Could it be Silas, out for a late evening stroll? She shivered and scurried toward the warmth of the bed. Some people might enjoy a winter night in Minnesota, but not her—at least not when she was this desperately tired.
She slid into the bed and dutifully prayed her bedtime verse that she had ended each day with for as long as she could remember. “Thank You for Your gifts I pray, thank You for this special day, for the morning light and the evening star, and bless those who love us near and far.”
❧
The morning light spilled into the kitchen of the Collier house. Silas poured a cup of coffee and took it into the parlor. He’d rebuilt the fire in the stove, and the bright flames were taking the chill off the start of the day. His coat had fallen from the hook by the door. He must have hung it too hastily when he returned last night. Four times around the town square, trying to think through what couldn’t be thought through, and then trying to rid his mind of the topic entirely.
It’d been a fool’s errand.
Sunday mornings were special. He liked the slow start, the quiet hours that preceded the church service.
Now maybe things would change. He shook his head. No, there was no maybe about it. Things would change.
He sipped the coffee, staring out the window. From where he stood, he could see the edge of the boardinghouse. There were two women there who were about to turn his life topsy-turvy. He knew what Hyacinth’s role would be—but what about Eliza’s? There was something about her that intrigued him.
He shrugged. There was no use in overthinking this. He’d make better use of his time getting ready for church.
He made it to the top stair when his uncle called out from his bedroom. “Silas!”
He opened the door and looked in. “Are you feeling all right? Does your ankle hurt? I told you that you shouldn’t have gone to the train station with me last night.”
Uncle Edward waved away his question. “Pfft. It’s just a bone. I would have walked through hot lava to see her at long last. Isn’t she wonderful?” He smiled dreamily.
Silas didn’t answer right away. On one hand, he had some doubts—no, cancel that, he had a whole wagonful of doubts—about someone who would move to be near someone she hadn’t even met, someone she might, in fact, marry.
On the other hand, he had enough respect for his uncle not to willingly hurt his feelings, so he didn’t want to blurt out his true feelings.
And on still another hand—he chuckled slightly at the realization he had three hands going in this internal argument—he was not about to lie. He didn’t like falsehoods, and lying on a Sunday seemed especially dreadful.
At last he settled for a noncommittal and truthful, “She seems quite interesting.”
His uncle boosted himself up straighter in the bed. “Say, did I hear you leave last night? Were you out for a late night stroll?”
“Yes, sir. My legs needed some stretching.” It wasn’t a lie. It felt wonderful to go for a walk and let his muscles get some exercise.
“I know what you mean, son. If it weren’t for this cracked-up leg, I might have joined you.” Edward sat up, carefully maneuvering his swaddled ankle around the blankets. “Hyacinth is quite a woman, isn’t she?”
He did not want to talk about it. This woman was the cause of everything that had gone wrong. If it hadn’t been for Hyacinth, Uncle Edward wouldn’t have been renovating a perfectly good house. He wouldn’t have decided to put up that ridiculous plaster bouquet on the door, and he certainly wouldn’t have let himself lose his balance and fall off the ladder and break his ankle.
He knew that men did the most ridiculous things for women. Not him, though. He’d keep his head—or better still, never fall in love to begin with. What a silly notion it was. Why, Professor Barkley advised great control in matters of the heart.
Unfortunately, his uncle was not a student of Professor Barkley and fell headfirst into this middle-aged amour.
But the fact of the matter was that what had happened had happened and wasn’t about to un-happen. So he smiled at Uncle Edward. “Indeed.”
“I’m going to church with you,” his uncle announced, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grimacing.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Silas frowned. “We got a good snow last night. You shouldn’t even have gone last night to the station.”
Uncle Edward shot him a look that brooked no argument. “I am going to church, and I am going to sit with my beloved.”
“Well,” Silas said, “let’s get you up and presentable because I do believe that your beloved won’t want you until you’ve shaved and washed.” He grinned. “And changed out of your nightshirt.”
