassandra didn’t care. The feel of Iris running hard beneath her was thrill enough.
“I’m going to breakfast with Lizzy,” Cassandra said when they arrived back. “Are you joining us, Henry?”
“I’ll be along.”
Cassandra went ahead of him and found her sister at the table.
“How was your ride?”
“It was lovely. You really must come sometime.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Any mail for me?”
“Yes, and we’ve heard from Edward.”
Cassandra stopped herself from mentioning Morland. She could read the letter herself and not pour salt on the wound by asking. Although when she thought about it, Lizzy seemed rather lighthearted lately. Maybe she was mending some.
“You have mail, Henry,” Lizzy said to him the moment he showed up.
He thanked her and took his seat, starting on breakfast even as he read. Cassandra, amid her own meal, read Edward’s letter, a small smile appearing on her face.
I certainly miss all of you, but this trip is amazing. The air is hot and dry. I’ve never felt anything like it. I can actually draw hot air into my lungs, and doing so reminds me most starkly that I am a long way from home.
We moved a few days ago. We’ve set up housekeeping with friends of Morland’s aunt. From here we’ll be going into the wilds with a chance to observe the animals at close range. I thought I would feel more afraid at the prospect than I do. My lack of fear is more of a concern than anything else. If I don’t write again, you’ll know I’ve been mauled and should have been more frightened.
What do you hear from the new Mrs Barrington? She hasn’t written me much at all. You’ve put her to shame, Lizzy. Did you enjoy the beetle, Henry? I thought him a fine fellow and hope he arrived in good shape. Do ask Cassie if she wants a live one. I might be able to manage that.
Cassandra shuddered at the thought, even as she suppressed a laugh. He was such a pest, but she missed him terribly. She planned to write to him that very day and ask if he was ever coming home.
Upon this thought, Cassandra remembered she was headed back to Pembroke today. She hadn’t dwelt on yesterday’s incident, but it had come to mind several times. Mrs Thorpe had been very unhappy with her. Would she still be today?
It doesn’t matter, Cassie. You still have to go. If after today she doesn’t wish you to return, you must do as she asks.
Cassandra refused to let her heart dwell on why the thought of never returning caused her so much pain.
Pembroke
I can feel my temptation to beg You, Father, and I must not do that. You know what is right, Tate prayed before rising, enjoying the quiet of the house at this early hour. Thank You for this time of darkness, Lord. Thank You for all I’ve learned. Help me to keep trusting You for the future—my future.
Help Aunt Harriet to trust You greatly. Help her to see that she can’t take care of me as You can. Help her repentance before Cassandra today to be humble and genuine, and help Cassandra to accept it, holding nothing of herself back.
Thank You for the lessons in Jonah, Tate continued, talking out all of his heart to Jesus Christ until Hastings came to check on him. He didn’t need him for more than shaving and putting the finishing touches on his appearance, but always the faithful servant, Hastings checked on him often.
“Good morning, sir,” Hastings greeted as soon as he knew Tate was awake.
“Good morning, Hastings. What is it like out today? I don’t hear rain.”
“It’s very nice just now. The sun is up and shining. I suspect it might get quite warm.”
It was their usual exchange on the weather conditions, but never was it just routine. Tate needed Hastings to give him these small details so that his mind could connect to life around him.
“Are you ready for your shave, sir?”
“Please.”
Tate sat patiently for this task, again appreciating the regularity of the routine.
“I expect Miss Steele today,” Tate mentioned, not noticing that he never addressed her as such. She had come to him as Cassandra, and Cassandra she had remained.
“Will you be in the library as usual?”
“I think we’ll start there, but if it’s very nice we might move to the veranda.”
“Very good, sir. I will see that all is in readiness.”
“Are you still looking for those books?”
“I am, sir. I believe I’ve tracked one of them down.”
Tate smiled. “Good. Keep it just between the two of us, and let me know as soon as yo
u have even one of them.”
