My Dear Sophy

by Kimberly Truesdale

  And then there was the fact that, if she married him, she would be secure. She would probably stay in Milverton all her life. Reverend Croft had made it clear to everyone that he considered Mr. Hollingson his natural successor to the living in Milverton. He would probably retire in a few years. Then she and Mr. Hollingson would be in an even better position to help the people of the community she loved so much. As the rector's wife, she would have more resources at her command, resources she could use to help the families that had done so much to help her family over the years. The people of Milverton and Preston-Bowyer were her family by more than blood.

  But what of the personal side of staying here in a life with Mr. Hollingson? She had only yet thought about the worldly things it would allow. He was a fine man. He loved his adopted flock and cared for them with all he had both spiritually and physically. He was also an educated man and Sophy had seen him put his learning to good use already. He was a patient teacher and believed that everyone could expand his mind with learning. They had discussed at length his ambitions for the parish, how he wanted to build a bigger school and extend the basic education of his pupils, how he wanted to begin a fund so that the town could send their brightest, no matter the child's financial need, to school if he wanted. Mr. Hollingson was a loving, enthusiastic, intelligent man and Sophy enjoyed being around him. They had much in common. And he would be a good role model for the boys. She knew already that he loved them like brothers.

  All together, marriage to Mr. Hollingson would be nice. Sophy found him physically attractive. And he clearly found her to be so – well enough that he had said he loved her. That should count for much. Life with him would be solid, steady, predictable. No upheavals to shake them. It would be a quiet life in the same way her life thus far had been quiet. They could raise a family. She would like to have sons and daughters of her own. Mr. Hollingson, Sophy was sure, would be a kind and caring father. Life with him would be pleasant.

  Pleasant.

  The name of Captain Croft's ship. Sophy tortured herself with thinking of what a life with the captain would be.

  Life with Connie would mean leaving Milverton, her home. If she married Connie, she would insist on traveling with him. So she would travel to the opposite ends of the world, far away from the home she had loved for so many years. It would be a harder life, certainly, than her life in the town. She would spend months, perhaps years away from dry land and even longer away from home. To her now that seemed like an eternity. Could she stay away for fourteen years as the captain had? Her family mattered so much to her. Would she be able to leave, knowing she might never see them again?

  But Captain Croft, like Mr. Hollingson, could help the boys. He also had connections that might help her brothers secure training and employment. Freddy had shown much interest in the Navy. And she was sure the captain could find him a place, if he wanted.

  Then there was the alarming insecurity of naval life. It was war time now, so as many sailors as could be employed were. The Navy always needed men. Sophy did not want to think that the constant shortage of men on ships was the result of war and disease that ran through the ships with devastating ease. Life itself could be uncertain. But even if one survived the war with body and health together, the end of war saw sailors put ashore mercilessly on half pay. She would live a life completely at the mercy of the British Admiralty.

  On the other hand, with Captain Croft she would travel to the far corners of the earth. She would not always be in the smooth water of Milverton. Being on a ship meant travel and constant danger. But Sophy found that a part of her longed for that adventure. A part of her longed to see the horizon and sail toward it, to experience new parts of the world, new cultures and peoples, to see a new side – many new sides – of life. What exotic foods might she try? Or dances might she do? Or songs might she sing? The very thought of all the experiences she might have made her excited.

  And, of course, she would have all of these experiences together with Captain Croft. The man, she realized, had come to have a place in the deepest part of her heart. Yes, he was handsome and intelligent. Mr. Hollingson was those things, too. And like Mr. Hollingson, the captain cared deeply. She had seen it in the way he acted toward his mother and father and then toward the crew of his ship. He knew them all, remembered them, cared for them in the same way Mr. Hollingson cared for his flock.

  But the difference in the two men came down to the fact that Captain Croft had shown her he cared for her – even if it was no more than he cared for everyone, even if he only thought of her as a sister. He had asked about her thoughts and opinions and dreams. He had listened to her with respect and attention, engaged her in conversation well beyond the usual round of small town gossip.

  Life had been so easy with him. And there had been so much laughter. There was something about Captain Croft that made her feel light and easy. And safe. Sophy saw the humor, the silliness in things when he was around. Captain Croft would have laughed at her right now, in fact, for being out of temper with the watering can. Even imagining his reaction made her grin. She loved that.

  She loved him.

  At the thought, so simple in its truth, a wave of emotions swept over Sophy. Even as she was certain she loved Captain Croft, she knew it was hopeless. How could she love someone she had only known for one short week? How could he have lodged himself so deeply in her heart? It could not be real, could not be reciprocated. Surely he had felt nothing of the kind for her. She loved him but there was nothing she could do about it.

  And yet, a part of her could not let hope die. Being with Mr. Hollingson was nice. But with Captain Croft... Sophy shivered at the memory. They had barely even touched and her whole body had reacted. Sophy blushed again thinking of his touches, his breath upon her neck as they stood at the wheel of the ship. But she must stop thinking of that. He had not kissed her. He had pulled away. He had rejected her.

