Destinations

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  Uncle Joseph’s eyes roved over her from the top of her deep-brown hair to the hem of her black mourning dress. “Perhaps a rich man can overlook poverty in exchange for a good family name and a pretty face.”

  Lavonia shivered at his lascivious attention. “I have no desire for a husband, and I would certainly never marry for worldly gain.”

  “I assure you, the realities of pauperism will alter your perspective.” The smile her uncle gave Lavonia was unpleasant, as if he looked forward to watching her suffer.

  Lavonia stiffened. “I am prepared to live in poverty.”

  He let out a small huff. “Romantic notions aside, you must reconcile your family’s debts. It makes me sick to think how my brother was taken advantage of.” Uncle Joseph sneered. “The slothful and ne’er-do-wells of this world can spot rich eccentrics from miles away. They are skilled at playing upon their sympathies. Where are the beggars now? Look around, Lavonia,” he said, sweeping his hand over the room. “Do you see any of them here to help you?”

  “The Bible says not to invite rich people to dinner because they can repay you. Instead, invite the poor, who cannot repay.”

  “Is that what it says? Poor advice for one who plans to prosper in this world.”

  “Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps you are the spoiled daughter of a man who lived above his means all his life and squandered a family fortune. Perhaps I am left here to tidy the muddle he left behind.” Uncle Joseph’s voice became crisp. “Your creditors were patient while your mother was alive, not wanting to add to your family’s distress. Their patience extended well beyond her death. Due to my efforts, they have extended their generosity even further. But only temporarily. I must warn you, Lavonia, time is short. I advise you to sell your personal possessions and make new living arrangements more suited to a young woman of lesser means. You can’t live on Luke’s generosity forever, and your allowance is being cut off. Even after those steps are taken, my figures indicate that once everything is sold, there will be very little money left.”

  Unwilling to accept his proclamation, Lavonia searched for a better solution. “If you could arrange for the merchants I owe to be paid over time, I can manage my expenses.”

  “They have waited long enough for their money,” he said. “Clearly you do not understand the world of business or you would not bother with such ridiculous notions.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  His voice barely concealed his anger. “If you do not wish me to handle your affairs, Lavonia, I can hand them over to my solicitor.”

  Though she had never met her uncle’s solicitor, she conjectured he would be even more disagreeable. “No, Uncle Joseph.”

  “Then I suggest you not dispute my judgment.”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Lavonia cast her glance to the woven rug. She didn’t want him to see the anger flashing in her eyes.

  His voice became lighter as he closed his portfolio. “I would suggest that you come and stay with Deidre and me, but we are planning to be abroad most of the season.”

  Her glance met his. “And how is Aunt Deidre?”

  “She is well.” His tense expression did not invite further inquiry.

  Lavonia wondered at his curt reply. She had only met her uncle’s wife of five years once, and she remembered her as homely and unassuming. The family had speculated that Deidre’s primary attributes were a respectable family name and a hefty inheritance. Lavonia had heard once that her uncle, in his younger days, had been passionate about a woman, a beauty who had broken off their engagement for an undisclosed reason. Less than a month later, Deidre had entered the Penn family.

  Unable to imagine Uncle Joseph feeling ardor for any human, Lavonia doubted the accuracy of the story. In her mind, Deidre, with her money and position, made them the perfect match. “Please send Aunt Deidre my fond regards. I wish you both a pleasant journey abroad. Good day, Uncle Joseph.”

  His eyes focused their attention back on Lavonia. “Keep in mind what I told you about marriage, Lavonia. A clever match would make your life one of ease.” He placed his hat on his balding head with a crisp motion and gave her a curt nod. “Good day.”

  five

  As her uncle closed the parlor door behind him, Lavonia fought the urge to pick up a small marble statue of Venus sitting on a nearby pedestal and hurl it.

