by Dina Sleiman
“No, but it sounds intriguing.”
“It is. She was a woman of ill repute, and she must have been given to great passion because of the unique offering she brought to Jesus. She knelt at his feet and opened an alabaster box to remove a costly ointment.”
Constance pictured the scene, imagining herself as the one before Jesus.
“And then in a show of extreme devotion and love, she began to cry and kiss his feet. She anointed them with her oil.”
“Oh, that is rather passionate.”
“But that’s not all. She washed his feet with her hair and her tears.”
“No!” Constance put a hand to her cheek. She dared not imagine herself in such a scene now. She had thought it wild merely to let her hair fall from its pins and swirl about her last night.
“Yes.”
“But it seems so…” Constance could think of but one word to capture it, “sensual. Did Jesus rebuke her?” Surely the Holy Son of God would never permit it.
“Not at all.”
“You jest.”
“I do not.” Lorimer turned to her and smiled. “A Pharisee said if Jesus was a prophet he should know what sort of woman was touching him and rebuke her as you suggested. But Jesus rarely did what the religious expected of him.” That statement pulled at something inside of Constance.
“Instead,” Lorimer said, “he told one of his parables. The conclusion was, ‘Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.’”
“It’s a wonderful story, but I’m not sure I follow.” Hadn’t she been trying to earn her own salvation for the past five years?
“Think of it this way. A father has two daughters. One is always good and quiet and polite. When he enters the house after a long day, she looks up from her book and smiles and says, ‘Good evening, Father.’ He’s filled with warmth and gives her a kiss on the top of her head.”
“Yes, that would be Patience.” Constance winced, afraid of where this story might be heading.
“But then his second daughter runs in the house, late and muddy with the hem of her dress torn. Her hair is disheveled. She’s giggling mischievously and looking over her shoulder. Then she turns and sees him and yells, ‘Papa, I’ve missed you!’ The girl flings herself into his arms, kissing him madly, and he forgives her instantly whatever trouble she managed to find that day.”
Much like the Bible story, this did not conclude at all as Constance expected. She sat considering the implications.
“So who does the father love?” Lorimer asked.
“I suppose…” She paused and thought some more. This story struck as all too familiar. Tears filled her eyes and her throat grew raspy. “I suppose he loves them both very much—in very different ways. But I think maybe the passionate daughter holds a special place in his heart.”
“That she does.” Lorimer turned to chuck her under the chin. “That she does.”
Her papa did love her. She always knew that. But she’d let him down again and again. Warm, salty tears poured over her cheeks for the second time in two days. “And God will love me…forgive me, like this.”
“He has, and he does. All you need to do is accept his gift. You can’t earn it, you know.”
She hadn’t known. But she believed every word he said. Constance closed her eyes and offered up a prayer then and there. When she opened them, she experienced the same sensation of lightness she had the evening before. “You know, I do believe I danced my prayer to him last night and just confirmed it now with words and a greater understanding. Dance is a language all its own. Did you know that, Mr. Lorimer?”
“I believe I watched it happen.”
Again they rode quietly for a while, lost in their thoughts. Lorimer broke the silence. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Robbie?” He hurried on. “Not that it’s my concern, but you seemed so troubled.”
Her heart clenched. She didn’t want to recall that night but felt she owed Lorimer the truth. “The short version is he started behaving as if he truly cared for me, not merely like he hoped to keep me from you or win me as a prize.”
“And then?”
“And then he kissed me. Quite liberally, I’m afraid.” Her face heated.
“And then?”
“And then he stumbled away as if…stricken. He said he couldn’t forgive me. That he could never trust me. At first I slapped him, I was furious. But in truth, he seemed so lost, so hurt, so confused.”
“Couldn’t forgive? That doesn’t sound like Robbie. Are you sure you understood?”
“I’m positive. He was abundantly clear. I’ve changed so much. Why can’t he see it?”
Lorimer shook his head. “I have no idea.” He laid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll pray for you. For both of you.”
Despite the growing affection between them, Constance knew he would and took great comfort in that. She giggled. “Aye, it seems I’ve managed to get myself into a heap of trouble yet again.”
Lorimer turned and smiled. “It sounds funny when you say it with your British accent.”
“Oh no!” Constance pressed a hand to her mouth. “I’m afraid I have another confession to make. I’d grown so accustomed to it, I’d almost forgotten.”
His smile went lopsided and amused. “What now?”
“I don’t actually…speak with a Yorkshire accent.” She moaned and buried her head in her lap.
Lorimer snickered a few times before breaking into a full laugh. “You adopted it to ingratiate Mrs. Beaumont, I assume.”
Constance turned her face to him and offered a wry grin. “You know me too well.”
“I suppose you’ll have to wean yourself of it.”
“I suppose I shall.”
He shook his head, “You are quite a character, Miss Cavendish.”
“Perhaps you should call me Gingersnap, as my family does.”
Lorimer raised a brow. “It suits you. But never when Robbie is present. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
What a godsend to have this man in her life who accepted her unconditionally. Constance wished she might persuade her heart toward him and away from Robbie for good.
