by Lori Wick
Cassandra presented the miniature atlas she received on Friday night, and her host’s response was all she could have hoped for.
“This is marvelous. A perfect copy. Where did Henry find it?”
“I don’t know, but he said I needed one of my own.”
“And he’s right. Show me your favorite page.”
Cassandra turned to Africa.
“Now I wonder why Africa is so interesting to you,” he teased.
Cassandra dimpled at him but didn’t speak.
“How is Edward?” Mrs Walker asked, ushering them all into the dining room.
“He seems to be doing very well.” Henry fielded this question, always so at ease in Walker’s presence. “In his last letter to me, he didn’t think he’d be away too many more months.”
“It’s been so long already,” Lizzy added.
“And Charlotte? What do you hear from the new Mrs Barrington?”
“I think we’ll see them soon. Her last letter said she was ready to settle in at home, and I know they planned to stop for a brief stay before going on to Bath.”
“It’s a different world when children grow old enough to go out on their own,” Mrs Walker told them with a note of wistfulness. “This house rang with noise and laughter for just a few years. Now, unless the grandchildren are visiting, it’s as quiet as a tomb.”
“Speaking of which,” Walker put in, “the grandchildren will be visiting in about a fortnight.”
“How fun,” the Steele women chimed. “Is everyone coming?”
Mrs Walker told of the family’s plans as everyone enjoyed the meal. After that, conversation was never at a loss, and even when the meal ended and they moved to the parlor, the five adults continued to visit.
“I’m going to put Henry on the spot,” Walker said once they’d settled in with cake and coffee.
“Oh, my,” Henry said, only half joking.
“Forgive me, Henry, but I would like all of us to hear how you came to Christ. Are you willing?”
“If you’d like, Walker,” Henry said after clearing his throat. “Certainly, I will.”
The women in the room beamed at him with pleasure, causing him to laugh a little and feel even more shy.
“Where to begin?” he started awkwardly, but then remembered to just speak his thoughts. “I was young, but I recall it was at Newcomb Park. Father had been scolding Charlotte and me. I can’t remember the incident exactly, but he said that we needed to do a better job of loving and caring for each other. If I recall, we had been doing a good deal of quarreling.
“Anyway, I remember that he suddenly stopped, as though thinking of something. He asked us how true change occurs. I couldn’t answer, and Charlotte was quiet as well. He went on to explain that true change happens only on the inside.” Henry laughed a little in amazement. “I didn’t know what he was speaking of, and for the first time he told us how he’d come to love Christ and accept His forgiveness of his sins. That led to a discussion on sin, and Charlotte and I had to admit that we sinned daily.
“I remember how simple he made it. He used himself as an example. He asked what we would think if a runaway carriage was about to kill us and he jumped in front of us, dying to save our lives. We both cried at the very thought, but he went on to say that God’s Son had done that very thing on the cross. I recall that what really struck me was how he said Christ’s sacrifice would be trampled if we didn’t accept the new life we’d been offered.”
Henry paused as the enormousness of it came back to him. “I wanted that life he spoke of. Charlotte did too. Father shared verses from the New Testament about our humble hearts becoming Christ’s dwelling place. I wanted Him to come to me and never leave, so I confessed my sins and asked Him to save me.
“And I know it was real, for I didn’t want to bicker with Charlotte as much. At times my siblings made me feel cross, but something happened in my heart that day. I was changed from that time forward. I can only attribute it to Christ’s love.”
Henry had not been looking at anyone in particular, but he now noticed that his sisters and Mrs Walker all had tears in their eyes. It was too much for him. With a quiet word to excuse himself, he went to get some air.
“Did our tears drive him away, Walker?” his wife asked, reaching for her handkerchief.
“They may have, dear, but it’s all right. I’ll go and see him in a bit.”
“Thank you,” Lizzy managed.
Cassandra could only nod in agreement, not able to speak for some time.
Pembroke
“Another perfect day,” Cassandra said the moment she stepped onto the veranda and found Mr Tate waiting for her.
“I think you must be right. The sun feels very good.”
“Do your eye patches allow any light through at all?”
“No, and even if they did, I’m to keep my lids shut at all times.”
“Do you wear the patches when sleeping?”
“Yes, even then. Should I sleep rather soundly, I might wake and forget to keep my eyes closed.”
“I can see how that might happen.”
“Your sister’s voice is higher-pitched than yours.”
“We’ve been told that before,” Cassandra said with a smile. “Charlotte’s is right in the middle.”
“I had a good time at your party.”
“As did I. I still can’t believe the book you and Mrs Thorpe brought. It was lovely.”
“What did your other sister end up sending you?”
Before Cassandra could respond, she heard piano music coming from the house. She listened for a moment.
“Is that your aunt playing the piano?”
“Yes.”
“Why have I never heard her?”
“She hasn’t wanted to disturb your reading.”
Cassandra listened for a moment. The melody was beautiful, and the playing accomplished.
“Cassandra, do you play or sing?”
“I play a little, but I don’t sing.”
“Maybe we should go in so you can play.”
