Althea looked at Tirzah, to see if she was understanding anything she was saying. The young woman was smiling politely. Althea continued. “It comes down to the realization that we have all sinned and come short of God’s glory. Because of that, we are all in need of a Savior—one who stands in our place, receiving the condemnation and judgment we deserve—so that we might receive deliverance.”
Althea felt Tirzah was regarding her as if not quite sure what to make of her. When the groom came over to reclaim her, Tirzah turned to him with a big smile.
“There you are, Solomon!” She rose immediately to meet him, her hands held out. Before leaving with him, she turned back to Althea. “Well, it has been a most illuminating conversation with you, Miss Breton—I mean, Althea. I hope we can chat again sometime.”
Althea prayed for the young bride as she watched her forging through the now crowded room with her new husband. A little while later a maid came up to Althea to ask her whether she would like to accompany Rebecca upstairs to help put her to bed. “Mr. Aguilar sent me to show you the way.”
Althea glanced around the room but didn’t see any sign of Simon. She rose and followed the maid to where Rebecca held hands with her cousins, trying to imitate the chain the dancers had formed. Amidst much protest she finally agreed to go with them. As they ascended the stairs, the noise of the music became a distant hum. The maid showed them to a small room two flights up, prepared for an overnight guest.
“I was told to ask your excuses for the daybed set up for you here,” the maid told Althea. “We have so many guests staying, and Mr. Aguilar assured us it was all right—that Rebecca would want you close by.”
“Yes, it is quite all right.”
Rebecca chattered away all the while Althea helped her put on her nightgown and wash her face and clean her teeth. The two sat on the bed afterward, Althea brushing out Rebecca’s thick dark curls.
Rebecca couldn’t stop talking about the bride and groom. “Wasn’t Aunt Tirzah beautiful? Her cheeks looked so rosy when she said her vows. And Solomon—he’s now Uncle Solomon—he looked so dashing.” She twirled a curl around her finger. “Miss Althea?”
“Hmm?” Althea brushed in downward strokes.
“What kind of husband shall I have?”
Althea put down the brush and began separating the hair into three thick strands. “Ask God to pick him out for you, and you’ll know your future husband will be just right.”
Rebecca craned her neck around to Althea. “Will He do that?”
Althea gently straightened the girl’s head around again. “Yes. ‘Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.’” Althea tugged on the half-finished braid. “So, if God knows every one of these beautiful locks, He can certainly pick out a husband for you.”
Rebecca giggled. “Althea? If God can do that for me, why hasn’t He picked out a husband for you? Haven’t you asked Him?”
Althea’s fingers stopped their braiding. “Perhaps I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
Althea resumed braiding, then tied a ribbon at its end. She sighed, letting the braid go. “I don’t know precisely. Perhaps I’ve been too busy to think about a husband. And when I was young enough, I didn’t know God the way I do now.”
She rose to clean out the hairbrush. When she returned to the bed, she smiled. “Besides, I already have a husband.”
Rebecca stared at her wide-eyed. “You do?”
“The Bible says, ‘For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of hosts is His name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; The God of the whole earth shall he be called.’”
Rebecca listened rapt at the words. “How do you know so much of the Bible? Have you memorized it all?”
Althea laughed, drawing down the covers. “No. But I have spent years reading and studying it. And I’ve had some good teachers.
“Come on, in you go.” When Rebecca crawled under the covers, Althea continued. “You know what that verse is talking about?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“It’s talking about the nation of Israel, the Jewish people,” she added.
“Oh. You mean Abba and Grandpapa and Grandmama, me…our family?”
“Yes. God is like a husband to his people. It says He shall be called the God of the whole earth. That means He’s my husband, too.”
Rebecca’s face broke into a smile. “So you don’t need to get married?”
“When you enter into that place with God, He fills you up, so He’s everything to you—father, friend, brother, husband.”
Rebecca sat gazing up at the ceiling, pondering this. “I should like to enter that place.” She turned her head to glance at Althea. “And I should like to see God pick out a husband for you here on earth, too, since you haven’t had time to ask Him for one for yourself.”
Chapter Twelve
Simon stood outside the door that had been left ajar. He had been lifting his hand to knock when he overheard Rebecca’s questions to Althea about marriage, and stopped, curious to hear her answers.
As the conversation took on a religious turn, he wondered whether it was right for Althea to instill her theology in his daughter, but just as quickly he admitted he had nothing better to offer her. He ran his uplifted hand through his hair in frustration. All he had were empty platitudes, nothing that could really help her in the face of death, if indeed she would have to face it.
He cleared his throat and gave a light knock.
“Come in!” came his daughter’s voice.
He pushed open the door. Both females turned to him, his daughter bright-eyed and smiling, as he usually found her when she was talking with Althea. Althea half turned toward him, attractive in her pale green gown, her upswept hair golden in the lamplight.
“I came up to bid you good-night.”
“Are you going to dance with Miss Althea?”
