The Visitor

by Lori Wick

  “My friends, how seriously do we take God’s Word? The words Jonah spoke were from God. The words we read in Matthew are from God. Do we repent when we know we should, or are we waiting for something special from God?”

  Pastor Hurst held up his Bible. “It’s all right here. It’s here for our reading, reproof, instruction, and teaching. It’s here to comfort and command us. It’s here to wonder and wound us. Everything God expects from us, His children, is spelled out here, if we’ll only look and learn.”

  Listening to him, Cassandra was only too happy to close her eyes on the final prayer. She had been so flippant that morning when she read her Bible. Her mind had wandered back and forth to Tate a dozen times.

  I have a copy of Your precious Word, and I don’t even stop with the wonder of that. I just page through it, knowing I can come back another day. I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry I haven’t seen it for what it is. Please instruct me and teach me.

  The first bars of the last song were being played when Cassandra came to her feet with the rest of the congregation.

  “Are you all right?” Edward whispered.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He held the book for both of them, and Cassandra castigated herself again. She had so much to be thankful for, and yet she fell into discontentment so easily. Edward was home! Yes, she missed Tate, but Edward was home, and that was reason to rejoice.

  Blackburn Manor

  “So tell us, Edward,” Mr Walker urged over lunch. “What will you miss the most about Africa?

  “The wildlife. It was spectacular.”

  “Were you not afraid, Edward?” Harriet Thorpe asked; they’d only just met.

  “Yes, when we camped outside, especially at night with only a tent to separate us from the nocturnal creatures. But most of the time we were at a distance.”

  “Tell them about the heat,” Lizzy suggested.

  “Ah, yes,” Edward said with a smile, his teeth looking brilliantly white in his tan face. “It was very warm. Our July has nothing on African heat.”

  “And what did you do for relief?”

  “Find some shade and wait for night to fall.”

  “When you could be afraid of being eaten again,” Cassandra commented and everyone laughed.

  Edward laughed as well but went on to regale them with his tales and experiences. By the time he was finished, most of the table’s occupants were ready to pack their bags.

  “Henry might go with me sometime,” Edward said casually, shocking the room into complete silence.

  It stayed that way so long that Edward and Henry exchanged a smile.

  “They’re teasing us,” Lizzy said when she saw them.

  “No,” Henry said simply, “we’re not.”

  The second silence was more comical than the first, but both men knew if they laughed they would never be believed.

  “That’s one of the things I most appreciate about you, Henry,” Mr Walker commented with a smile. “Just when I think I know you, I come around another corner and find I don’t.”

  Color crept into Henry’s face, but he smiled a little and nodded in Walker’s direction. Taking pity on him, the host diverted the conversation in an effortless manner, and it wasn’t long until the men were headed into the study and the women wandered into the parlor.

  They’d only just arrived in that room when Mrs Walker remembered that she had wanted to show to Lizzy a tapestry she was working on. Telling them they would return soon, the two women left Harriet and Cassandra on their own.

  “Something about you is different,” Harriet charged Cassandra the moment the other women exited the room. “What is it?”

  “Different?” Cassandra hedged at bit, not entirely certain what she was referring to.

  “Yes, and I want to know what it is. Not until just now did I realize that you were not yourself that day you came to lunch.”

  Cassandra played for a moment with the folds of her dress. Harriet didn’t speak, but the younger woman knew she was waiting.

  “Tate didn’t leave in a very good humor,” Cassandra said carefully. “He left me in doubt of his intentions.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was very angry and said that everything had changed. I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t very certain that I would ever see him again.”

  “Oh, Cassandra, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Tate was just as upset when he left Pembroke, but I of course have known him years longer. It’s very unusual for him to respond in such a way, and when he does, his repentance is swift and genuine.”

  “He did communicate through my brother that he still cares.”

  “He didn’t write you directly?”

  “He did, but the letter was lost.”

  “And you were left here wondering and waiting,” Harriet guessed.

  “At times it was awful. I fear I sinned repeatedly with my questioning of God and His motives.”

  Harriet took her hand.

  “I can’t count how many times I’ve failed God, Cassandra. He’s so good and faithful, but I don’t choose to trust.”

  “That explains it very well.”

  “But now you know, so you’re doing better.”

  “As a matter of fact, I had begun to do better before Henry arrived home, but yes, it’s lovely to know that Tate still cares.”

  Harriet smiled. “I could have set your mind at ease.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “Edward and Lizzy tried. I didn’t believe them.”

  “Why did you believe Henry?”

  “He’d seen the letter that was lost. He knew how Tate felt.”

  “And Tate loves you.”

  Cassandra smiled, her face growing pink. “Yes, it would seem so.”

  Harriet’s smile was tender as she observed the sweet curves of Cassie’s profile. Cassandra Steele had the most adorable round button nose and softly rounded chin. It gave her a guileless, childlike demeanor.

  “I think you might be staring, Mrs Thorpe,” Cassandra teased her.

