Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen)

by Sarah Scheele

  Eyes lowered, Ed took the note and stuffed it in his pocket. What was in that note? Faye could hardly breathe for curiosity. She’d never see the contents, she was sure. But did any part of them spell the end of Ed’s friendship with Helene? Could she dare to hope . . .

  Horace stood with Myrtle’s arms clasped around him. “I urged her to stay and embrace the new spiritual direction I’ve taken, but she refused. Helene is a very cautious person, and it’s not easy to sway her mind. Our mother’s Christian faith, while profound, may have given her an impression of only sorrow, not transmitting the joy our mother also experienced as God helped her through a difficult marriage. Regrettably, Helene is now adamantly skeptical. But I hope in time she will come to accept the change.”

  Faye silently nodded. Poor Helene. These complicated matters were beyond Faye’s ability to reason. She would just have to trust that God had a plan for Helene. But everyone else was so happy, it was hard not to be as well. As Ed glanced at her and grinned, she knew that at long last meant everything was going to be all right.

  After a minute the door creaked. Stanley and Miss Watson had entered, rather magically. Faye could almost accuse them of eavesdropping, except she was sure prim little Miss Jane would never stoop to such a thing. Stanley slapped Ed on the back while Miss Watson murmured something about accidentally overhearing because the voices were so loud. She reached over and shook Horace’s hand.

  “Jane Watson, human interest reporter for the New York Times. I hope you don’t mind the interruption? I think,” smiling at Faye. “I think there might be a story here.”

  Chapter 19

  Faye stood beside the rail of the lake pavilion at Bellevere. It was early morning and the fog was lifting from the grass. Ed leaned beside her, his arms resting on the smooth, polished brown wood.

  “Faye, do you remember the first time we came here together?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. I must have been about eleven. I remember that horrible green dress I was wearing, shortened from one of my mother’s. It was so loose that Myrtle and BeBe said I looked fat. But when you came home from school, you took me down here to show me your secret hideout. We spent the whole day lugging rocks for that house you were making.” She pointed across the lake to an overgrown patch of trees around which a few large white stones were still visible. That was when I fell in love with you, too—fell in love with my best friend. But I can’t tell you that.

  She sobered, her mind returning to the present. The last few months had brought great changes. Horace had entered seminary, and he and Myrtle were engaged. I know their flawed past will be used powerfully by God as a missionary tool for Him. Mr. Rivers, having now despaired of finding a young woman who would be interested in him in America, had sailed overseas in high dudgeon. The last Faye heard of him, he was bound for Bali, destined to meet some smiling black-eyed girl interested in his bank account. Helene had sent a few friendly but terse and standoffish letters to Faye. She was now in Europe and intended to stay there, rather shaken and angered by her brother’s sudden change of heart. Faye’s heart wrenched to think of Helene floundering around in life on her own, too brave to give up the fight and come to the One who could offer her rest and help. Help her, Lord. Wherever she is, help her to come to You as her brother has. I know none of us will be happy until You do—but all in Your own perfect time, Lord.

  She turned and leaned against the wall, smiling as her uncle came out of the house. The last few weeks had been a strain for him, but he’d come through with shining Christian dignity, answering every expectation on him and then some. When Myrtle had come home, Uncle Warren, his face serene and loving, had taken her in his strong fatherly arms and said he understood. Said he wished she’d shared more with him about her feelings, because he’d always been there for her. Blessed her upcoming marriage to Horace, and shaken hands fervently with his new son-in-law. Aunt Cora had been sent to the Aloha Ranch, to spend her old age in peaceful retirement on the edge of the great Pacific. She deserves nothing less. I hope she doesn’t run into Mr. Rivers by some accident!