“I don’t know.” He considered the idea, distracted momentarily from his earlier, more sobering thoughts. “I suspect Miss Breton is more accustomed to grand ballrooms where dancing is very formal and elegant.”
He turned to Althea, noticing she did not participate in the conversation. He watched her hang up his daughter’s clothes.
“Were you not trained in the minuet and waltz?”
She replied with her back to him. “I haven’t danced in years. Besides, I have probably danced more simple country dances, which are not nearly so formal as the minuet.”
“You don’t find the dances downstairs excessively primitive?”
She set Rebecca’s slippers beside her bed. “I enjoyed watching the dancers. It put me in mind of the marriage of Cana.”
“I’m afraid you may be disappointed by our poor example here, then. You will find no miracles at this one.” He didn’t know why he was always trying to provoke a response from her. Was it because he resented that he seemed to need these dialogues with her more than she did?
“Oh, I think our Lord was enjoying Himself just fine before He was ever asked to turn the water into wine.”
Althea lowered Rebecca’s lamp, and Simon held the door open for her, forcing her to accompany him out. He could smell her sweet fragrance as she passed by him. Soft, wispy tendrils curled around the nape of her neck. Simon caught himself thinking what it would feel like to kiss that part of her skin. The notion astounded him and he stopped momentarily, gripping the door handle.
He had to quicken his stride to catch up with her. Halfway down the hallway, he asked, “Doesn’t your God allow dancing?”
She seemed to consider his question. “I think God enjoys seeing his children enjoying themselves.”
“Then, why is it you haven’t danced in so many years?”
“Perhaps I never enjoyed it much the few occasions I did dance.”
“Perhaps you never had the right partner.” Why did he
continue this ridiculous topic of conversation? Was it because she was being so annoyingly serene in her replies to him tonight?
“Perhaps not. In recent years there’s been so much else to do that I haven’t even thought about dancing.”
The woman beside him had done wonders for his daughter—shouldn’t that be enough? Why was he trying so desperately to get her to betray her beliefs? Disgusted with himself, he excused himself when they reached the drawing room.
“Well, I shall leave you to enjoy the festivities as your Savior did. I don’t believe He partook in any dancing either, did He?” He could have kicked himself when he saw that brief look of reproach in her eyes. Their conversations always seemed to end this way lately—when he managed to track her down, he thought sourly—in some sort of draw. “Can I get you some refreshment or anything?” he added lamely.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She was the first to move away.
He watched her wend her way across the crowded room, looking for an empty seat. The least he could have done was find her one.
Thoroughly vexed with himself, he went over to where his younger brother stood with some other gentlemen.
“So, Nathan,” he asked, slapping his brother on the back, “how is the apprenticeship?”
“Fine. I’ll be glad when it’s over, though.” He smiled sheepishly. “I won’t feel like quite such a slave. Abba has promised me a real position at the bank.”
“Banking it will be, then? Not commerce?”
“Well, I did my best to convince him I was more a banker than a businessman. If I find—or if David finds,” he added with a grin, “that I’m not suitable, they’ll stick me in the factory under Daniel.”
Simon returned the smile, knowing that of the two brothers, they would both prefer working under David, the banker. The industry giant, the eldest, ruled like his father, with an absolute authority.
“Sorry you didn’t go into politics, as I did?” asked Simon.
“Would you take me under your wing?”
Simon fingered the knot of his cravat. “I never considered it. I didn’t think you’d be interested. Would you be?”
“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of reading in history, on my own.” He hesitated, reddening. “It seems rather interesting, being able to shape the course of nations and all.”
Simon smiled at him. “That’s it in a nutshell. Let me give it some thought. It wouldn’t be easy, you know.” Neither spoke the obvious word—conversion—but he knew they were both thinking it.
Nathan gave another grin. “No.”
“So, you’d have to think about it very carefully. Perhaps you should try the route Father suggests for the first year or so, and if you find you can’t stand either finance or commerce, come talk to me again.”
Nathan nodded and turned his attention back to the dance floor. Simon followed his gaze across the dancers.
“I feel sorry for your Miss Breton. She’s not dancing, and yet she looks as if she’d like to,” his brother observed.
Simon spied Althea. She had managed to find a chair and now sat primly, wedged among the elderly matrons who enjoyed watching the younger people dancing. He observed her, wondering how his young brother knew so much. Althea’s attention was on the dancers, her gaze following their rapid movements, her lips slightly parted, her chin moving up and down in time to the music.
“She’s not my Miss Breton” was all he said as he continued watching her.
Something seized him, a bit of mischief—he didn’t know. He gave Nathan a sidelong glance. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
He could see his younger brother’s cheeks turn pink. “Me?”
“Yes, why not?”
“She—she wouldn’t dance with me!”
Simon shrugged. “You don’t know until you try.” He moved toward a group of men and gave his attention to them, leaving his brother to take up the challenge or not.