  Tears came to Sophy's eyes. She wanted to stamp her foot like a small child and scream at the unfairness. He had sailed away and would not return here. She must resign herself to hearing about him only by fondly recalled memories of the past week or the infrequent letters he addressed to his parents. Perversely, Sophy thought about his future. It did not include her. He would find a beautiful wife in some far-flung port. She would sail the world with him. She would have his children. She would laugh with him.

  Oh, it was all so unfair. Why had he come here? Why had he disturbed the pattern of her life? A week ago, she had been excited to accept Mr. Hollingson's proposal, to think of a life with him in the town they both loved so dearly. But now her mind was in such upheaval that she doubted she would ever be happy again. Why had Captain Croft shown her what could have been? Why had he shown her something new and then left her to deal with the disappointment when it failed? Sophy felt abandoned and emotionally drained. She wanted to run to her bed and never get out. What would be the point? Life no longer held anything for her.

  For long minutes, Sophy's mind stormed with these thoughts. She raged against the unfairness of life. Finally, a calmer side of herself broke through the rushing tumult of these feelings. Her inner voice spoke. Nothing? It asked. Do you truly believe that you have nothing in life? That you have nothing to live for? You have family and friends, a way to help people. You have people who love you and depend on you. Surely that is not nothing. A week ago those things mattered to you. And now you would throw them all into a junk pile and call them nothing? You are acting like a spoiled heroine of some third-rate romance, talking of taking to your bed to die. Really, Sophia Elizabeth Wentworth, that is too much!

  Through her tears she let out a thin laugh. She was being quite ridiculous, wasn't she? It was not as if the world had truly ended. Women since the beginning of time had suffered heartbreaks much worse than hers and they had carried on living. Besides, Sophy reminded herself, Captain Croft had never spoken to her of love. There had been no promises between them. She could not hold him to a promise he had never made
. Yes, it hurt to realize that he did not love her the same way she loved him. But she must give it time, be patient with herself. Soon she would settle again into the comforting routine of Milverton life. Perhaps that familiar routine itself would be a balm.

  In the midst of formulating this new plan, Sophy heard a knock on the front door. It must be time for the mail delivery, speaking of Milverton routines. She went to answer the knock, comforted by the thought that this routine could hold no surprises.

  Chapter XX

  She stared uncomprehendingly at the neatly folded letter in her hand. The other letters that had come in the post sat ignored on the hall table. But this one... Sophy stared at it. There was no mistake. It was addressed to her. And in an unfamiliar hand. She could not understand it.

  The daily post usually contained a bundle of letters addressed to Papa. For years, he had kept up steady correspondence with friends from all over England. One friend even sent letters from the East Indies, where he was studying the native diseases. Sophy was in the habit of sorting Papa's mail and she had come to recognize the various handwriting of his many friends. With no more thought than usual – less, in fact, seeing as she had been wrestling with the storm in her own mind – Sophy had sorted today's post. And there it was. A letter addressed to her: Miss Sophia Wentworth. She continued to stare at it, as if it would begin to speak and reveal its secrets to her.

  Sophy turned the paper over in her hand. It was thick and of good quality. It felt heavy, as if the neatly folded package contained many sheets. Apart from the address, no other writing appeared, and so Sophy could not guess who it might be from. She examined the writing. The letters were large and legible. They flowed smoothly across the page without a hint of hesitation. The writer had known exactly where he wanted to send this letter. The only clue she could divine as to the sender was from the raised wax on the back. Sophy flipped over the paper to see the letter “C” pressed deeply into the brown wax. It was starting to crumble away.

  Her heart sped up to a fast run and her breath came quickly. The letter “C” drew her thoughts only in one direction. But could it be? The only name she knew with a “C” – the only one who would send her a letter would be –

  A knock on the door.

  Sophy's mind was racing and she barely noted the noise until it came again. Had the postman forgotten something? How long had she been standing there? Sophy moved to open the door and was astonished at what she saw.

  “Mr. Hollingson!”

  “Miss Wentworth,” the man smiled broadly and inclined his head.

  Sophy tried to gather her thoughts, but they were rushing away in all directions. “Were we expecting you?” She tried to sound as pleasant as she could.

  “I do not believe so. Do I arrive at a bad time?”

  “Oh no, no...” Sophy remembered her manners. “Please, come in!” She shoved the letter into her pocket and forced herself to concentrate on Mr. Hollingson. She moved toward the front room, but Mr. Hollingson stopped her.

  “Might we sit in the garden this afternoon?”

  “Of course! I have been sitting there myself.” Sophy smiled at the curate and lead him out into the small garden. The shock of his arrival having settled, she turned her mind fully to her guest. “Shall I make some tea?”

  Mr. Hollingson was quick to respond. “Please, no. I am fine as I am.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “But if you would like some... please do not let me stop you.”

  “Oh, I am also fine as I am, thank you.” Silence descended upon them as they stood in the garden. Finally, Mr. Hollingson gestured to a bench and they both sat. Sophy could think of nothing to say, and so she waited for Mr. Hollingson to speak. She noticed that he seemed nervous today, fidgeting with his clothing and avoiding her gaze. Finally, he turned his attention to her and spoke quickly.