  Grover’s mystery had been cleared up. It turned out his constant, unexplained absences from New York had been due to a secret marriage in Chicago to an Italian girl whose family, devoutly religious Catholics, did not want her to marry outside of their faith. Grover had not wanted to marry her at all, but she had absolutely insisted, having a practical temperament. When Faye called about Uncle Bart’s funeral, Grover had just learned Rosalia was pregnant and her parents, not aware their daughter was actually married, had been furious at what they assumed to be Grover’s disrespectful behavior. He had received threats of violence from her protective brothers, which preoccupied him and made Uncle Bart’s funeral seem less than important to him. A month later, he had been rather badly beaten up by those brothers and had actually made them believe he had gone back to Wall Street, leading them off the scent while he hid from them in a Chicago hotel. His financial affairs had suffered, not only because of his gambling and a couple of unwise investments, but because he had frequently not shown up for work during the last few months. Faye could not help giggling at the recollection of the account Aunt Betty had given. Dear Aunt Betty.

  Now all was well. Grover brought his wife home soon after the fiasco between Mr. Rivers and Myrtle, somewhat on the side and unnoticed by everyone. Her family had briefly met Uncle Warren and Aunt Betty and had seemed cordial—or was it resigned? Something between those. Grover’s health and finances were recovering, and Rosalia, with her lilting accent and fantastic cooking, was now completely essential around the house. Uncle Warren joked he’d have accepted her for the pasta alone. More than that, Grover’s experiences had made him wiser, and he seemed on a path to redirect his life closer to God. I rejoice inwardly and hourly.

  Faye turned back to Ed. “Is Grover any better today?”

  His large, manly fingers were gripping the rail. “A bit. Dan and I had a talk with him yesterday, and he’s done some real thinking about his life. He had the Bible with him when I came. Reading from Matthew about God sowing the word in various kinds of soil.”

  Somehow, these wise words from the Book of Books threw into relief how hugely life had changed at Bellevere during a year. Grover married and going to be a father soon; Myrtle married and soon to be remarried through God’s perfect rearrangement of human nature’s fallen pile of bricks; Horace redeemed; and BeBe banished. No word had been said of her since she hadn’t been willing to tell who the father was. Faye knew she was only protecting Artie in case his dad fired him, but Uncle Warren and Aunt Betty didn’t know that and they weren’t very pleased.

  Sue was running at top speed towards them, calling. She had accompanied Faye back to Bellevere and everyone seemed to like her, to the extent they noticed her at all during the busy upheaval. There was already talk of Uncle Warren’s sending her to a girls’ college in a couple of years, when she was caught up on her studies. Faye was glad that in the midst of everything else, she had managed to ensure Sue had a good future.

  “Faye, Ed, come quick. There’s someone up at the house and they want to see you!” she was calling.

  Faye hoped it would be Warnie. He had said he’d visit in the next couple of days. But when she followed Sue into the house, her mouth dropped open. BeBe was in the living room. Her hair was a brilliant crimson, and she wore bright lipstick and a black hat. She suddenly seemed older, or at least, different. BeBe gulped as she realized everyone was staring fixedly at her. It was clear that she had not thought out what to do once she arrived.

  “BeBe?” Ed blurted out.

  Aunt Betty rose from her seat, smiling. “BeBe! My girl. You’re really here! And you’re wearing a hat just like one I wore once.”

  Faye slid a glance at Uncle Warren. He was silent, his face enigmatic. Lord, please help him show kindness to her. As her father, his opinion is precious above all others.

  BeBe patted her perm. “Well, it’s just great to be back here. Honest. I’m awful
sorry. But you know me! I’m not the best at doing things.” Fidgeting a bit, she held out her hand towards the hall. “But look who’s here! Artie . . . Artie, yoo hoo!”

  Uncle Warren stiffened as Artie Cannes, in his trademark plaid suit, emerged from the hall. BeBe grabbed Artie’s hand and put her arm through his, beaming. “We got hitched!” she announced gleefully. “This is the pops,” she added, pointing to her stomach as if suddenly realizing clarification was needed.

  Aunt Betty threw her arms joyously around BeBe. She herself had been married, and she very, very much approved of the general idea. BeBe steadied her hat, pushed her mother away, and launched into details. The others listened breathlessly, though she was talking fast and they could not get much more than that she was very proud and pleased. Faye was in ecstasies. Everyone pressed around to congratulate BeBe. Artie found himself face to face with Uncle Warren. After a minute Uncle Warren, still impassive, held out his hand.

