It was more than a few moments before they remembered where they were. Mr. Hollingson pulled himself away but still held her hands. He smiled. A happy grin that Sophy returned involuntarily. Not that she would have stopped it if she could. She felt a sense of giddiness stealing over her.
Without saying another word, Sophy turned back to the task of cleaning and bandaging his hands. When she was almost done, Mr. Hollingson breathlessly asked her, “Sophy, may I call upon you this week?” His gaze was hot on her face. “I have something particular I would like to say to you.”
Chapter V
Sophy walked the path from Preston-Bowyer to Milverton as she had walked it at least once a week for her entire life. The path should have been the most familiar one in the world. And yet something was new, something had changed.
What she had shared with Mr. Hollingson had been so unexpected. It was so much more than the mechanical way she had always thought about the more intimate acts between a man and a woman. She was not ignorant of what happened, but she had not imagined that it could be like what had passed between the handsome curate and herself. It seemed so different to what she had observed of her parents. And even different to the chaste – as she now understood them – embraces that she had shared with some of the village boys. This had been something completely new, outside of her experience. She wanted to turn around, to stay in his arms. She wanted Mr. Hollingson – Joshua, he had asked her to call him – to continue kissing her in that tender and soft way. He had kissed her as if her lips would bruise without his taking the most tender care.
She reached up to run her fingers over her own lips. She pressed them, as if she could recreate the feel of Mr. Hollingson’s mouth on hers. It had been so gentle. She had been disappointed when he pulled away. Just as she wanted more, he had stopped. She was embarrassed by her desire. She had wanted more. But what could she do? Was she allowed to embrace him? Was she allowed to do so first? Would he think it very forward of her? But Sophy had felt that there could be so much more than the soft kisses they had shared. It had left her wanting more and frustrated that he had not given it to her and that she could not take it for herself.
Oh, she wished her mother were here. Sophy had never thought of these things before. She’d never contemplated the etiquette for this type of feeling. And she desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. To have someone share her excitement and explain to her the emotions she was feeling.
Sophy sighed. She was probably not supposed to want to kiss Mr. Hollingson. She would have to wait for him, as the man, to come to her. They probably shouldn’t be alone together anyway, Sophy thought. Frustrated, she wondered how in the world any courting was ever accomplished. She shook her head in dismay.
Her thoughts ran on this circle all the way home. She wanted more time with Mr. Hollingson and yet, she couldn’t take it, didn’t want to be too forward. If he liked her already, he knew that she was no shy miss. And yet, what man would want a woman who threw herself in his way, who showed that she wanted him too much?
How was a woman ever supposed to get married? And if she asked any of the women in town for advice, they would inevitably share her inquiries among themselves. Before long, the whole of Milverton and Preston-Bowyer would be abuzz and teasing her about her “suitor.” She could see it now. They would say it with a wink and a knowing look. Her life would quickly turn insufferable. And she wasn’t sure she wanted or needed that yet. She was jealous of Mr. Hollingson's attention. And before the town found out and began to tease them mercilessly, Sophy wanted to spend more time with him.
Especially if that time was spent kissing. The thought popped into her head before she could scold it and tamp it down for being one of those improper things ladies didn’t think about. Sophy laughed and said aloud to herself, being alone on the path homeward toward Milverton, “Sophia Elizabeth Wentworth, you are a very naughty and silly girl.”
She tried to push aside the thoughts of Mr. Hollingson's more physical traits in favor of the mental and spiritual things she found so very attractive about him. With all good intentions, she started a list in her head. But she had to start over when she reached the number three without remembering numbers one and two.
“Oh, all right,” she said aloud, giving in to herself. “But only when you are quite alone, Sophia.” And since she was, at that particular moment, alone, Sophy let her imagination run to the less ladylike places it wanted so much to go.
But it wasn’t long until, as was becoming quite usual in her life, her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of arguing. Sophy was outside of her own home now, before the open window of the drawing room, the place where she usually sat and mended. From out of the window issued the loud sounds of her brothers and her father. It did not sound like a happy or pleasant conversation. It was not, in fact, a conversation at all. That would imply two rational people discussing something calmly.
Sophy was still out of sight beyond the window, and so she had a choice. Did she really want to enter the fray? Or should she simply sneak past the window and go for a long walk down by the Old Mill, leaving the men to their disagreements? She was sorely tempted to continue down the road and through to the other side of town toward her favorite pond. It was hours before dinner and today had been visiting day. She could rightly justify a little longer out in the world. It was extremely tempting.
Sophy had almost decided on this course of action when she heard her father say firmly, “Hold still, Frederick.” This was followed by such an unexpected silence that Sophy couldn’t help but look to see what could possibly have happened. Was Freddy actually obeying their father? His injury must be worse than she suspected.
She stepped forward and saw her father bent over Freddy’s foot. Edward was holding his brother's good hand. And the injured boy was looking decidedly whiter than usual, with his lips curled in pain. To his credit, Freddy wasn’t making any noise, apart from small grunts, as his father manipulated his foot, stretching it here and there to check its function. It was no more than the man had done a hundred times before. But Freddy’s silence worried her. And not only because it could mean a more severe injury than she had guessed. A silent Freddy was always up to something.
