“Good.”
“I could tell they were quite amazed.”
“Your sisters?”
“Yes.”
Henry’s voice told of his bafflement, but Walker gripped his shoulder and smiled at him.
“You’re doing well, Henry. I’m proud of you. I’m expecting you Wednesday, and you can tell me how it’s gone, or we can talk about why it isn’t working.”
“All right. Thank you, Walker.”
“By the way, have you told your sisters that you’ve seen me?”
“No.” Henry looked surprised by the very thought, and Walker smiled again, not saying anything this time but communicating clearly with his eyes.
Pembroke
Tate was walking in the garden when Cassandra arrived in the middle of the following week. Aunt Harriet was not far off, but when Hastings took her to the door, she could see that Tate was on his own. The eye patches were still in place, and he was moving slowly, a tall cane in his hand, asking for directions from time to time.
“Hello, Cassandra,” Harriet called in greeting. “Come and join us.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Welcome, Miss Steele,” Tate said, smiling as her footsteps neared. “How are you this fine day?”
“I’m very well, and I don’t need to ask how you are doing. Indeed, I can see you won’t need anyone to do anything as dull as reading.”
“Your reading is never dull,” Tate assured her gallantly. “But I will admit to you that this is a very nice change.”
“Indeed it is. I think we could stand a full spring and summer of such days.”
“I quite agree with you,” Tate said, even as he asked himself if he would be able to see her by the end of summer.
“Would you like a basket?” Harriet offered as she approached.
“Thank you,” Cassandra said with a smile. “Is there anything I shouldn’t pick?”
“No,” Harriet said with a laugh. “Take anything that catches your eye.”
“I’ll need a bigger basket,” Cassandra teased, not noticing the way Tate simply stood and listened to her.
“I’ll just follow along with you,” Tate now said, proud of how calm he managed to keep his voice. “You can tell me what you’ve picked and allow me to smell one on occasion.”
“All right,” Cassandra agreed.
Tate, thinking his last line had made him sound like a lovesick school boy, relaxed when he heard her normal tone.
“Do you have a favorite color in flowers?” Cassandra asked after she’d stopped next to a bush full of pale lavender blooms.
“Probably yellow, although I’m also rather partial to red.”
Cassandra laughed. “That was an interesting combination.”
“It’s this fresh air,” Tate explained. “It clears the mind and then muddles it again.”
“Another interesting combination.”
“I can see I’m only going to be teased today.”
Cassandra smiled and reached for another stem, having completely forgotten to tell Tate of the flowers she was collecting.
“You’re off to a good start, Cassandra,” Harriet commented, suddenly back beside them on her way across the yard. “Oh, Tate,” she kept on. “She has mostly red and yellow blooms. Just like you enjoy.”
Harriet kept moving, or she would have seen the blush that stained Cassandra’s cheeks.
“You haven’t let me smell anything,” Tate said quietly when Cassandra didn’t speak.
“Here,” she pressed a flower into his hand. “Try this.”
“Very nice.” Tate fingered the petals. “Shall I name it?”
Rather amused, Cassandra said, “Yes, do.”
Cassandra watched as the tall man held the bloom to his nose, his brow creased in concentration.
“I believe this should be called fire dragon.”
“How did you know that flower by its scent?” Cassandra asked, thoroughly amazed.
Tate laughed. “After my mother died, Aunt Harriet insisted that I develop the love for flowers that Mother had.”
“How old were you?”
“It was before my tenth birthday.”
“And did it work?”
“Yes. I’m fascinated with horticulture in general.”
“Do flowers never make you sad?”
“At first, that’s all they did. I cried much of the time. But then Mother’s delight of flowers came to me. She was so taken with every blossom and garden. In time they all served as lovely remembrances, not just painful reminders.”
For the first time, Cassandra wished she could see his eyes. His voice had been so thoughtful and warm. It hadn’t been hard to read, but seeing his eyes would have added to Cassandra’s understanding.
“What are you going to pick now?” Tate asked gently, almost as if he could feel her eyes on him.
“I think these small roses,” she said, turning swiftly and deciding just as fast.
Tate wasn’t certain he should have distracted her, but somehow he thought she might need rescuing. He found himself wishing he could see her eyes. He’d have known then what was on her mind.
His very small sigh went unnoticed. He moved slowly with Cassandra, just content to be near her, and reminding himself yet again that he was supposed to be resting.
Blackburn Manor
“I came across these verses this week, Henry. Can I share them with you?”
“Please.”
The men had finished lunch and settled in the study. From his place on the leather sofa, James Walker opened his Bible to Romans 12. Henry leaned close to see the words as Walker read.
“‘Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good. Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another.’”
“I have those very verses underlined in my Bible, Walker,” Henry told him. “I’ve read and studied them, but they don’t open my mouth any easier.”
Walker thought for a moment. There were many things he could say to that, but only one really stuck in his mind at the moment.
“Why don’t you write your sisters a letter?”
“They live with me, Walker,” Henry clarified, as though the elder of the two had forgotten this point.
“I realize that, but you have all these thoughts in your mind. Why not try to put them on paper? Start the letter by explaining how difficult it is for you to share in person, but that you’re trying. I know Lizzy and Cassandra. They will understand.”
Henry sat back, his eyes on some distant spot as the idea took seed in his mind.
“That’s perfect, isn’t it? I mean, they’ll at least stop staring at me so oddly when I do try to communicate.”
Walker laughed a little.
“Is that still happening?”
Henry even managed to chuckle.
“Cassie nearly filled her lap with hot tea the other morning. I thought I should confine my comments to when she’s standing on solid ground with only a book or flower in her hand.”