  “Perhaps you could knock some sense into my uncle, Goddess of Love,” Lavonia told the statue. “A clever match indeed! I would never agree to a loveless marriage!”

  Through her father’s generosity to the poor, Lavonia had witnessed the power of money to help others. Tempting pictures raced through her mind. She imagined what she could accomplish if God granted her control of a fortune. A large Methodist church, perhaps even several churches, could be founded in Georgia using the funds of a wealthy husband. Teachers and Bibles could be brought to America from Eng-land to educate the masses so they could read and understand God’s word firsthand. Perhaps even a Methodist seminary could be founded.

  Shaking her head, she forced the picture of grand churches and happy students out of her mind. “No! I would not marry for money even if I could start ten new churches and finance every circuit rider in America!”

  Her anger spent, she folded her arms across her chest. Wrath gave way to guilt as she recalled her sister lying ill in her bedchamber. She struggled for a moment. “No,” she whispered. “I could not condemn myself to living a lie. Not even for you, Kitty.”

  Lavonia mulled over Helen’s idea that Vicar Gladstone would make a good husband—both Lavonia and the vicar did aspire to do God’s work. She wondered what Uncle Joseph’s reaction would be to her making a match with a clergyman of humble means.

  Shuddering, Lavonia remembered her uncle’s leering gaze. Though she realized her pride was immodest, she knew his favorable assessment of her appearance to be accurate. Large blue eyes, hair the deepest brown, and a true form were attributes enough to attract the interest of an eligible bachelor. Perhaps even William Amory.

  William Amory! Whatever made him pop into my head?

  Closing her eyes, she put her hand to her forehead and tried to suppress the picture of him that kept imposing itself in her mind. In spite of herself, she visualized his clean-cut features, set off by violet eyes and ebony hair. Her heart picked up its pace. Then by sheer determination, she erased his portrait from her thoughts.

  I should marry William Amory just to spite my uncle. He would be most displeased with a country doctor who is a struggling artist as well!

  Though she compelled herself to let out a light laugh at the prospect, Lavonia could not deceive herself. She knew marriage to William Amory would be no matter of jest.

  I can never break my vow to Mama. No matter how much this doctor makes my heart sing, he is Kitty’s doctor and nothing more. And that is the way it always shall be.

  The chiming clock reminded her that she should tarry no longer in the parlor, so she left without a sound and crept up the stairs to her room. She looked at Kitty’s closed bedroom door and decided to keep her conversation with their uncle to herself. Lavonia’s faith was powerful enough to sustain her in any financial situation, but Kitty was not as strong, either physically or, Lavonia thought with regret, spiritually.

  “For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” Saint Paul’s words from the fourth chapter of Philippians had rung in her mind more than once since her parents’ deaths.

  Glancing at her sister’s closed door one last time, Lavonia shook her head. Kitty sought her satisfaction in the pleasures and comforts of this world. Perhaps it is her sickness that makes her desire comforts so. How do I know? How can I judge her, when I have never been ill a day in my life?

  The sound of Helen’s footfalls interrupted her thoughts. Though she quickened her motions, Lavonia failed to duck into her room before Helen called to her, “Lavonia!”

  Her hand on the door knob, she turned to face her cousin.

  “Lavonia, you
look white as snow. Did your meeting with Uncle Joseph not go well?”

  “No, it did not.” She inhaled, preparing to tell the unhappy truth. “The sale of the house brought next to nothing. The money I thought would allow Katherine and me to live, though modestly, for the rest of our lives, is all but vanished. I have no idea what to do.”

  “Oh, Lavonia!” Helen’s eyes widened, yet she placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Fear not, ma cherie. You and Katherine may stay here as long as you wish.”

  Feeling a surge of gratitude, Lavonia embraced Helen. “Thank you. Thank you, Helen.”

  “Of course you may stay. Was there ever a doubt?”

  Breaking away, Lavonia looked her cousin in the eyes. “I know we can stay. But I am sure we shall not be imposing upon your generosity much longer.”