  “You remember me?” Artie asked, with false confidence.

  “I remember you very well,” said Uncle Warren.

  Artie seemed embarrassed. “Well, looks like I’ll be a man of the house myself soon. And I can tell you, it feels different when the cloak is on your shoulders. I’ve got a lot of respect for my father now. And men like him.”

  A tiny smile crinkled up the corners of Uncle Warren’s eyes. Faye knew his heart was softening. Artie had done the right thing at last. “Well, let’s hope you do a better job of impersonating a good husband than you did of impersonating me.”

  Artie caught the joke and laughed loudly. The two men shook hands. It was perfect, a scene of family renewal such as only someone who believed in miracles could have predicted. Faye was ashamed that she wasn’t that person. The credit for knowing all along how it would turn out for the best belonged to God alone.

  Sue returned with a newspaper in her hands. Faye, sitting on the sofa between Ed and BeBe, saw the big, bold letters of the New York Times. Her uncle had subscribed for years, and people equated the paper with her uncle’s stuffy morning coffee and the living room rug. Why was Sue bringing it forward? To give to Uncle Warren—in the middle of an important family reunion? How odd. But no. She was heading directly towards Faye, opening the rustling gray sheets.

  “Faye, you won’t believe it! You’re in the paper!” she squealed.

  Faye turned crimson. “I’m . . . I’m what?” she breathed.

  People listened with increasing interest, as Sue folded the paper over backwards and read from a crumpled area tucked unobtrusively in the middle. At least I’m not a headline. I wouldn’t like that.

  “And Ed and all of you,” Sue continued eagerly. She began to read aloud. “A Moment for Reflection. It says underneath it’s by a . . . someone named Jane Watson. Do you know her?”

  Uncle Warren was frowning, unsure he relished such publicity for his family. But Faye and Ed had grabbed the paper and held it between them while Sue and Artie hung over the back of the sofa trying to make out the tiny print and BeBe exclaimed excitedly that there were photos! Black and white images of Ed and Faye standing with Jane Watson outside Mr. Rivers’ suite. These must have been taken on the sly—I could strangle that Stanley! Aunt Betty smiled benignly and squeezed Uncle Warren’s hand, joyful at her children’s happiness even if she didn’t understand it. Rosalia drifted in from the kitchen and stood beside her in-laws, alerted by the noise but unable to get near the crowded sofa.

  “Hey, she’s a pretty hot-shot name in the press,” Artie remarked. He pointed to Jane’s name below the article. “She got famous writing about her experiences as a war nurse. My dad’s run into her a couple of times. Says she talks to almost no one and gets assignments because she knows the right people.” He whistled. “Word on the street is, she’s a snob. Turns down lots of leads and contacts flat. How’d you ever get on her good side?”

  Faye put a hand to her heart, chuckling inwardly. Jane? A snob? Goodness gracious, wherever did you get that idea? “Well, she has a snobby accent. I will acknowledge that. But she’s really not that bad.”

  “You look so nice in the picture, Faye,” said Sue adoringly.

  Faye touched her hand. “Aww, well. Thank you.”

  Ed frowned. “Well, it’s a terrible picture of me! Here, give me that. I’m going to tear it up. There ought to be legal action against publishing a bad picture like that without my permission . . . .”

  A wild scuffle ensued as they tried to keep Ed from destroying the article before they could read it. In the end, Artie restrained him and he sullenly let the paper drop back into BeBe’s hands. Faye actually thought the shot of him quite fetching—off guard, insecure and sensitive. Just the man he was inside. The man that he didn’t want people to see.

  Sue took the paper and began to read aloud.

  A Moment for Reflection

  By Jane Watson.

  “It might seem unwise in these cynical times to touch on something as old-fashioned as religion. The twentieth century has no taste for it, so I am aware I run the risk of offending at least a third of you with each part of my current article—some will stop reading instantly because it contains a preacher, others begin yawning over the presence of a rural cousin, and the rest will feel heartfelt disgust that my story seems to have some sort of moral. Knowing all that, I will report to whoever is still left that I recently stumbled into a family who experienced redemption in such a profound way that it made me happy for days . . . .”