And so Sophy threw herself into the breech. She passed the window and stepped into the front hall where she divested herself of her bonnet and shawl. Deciding that it would be best to play innocent of the few minutes feuding she had witnessed, Sophy entered the drawing room breezily, announcing her presence with a cheery hello.
“Hello, family,” she called. To a man, they grunted in reply, intent on the examination and without a word to spare for her. Good, a few more minutes for her to take the temperature of the room and decide how best to proceed. Freddy still looked pale but determined not to let his father see him in pain. Edward looked as if he was ready to take all the guilt on himself.
And Papa was engrossed, as always, in his examination. Sophy knew the anger at his son would come after he had verified that he would not perish from his injuries.
Papa hit a particularly tender spot and Freddy finally broke his silence.
“Ow!” He jerked his leg away from his father’s hands. “Papa! That really hurt!”
“Well, of course it did, Frederick,” his father exclaimed, trying to grab the leg and continue his examination. “Now give that leg here.”
“No, you’re only going to hurt me again.”
“You were the one that hurt yourself in the first place, young man. I am only trying to figure out if this stupid caper will cause any real harm.” There was anger in Papa's voice.
“Stupid caper!” Freddy, taking offense, tried to get up, but his hurt leg would no longer support him. “Stupid caper! How can you say that? I was only walking when I accidentally fell into a well, Papa!” Freddy’s voice was climbing higher and higher as his outrage at the utter unfairness of his parent grew.
“One does not simply fall into a big hole in the ground,” Papa was also growing impat
ient with his perpetually troublesome son.
“Yes they do.” Freddy spat the words at him. “And besides, it was a well-hole not a great big hole in the ground I neglected to see.”
“He’s right,” Edward tried to interject on behalf of his brother. But its only result was that Papa turned on him instead.
“And you! How could you let your brother do something like this?” Edward looked startled at this turn. Then he quickly came over indignant.
“Now, Papa, you cannot blame me for Freddy –“
“No one on this earth can control your brother!” Papa interrupted Edward’s protestation. “He is the bane of my existence most days. Always arguing and getting into trouble. I cannot abide this continued stupidity from my own son.” By now Papa was standing, towering over Freddy who was, of necessity, still sitting on the sofa. “I don’t know where you get this from, Frederick,” he sighed. “Your mother was an angel and I cannot see where I’ve ever gone wrong with you.”
At this Freddy rolled his eyes in a familiar gesture of adolescent impatience. It only set his father off again.
“And don’t you make that face at me, young man.” Papa waggled his finger in Freddy’s face. “I will… I will… ugh.” Unable to find a sufficient threat, Papa settled for an exasperated grunt uttered from deep within his clenched jaw.
Sophy had let the scene play out. Like an infected wound, it was better to air it than let it fester. Let them scratch at each other now rather than have this anger remain until later. It would be her job to patch up the masculine feelings that had been injured more than anything that had been done to Freddy’s body.
“Papa,” Sophy cut into the thick and angry silence that had fallen over the room, “how are Freddy’s injuries?” She made no admission of what had happened between the father and son. If her father had seen fit to stand and argue instead of mending his son, she assumed the injuries weren’t too severe.
“He’ll be fine,” Papa growled, still angry. “He needs to rest both limbs, especially the leg. So no lessons with Mr. Hollingson for the rest of the week. Can’t be walking that far. We’ll watch it and make sure nothing more severe develops.” This was all delivered to Sophy as if Freddy were not present in the room.
Sophy smiled at her father. “Well, then. Let’s get everyone some tea and then we’ll work on getting Freddy set up for the next few days.” Her father softened noticeably as she pronounced this eminently sensible plan.
“Thank you, my dear. I’ll be in my study.” He left the room with Sophy, who was going to the kitchen for tea.
When she returned to the front room with a tea platter and some sandwiches, Sophy saw that Edward had not been idle. He’d clearly recovered from his father’s recent accusations, enough to gather some pillows from the chairs and use them to pad every part of the sofa around Freddy, as if he was an infant who might injure himself. Freddy’s leg was now elevated on a group of these pillows. The two boys were commiserating about the unfairness of their father. Sophy let them talk while she poured the tea.
“I can’t believe he thought I did this deliberately!” Freddy gestured angrily to his leg and wrist.
“And that he thought I let you do it!” Edward joined in. “I mean, what kind of brother does he think I am to let you ramble into holes and hurt yourself?”
Sophy snorted with laughter. She loved her brothers, but they could be entirely ridiculous. The boys turned on her angrily.
“Don’t laugh, Sophy,” Freddy pouted.
“Calm yourself, my dear brother,” Sophy advised him, still laughing. “I am not laughing at you or your current plight. I have only imagined the idea Edward presented of you simply rambling willy-nilly across the countryside falling deliberately into every hole you come across.” Her humor was infectious. The image of Freddy was too funny to resist. They all dissolved in laughter, choking out further additions to complete the image even more. Each detail added to the hilarity of the original picture until they no longer knew what exactly they were laughing at.