  “I’m just so pleased that Tate can see how lovely you are.”

  “He does like the way I look. I worried about that. It’s more important to me than it should be, but I’m mostly pleased that he loved the inside of me first.”

  “That’s a wonderful gift. We all assume we’re going to be young and good-looking forever. If that’s all we marry, it will never last. How nice to know that although you enjoy each other’s features, the real love is built on something much more important.”

  “That was nicely put.”

  “I manage to find the right words every once in a while.”

  Cassandra laughed at her choice of words before noticing the way the shade had moved to the veranda outside.

  Cassandra suggested they go out through the double glass doors and sit outside. It was a bit warm, but Harriet liked the idea. When Mrs Walker and Lizzy returned, they joined them. The men were not long in following, and the lively conversation from lunch simply continued out-of-doors.

  “When will this weariness go away?”

  “What type of weariness?”

  It was the following Wednesday, and Henry was meeting again with his friend back at Blackburn Manor.

  “Forcing myself to converse is so tiring. Will it ever get easier?”

  “I think it’s safe to say that it will, but it might take some time.”

  Henry looked exhausted just thinking about it.

  “Do you know Galatians 6:9?” Walker asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “ ‘And let us not be weary in well doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’ ”

  “Now it’s familiar.”

  “Well, most folks forget to memorize the verse ahead of it. Verse 8 says, ‘For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.’

  “Don’t forget what you’re working toward, Henry. We have to keep fighti
ng the flesh—in your case, fighting the urge to keep quiet when there are important words to be said—so that we reap of the Spirit. And by the way, one time I looked up the word ‘reap.’ I thought I knew it to mean glean or harvest, but it also means to obtain or win.”

  “That’s excellent. Thank you for telling me.”

  “We certainly enjoyed visiting with your family on Sunday.”

  “We enjoyed it as well.”

  “When do you leave for Africa?” Walker asked with a smile, more in jest than anything else.

  “Between you and me?” Henry asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Right after my sisters get married.”

  Walker’s head went back when he laughed. It was the last response he’d expected, but as he’d admitted on Sunday, Henry Steele could be something of a surprise.

  Newcomb Park

  “Oh, look at this bouquet, Mrs Jasper.” Cassandra frowned at the dead flowers on the corner table of the dining room. “It must be the heat.”

  “I think you must be right, Miss Cassandra. I’ll get this out straightaway.”

  “All right. I’m going to go to the garden to pick some blooms.”

  “It’s warm out, Miss Cassandra.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Very well. I’ll take care of this vase while you’re out.”

  Cassandra put a bonnet on her head, found her basket, and left by the front door. There were very few flowers in the front yard, but it was worth a peek. Seeing nothing of interest, she headed around the house to the gardens. Not really in the mood to pick flowers, she felt a bit restless this day. She was hoping the activity would calm her.

  It was not a short walk. She was almost to the garden when she realized that while tying her bonnet, she’d left her clippers inside the front door on a table. Still wondering if it was worth the effort, she started back.

  Her mind very much on her task, she rounded the corner and ran smack into someone. Head coming up, she looked into Alexander Tate’s face for the first time in many days.

  “Tate!” Cassandra felt as if she’d been running. “How are you?”

  Tate took her hand.

  “I am the most contrite of men.”

  Cassandra began to shake her head to deny him, but he stopped her.

  “Do not be easy on me, Cassie. I do not deserve it. I am so dreadfully sorry. I acted without regard for you or the future we might have.”

  “Please don’t pain yourself any longer, Tate, I’m fine. Truly I am. But tell me, you must have found Pierrepont, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “On the contrary, he has not been located, but I told Ellenborough he could contact me in Collingbourne and returned.” Tate stopped and looked into her lovely eyes. “I told him this was a matter of some importance.”

  Cassandra was out of breath all over again.

  Tate reached up, his hands gentle, and untied her bonnet. He smiled once he slipped it from her head.

  “I wanted to see your hair.”

  “I only wore the bonnet so I wouldn’t freckle more.”

  “You may freckle all you wish, but I don’t want you to burn. Shall we find some shade?”

  Cassandra managed only a nod.

  Barely able to keep their eyes from each other, they walked to the back of the house, to the shade-covered seats to the east. They sat down and for a little time just watched each other.

  “You received my letter?”

  Cassandra laughed a little.

  “As a matter of fact, I did not. I wrote Henry to tell him that it hadn’t come, but he missed that letter.”

  Tate reached into his breast pocket and handed her the letter she’d written to Henry.

  “I’ll let you deliver this if there’s still a need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So I need to tell you what the letter said, don’t I?”

  “Henry told me,” she said, blushing for a reason she couldn’t name. “Was the city very warm?” she asked to change the subject.

  “Yes. Warm as it is here, it’s significantly cooler than London.”

  “Are you in Collingbourne for a time?”

  “Well, until my business is complete.”