Taking pity on Hastings’ shaving efforts, Tate didn’t smile, but he wanted to. There would be time for smiling later, especially if the servant could locate the books Tate sought.
Chapter Seven
The Manse
“You look thoughtful,” Judith Hurst said to her husband over breakfast.
“I’m sorry.” His head came up when he heard her voice. “Did you just ask me something?”
“No, I only commented that you look thoughtful. Want to share?”
“What news have you had on Mr Tate?” he asked.
“Mrs Thorpe’s nephew? Nothing recently.”
“How often does the doctor check for improvement?”
“I’m not certain. Mrs Thorpe did tell me how much he enjoys your sermon notes, but we didn’t speak on his current condition.”
“I was just reading about Bartimaeus in Mark 10. When I read about his life, I’m always struck by my own tendency to take my sight for granted. Somewhere in there, Tate came to mind.”
“How do you pray for him, Frederick?” his wife asked.
“I ask God to restore his sight, or something better.”
Judith stared at her mate. She was so struck by his words that for a moment she was speechless. How foolish I am, Lord, she finally prayed, to assume that the best for Tate is the return of his sight.
Judith did not continue to question Frederick. Indeed, she was silent for the remainder of the meal, thinking of all the wonderful things that could be better than having one’s sight restored.
Pembroke
“I’m so glad you came, Cassandra,” Harriet began, not able to keep the warble from her voice. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“As am I, Mrs Thorpe. Please forgive me.”
“No, dear, you misunderstand me. I came into the library and made poor assumptions. I won’t interfere with your reading to Tate again.”
“You are always welcome, I’m sure.”
Harriet hugged her. What a dear woman she was, her heart so ready to give and forgive.
Immensely relieved to have things settled, Cassandra left Tate’s aunt and made her way to the library. She half-expected Tate to ask her about the conversation, but he did not mention it. She reached for the newspaper, found an article she had not read to him, and began. It wasn’t a long one, but Tate still managed to interrupt.
“Would it be a terrible imposition to move outside?”
“Not at all,” Cassandra said honestly, thinking it was a perfect day. “Where would you like to go?”
“To the veranda at the rear of the house. I won’t need your arm while inside, but I hope you won’t mind helping me when we get out of doors.”
Tate came to his feet, as did Cassandra. She hesitated, not certain how to proceed, and then decided to ask.
“Mr Tate?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I go ahead of you in the house, or trail after you?”
Tate’s head bowed, almost as though he could look down on her.
“Are you sitting down?”
“No.”
Tate fought a smile. “You’re not very tall, are you?”
“Well, now, that depends,” Cassandra stated in good humor.
“On what?”
“On whom you’re asking.”
Cassandra watched a smile start at the corners of his mouth before he controlled it.
“All right, I’ll bite. Name someone who finds you tall.”
“I can name several: John Hurst, Lizzy Palmer, Penny Jennings, and Oliver Palmer, to name a few.”
“All right, we’ll start with John. He would be ten or eleven years old?”
Just holding laughter, Cassandra admitted, “I believe he’s six.”
Tate stopped trying to suppress his smile. It blossomed fully as he finished questioning her.
“And Lizzy?”
“Six also, I believe.”
“Penny?”
“She’s older.”
“Seven?”
“At least!” Cassandra told him.
“And who was at the end? Oliver?”
“Yes.”
“How old is he?”
Cassandra sighed. “I’m not sure. He’s still in nappies.”
The sound came again. In full volume, Tate’s laughter rang out, filling the room and spilling beyond. He did nothing to hide his merriment, and indeed, took some time to control himself.
“Are you still willing to read to me?” he finally calmed enough to ask.
“I shall have to tell you after we arrive on the veranda. If it’s as lovely as everything else at Pembroke, I might have to reconsider.”
“So it has nothing to do with me?”
“Of course not. You just told me I was short. You won’t be forgiven for days.”
Tate sighed dramatically. “I need to thank my Aunt Harriet for keeping such a fine home.”
“Yes, you should,” she continued to tease him. “Now, you never answered my question. Do I go ahead of you or come behind?”