Simon soon became involved in the conversation. When he next turned around, his brother was gone. He glanced around and found him standing in front of Althea’s chair. Simon watched as Nathan just stood in front of her, not saying anything until she looked up at him. He watched his brother speak, noticed her puzzlement and request for him to repeat what he’d said. Nathan bent forward and tried again.
This time Simon saw comprehension dawn in her eyes, quickly followed by confusion as she put a hand to her breast, mouthing the word Me? He felt sorry for his brother, just standing there, probably thinking himself a fool. Just as Simon was beginning to regret having teased him, he watched Althea smile, shake her head, then stop as she studied his brother’s face. Simon found himself holding his breath just as he imagined Nathan must have been doing as the seconds ticked by. Then he saw the decisive squaring of the shoulders he was beginning to recognize in Althea when she resolved on a course of action she considered a challenge. She gave a brief nod and stood, smoothing her skirts and giving a quick pat to her hair before allowing his brother to escort her onto the dance floor.
Simon continued watching as his brother taught Miss Breton the steps, saw rather than heard her laughter as she made mistakes. Their lighthearted laughter reminded him of that of two children. He felt something queer inside him. Before he could examine it, he found himself walking toward the two dancers.
Unable to stop himself, he cut in, pressing his brother’s shoulder and saying, “Do you mind, Nathan?” Without giving him a chance to agree or disagree, Simon stepped into his brother’s place among the dancers.
He watched Althea’s confusion, then acceptance at the change of partners. “I haven’t danced in years, either,” he told her above the noise. His hands gripped hers; his arm went over and around her head several times as he twirled her around, their bodies coming together and separating in time to the music.
When the tune ended he was loath to let her hands go, so he took one and tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her off to the side. He freed her hand but continued holding it loosely in his own. It felt small. Her face was flushed, the tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead damply.
“Let me get you some refreshment. Stay here.”
When he returned, he was more relieved than he could say to see she had obeyed his command. He handed her a cup of punch.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. Their gloved fingertips touched. “It tastes wonderful.”
He watched her, thinking how soft her skin looked, wondering what it would feel like to rain kisses down her throat. His glance dipped lower to that shadowy valley between her breasts, just visible above the silky green material. Feeling his blood begin to stir, he shifted his gaze.
She was not looking at him, but holding the cup near her lips, her attention upon the dancers.
“I was watching you when Nathan approached you,” he told her. “You didn’t expect to be asked to dance, did you.”
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She took another sip of punch.
“Why did you accept his invitation?”
She looked down at her glass. “I don’t know. Perhaps I remembered all those times I had sat out dances during my coming out, wishing to be asked but feeling terrified lest I be discovered if some gentleman should ask me.” She shrugged, meeting his eyes at last. “I saw that same fear in your brother’s face, and suddenly he seemed so young. He had no reason to ask me to dance. He was just being polite. I’m not anything to anyone here tonight.”
You are to me, thought Simon, and suddenly he felt very protective of her. She seemed infinitely precious. He caught himself the next second, amazed at this sentiment. A physical reaction he could explain away. But an emotional one? This woman was merely his daughter’s nurse. She was someone who goaded him. He had been brought up to regard a woman as one charged with making a home for her husband, bearing his children and satisfying his physical needs. When had he begun to lean toward Miss Breton to fill his emotional needs? It was a terrifying thought, a situation that left him more vuln
erable than he’d allowed himself to be since his school days.
“Come, let’s continue dancing.” Not permitting her a chance to refuse, or himself a chance to question his actions, he removed the glass from her hands and took her hand once more, to lead her back to the dance floor, just in time to join a forming set.
Althea no longer knew what time it was nor how many feet she had stepped on. She and Simon joined hands and skipped around the dance floor. His grasp was firm and sure. Patiently he taught her the steps, laughing with her when she stumbled, telling her she could tread on his feet all she wanted—he would invent a reason for his disability when he hobbled around the House tomorrow. Every time she tripped, his arms went round her, and for an instant, her body was flush with his, his arms enfolding her, so close to him she could breathe the scent of his starched cravat, feel the textures of his clothes against her bare arms, his chin resting on her hair.
After the surprise at finding herself in his arms, she had abandoned herself to the music, keeping her mind focused on the intricate dance steps, and refusing to think beyond that.
She had never seen this side of Simon—carefree, boyish, his laugh deep and rich.
When the music stopped, she said, “Enough. I don’t think I can stand up for another one.”
“You did very well, Miss Breton, for not having any Sephardic blood in your veins,” he said with a smile, once again tucking her hand in his arm in a protective and possessive way and leading her off to the side. “Here, sit down.” He indicated an empty chair. “Let me get you some more refreshment.”
“Thank you,” she said, breathless, “would you?”
She dared not examine too closely the feeling of well-being that had invaded her entire body. She felt warm and alive. She began to ask the Lord what it was all about. Was she wrong to be enjoying this moment with her employer? She watched the dancers; everyone seemed exuberant.
Before she knew it, Simon had returned and held out a glass for her. She turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m glad to see you got some for yourself this time.”
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