Shine Like the Dawn

by Carrie Turansky

  Lilly tilted her head. “How do you know that?”

  Maggie hesitated, her face warming. “He came by the shop…and told me as much.”

  “He came to see you at your grandmother’s shop?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yesterday he was passing by on the street when Violet was struck by a motorcar.”

  “Oh, my goodness. I hadn’t heard about that. Is she going to be all right?”

  “She has a broken leg and had to stay at the hospital overnight, but the doctor says she’ll be fine in time. We’re very grateful. It could’ve been so much worse.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s on the mend. Please tell her I’ll say a prayer for her.” Lilly looked around and then focused on Maggie again. “We’ve had some bad news as well. Rob’s father had an accident at Clifton.”

  Maggie gasped. “What happened?”

  “His hand was caught in some machinery, and it’s doubtful he’ll be able to go back to work there.”

  “That’s dreadful.”

  Lilly nodded. “It means more hard times for his family, and it means putting off our wedding plans as well.”

  Maggie reached for Lilly’s hand and gave it a squeeze, her heart aching for her friends. “I’m so sorry.”

  Rob and Lilly had worked hard to save for their marriage, and now it seemed they would have to wait longer. His mother, Rose, was a dear friend to Grandmother, and Rob’s sisters were sweet and caring girls. Maggie hated to think of them suffering because of the accident and loss of income.

  “We’ll be all right. Bad times can’t go on forever.” Lilly straightened her shoulders. “So, what were you saying about Nathaniel Harcourt?”

  “Oh, he stopped to help Violet after the accident and carried her to the hospital. Then he came by this morning to see how she was doing.”

  “Really? He was here today?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t realize this was his father’s last day or he would never have left his side.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right about that. It certainly was kind of him to help Violet and then come to the village to look in on her.” Curiosity lit her friend’s eyes, and she studied Maggie. “I remember you saying you and Nathaniel Harcourt were friends when you were younger.”

  Maggie looked away. “That was years ago.”

  “I’ve only seen him a few times.” Lilly sent her a teasing smile. “He’s not nearly as good looking as my Rob, but he’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  Maggie’s face warmed. How had their conversation turned in this direction? “It doesn’t matter what I think of Mr. Harcourt. We shouldn’t be discussing this, especially not when his father has just passed away.”

  Lilly pulled back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Now she’d done it. If she wasn’t careful, her friend would realize there was more to her meeting with Nate than a little kindness between old friends. “It’s all right. I’m not upset.”

  Lilly leaned toward the wall again. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can see something’s wrong.”

  Maggie debated a few more seconds, then blew out a breath. “All right. I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to say a word to anyone else.”

  Lilly gave an eager nod and stepped closer. “I promise.”

  “Nathaniel Harcourt did come by to check on Violet, but he also came because Mr. Harcourt owed my father a large sum of money at the time of his death.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Maggie leaned toward Lilly and whispered the amount.

  Lilly’s blue eyes grew round. “Oh, my goodness! That’s more than enough to meet your needs for a long while and put away a sizable dowry besides.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think I should accept it.”

  Lilly’s mouth dropped open, and she looked at Maggie as if she’d lost her senses. “Of course you should. Why wouldn’t you?”

  Maggie stiffened. “Mr. Harcourt didn’t care about us. He just wanted to ease his guilty conscience.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I told you how they treated us after my parents and sister died.”

  “Yes, but that was years ago. I’m sure they’re all sorry for it now.”

  “I’m not sure of anything, except that I don’t trust the Harcourts.”

  “Maybe they’re giving you the money as a peace offering, to make up for what happened.”

  “I won’t be bought off. Not by Nate—I mean Mr. Harcourt—or anyone else.”

  Lilly frowned and looked toward the shop. “What does your grandmother say?”

  Maggie sighed. “She wants me to take it.”

  “There’s your answer, then.”

  “She doesn’t understand. It’s not that simple.” Maggie shifted her gaze away and crossed her arms. Why didn’t she just do as her grandmother asked, write a letter, and accept the money? She sighed and shook her head. That would be like saying what the Harcourts had done didn’t matter, that all was forgiven…and she could never say that.

  Nate walked down the main staircase at Morningside and followed his stepmother, Helen, toward the drawing room. There was much to be done, but she had requested a private word with him before he contacted his father’s solicitor and the board at Clifton Engineering to inform them of his father’s death.

  Would his stepmother tell their extended family, or would that be his responsibility as well? He rubbed the back of his neck where a headache had been building during the last hour.

  Helen crossed to the sofa and took a seat. “Sit down, Nathaniel. We need to discuss the funeral arrangements.” Her grim, authoritative tone set his teeth on edge, but he determined not to react in a similar manner. She had become a widow today, and he wanted to give her as much grace as he could muster.

  He sat in the chair opposite her. “I can speak to the curate at Saint Peter’s and take care of the funeral arrangements, if you’d like.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I would like to have some say in the matter.”

