by Lori Wick
“Hello, Liddy.”
“Marianne! What have you done?” Lydia said, not able to hold her laugh. The older woman’s friend had a black eye that looked as if it had been painted on. A perfect curve had appeared beneath her left eye, giving her a rather roguish look.
“Aren’t I a sight?”
“Please tell me my children had nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, come now, Liddy, we were playing, that’s all.”
Lydia sighed and smiled. “Will you come in?”
“No!” Marianne looked horrified at the thought. “I’m taking myself home to seclusion until I look presentable again, but I knew if the children only told you and you didn’t see me, you would think it worse than it was.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll come and see you soon, shall I?”
“Please do.”
Lydia leaned a little closer into the carriage and lowered her voice.
“Before you go, I’ve got to tell you that my brother is here.”
“Jennings?” Marianne said in amazement.
“Yes. I’m dying to tell you all about it, but it will have to wait.”
“All right. Come soon, however. I want to hear.”
“I will. How were the children?”
“Wonderful as always. A little mud here and there, but we had a smashing time.”
“Good. Give me a hug and get yourself home.”
The five Palmers waved Marianne’s carriage off, and before they could even turn to the house, Palmer joined them.
“Did Mari not want to come in?” he asked.
“No, she had a blackened eye and is headed home to seclude herself.”
“Do you children have anything to tell us?”
“It was all quite innocent, Father,” Frank put in, not afraid to admit the truth even though their friend was harmed. “Marianne turned to say something to Lizzy just as Walt threw the ball back to her.”
Palmer looked down at his younger son’s face. He looked sober and sad.
“So you’re the culprit, Walt?”
“Yes, sir. And her eye blackened so swiftly, almost as we watched.”
Palmer put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s like that sometimes. You spoke with her, Lydia?”
“Yes, and she’s very well. She plans to stay away from the public eye for now, but she is in great spirits.”
“All right. You’ll have to call on her, Liddy.”
“Yes. She asked me to.”
“And in the midst of all this, I don’t suppose you were able to tell the children our news.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Knowing better than to ask, the children looked to their father expectantly.
“Your Uncle Jennings has arrived, and with him are your three cousins.”
“From Mother’s side?” Frank asked, knowing how thin the Jennings’ family line had become.
“Yes. They’re distant relations, but still your cousins, and your ages into the bargain.”
“Are there girls?” Emma asked, her hand tugging on her father’s coat.
“One little girl. Her name is Penny, and she’s soon to be seven.”
The little girls exchanged smiles of excitement.
“And the boys?” Walt asked.
“Thomas is onto thirteen very soon, and James will be eleven.”
“They all share a birthday,” Lydia put in, still amazed by this.
“They were all born the same day?” Frank clarified.
“Yes, twenty-one July.”
“We should have a great party.”
“I think so too.”
“When can we meet them?” Walt wished to know.
“They’re on an outing with your Uncle Jennings, so as soon as they return.”
The family at last made their way inside, the children still full of questions about the new family members.
“We don’t know a lot,” Palmer finally settled them down enough to say. They had gone into the green salon, a place where they spent many contented evenings. “I believe that their mother has been gone for some time, but they just recently lost their father.”
“And now they live with Uncle Jennings?” Frank asked.
“Yes.”
“I remember him,” Walt put in.
“Do you, Walt? What do you recall?”
“That he’s tall with dark hair.”
“That’s right. There’s a little gray at his temples now, but that about describes him.”
“How long will they stay?” Emma wished to know. Having another little girl her age right in the house was as good as visiting at Blackburn Manor when Marianne’s sisters were there, with all their children.
“We’re not sure. They have chosen to be in one room— the big one across from you, Walt—and I can tell you they are fine-mannered, sweet children who have been through a painful ordeal.”
“Anything you can do to make their stay pleasant would be very helpful,” Lydia added.
“But could they stay a long time?” Emma pressed.
“They might. We might even get to see them in London.”
This was met with rave reviews, and in the midst of this babble, Jennings’ voice was heard at the door.
“It looks as though we’re in time for introductions,” he said with more calm than he felt. These were his own nieces and nephews, handsome children that he should have known very well, but they were like strangers.
“Come in, Jennings,” Palmer invited, and in a matter of moments, the introductions were made; first, the children to their uncle and then to their new cousins.
Palmer and Lydia’s children waited only for Jennings to make a remark to Palmer, which they saw as a sign to speak with their cousins. In a matter of minutes, all seven children were grouped off and talking. Thomas and Frank even went so far as to ask to be excused so Frank could show this new member of the family the atlas in the library. Walt and James had their heads together over the pocket globe that Jennings had given the boys, and all three little girls had dolls out on the window seat, teacups and all.
“You certainly had this one pegged, didn’t you, Palmer?” Jennings said quietly.