Soon the two of them were headed for the church, Silas walking slowly beside his uncle in case he slipped. Luckily the church was just around the corner, but still the trip seemed to take forever.
Down the road they could see the two boarders from Mrs. Adams’s house heading toward church, with Mrs. Adams herself leading the way like a plump mother hen.
He smiled as he noticed Eliza and Hyacinth trailing immediately behind the matronly woman, no more than an arm’s reach away from the landlady. He knew that Mrs. Adams put them there to make sure they approached the house of worship with the proper decorum.
His uncle stepped forward, sliding a bit on the icy step in the entrance of the church. Silas caught him before he could fall. “Careful,” he warned, but Uncle Edward ignored him.
“Hyacinth, dear!” he called. “Lambkins!”
If only there were a hole nearby, he could sink into it, Silas thought. His uncle had clearly gone around the bend mentally. If he were going to be acting like a love-stricken fool, the least he could do was behave that way in the privacy of his own home, not out in the public like this—and definitely not while Silas was standing beside him.
Hyacinth waved enthusiastically. “Darling!”
He couldn’t help it. He looked at Eliza, who was, to his horror, gazing straight at him, a smile dimpling her cheeks with humor. Mentally he consulted with Professor Barkley—and drew a blank. If the good teacher dealt with such issues, it must be later on in the course of study.
Expect the unexpected. That one had been last week, and was perhaps applicable for this situation. It struck him as odd when he’d read it then, and now, when the time came to put Professor Barkley’s principle into action, it fell short. How could he expect the unexpected? If he could expect it, it wouldn’t be unexpected.
Furthermore, Professor Barkley urged him to prepare for the unexpected so that when it did come his way, he’d be ready for it. Silas snorted to himself. Hardly possible!
Eliza came up the walk to the church’s entrance, avoiding the reunion of Edward and Hyacinth. He automatically reached out to help her across the icy spot where his uncle had almost lost his bearings, and the sight of her small, gloved hand against the woolen cloth of his overcoat did something odd to his knees.
Professor Barkley had clearly never dealt with a female hand on his coat, or he would have made that the first chapter of his book.
A little part of him that was rampantly vain was pleased that he’d worn his good overcoat this morning rather than the buffalo robe, which could get quite pungent in close quarters.
A group of children clattered in front of them, while a man with sunken and bloodshot eyes tried ineffectively to round them up.
“Good morning, Jack,” Silas said to him, nabbing a young boy as he raced by and slinging him to his shoulder. “Here, I’ve got Mark.”
“Thanks, Silas. All right, children, we are in God’s house. Let’s be worshipful,” Jack said to his children.
Each child, from the oldest to the youngest, put their hands together and walked reverently down the aisle.
“That’s Jack Robbins,” Silas whispered. “Poor fellow has his hands full, that’s for sure, what with six children and a wife who’s been sick all winter. He’s a good man, and makes sure his children get to church each S
unday.”
“I remember him! They lived on the other side of Remembrance, and he was older than I was, maybe three or four years ahead of me in school, but I recall that he was kind and helped the younger children who had trouble understanding their sums.”
“You remember him?” Silas asked, stopping so suddenly that Eliza nearly tripped. “I didn’t realize you had ever lived here in Remembrance.”
“That was fifteen years ago. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. Your uncle looks a bit familiar, but I don’t recall Mrs. Adams, who says she knew my parents. I was just a child.” She laughed softly. “Somehow grown-ups weren’t nearly as important as my cats.”
Silas tapped his uncle on the shoulder. “Miss Davis here used to live in Remembrance. Did you know that?”
Edward turned to her slowly, obviously reluctant to take his gaze off his new love. “Oh, that’s very nice.”
Silas rolled his eyes. There was clearly going to be no talking to his uncle until the man came to his senses—if he came to his senses.
So Eliza had lived in Remembrance before and had come back. He asked the question that arose naturally. “Are you going to stay here?”