CHAPTER 26
Patience’s eyes all but popped from her head when she leaned through the open parlor window to investigate all the rattling and jangling outside. There sat her sister atop a wagon, tying her straw bonnet back in place.
First of all, what was Constance doing home? Second of all, could the lack of proper outerwear mean the old, wild Gingersnap had returned in her place? That girl never could remain properly dressed. But most important, who was that devastatingly handsome man beside her?
Patience had grown accustomed to city dandies and bookish fops. In fact, other than the white-haired Trader Jack, she couldn’t recall ever seeing such a strong, virile specimen of a man. But unlike Jack’s comical appearance, this man’s rugged good looks made her heart race. She never would have thought reddish-gold hair could be so appealing on a male but matched with his scruff of a beard and roguish grin…
Sigh! What beautiful titian-headed children Patience might bear the man.
He hopped down in one fluid motion while Constance replaced her gloves. The man lifted a comely, dark-skinned, servant girl out of the wagon with ease. His corded muscles rippled against his buckskin leggings and rough linen shirt. Patience imagined the feel of them beneath her fingertips.
Patience Cavendish, stop that this instant! The man clearly did not have two pennies to his name and beyond that might well be attached to her sister in some way. He reached up and helped Constance down. She tucked her hand at his elbow and snuggled against him with familiar affection. Yes, indeed, better to stop these rambling thoughts before they went further astray.
“Constance! Constance!” she hollered and waved.
“Patience!” Constance abandoned her companions and dashed up the stairs.
Patience met her in th
e entryway where they squealed and hugged and jumped in a circle. Before long Felicity and Mother heard them from the kitchen and hurried to join the homecoming, until they were one massive tangled embrace.
The enigmatic man poked his head through the doorway. “Miss Cavendish?”
“Lorimer. Come in, come in. Everyone, make way for my good friend, Lorimer, the circuit preacher.” She pulled him through the opening by his elbow.
A preacher! Well, never mind that. The man’s abundant charms diminished by half at the mere mention of the word. Patience had little tolerance for religious sorts and had long since overcome her fascination with circuit riders. Thank goodness for Mr. Franklin and his rational thinking.
Then Constance ushered in the hesitant servant girl as well. “And this is my other new friend, Martha, one of the maids from White Willow Hall.” Constance gave the girl a squeeze.
Patience wondered at the familiar introduction, but Constance always had been inappropriately close with her maid, Sissy. And other than her darker skin, this girl bore a marked resemblance to Sissy. She supposed they must all accept it as part of Constance’s charm, along with missing gloves, batting lashes, and temperamental outbursts. Patience was simply glad to see her sister’s spritely spirit returned.
“Come in. Come in. All of you.” Mother waved a hand to the parlor. “Let’s sit and you can tell us what on earth is happening here. Then we’ll have some tea.”
Because every good Englishman knows tea fixes everything, Patience thought as she smiled. Even daughters showing up out of the blue, seventy miles from where they belong.
Grammy teetered in to join them, and they all crowded together in the small room as Constance explained the situation. Patience perked up straight on her cushioned stool. The old Gingersnap had been a master of manipulation, yet more evidence that she’d returned in fine form while at White Willow Hall. Mother could hardly say no now. Something had happened in Charlottesville.
Something had changed.
“Just come for a visit, Mother. You’ll earn more in a month than you would in a year here. It’s the perfect opportunity to give Charlottesville a try, and Mrs. Beaumont is counting on you.” Constance wrinkled her nose and grinned. Patience had all but forgotten Gingersnap’s charming little nose crinkle that suited its upturned shape to perfection. By his unmitigated stare, Patience surmised that Mr. Lorimer found it endearing as well.
“Oh please, Mummy, may we?” Felicity tugged at Mother’s arm.
“I don’t know. It’s all too much to take in. We must leave tomorrow, you say. Goodness.” Mother’s hands waved about.
“As soon as we purchase the materials. I must be back in time to begin my cotillion lessons on Tuesday,” said Constance.
“I’ll stay ’ere and ’old down t’ fort for thee.” Grammy thumped the arm of her rocker with resolve. “I can even finish up t’ last of thy stitching and return it to Madam Whitby.”
“You see.” Constance leaned forward and clapped several times in quick succession. “It shall work.”
“Oh dear.” Mother bit at her bottom lip.
“Ma’am,” said this Lorimer character. “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s time for a new start for this family. I’ve had a sense ever since I met your lovely daughter. As you can see with your own eyes, she’s been blossoming like a wilted flower in the sunlight under the Beaumonts’ care. I believe this is where you all belong.”
The man’s eyes burned with some inner light that seemed to hold sway with Mother. He sensed. He believed. What rubbish. Either the decision was sound or it was not.
“I know you are right, Mr. Lorimer.” Mother crumpled her handkerchief in her hand and straightened it again as she considered the matter.
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.” The man intoned the words with an odd sort of mystical quality, as if he fancied himself some ancient oracle.
Balderdash! Now he spouted Scripture at them. If he were not arguing her side, Patience would give him a piece of her mind.