“About the children getting on? Yes, I suspected as much.”
“You have fine children, Lydia,” Jennings felt a need to tell his sister.
“Thank you, Jennings. Walt was saying that he remembers you. He even described you.”
Jennings fell quiet. He certainly remembered Walt and young Frank, and it was still painful to think of all he had missed. His eyes went to the window seat, and he smiled at the three little girls who had taken no time at all becoming friends.
“Do tell us you’ll stay, Jennings,” Lydia put in, knowing she should probably keep her mouth shut but just not wanting to.
Jennings looked to her.
“I’ll have some business to attend to concerning Godwin’s estate, and I can’t be away from home forever, Lydia, but I will tell you this, I’ll not go as I did before.”
Lydia’s relief was so great that she turned slightly to blink tears away. When that didn’t work, she stood and rang for tea. Anything to get her mind from the wonderful news so she wouldn’t sob all over the room.
Jennings, more pleased than he would have imagined at being there, understood just how she felt. If he’d been forced to sum up his feelings of the moment, he would have said that leaving was the last thing on his mind.
Chapter Seven
“Are they all right?” Jennings asked the moment Lydia slipped into the hallway.
“They’re fine. Go in and wish them a good night.”
Jennings looked momentarily nonplussed before nodding slightly and reaching for the door handle. He entered the quiet, dark room and realized he didn’t know who occupied which bed.
“Are you sleeping?” he asked quietly from his place just inside the door.
Both James and Thomas told him no.
“Who’s in this bed?” he asked as he move
d to the foot of one.
“It’s me,” Penny said, her voice very small.
“Are you comfortable, Penny?”
“Yes.”
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have Mr Pat with you?”
Jennings heard the bedcovers rustling.
“Right here.”
“Good. You’ll sleep fine now. Where are you, James?”
“Here, sir.”
Jennings went toward the voice.
“Are you all settled for the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Did you have a good time with Walt?”
“Yes, sir. He has his own horse.”
“I heard about that. Did you go to see it?”
“Yes, sir, we did.” He sounded awed, and Jennings smiled.
“I’m glad.”
Jennings then moved to the other side of the bed. “You must be over here, Thomas.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask you a question, sir?”
“You certainly may, Thomas,” Jennings said, and went so far as to sit on the edge of Thomas’ side of the bed.
“Are we staying for a time, Mr Jennings?”
“What would you like us to do? Would you like to stay?”
“We would, yes.” Thomas sounded calm and grown up, but in truth he knew great relief at being able to answer this question. For the first time since their father died, he felt safe—truly safe. He was in no hurry to leave this home that seemed the ideal of every dream he’d ever had. He would give much to turn back the hands of time and have his father return, but their home had not had a mother, and Lydia Palmer was one of the kindest women he’d ever met.
“Well, we shall be here for a time, Thomas, so I’m glad it suits you. I take it you had a good time getting to know Frank?”
“Yes, a very fine time.”
“I’m glad,” Jennings said as he stood. “Sleep well, all of you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Soft “goodnights” came from the three of them, and when Jennings found himself back in the hall, he simply stood for a time. Feelings that were foreign and almost frightening washed over him. Was it possible to become so attached so quickly? It took knowing that Penny had been hurt for his feelings to turn toward her, but already his heart was completely involved with all three children.
The temptation to go back inside and check on them one last time was strong, but he fought it. Palmer and Lydia seem to enjoy their children but still have a life of their own, Jennings thought to himself as he finally moved down the hallway. He continued to ponder this as he walked downstairs to join them for the remainder of the evening.
Blackburn Manor
“Oh, my,” Lydia said the moment she walked into Marianne’s room the next morning. The sun was shining through the large windows, giving the older woman a very clear view of the ball’s damage. Tinged with yellow and dark purple, the black eye was darker than ever.
“Does it hurt?” Lydia asked once they’d hugged.
“Only if I press on it.”
“No headache?”
“A slight headache last night, but it’s gone this morning.”
“Walt sent these to you,” Lydia said, setting down a small basket of flowers.
“Is he feeling terrible?”
“Not too bad, but he did pray for you for a long time last night.”
“He is so sweet.”
“Yes, he is, but when I left him he was already contentedly playing with his cousin James.”
Marianne searched her friend’s face and then scooted forward on her seat.
“So Godwin’s children did go to Jennings?”
“Yes,” Lydia answered, her voice breathless with excitement. “I can hardly take it in, Mari. He showed up without a word of warning and with three children.”
“How are the children doing?”
“I think they’re all right,” Lydia said in thoughtful pleasure, her eyes going to the window before she turned back to Marianne with a smile. “You’re going to fall in love with them. They’re so sweet, and they look like family.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Well, ironically they all share a birthday in July, so the ages I give you will change soon, but presently Thomas is twelve, James is ten, and Penny is six.”