  Cassandra felt her heart sink, thinking his reason might be more personal.

  “Business of a rather personal nature.”

  Cassandra’s eyes came to his. What she saw there nearly barricaded her breath completely, but she managed to squeak a few words out.

  “Business with me?”

  “No one else, Cassie.”

  Cassandra couldn’t look at him for a moment. It was too wonderful to be true.

  “I had lunch with your Aunt Harriet on Sunday. We were at Blackburn.”

  “That’s very nice,” Tate said, just fighting laughter over how often she’d changed the subject. “What did you eat?”

  As her mind searched for the information, Cassandra’s face was almost too much for him. Her brow lowered and her eyes scanned the sky as though looking for the menu up there. Tate had all he could do not to kiss her.

  “I can’t recall.”

  Cassandra saw it then, the twinkle in his eyes, and knew she was being teased.

  “Fair enough,” she replied. “What did you have for lunch last Sunday?”

  “Beef.”

  Cassandra frowned at him. “You weren’t supposed to remember.”

  “My chef in London always fixes beef for Sunday.”

  “Not fair! Tell me at least two side dishes.”

  Tate couldn’t do it, and Cassandra began to relax.

  “Why were you outside?” Tate asked next.

  “I was going to pick a few flowers.”

  “It’s rather warm for that, isn’t it?”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I find myself needing things to do.”

  “I can understand that. If I hadn’t been centered on finding a certain business manager, I would have paced the floor for thoughts of you.”

  “I thought of you too,” Cassandra admitted, and this time she did not look away or change the subject. “I was hurt, Tate—you need to know that—but not angry. I so wished I could speak to you; a thousand times I wished it.”

  “And I so desired to change my reaction to the news. You would have thought that I had been in charge all along.”

  “It’s so easy to delude ourselves in that way,” Cassandra agreed. “But, Tate, I would make one request of you. If you must leave again, can you take more time to speak with me about it? I wouldn’t detain you, and I understand when urgency is needed, but I felt as if you were upset with me to the point that it was over between us. It was very hard to be left in such question.”

  “I have no plans to ever repeat my actions from that day, Cassie. I’m glad you told me how awful it was for you. It helps my resolve never to fail you in that manner again.”

  “Thank you, Tate.”

  “Now, why don’t you invite me to dinner, and I’ll head to Pembroke and tell my aunt I’m back.”

  “You haven’t see her?”

  “No.” Tate brushed at his sleeve. “Can you not see the dust?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  The idea of going to his aunt’s was lost to him for the better part of a minute. Cassandra was watching him, her eyes not seeing anything but his, and the last thing he wanted to do was leave.

  “I must go,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “I think for now it would be the best thing.”

  Cassandra, whose heart had begun to pound, swiftly nodded. She walked him to his carriage and stood while he climbed in.

  It was a quiet couple that said their goodbyes, their eyes still watchful, but neither one was discontented. Tate would return in a few hours, and Cassandra considered sitting around and thinking about him until he arrived.

  That evening, Lizzy watched Morland, whose eyes had barely left her since he arrived. Tate was not with them yet, and although she’d asked Morland if something was amiss, he’d only shaken hi
s head no, not answering further.

  At present Edward had his attention, but the moment the two men stopped speaking, his eyes went back on her. Morland kept his seat, but Edward wandered over to where Lizzy was looking for a book she’d been telling Henry about.

  “You do know that Morland loves you, do you not, Lizzy?”

  Lizzy gawked at him and whispered. “Edward, what a question! Was there really some doubt in your mind? Do you think I wish the man to hang about so I can dash his hopes to bits?”

  Her outrage amused him. He smiled, not sure why he asked, but also not sure why Morland hadn’t asked the question. He somehow thought Lizzy was holding him off.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “Nothing,” Edward answered, trying to look innocent.

  Lizzy rolled her eyes and went over to where Morland was sitting.

  “I can’t locate that book.”

  “Which book was it, Lizzy?”

  She told him.

  “You loaned it to me. I still have it.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten. Would you be so kind as to give it to Henry when you’re finished?”

  “Certainly. You look lovely tonight, by the way.”

  “Is that why you’re staring?”

  “That, among other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t think I can wait any longer, Lizzy. I miss you when we’re not together. I ache to talk to you after only one day apart.”

  Lizzy looked into his eyes, feeling the very love he described. She would have gone on looking all night, but Jasper announced that Mr Tate had arrived. The group in the library stood to receive and welcome him. Cassandra and Henry joined them moments later, and all went in to dinner.

  Cassandra was not thrilled to be asked to play after dinner, but she did so without complaint. The only person who had not heard her perform was Tate, but for this activity he was the only person who mattered.

  Hoping desperately that he couldn’t see her warm cheeks, she sat down and started a familiar piece. It was more interest than skill level that hindered Cassandra, as she did in fact play well. She did not, however, fool herself. Charlotte, whose dynamics and phrasing were more accomplished, was the better pianist.