“Perhaps,” she responded lightly. He was unable to pursue the matter further as Reverend Tupper began the call to worship, and they hurried to their seats.
The four of them—Silas, Eliza, Hyacinth, and Edward—sat together during the service. As soon as Reverend Tupper announced the Gospel for the day, Silas squirmed. Matthew 22 was the parable of the wedding feast.
Why couldn’t the minister have chosen something else? Lepers or wars or burning bushes would have been good. Why the wedding feast?
The rosy-cheeked minister, as short and round as a pumpkin, described the wedding feast. To Silas’s right, Uncle Edward and Hyacinth beamed at each other happily. He glanced surreptitiously at Eliza. She looked ahead, her gaze steadily on Reverend Tupper.
Silas didn’t want to hear about a wedding feast, or anything else to do with weddings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward reach for Hyacinth’s hand. This was getting worse.
He’d hoped that his uncle would see the light of reality and come to his senses. How could a grown man, usually so stalwart and intelligent, fall in love through a series of letters?
He didn’t like being embarrassed by Edward’s behavior, either. Life was hard enough as it was, without being plagued by something so totally out of his control. Maybe, he considered with a quick hope, his uncle had some kind of dementia that led him to this foolish relationship.
The minister reminded the congregation that the parable was about the kingdom of God. He leaned forward, his face beaming with the joy of his message, as he exhorted them to come to the banquet.
Then, with his usual good humor, he ended the service by noting that dinner with pie and coffee would be served by the Women’s League. “Different banquet, same theory. Please choose to come,” he quipped.
The back of the church had been turned into a temporary dining room. As usual, the other members of the congregation served the Robbins children first, and Silas caught the littlest boy’s wobbling plate before it slipped to the floor. “Do you do this every week?” Eliza asked Silas as she accepted a dish heaped with ham and beans.
“In the summer it’s easier. We sit outside. We try to do it every week, yes. There’s a very active Women’s League.” He glanced over at Hyacinth and his uncle, bent over a plate. “Mrs. Mason will have to join.”
“Have to join? You make it sound like it’s a requirement.”
“It is, in a way. This church was built with great enthusiasm and optimism. You’ll note that it seats about one hundred and seventy people. One hundred and eighty if they’re family.” He grinned. “But at the moment, there are only one hundred people or so in Remembrance proper, and that includes the very old and the very young and a few dogs and cats. The church needs everyone participating.”
“Including Hyacinth.”
He didn’t want to argue the point, and in fact, he wasn’t sure that she did, either. He speared a piece of ham, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. He wanted to answer her as honestly as possible. “They’ll take to her like barn swallows to the wind, as my father used to say. You know that saying, ‘Many hands make light work’? Well, it’s true. The more people who pitch in, the better the outcome. Anyone who volunteers to help in any capacity is welcome here. Plus she’ll make friends in the Women’s League. Good friends.”
“That’s true.” Eliza seemed to understand what he was saying, which oddly mattered to him—quite a bit.
Reverend Tupper joined them and introduced himself. “I hope you’ll be with us quite a while,” he said to Eliza.
“I’m enjoying my time here,” she said, rather neatly avoiding a direct answer, Silas noted.
“And how did you come to choose Remembrance?” the minister continued.
“Remembrance chose me, I’d say,” she responded with a smile. “I lived here when I was a child, but my parents and I moved to St. Paul when my mother became ill. It was quite awhile ago, and both of my parents have passed on now, but I was ready to see what became of Remembrance.”
Silas realized he was as anxious to hear more as the minister was.
Reverend Tupper began to speak, but another parishioner tugged at his elbow with a request about the stove. “We’ll discuss more later, I do hope,” he finished.
“I’m sure we will,” she answered.
“He’s a bit inquisitive,” Silas told her as he handed his empty plate to one of the women at the table and took up the piece of apple pie she handed him, “but it’s to his advantage. He knows his flock as well as any good shepherd.”