  “Of course, I was only trying to save you the trouble.”

  “It is no trouble to see that my husband has a proper funeral. You may meet with Reverend Samuelson, but I expect you to convey my wishes.”

  “Very well.” He rubbed his hands on the arms of the chair. He’d never met Reverend Samuelson. He must have arrived at the parish while Nate was away. “Did you have some specific instructions you want me to convey to the reverend?”

  “First, we need to set the date.”

  Nate nodded. “I believe Saturday would give everyone adequate time to prepare.”

  Her nostrils flared. “That’s not nearly enough time. Next Wednesday is the earliest date I will consider.”

  Nate frowned. “I don’t see why we should wait a week.”

  “We need to notify our friends and relatives and give them time to make their travel arrangements.”

  “And who are these friends and relatives that need an extended amount of time to travel to the funeral?”

  “Your father has several business acquaintances in London who will want to attend. And my friend Lucile Pierpont lives there as well. Perhaps you don’t remember, but her husband owns an investment company, and he can’t leave his business and travel to Northumberland with only a day’s notice.”

  “And you believe the Pierponts would like to attend Father’s funeral?”

  “I should hope so. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends.” She glared at him as though he had insulted her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they would want to be included. I don’t recall them being in the habit of visiting Morningside.”

  She lifted her chin, and her gaze turned steely. “His business keeps them in town, and they have a very busy social schedule. But I’m quite certain they will attend if we give them sufficient notice.”

  Nate’s stomach churned. He did not look forward to playing host to a large group of people he barely knew. But it seemed he had no choice in t
he matter. He had promised his father he would take care of Helen, and seeing that she had her way with the funeral arrangements was part of that responsibility.

  “All right. I’ll ask Reverend Samuelson if the funeral can be scheduled next Wednesday.”

  “Set the time for eleven, then we can serve luncheon here after.”

  Nate shifted in his seat. “Is that necessary?”

  “Of course it is. Some people will travel a great distance to attend, and we can’t send them off without offering a meal and time for conversation.”

  “Very well.” He pulled his thoughts back to the decisions at hand. “Do you have any thoughts about the service itself?”

  “Whatever the reverend suggests will be fine, as long as it’s proper and respectful.” She thought for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “But I don’t want him to ask Mrs. Sylvia Gatling to sing. She has a dreadful voice, and it will strain my nerves past the point of breaking if I have to listen to her sing at my husband’s funeral.” She paused, but only long enough to take a quick breath. “And another thing, I don’t want him giving any long, dour sermons. Facing a crowd for the first time after losing my husband will be trying enough. I don’t want the day made more dismal by his warnings of God’s judgment and hellfire.” She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling with a dramatic sigh. “That’s the last thing anyone wants to hear at a funeral.”

  Nate clenched his jaw and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He’d never felt close to his stepmother, but this conversation was rapidly making the distance wider. “I’m sure Reverend Samuelson will want to encourage people to consider the brevity of life and offer the hope of heaven for those who place their faith and trust in Christ.”

  She looked at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. “People want to be comforted at a funeral, not condemned.”

  “I’m sure he would not condemn anyone.”

  Her mouth pinched into a tight line. “Just make my wishes clear. He may include uplifting scripture and speak about your father’s accomplishments and good character, but I will not tolerate any warnings of judgment or hellfire. Do you understand?”

  Nate leveled his gaze at Helen. “I don’t believe it’s my place to dictate the reverend’s message.”

  “Then you can remind him that a good portion of his salary comes from our family’s gifts to the parish, and if he wants those to continue, he will keep my requests in mind.”

  Nate shook his head. Her presumption was unbelievable.

  She rose and crossed to the window. “Now, what shall we serve for the luncheon?”

  “I’m sure you and Mrs. Burnell can plan the menu with the cook.” He rose from his chair. “I’m going to send a telegram to Father’s solicitor and arrange a meeting with him.”

  “Tell him to come to Morningside. I don’t want to travel to Newcastle upon Tyne any time soon.”

  The band around Nate’s chest cinched tighter, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep his tone in check. “As you wish.” He turned and strode out of the drawing room.

  He’d forgotten how difficult his stepmother could be. She liked to give the impression that she deferred to her husband in important matters, but she had not been able to hide her desire for control from Nate. And now that his father was gone…He sighed and shook his head.

  But he had promised he would look after her, and he intended to keep his word.

  One of the maids hurried across the great hall, looking lost in thought. In her hands she carried a pair of women’s black shoes. As she drew closer, her head popped up and her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She looked at him, and her expression softened. “I’m very sorry for your loss, sir.”

  Her gentle tone caught him by surprise. She was the first member of the staff to acknowledge his father’s death. All the others had avoided looking his way and remained silent.

  His throat tightened. “Thank you.” He nodded to her. “Excuse me.” Then he strode up the stairs, strangely touched by the maid’s kindness.