“I fear you will prefer your aunt’s hand at the keys. My skill is nothing to hers.”
Tate wasn’t certain he believed this but didn’t comment. Instead, he suggested, “We could just sit and listen to her for a time.”
“I would like that.”
Cassandra realized as she settled back that they had never enjoyed music or quiet together. Each time she came, she had to speak almost nonstop. Finding this change so relaxing, she wondered that he had her come at all.
“That was a moving piece,” Tate said when the music ended.
He was met with silence.
“Are you there, Cassandra?”
Still no answer.
Tate was almost certain she had not left. He moved to the edge of his chair and reached across to where he thought she might be sitting. He found the arm of her chair and then her hand.
“Cassandra,” he said softly, now recognizing she was asleep. He almost called her name again, but stopped, his mind growing distracted with how soft her hand felt in his. He’d held her hand one other time and taken her arm the night of her party. Was her skin always this soft?
Suddenly realizing he was not allowed such liberties, he took his hand away, sat back in his seat, and waited. His aunt began another song some five minutes later, and he heard Cassandra stir.
Cassandra, not certain what had happened, sat up and worked to orient herself. She looked across at her companion. Had he known she was asleep? And why in the world did she suddenly feel so dull and tired?
She swallowed past a thick throat and wished she had a glass of water.
“Do you know the name of this piece?” Tate asked her.
“I think it’s Mozart’s Concerto in B-flat Major.”
“Of course. I can’t think how I could have forgotten.”
Cassandra wondered if he’d tried to speak to her a moment ago.
“Mr Tate?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’ll leave a little early today.”
“Are you unwell, Cassandra?”
“I don’t think so—just a small headache starting.”
“Let me ring for Hastings so he can see you to your carriage.”
Cassandra allowed this small courtesy, glad for his assistance when her head began to throb in earnest. She barely remembered leaving Pembroke and recalled even less when she arrived home. By afternoon she was in bed, very ill indeed.
“Her skin is so warm,” Lizzy told Henry quietly. She had just stepped out of her sister’s room and met him in the hall.
“Jasper has sent for Dr Tilney. He’ll be here soon.”
Lizzy nodded. She had left Cassandra sleeping, and her breathing was normal, but Lizzy was still worried. That worry lifted a slight amount when the doctor came and checked on her, telling Cassandra’s family to keep her comfortable and quiet.
“A fever like Cassandra’s is not dangerous,” the doctor explained. “It just makes her feel dreadful. As long as she can communicate and is lucid while she’s awake, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“So she should sleep as much as she likes?”
“As long as she’s coherent when awake, I shouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you, Dr Tilney.”
“I’ll check again tomorrow.”
The conversation had gone on outside Cassandra’s bedroom door, neither participant aware that Cassandra was wrapped inside a cocoon of feverish dreams—almost all of them involving Mr Tate.
“So handsome,” Cassandra told the empty room in an illogical mumble. “And kindly. The kindest boy I’ve ever met.”
Lizzy caught part of this remark as she slipped back into the room, but Cassandra did not answer when Lizzy questioned her. More words came forth, some including Tate’s name, but Cassandra didn’t awaken or speak clearly to her sister for almost an hour.
“Are you there, Cassie?”
“Yes,” she answered with her eyes closed. It was too much effort to lift her lids. “I know I must be ill, Lizzy. You sound just like Charlotte.”
“It is Charlotte, dear. I’ve come to see you.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” Cassandra cried weakly, forcing her eyes open. “You mustn’t be here when I’m ill. I so want to enjoy your visit.”
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll be here after you’re back on your feet.”
“How is Barrington?” Cassandra asked, barely able to manage the words.
“He’s very well,” Charlotte said, but she could see that Cassandra was sleeping again. Tall like Lizzy but blonde with light blue eyes, the oldest Steele sister sat for only a few moments before leaving Kitty on hand to see to Cassandra and heading to find Lizzy.
“Who is Tate?” she wasted no time in asking.
Lizzy smiled. “Did she actually speak of him to you?”
“She mumbled his name just before she woke.”
Lizzy smiled.
“Is my baby sister in love?” Charlotte demanded.
“I would say yes.”
“When did this happen?” Charlotte’s voice was a bit too incredulous.
“Charlotte.” Lizzy’s voice was calm but direct, and her eyes were a bit stern. “You’ve been gone for ages.”
Charlotte worried her lip. “Everywhere we visited, they pressed us to stay on forever, Lizzy. It was much more difficult for us than it sounds.”
“I understand, Charlotte; honestly, I do. And we’re all very glad for your long honeymoon, but I’ve come to see Cassie in a new light. I try not to treat her like a younger sister anymore, and I felt myself coming to her defense when you did.”
Charlotte took a minute to comprehend this. Not until that very moment in time did she realize she’d come back expecting all would be as it had ever been. She told herself what a foolish notion that had been and asked, “Do you know this man?”
“Yes, we’ve met him. We are acquainted with his aunt as well. Harriet Thorpe, his widowed aunt, and Mr Tate came to Cassie’s birthday dinner. Did Cassie not write to you that she’s daily reading to a man?”