  The wordless pat on the shoulder Helen gave her before returning downstairs left Levonia with a sense of relief. Yet she knew her problems were far from solved. Sighing, she opened the door to her temporary quarters. Paint the color of a copper roof turned green after weathering was soothing enough to lull her into many nights of dreamless sleep, yet bright enough to keep the room cheerful. The most evident furnishings were a massive four poster canopied bed and a heavy freestanding wardrobe carved in Mahogany wood.

  Lavonia remembered both pieces from Helen’s room at her parents’ home. An inheritance from her great-grandmother, the wood had aged to the color of strong coffee. The feet of both pieces were carved into an eagle’s claw clutching a ball. Though a symbol of good luck, the decoration was not to Lavonia’s taste. She preferred the simple, smooth lines of the pieces that occupied her bedchamber in Dover.

  The remembrance of the little room caused a lump to form in her throat. I cannot call Dover, nor the house, “home” any longer.

  Eager to distract herself, Lavonia concentrated on a vase of fresh pink and white roses sitting atop a mahogany dressing table. Her cousin always made sure fresh flowers greeted Lavonia each day.

  Helen is so thoughtful, so kind. But regardless of how long she insists I stay here, I must not impose myself, nor Kitty and her spells, on Helen and Luke forever.

  Sighing, Lavonia made her way to the small chair in front of the basin and splashed lukewarm water onto her face. She thought about her problems as she patted her cheeks and forehead dry with a cotton cloth.

  How will I ever find the funds to go to America now? Must I give up my dreams? Must I be left here, forever?

  Halting her motions, she looked heavenward and sent a plea to the Lord. Can it be You do not wish me to work in the mission field, Lord? But how can that be? You have commanded me to honor my father and my mother. Was I wrong to promise Mama I would go? Tell me, Father. What will You have me do?

  She didn’t have to wait to realize where her answer could be found. Lavonia rose from her seat and strode to the bed. Sitting on the cotton bedspread, she picked up the Bible that had been waiting for her on the night table. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer for God’s direction before turning to a page.

  The leather-bound volume, worn from many hours of contemplation, opened to Matthew 6:19. “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

  Closing the Bible, Lavonia uttered a whispered prayer. “Search my heart, dear Lord. Give me the strength to serve You according to Your will.”

  ❧

  William Amory looked about the London office of Cuthbert Whittington, Esquire. The room was furnished in an embarrassment of expense. Purple draperies of the finest velvet covered each of the four windows. Several botanical oil paintings and ornate gold sconces decorated each expansive wall, which was covered in thick wallpaper depicting scenes of city life. Crown molding imported from Italy offered eye-catching accents. Woolen Oriental rugs added color to burnished wooden floors. A massive desk was the room’s centerpiece. William guessed moving the piece of furniture would require the efforts of six men. Through his medical practice and commissioned portraits, William was accustomed to calling upon the wealthy. Yet he didn’t feel at ease enough to take a seat on any of the four velvet-covered chairs.

  Sighing, he wished he were home or visiting the sick. Specifically, Katherine Penn. He swallowed, knowing full well he didn’t want to admit he really wished to see not his new patient, but her sister, Lavonia.

  Lavonia. Lavonia Penn. His thoughts sang out her name over and over, seldom leaving him for long. No other woman had ever had such a stunning effect upon him, and assuredly not after just one meeting. Easily summoning her image to his mind, he lingered upon her deep brown tresses, so rich and lustrous, their color would shame Cuthbert Whittington’s gleaming mahogany desk. A smile touched his lips as he re-called Lavonia’s expressive blue eyes. How exciting they were, flashing anger in one moment, and swimming with pools of compassion the next. How genuine and fearless were her soft pink lips, unafraid to speak the truth. And, though he was aware that a gentleman shouldn’t entertain such thoughts, his mind drifted to her curves, so sumptuous they couldn’t be concealed even beneath a dour mourning dress.