“Oh, I don’t deny him that,” she said, “and in fact, I’d have liked to have visited with him some more. I wanted to ask him about the Gospel reading he used.”
“The wedding banquet story? What was your question?”
“I always felt bad for the guest who didn’t have the right clothes,” Eliza said. “I know it’s a parable, but to be thrown out simply because he wasn’t dressed appropriately—doesn’t that seem a bit harsh?”
Her question caught him off guard. “Harsh? I hadn’t thought about it. But if you’re invited to a wedding by a king, wouldn’t you wear your finest?”
“What if it were his finest?” she persisted.
“Well,” Silas hedged, aware that he was well out of his theological waters, “the Bible does say that the man was supposed to have worn his wedding garment, not that I’m at all sure what a wedding garment would have been in that time. . .”
She laughed. “I imagine I take it a bit more literally than most, being a dressmaker.”
“Truly? You’re a dressmaker? Why then, would you come to Remembrance? Oh, I know what you said to Reverend Tupper, but wouldn’t you have more business in St. Paul?”
Was he mistaken, or did her expression falter? “My business was prospering in St. Paul, but I was drawn to a smaller community, a closer community, like Remembrance. I have good memories of living here, even if they’re a bit faded and dusty themselves.”
He led her to two chairs that had become vacant when the occupants left the church. “Did you not enjoy St. Paul? I’d think a city would be exciting.”
She shrugged, but he saw a flash of something—pain?—across her face. “Exciting? Oh, yes. It was very exciting, but I got to the point where I was abandoning my upbringing and turning my back on God.” Again, the flicker of hurt flared in her eyes. “I lost the person I was, and I knew I needed to regain her. That is why I returned to Remembrance.”
He touched her arm, his large hand on her pale blue sleeve, and he was again struck by the comparison of the earlier image of her delicate hand on his overcoat. She was so small that he felt like a lumbering giant next to her.
“I’m glad you did.”
Three
A knock on Eliza’s door was followed by, “Eliza, dear, are you ready t
o go?”
She practically flew to the door to let Hyacinth in. “I am. Did you talk to Mrs. Adams about our going to supper at the Collier house? What did she say?”
“Of course she was a bit put out since she’d already planned the meal, although our saving grace was that she hadn’t actually prepared it yet.
“By the way, Eliza, she has her ideas of what ladies do and what gentlemen do and what courting is all about and—”
“Courting? Courting? Who’s courting me? Silas? Oh, honestly!” Eliza shook her head with exasperation.
Hyacinth sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Eliza down beside her. “It sounds strange to you, and yes, to me, too, but we have to remember where we are. You’re not living on your own in St. Paul anymore, and I’m not in Chicago.”
“I can take care of myself,” Eliza protested.
“You can, of course.” Hyacinth’s words were soothing. “As can I. We both know that.
“But the fact is that we need to be a bit inconspicuous at first. Not, of course,” she hurriedly added, “that either of us has anything to be ashamed of.”
Eliza looked down. She wasn’t ready yet to tell anyone the soil upon her life.
“Have you ever had a cat, Eliza?”
She snapped her head up. What on earth was the woman talking about? “Yes, I’ve had a cat.”
“How many?”
“I had one. His name was Tim. And then I got another one, Hannah.”
“But Tim was first, right? And then Hannah?”
“Yes, but I don’t see—” Eliza drummed her fingertips silently on the quilt. What did this have to do with Mrs. Adams?
“Hear me out. How did Hannah react when she came to the house? How did she treat Tim?”
“She was very quiet and hid most of the time, and then slowly she came out from under the bed and behind the couch and sat with us, until she and Tim were the best of friends—oh! I see!”
“Exactly,” Hyacinth said as she stood up. “Hannah fit in by lying low and not fighting with Tim. That gave Tim the time that he needed to get to know her, and it let Hannah figure out what was what. It made the adjustment as painless as possible.”
Remembrance Page 3