“Yes, she did—a blind man.”
Lizzy only stared at her.
“Oh, her Mr Tate is blind?” Charlotte said, finally connecting the details.
“At the moment. He fell from his horse some months ago. He’s in Collingbourne to recuperate.”
“And our Cassie loves him?”
“It looks that way.”
“And what are his thoughts of her?”
“It appears as though he cares for her as well.”
Barrington and Henry chose that moment to return from their ride. Barrington went immediately to his wife. Henry asked about Cassandra.
“She’s sleeping,” Charlotte filled in, still amazed at the change in him.
“I’m going up,” Henry said, and exited without waiting for further word.
Charlotte, having come in rather late the night before, now held her sister captive. She wanted any and all news, from Edward in Africa to the change she saw in Henry. With occasional checks on Cassandra, Lizzy brought Charlotte up to date on family and town news over the next several hours. Both women ended up completely drained, and when Lizzy finished, Charlotte determined never to be so out of touch again.
“That was wonderful,” Cassandra said weakly, returning the teacup to Barrington. She had managed to drink half of it. “How did you get elected to sit with me?”
“I volunteered.”
Cassandra smiled at him. She had liked Barrington from the first moment they’d met. It was an added bonus to know he was very much in love with her sister.
“Tell me the most wonderful thing you did on your trip.”
“Besides falling a little more in love with your sister?”
Cassandra smiled. “If I could find a husband half as dear as you, Barrington, I think I would marry on the spot.”
“I understand you have someone in your sights right now.”
Cassandra smiled, her head back against the pillow.
“There is someone I care for, Barrington, but he can’t see me, and I worry about that.”
“I can see how you would,” he teased. “You’ve always been so pitied for your horrible looks and disagreeable personality. I don’t know how your family stands it.”
“Stop, Barrington.” Cassandra laughed a little. “You’ll have me giggling, and that always makes me weak.”
Barrington leaned close and kissed her brow.
“We choose to worry about such foolish things, don’t we, Cassie?”
Cassandra looked into his warm, brown eyes and saw caring and wisdom.
“That we do, Barrington,” she was forced to agree, even as she felt herself worry a bit more. “That we certainly do.”
Pembroke
Tate didn’t know a week could be so long. He woke Saturday, as he had all week, his mind immediately going to Cassandra. Was she better? Would she come today? Did she miss him a fraction of the way he missed her?
Lord, I’m not resting, he prayed. He’d been confessing this to God all week and working through his emotions. Help me not to waste all day thinking about her in an anxious way when I know You are a God who can be trusted. You will take care of her. You will have Your way and be glorified.
It occurred to Tate, not for the first time, that Cassandra caused him far more anxiety than regaining his eyesight. It would do no good to cut her from his life and go back to his attempt to rest. She was firmly embedded in his heart, and it looked as if she was there to stay.
There was one consolation this morning: Tomorrow was Sunday. If she was feeling better, she would be in church. And then his aunt could see her and bring home a report.
Newcomb Park
“We are missing only Edward,” Lizzy told the family just after the prayer. They were gathered around the dining table for lunch after church.
They all smiled at her, agreeing as the dishes were served and the meal began. Cassandr
a was a little pale and on the thin side, but she had gone to church and was swiftly regaining her strength.
“Is the house being readied for you in Bath?” Cassandra asked of the Barringtons. “Or will there be work all around you after your arrival?”
“It’s supposed to be ready,” Barrington answered. “Mother wrote that she was seeing to it herself, so we’ll trust it will be prepared in time.”
“And will you be home for a while or do you have other plans?” Henry asked. Not overly fond of travel, he couldn’t imagine being away from home so long.
“I don’t think I shall move from Fairfax Hall for months,” Charlotte said. “What do you think, Barrington?”
“I quite agree with you, love. I hope you’ll all be willing to visit us, as we are most eager to stay put for a time.”
“We shall plan on that,” Lizzy volunteered, thinking a trip back to Bath might be fun.
“Who is at Dunham right now, Henry?” Cassandra wished to know, asking about the Steele home in Bath.
“The Harold Browne family of London.”
Barrington knew the family a little, so he was questioned by the others. It felt a bit odd to have someone living in the home they’d been in for so many years, but no one planned to live there for some time, and leaving it open seemed such a waste.
Cassandra enjoyed the meal immensely but was ready for a nap as soon as it ended. She smiled even as she climbed wearily into bed. Charlotte was home, and she was finally well enough to enjoy her.
Her final thoughts, however, as sleep rushed in to claim her, were of a certain man, a man whom she felt like she hadn’t seen all month.
Pembroke
“Was Cassandra at church?”
“Yes,” Harriet answered with a smile. Tate was occupying a chair in the foyer, barely allowing his aunt in the front door before he assaulted her with his questions.
“She seemed well?” Tate pressed her, not able to keep some of the tension from his voice.
“She is pale, Tate, but I don’t think her sisters would have allowed her out had she not been fit enough.”
Tate sat back, not aware of how far forward he’d moved in his chair.