  He gave himself a mental whipping for harboring such thoughts about the comely Miss Lavonia Penn. After all, she was determined to be a missionary. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she desired not to marry, but to serve the Son of God, Jesus Christ.

  William forced her image to melt into oblivion. He couldn’t ask Lavonia to change her mind, not when her cause was so noble, so right. Perhaps her goodness was part of the attraction. William sighed. Of course it was. And that was exactly why he had to stop thinking about her.

  “Daydreaming, Mr. Amory?” Cuthbert Whittington’s voice was sharp enough to refocus William’s thoughts on business.

  William tilted his head in greeting. “I beg your pardon, but that is Dr. Amory.” He kept his voice brisk.

  “Very well, Doctor.” Looking down a long nose, the solicitor seemed to be passing down unfavorable judgment. Motioning for William to take a seat, he took his place behind the desk. “I regret a prior engagement shall keep me from lingering here,” he said in a manner most unconvincing.

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now then, you are aware that your benefactor, Philemon Midas, was a man of considerable wealth?”

  “Since he could afford to be a benefactor, I assumed Mr. Midas was wealthy, yes.”

  “But you never met Mr. Midas?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  “No, a fact I find most grievous, though I consented not to meet in accordance with his wishes. I always wanted to thank him in person for his generosity.”

  “Indeed. As did the many others he helped.”

  Becoming impatient, William said, “I am a busy man, Mr. Whittington. I hope you did not summon me all the way here merely to tell me you have a secret that I am not privy to.”

  “Of course not.” The solicitor looked vexed. “I have some papers I need you to sign.”

  “Why? Certainly I am not entitled to any portion of his estate.”

  Cuthbert Whittington smiled, though the expression did not reach his eyes. “I am pleased you understand that. Not all of Mr. Midas’s beneficiaries do.” He let out a weary sigh. “But unfortunately, that is a matter for me to settle. In the meantime,” he said, handing William a document, “certainly you will have no objection to signing this.”

  A quick read of the contents revealed that William was being asked to forego any claims to the Midas fortune. Having no plans to ask the estate for additional funds, he acquiesced and signed the waiver.

  Moments later, William stepped into a brisk spring breeze. Caught off guard by a burst of wind, he clutched his light morning coat more tightly to his chest. The solicitor’s request had come as no surprise, but the duplicate of the waiver he held
in his black leather valise was tangible evidence that his life had changed forever.

  six

  Days passed as Lavonia waited for Kitty to recover from her recurring headaches enough to get out of bed. Helen provided good company and pleasant diversions. Yet in Helen’s absence, Lavonia jockeyed between worry about the future and intruding thoughts about William Amory. Though she concealed the fact from her hostess and tried to deny it to herself, Lavonia was eager to see the doctor upon his next visit.

  Finally, during a midday meal of roast pork and Yorkshire pudding, her sister made an appearance in the dining room. Her dark hair was set in a stylish coil and she had exchanged her black mourning dress for a lavender frock.

  “I am so pleased to see you up and about again,” Lavonia welcomed her.

  “As am I,” Luke added before instructing a servant to set an additional place at the table.

  Delight was obvious on Helen’s face. “Your appearance for luncheon must mean you are feeling well now, Katherine?”

  “Not very.” Letting out a dramatic sigh, Katherine sank into the chair positioned in front of the empty plate.

  “Obviously you feel strong enough to rise from bed,” Lavonia noted. Her sister was always slow to recover from a spell, usually citing the bloodletting process as the cause. However, Dr. Amory had not bled her, so Lavonia believed her strength should be making its way back more quickly than in the past.

  I pray Dr. Amory knows what he is doing. Perhaps Kitty should have been bled, just as the others doctors are wont to do. Lavonia closed her eyes for a moment. Dear Lord, please keep Kitty from becoming increasingly ill.