Through his laughter, Freddy said, “I would never get anywhere at that rate! I would take two steps and fall over again!”
Edward found this picture so funny that he decided to demonstrate for them. He took a few steps and then suddenly disappeared behind a chair. Then he popped up again as if nothing had happened, took another few steps and disappeared behind the sofa. The siblings howled with laughter. Edward made to do it again, until Sophy cried out, “Stop. Stop. Mercy, brother! No more! My middle hurts with all this laughter.”
But the tension of the afternoon had been broken. The boys were no longer ready to shout about everything. They were actually on the same side now. And it had been very good to laugh. The room fell into a companionable silence while Sophy served the tea. Each was thinking about what had happened this afternoon.
“Why does Papa hate me so?” Freddy asked to no one in particular. He sounded more sad than upset.
“He doesn’t hate you, my dear,” Sophy assured her brother.
“Then why does he yell at me like I’m a small child? I didn’t do this on purpose. He thinks I do it to annoy him specially.”
“No he doesn’t,” Sophy said calmly. “He comes down hard on you because he loves you. Think of how it must feel to see your son come limping home one afternoon. And limping from some accident he sees as utterly preventable. He is upset with you because he’s scared. He loves you and wants you to have great things in your life. That does not include losing you to a silly accident.”
“But I only sprained my leg and wrist. I’m still alive and no harm done.”
“It’s not that.” But Sophy could not quite explain to her brothers what it really was, what she knew her father must be thinking. How she herself had been nearly petrified by Edward’s cry. Then how she’d been relieved and angry all at the same time when she had seen that he was okay. She wouldn’t be able to explain all of those feelings to a boy of fifteen who thought himself invincible. She couldn’t explain that it was his very idea of invincibility that scared her father the most. And so she let it pass. The evening continued with the siblings in comfortable companionship, their hurt feelings and limbs on the mend.
Chapter VI
As the rest of the week wore on, relations did not improve significantly between father and son. Edward was allowed to go to Preston-Bowyer for daily lessons, but Freddy, to his infinite annoyance, was confined to the house. Worse, he was confined only to his bedroom or the front room. Somewhere he could elevate his leg. His father came to check on him from time to time, but only succeeded in irritating them both. It was the same argument over and over. Papa scolded Freddy for being careless of himself and his own well-being. Freddy, in turn, accused his father of treating him like a baby and not trusting him at all. This was beginning to wear, even on Sophy’s forgiving nerves.
Much of the village called to see how their beloved son Freddy was, including some young ladies who seemed to Sophy to smile too broadly and giggle too loudly in his direction. She was amused to see her brother posturing for them – as much as someone confined to a sofa could do – and alarmed at the new details of his harrowing story that seemed to cast Freddy in some kind of heroic role. A few times Freddy had caught her raised eyebrows as he embellished the tale. He had only grinned at her and continued on.
“Saving a rabbit, were we?” Sophy had asked him dryly after the latest young lady had left, having heard an earful about a heroic young man who had rescued a helpless rabbit from a deep hole in the ground. Nevermind that the rabbit would have missed the hole, unlike her clumsy brother. “That was all quite heroic of you, my dear.”
“What are a few bumps and bruises when the life of one of God’s innocent creatures is on the line?” Freddy intoned piously before cackling with laughter.
Sophy merely rolled her eyes. “I hope you remember what story you’ve told and to whom, dear brother.” Freddy only grinned.
* * *
By Friday – two days
after the accident – most of the village had paid a formal call or stopped to chat with Freddy and Sophy through the window. Freddy was moving around well on his leg, limping only a little at the soreness, but he quite enjoyed the attention, so he continued to play the invalid.
Sophy had suffered through another check up that had turned into a row. Her father had declared that Freddy should not be moving around as much as he was, his leg still needed to heal.
Freddy, on the other hand, had insisted that he knew best for himself and his leg was doing fine. That's how it had started. It had ended with both men huffing at each other's intractability and stomping off to separate corners of the house: Papa to his study and Freddy to his bedroom where he declared he didn't want to see anybody for the rest of his life.
Sophy had just finished thinking that the Wentworth men needed softer-soled shoes, when she heard her name being called from down the lane. Sophy was sitting near the window, again working on the endless round of mending. She recognized her brother's voice.
“Hello, Edward!” Sophy called in response, not looking up from her work.
“Is Freddy about? I've brought Mr. Hollingson to see him.” Her head whipped up. She had not expected to see him. But yes, Mr. Hollingson was there, too. In the middle of her confusion, it took Sophy a moment to register that her brother was asking her a question.
Sophy shook her head, partly in answer to her brother's question and partly to clear her thoughts. “I am afraid not. He's had a check-in with Papa.” Through the open window brother and sister exchanged significant looks.
“I guess that not all is well between them?” asked Mr. Hollingson, correctly interpreting the looks.
“Correct,” Sophy confirmed. “It has been a few tense days in the Wentworth household.”
My Dear Sophy Page 4