  “Miss Wentworth, I have been waiting all week to speak with you privately.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now we are alone, I... I find my words slipping away.” Sophy remained silent, unable to think of any words she might speak to smooth his path. If she was not mistaken, Mr. Hollingson was about to offer for her. And she had been pondering this very thing... What should she say to him?

  “Miss Wentworth, I believe that what I am about to say will not be unexpected. The other evening... when we were alone... I wanted to say...” Mr. Hollingson looked like he was in pain, but still Sophy did not know what to do. Should she say something reassuring? What did one do when one was receiving a proposal of marriage? After a short pause, he started again, this time rushing to get his thoughts out all at once.

  “Miss Wentworth, I knew when we embraced that I wanted you to be my wife.” Now that he had said the word, it seemed to go easier for him. “Miss Wentworth, I am still a young man and I need a young wife. You know me and my work. You have lived in this village all your life and I would like to live here for the rest of mine. You must know that Reverend Croft expects me to take over his position when he is ready to retire. I can give you a home near your family and the promise of a steady future doing good work for the people of this town.” Mr. Hollingson seemed to realize that he was speaking too long. He ended with the one question Sophy had been waiting to hear.

  “Miss Wentworth, will you marry me?”

  Even though she had known the question was coming, there was nothing to compare to hearing it spoken directly to her. Her heart soared. Mr. Hollingson loved her and wanted her to be his wife. It was what she had been waiting for.

  And yet...

  Sophy's hands were folded in her lap, directly over the letter she had received in the post, the letter she suspected was from Captain Croft. And only a few moments ago in this very spot in the garden she had been comparing the two men, weighing the balance between them and examining her own heart. She had not known what to do then.

  But Mr. Hollingson had proposed. He was here now. With her in her own garden. Sophy looked up into his face. He was eagerly awaiting her answer.

  “Mr. Hollingson,” she began, searching for words to fill the expectant silence. “I am flattered by your proposal...” What should she say now? Should she accept? Should she refuse? Sophy didn't know what she thought. She needed time to think. Time when Mr. Hollingson wasn't sitting there looking at her and waiting for her answer.

  “Mr. Hollingson, I wonder... might I ask you for some time to consider your proposal?” He looked crestfallen and Sophy felt miserable. Clearly, he had expected an answer and she had disappointed him.

  “Of course, Miss Wentworth. Please... please... take all the time you desire.” He stood up. “I will leave you now.” He turned to walk away, but stopped before he had gone three steps and turned back toward her. “May I call upon you in a few days?”

  Sophy smiled kindly at him. He was such a good man. So caring and respectful of her feelings. “Of course you may, Mr. Hollingson. I will have an answer for you then.” Sophy rose and followed him to the front door. At the door, he turned again and gave her a lopsided smile.

  “Goodbye, Miss Wentworth.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Hollingson.”

  Sophy stood in the door and watched him walk away. She absently put her hand in pocket and thrilled again when her hand brushed the letter that lay there.

  Chapter XXI

  The letter. Sophy's heart beat quickly in anticipation. What did it say? She wanted to rip it open and devour the contents. She should crack the seal, reveal the mystery of the letter, let her heart slow to a normal rate. She should. But here were Edward and Freddy coming towards the house. She would get no peace if they found her here. She needed to escape. If this was a letter from... him. If it was, she wanted to be alone, to devour whatever it was in secret, away from all the other obligations on her time and attention.

  She needed to be away from here. Quickly grabbing her shawl and bonnet, Sophy left the house, waving to her brothers and telling them she was going out for a walk and would see them later. They seemed not to notice her has
te and agitation. She was free.

  Without thinking, Sophy made her way to the Old Mill, the first place she and Captain Croft had been truly alone to talk. Slowly, so very slowly she sat on the bank with her legs crossed under her. The letter was in her lap, cradled in the hammock of her skirt. Still, she hesitated. She must gain some perspective. Sophy looked around her and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on slowing her fast-beating heart. Her thoughts moved both too quickly and too slowly for her. She was not sure that she could bear the contents of the letter, no matter what they were, good or bad. She waited, still breathing deeply, for courage to come to her. And then there it was. In a sudden burst of anxiety and elation, each emotion inextricable from the other, she broke the seal and turned to the signature. She must know.

  “Connie.”

  Sophy sighed the word aloud as she saw the large, sloping letters of his name. She had only read one word and she was ready to sob with relief. It was certain. Now she would know what was in his mind, one way or the other. Sophy steeled herself and began to read.

  My dear Sophy –

  I have hesitated to write to you, waited until the last possible moment. Even now we are preparing to sail for Portsmouth. My sailors ferry back and forth, waving goodbye to their families. And I can think only of you...

  Always you, my dear Sophy. How is it that one short week has shown me the happiest bliss and the saddest sorrow? Bliss to have known you, talked with you, walked with you by my side, made you smile – your smile that feels like the sunshine of home! And sorrow to think that in my stupidity I might have left you forever without telling you how I feel.

  I write now because the last thought has become unbearable. For hours after you drove away on Saturday, I watched the shore, willing you to come back. O'Brian, dear man, came upon me and told me I was scaring the men with how fiercely I was scowling. He helped me see into my own heart.