  It wasn’t only his stepmother who had suffered a loss today. He had lost his father. This was the end of an era at Morningside and in his life. There would be no more opportunities to strengthen his relationship with his father. He must look to the future and try to live a life that reflected the best of his father’s character. To those qualities he would add the practical wisdom he was gaining from his newfound faith.

  The path ahead might be foggy and uncertain, but if he put that strategy into action, surely God would bless his efforts and show him the way.

  Maggie kissed her grandmother and Violet good night, then climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She placed the lantern on the bedside table and glanced around the cozy space with its mismatched desk, chair, dresser, and two narrow beds.

  Violet would sleep downstairs with Grandmother tonight, giving Maggie some rare private time. She crossed to the window, pushed aside the lace curtain, and looked down at the small courtyard behind the shop. All was quiet now. A soft breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the scent of rain.

  She lifted her eyes to the sky, where the sunset’s golden glow darkened to deeper shades of blue beyond the trees. Overhead, one tiny star blinked at her between the drifting clouds.

  The events of the day rolled through her mind…bringing Violet home from the hospital, Nate’s visit that morning, and Lilly’s news from Morningside. She and her grandmother had spent a good part of the evening talking about all that had happened. Her grandmother’s words came back to her now.

  “Your father would want you to accept the money from Mr. Harcourt, especially now that he’s gone and can do nothing more to make things right.”

  Maggie stared across the village rooftops. Was that true? Would her father want her to take the money and forgive the Harcourts?

  If only he were here to counsel her and help her understand why she struggled so with this decision. Her father had always been wise and kind. He would know the perfect words to comfort her heart.

  A mosaic of memories came flooding back…jaunts through the fields with her father, fishing trips to the Upper Coquetdale, gathering shells by the seashore, visits to Bamburgh Castle, and walking along the ancient Hadrian’s Wall.

  Oh, how she missed him! More than words could ever say.

  She walked to the small trunk at the end of her bed and lifted the lid. Her father’s last journal lay on top of the stack of neatly folded blankets, along with her mother’s Bible and Olivia’s soft green shawl. Those were the only family mementos she’d kept. The rest had been sold or given away after she and Violet had been whisked off to Scotland following the accident.

  Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She took the journal from the trunk and gently ran her hand over the leather cover. She’d kept it locked away until now, but perhaps it would be a comfort to read a few entries written in her father’s hand.

  She carefully opened the book, turned the first page, and read the inscription. Her father’s handwriting flowed across the page with beautiful curves and loops, each letter distinct, his artistic talent obvious in his elegant signature:

  The Journal of Daniel Lounsbury. Begun 14 March 1897.

  She scanned the first few entries, and a smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. Each day he recorded his progress on the landscaping projects at Morningside, his interactions with the Harcourts and his assistants, as well as notes about the family. He mentioned a trip to Newcastle upon Tyne and seeing the first signs of spring in the garden, accompanied by an illustration of daffodils.

  She loved to see his drawings, and it made her long to take up her own nature journal again. She’d set it aside since she’d come to Heatherton to live with Grandmother. It was too painful to look back at what she’d shared with her parents—their carefree life, with time in the country to explore nature and record and illustrate the plants and animals she’d discovered
.

  She turned the page and read the next entry.

  27 March

  I came across Mrs. H. today almost a mile from the house, a most surprising encounter. When I greeted her, she seemed quite upset and her eyes looked red, as though she had been crying. I asked if she was all right, and she said there was no need for me to be concerned. She was on her way home and would be fine.

  I offered to escort her back to the house, thinking that would ease her distress. But a fearful expression crossed her face, and she quickly declined. Then she hurried away without another word. Very strange indeed.

  I don’t know Mrs. H. well, although I’ve been a dinner guest in their home several times. She has a rather strong personality and is not afraid to speak her mind. I’m afraid she and Mr. H. do not enjoy the same closeness I have with Abigail. I suppose few couples share that level of contentment after so many years together. But I can honestly say I am blessed beyond measure with my dear Abigail, my closest companion and the other half of my heart.

  I pray Mr. and Mrs. H. will one day enjoy that same closeness.

  Maggie looked up, her heart warmed by her father’s comments about his feelings for her mother. Knowing they loved each other deeply and were happy together was a great comfort.

  But the comforting warmth faded as the memory of the boating accident rose in her mind. Her father was a strong swimmer. If she could make it to shore, then there was no doubt in her mind that he could have as well. But he had refused to leave his wife and daughter, and his love and devotion to them had cost him his life.

  She pressed her lips together and blinked back her tears. What a hard and painful choice to make. Would she have the courage to give up her life for someone she loved? Would anyone ever love her with that much devotion?

  She looked back at the journal and read the first line once more.

  I came across Mrs. H. today almost a mile from the house, a most surprising encounter.

  A fuzzy memory stirred in her mind and came into focus. She’d been thirteen years old at the time, a year after she and her family had first come to Morningside Manor…