“And your children are having the time of their lives,” Marianne guessed.
“They are. The only thing that compares is when your nieces and nephews visit.”
Marianne smiled. “And your brother, Liddy? How is he doing with all of this?”
Lydia’s face grew thoughtful again. “I can’t always tell. He wants to take care of the children, but he doesn’t know how. He’s so analytical in his thinking that I suspect he sees them as small projects. He doesn’t relate well to them as people, and of course in light of their recent loss, they need that more than ever.”
“How did their father die?”
“A riding accident, Jennings told us last night, but even that subject emphasizes my point. He didn’t ask the children what happened until yesterday, and only then because that was one of the first questions Palmer asked of him.”
“So what do you think brought him to you?”
“Palmer and I talked about it last night for a long time. We think Jennings has been somewhat humbled by this whole ordeal. He genuinely needs help raising these children and came to us almost without thinking.”
“How do you know that?”
Lydia laughed. “Because he said he’d forgotten how much gibberish he was going to have to hear about God.”
Marianne laughed so hard her eye hurt.
“Don’t tell me any more, Liddy,” the younger woman gasped. “My eye can’t take it. Did he really say that?”
“Yes,” Lydia said dryly. “He wanted to know if Pastor Hurst was still preaching that man sins.”
Marianne shook her head, still highly amused.
“But, Mari, I almost forgot to tell you, Palmer and I think the children have had some Bible training. They were very comfortable with prayer, and when Palmer read out of the big Bible just before bedtime, they listened with tremendous ease.”
“How about Jennings?”
“His face was very intent, but he made no comment.”
Marianne sat back with a sigh. “Did you ever dream, Liddy, that your life could take such a turn in just one day?”
“No. I’ve prayed for Jennings for years, but I never imagined this.”
“Isn’t it lovely that God understands what frail and weak creatures we are?” Marianne asked, thinking about Jennings and her own life. “Yet He still provided a way of repentance for us.”
“It is lovely, Mari, and I need to thank Him for it more and more.”
The good friends, as close as sisters after all these years, talked for the next hour and would have gone on, but Lydia wanted to check on the troops at home. They had gone from two adults and four children to three adults and seven children all in the course of one day. Life at Tipton might be something of a madhouse in the weeks to come, Lydia reflected, but she was determined to enjoy every moment.
Tipton
“Uncle Jennings,” Walt said as he and James approached; the families had been combined for nearly a week. “Do you know where Frank and Thomas have gone?”
“I think they said something about the stables. Have you tried there?”
“Yes, but we didn’t find them.”
“Do they want to be found?” Palmer asked as he entered the room, having heard enough of the conversation.
Walt smiled at his father, who smiled right back.
“Why wouldn’t they wish to be found?” James asked in real confusion.
“Well, James,” Palmer began, “they’re a few years older and may wish for some time for their own pursuits. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“Is there something we can do for you?” Jennings offered, not realizing he was already making strides
in dealing with the children.
“We want to play croquet and need four to make it interesting.”
“You could try the girls,” Palmer suggested. Walt’s look became comical.
“Why don’t you keep looking for Frank and Thomas?” Jennings recommended, honestly not wanting to go outside just then.
“What if we still can’t find them?” Walt asked.
“Choose another game,” his father said with just enough emphasis to close the matter.
“We head to church tomorrow morning, Jennings,” Palmer mentioned when the boys had gone on their way. “Will you and the children be joining us?”
Jennings looked across at his brother-in-law. His hospitality and help had been beyond value, but Jennings wasn’t sure he could sit through a sermon from a man who he believed to be totally in error.
“Have I put you on the spot?”
“No, I’m just thinking through some things.”
“And coming up with what?”
“Questions.”
“Try asking me.”
Jennings stared at the other man, knowing he could be honest, before saying, “How do I sit and listen to a man I think is foolish?”
“Why do you think he’s foolish?”
“His ideas, Palmer! They’re outrageous.”
“Tell me something, Jennings. Do you honestly think they’re his ideas?”
“Yes. He’s taken some of the verses in the Bible and completely twisted them around.”
“So you’ve studied the verses for yourself?” Palmer asked.
Jennings’ eyes narrowed dangerously at that point, and Palmer put his hand up.
“Before you grow cross, Jennings, hear me out.”
The other man nodded, so Palmer tried again.
“You’re nearly an expert with maps and charts. Why? Because you’ve studied and been taught on the subject. Pastor Hurst’s area of expertise is God’s Word. For years he has spent long hours studying Scripture and interacting with other men in the congregation, such as myself, who have studied to make sure his interpretation and application are biblical.”
Jennings’ face had relaxed during this explanation, and he now admitted that Palmer had a point.
“We’ll probably go with you,” Jennings said after a moment’s quiet.
“I’m glad.”