“Just nearby should do the trick. If I’m going to upset something you can give a shout.”
Completely unnoticed by either of them, Harriet Thorpe stood outside the library and listened to their conversation. She watched them maneuver their way to the hall and toward the door that would lead them outside, her hand coming to her throat.
If I had chased her away, Lord. If I had done something and she’d never returned…
Harriet couldn’t go on. The thought was too painful. She simply hadn’t seen what was happening. Her eyes had not noticed how greatly Tate had come to need his visitor.
“Oh, my,” Cassandra said quietly when they were settled out-of-doors.
“You must be looking at the gardens or the architecture,” Tate guessed.
“Both. They’re unbelievable.”
“How are the flowers this year?”
“Simply lovely. Here,” Cassandra plucked a pink bloom from one of the many ornate planters. “Smell this.” She placed it into Tate’s hand and watched.
Tate raised it to his face and smiled.
“Very nice.”
“Do you like flowers and gardening and such?”
“Yes. I have a large garden in London. Why do you ask?”
“The reviews are so mixed in my family. Lizzy doesn’t care for flower arranging or for puttering in the garden. Neither does Henry. But Edward and I love it.”
“There’s one more sister, isn’t there? What about her?”
“Charlotte. She loves gardens. When she married Barrington, she told him she would fill the church with flowers, and she did.”
“Where have they made their home?”
“They’re still traveling, but they’ll settle in Bath.”
“Have you seen them lately?” Tate asked, having caught a wistful tone.
“No, not since the wedding. They write every so often.”
Tate might have been readying to say something more, but Cassandra felt she had talked enough about herself.
“Are you ready for the rest of this article?”
“Yes, please.”
The experience took on a whole new meaning in the out-of-doors. The incessant ticking of numerous clocks was replaced by the natural sound of birds and insects. Cassandra’s voice even sounded different without the four walls to hold it in.
Tate tried to concentrate, but today it wasn’t working. He ended up just sitting back, his legs stretched out, the sun on his head, listening to the husky sound of Cassandra’s voice as it floated over him. At that moment in time, he thought he could go forever without his sight and not miss a thing.
“Come and see me this week, will you, Steele?” Walker invited just before church on Sunday.
“Certainly. What day?”
“Wednesday. Does that work for you?”
“I’ll plan on it.”
Sitting in the pew and waiting for the service to start, Cassandra was completely unawa
re of this exchange. She had prayed for her brother since visiting with Walker and wondered still if she’d done the right thing, but each time she was tempted to worry, she remembered how tragic it would be to have Christ return before Henry could be counted as one of His own.
Even if he’s angry with me, I have to do all I can to make sure he knows You, Lord. Help Mr Walker to have just the right words. Help Henry’s heart to be open.
The service was starting. Lizzy sat on one side of her, Henry on the other. Cassandra forced her mind to attend, knowing she could learn much about trusting God from the book of Jonah.
The note from Harriet Thorpe had been an invitation. The day it arrived, Cassandra looked at the envelope before opening it, and when she did venture to remove the note, learned that the request was for the next day.
Cassandra,
Will you do Tate and me the honor of joining us for luncheon on Tuesday at noon? No reading on this day, just repast and fellowship to say thank you for your friendship and care. We’ll expect you unless we hear otherwise.
Warmly,
Mrs Harriet Thorpe
Cassandra found herself rather excited. She was having one of the loveliest springs of her life getting to know this family. The experience had not been without its bumps, but she had learned a lot along the way. It occurred to her, even as the carriage took her toward Pembroke, that this might be their gentle way of telling her she was no longer needed, but she decided not to worry about that. If the time had come to an end, so be it.
Pembroke
“Are the flowers where she can see them?”
“Yes,” Harriet answered patiently, smiling a little. “They’re down the table, but they’ll be almost directly to her right.”
“And all is in order? Her chair is one with arms?”
“Yes, again.”
“You’re trying not to laugh.”
“This is true.” These words were punctuated by a chuckle.