  Sue’s voice held them all spell-bound. Jane’s article described the Haverton family in such a way that they seemed to be people everyone knew or could remember knowing. A family like every other—with parents who failed to understand the issues of the new generation; daughters making regrettable decisions they did in fact regret; and young men with pressures and temptations from friends, family, and ambitions. And in the end, reconciliation and the redemption of a young man’s life. Hearing the article, she now saw why Jane was a bit of a name in some circles. Faye felt as if she were watching a drama about people one cared about by the end though one knew nothing about them at the beginning. People one would still care about long after the movie was over.

  Why doesn’t she write novels? Journalism is unworthy of her. She’s a Shakespeare!

  “. . . we sell ourselves short if we doubt the life-changing experiences of others. We delude ourselves if we think that decency is not rewarded in other people simply because we refuse to practice it ourselves. And to conclude, I believe stories of true human interest concern people dictated by conviction rather than by fashion. Even in the 1930s. Even in New York. This may be a bold statement . .” .

  “ . . . but then I’ve always been a woman to speak my mind,” Sue concluded triumphantly.

  There was universal clapping after this wonderful article. Faye left the others to chatter excitedly about it as she headed towards the garden. She passed Grover on the porch. He was reading the Bible, and she didn’t want to disturb him in such an important activity, so she quietly passed into the farther part of the garden. As she loitered, examining the pink and then the yellow roses, Ed came back out to her. Their conversation of earlier had been broken off and it seemed he’d decided to return to it. After some shared happiness about BeBe’s return, as they stood side by side overlooking the beautiful estate, Ed turned to her.

  “I don’t need to tell you this, but I thought you might be interested. My feelings for Helene were never very serious. She was a lovely, clever girl, and we had a lot of fun together. But there could never be anybody for me but you. No place in my heart for anyone else, however beautiful and talented.”

  Faye lowered her lashes. I know that. I believe in God at last as I’ve always wanted to. He’s made my feelings and relationships clear. She had always known, deep down inside. Never for a moment in all her doubts of God’s workings in the Haverton family, had she ever doubted that Ed loved her. The only doubt had been of his faith to God. She knew that smart though Ed was, he couldn’t steer
the ship of their marriage through the waters of life without God at the navigation. And now, it seemed she’d been mistaken. His faith was quite as real as her own.

  “ . . . and somehow, I think she got wind of that. Women are hard to deceive, more’s the pity,” Ed continued, blowing out his breath. He was struggling for words. But Faye didn’t help him. She was frozen, unable to move an inch. “But for a while I was concerned that she might have developed real feelings for me. Flirting with a woman you don’t love is perfectly harmless and far from a bad idea. I’m sure neither God nor another woman could ever object to it, as long as no one gets too involved.”

  Faye nodded. Her heart was too pressed with happiness for her to look up. Thank you, Lord, for this good man. “I’m sure not,” she breathed.

  “Helene and I have corresponded a little, and I’ve realized she’d never felt any compatibility. Which relieves me—I don’t have to worry about her. She’d had fun with our family during the summer, but that was all. She added that she didn’t want a stiff shirt and couldn’t really get serious with a man who couldn’t loosen up his backbone and his belt buckles a little.” He glanced at her. “I thought that was a very odd remark, considering how heavily I was flirting with her. I didn’t know I was so stiff. I’d always thought you believed I was a problem case.”

  Faye cracked a smile. Dear, dear Ed. Dear, perfect Ed. Of course I think you’re perfect. Can’t you see I do? “I suppose every woman defines that in her own way. I’m sure Helene didn’t mean anything critical or negative. Just a . . . a statement of difference. Like preferring milk or water.”

  Ed seemed relieved and put his hands in his pockets, blowing out his breath. “Well, that makes me feel much better! To compare men as if they were beverages. How personal.”

  Faye’s heart was breaking with happiness. To live with his sense of humor and solid mental abilities combined—day after day after day? God was so good to her. So very, very good.