Yet his tactic worked its magic on Mother. “Aye! Of course! You certainly are good at your job, young man. I’ve been afraid to leave the past behind, afraid to leave this interlude of mourning. But you couldn’t be more correct. It is indeed time for a new start.”
“And we’ll be with you all the way, ma’am.” He leaned across the small table and gave Mother’s hands a firm shake.
What an annoying man! But even as Patience thought it, Mother stood to pack and sent Grammy to make them all tea.
“Miss Constance,” said the servant girl. “Would you mind if I be askin’ something?”
“Of course not, Martha. You must consider yourself at home here.”
“What done happen to your funny accent? Ever since we walked through that door you’ve been soundin’ like a regular old Yankee Doodle.”
Those remaining in the room burst into laughter as Constance turned pink.
“You sure is a heap o’ trouble, miss. Like I always said.”
“We’ve all said as much.” Patience smiled. “It’s just good to have her home.”
So they would go to Charlottesville, just as Patience dreamed. Oh, but how would she ever tell Mr. Franklin? He would arrive for dinner in an hour. She supposed he’d find out soon enough.
* * *
Something was wrong.
Franklin noticed the clues even as he climbed the steps to the porch. Too many voices. Too much frantic activity inside. He’d expected a quiet, cozy, family sort of dinner. He knocked and knew his summation had been correct when the door swung open hard and fast to reveal a brute of a man dressed in mountain clothing.
“You must be Mr. Franklin.” The tall fellow extended a meaty arm and shook Franklin’s hand with too much force. “Lorimer here.” At least the creature was a friendly sort.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” said Franklin, in fact, not at all certain that it was. “May I enquire as to the whereabouts of the Cavendish ladies?”
“Patience,” Lorimer boomed. “Your gentleman caller’s arrived.”
Franklin raised his brows at the untoward familiarity.
Lorimer shrugged. “I gave up on calling all of them Miss Cavendish about a half hour ago. Too confusing.”
“Of course.” Franklin attempted to shoot a glare at the man through his spectacles and down his nose, although it proved difficult given their difference in stature of several inches.
Patience bustled in from the kitchen. “Oh,” she said with obvious distaste. “I see you’ve met Lorimer.”
He let out a silent sigh of relief. Good, she did not like the creature either, this fellow treading upon Franklin’s territory with the Cavendish ladies.
“Yes, although I have not yet clarified who precisely he might be.”
“Come into the kitchen, darling.” Patience looped her arm through his arm. “I’ve so much to tell you. It will be easier there.”
Franklin didn’t like the sound of that. Just as he’d surmised, something was indeed afoot.
Lorimer followed them through the narrow hall to the kitchen. As Franklin held open the swinging door for Miss Cavendish, a shocking sight met his eyes.
Miss Cavendish!
The other Miss Cavendish—Constance. His heart lunged in his chest before taking off like a horse at the races. He jumped toward her and let the door slam behind him.
“Ouch,” he heard Lorimer say, though it barely registered.
Letting go of Patience’s arm, he rushed to Constance and took her hands in his. “Miss Cavendish, you’ve returned!”
Constance looked to Patience, then to her mother, but she pressed her lips together, not uttering a word. She withdrew her hands and stepped back.
With false gaiety, Patience stepped forward in her place. “We’ve some ne
ws to share with you, Mr. Franklin.” His face grew cold as the blood drained from it.
“Perhaps you should sit.” Patience led him to a kitchen chair.
“Yes.” He pulled at his cravat.
Patience knelt before him with a hand upon his knee. “We’re leaving for Charlottesville. In the morning. Mother and Felicity and me.”
“Never say so.” The words emerged desperate, haunted.
“It will be all right, Mr. Franklin.” Patience patted him like a pet dog. “We’ve discussed this. It needn’t mean an end for us. And we’ll be back. This is a trial period. Grammy will stay in Richmond with our belongings.”
“And I promise to feed thee as always, lad.”
His gaze went to Constance. Hers was the face that had floated at the forefront of his mind for months. The face the lovely Patience had not yet managed to banish, no matter his resolve. He studied the curve of her rosy lips. The turn of her slender nose. The new smattering of freckles across it. Her eyes the color of coffee and just as stimulating.
A hand clamped about his shoulder like a vise. “You don’t need to fear, Mr. Franklin. The benevolent hand of providence is involved. All things will work for the good.” That Lorimer creature again. His interference riled a spark in Franklin’s otherwise frozen being. “I’m sorry. You are who to these ladies?”
Constance tucked her hand in the fellow’s burly arm. “Mr. Franklin. Allow me to introduce my dear friend, Lorimer. He’s a circuit preacher from Albemarle County.”
Perfect. He officially hated the oaf.
“And he escorted me here to fetch my family.” Constance somehow spoke with greater life and vitality than he remembered. “I’ve found them employment sewing fashionable gowns for a big ball in August. Isn’t that splendid?”
Of course—she didn’t know.
Constance would have no idea how he’d attached himself to her family in her absence. That he’d been courting her sister. And worse yet, that he still loved Constance herself. How could she know? He hadn’t realized it until he’d walked through the swinging kitchen door.
And now she would leave. They would all leave. And he’d be alone once again.