Walker saw great humor in this, and it took some moments before they went on to the other verses he had looked up. Henry determined to memorize a few of them and trust God to remind him when they were needed. All in all, the men spent four hours together. By the time Henry left, he was very tired, but God was changing his heart, he could tell. And he also had the comfort of knowing that Walker was expecting him the very next week.
“Does your heart overflow with awe for our Creator God?” Pastor Hurst asked the congregation on Sunday morning. “Look at chapter 1, verse 9. ‘And he said unto them, I am an Hebrew; and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, which hath made the sea and the dry land.’
“Did you catch that? Look at the way Jonah describes his God. ‘The Lord, the God of heaven, which made the sea and dry land.’ This is not just any old god. And now look at verse 10. ‘Then were the men exceedingly afraid, and said unto him, Why hast thou done this? For the men knew that he
fled from the presence of the Lord, because he had told them.’
“The moment they hear whom Jonah serves, they are terrified. No matter what they had believed in up to this time, they knew this was not the same. This was not some stone variety god that sits mute on a pedestal somewhere in their home or on the hillside of their village. This God was real and alive, and He’d made the sea that was working to smash their ship to pieces. Why do I know this? Verse 11, ‘Then said they unto him, What shall we do unto thee, that the sea may be calm unto us? For the sea wrought and was tempestuous.’
“They weren’t just offering lip service here. They asked Jonah what they could do to appease this huge Creator God. And what does he tell them? That’s right, throw him overboard. But they don’t want this murder on their hands, and they do all they can to avoid that.”
Pastor Hurst took a small breath. He was so excited about what he’d been studying that he feared he would rush ahead of himself and miss a point. He made himself calm down before going on.
“The reason I’m so excited about Jonah right now is that I’ve spent way too many years concentrating on the prophet. Jonah was so flippant in his response to God, but the people he spoke with about his God fell to their knees. I’ve always read Jonah and thought to myself, ‘That’s right, Jonah, you can’t run from God.’ And amid that thought I’ve missed the example of both the sailors and the people of Nineveh in terms of repentance. No light response there. Their reaction is staggering: terror, fear, belief, repentance.
“I’ve been struck anew by how lukewarm my own response can be. Am I as awestruck as I need to be? Do I understand the magnificent God in whom I am to delight? I love these sailors. I love their immediate response. I don’t want to have a tempest rising up on all sides of me in order for God to get my attention, but if that’s what it takes, I’m willing. I’m willing for God to do whatever He must so I can understand and obey Him better.”
Henry sat very still through this sermon, knowing he was lacking in this area. He knew that he was too comfortable with life as it was. Such comfort kept him from looking at God as He needed to be viewed.
Beside him, Lizzy sat with thoughts of her own. She had fallen back to thinking about Morland almost constantly and had become discontented. She knew she was wrong. All those times she’d been concentrating on herself—telling herself she was lonely and whatnot—she could have been thinking on the awesome God who loved her.
Cassandra was in bad shape as well. She wasn’t yearning for someone far away, but she was so busy with life in Collingbourne that lately she wasn’t taking nearly as much time with her Bible and prayer. She too was missing out on the awesome God who had saved her.
The sermon ended in a song and then a long time of quiet prayer. All three members of the Steele family took the prayer time seriously. Cassandra and Lizzy smiled at each other when the service was over and even looked to Henry, who was looking down at both of them.
“I needed that,” he thought to say, causing both girls to become emotional. They turned with swift nods so as not to break down in church, and moved to visit with some of the church family.
“Mrs Thorpe?” Lizzy called, just catching that lady before she could climb into the coach to leave the churchyard.
“Hello, Elizabeth. Were you calling to me without my hearing you?”
“No, I called only once because I didn’t want my sister to hear.”
Harriet’s brows rose, but she remained quiet.
“Cassandra’s birthday is Friday. We’re having a very small party—just the three of us—but I did wonder if you and Mr Tate could join us.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t know.” That lady’s brow furrowed. “You said it would be small?”
“Very. If you join us, there will be five. Nothing lavish, just a few gifts and some conversation.”
“I shall check with Tate and let you know. Is that all right?”
“Certainly. And please, Mrs Thorpe, don’t pressure yourself or Mr Tate. Cassie doesn’t know I’ve asked you, so there won’t be any disappointment on her account.”
“And if we are able to come, would you want it kept quiet?”
Lizzy smiled slowly. “I think that might be fun.”
“Very well. I will send word tomorrow, and I’ll see to it that my reply goes only to you.”
“So good of you. Thank you.”
Lizzy waited until Mrs Thorpe’s coach pulled away, giving her a wave as she went. Her face looked serene as she stood in the churchyard, but in truth she suddenly wanted Mr Tate and his aunt to come to Cassandra’s birthday dinner very, very much.
Pembroke
“I would like to go,” Tate said. “I think it might do me good.”
“Cassandra doesn’t know anything about it, Tate. She won’t be disappointed if we’re not there.”
But I will be.
Harriet watched her nephew, not certain if she should say anything else.
“Do you feel I’ll be overtaxing myself?” Tate suddenly asked, his voice so humble that Harriet felt humbled herself.
“It occurs to me, Tate,” she spoke as the thoughts materialized, “that you are a better judge of such things. I want to cosset you. I want to go overboard with your rest, but you’re the one who knows if you’re taking it easy or not.”
Tate nodded.
“The doctor comes this week,” Harriet added, not certain he remembered.
“I did think of that, but thank you for the reminder. I will admit that I’m hoping for good news, but even if I don’t hear what I’d like, I need to carry on, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And now what does that have to do with Cassandra’s party, you’re wondering.”
“You read my mind.”
“I’ve done what the doctor has asked,” Tate observed, thinking aloud. “And I will continue to do so, trusting his authority on the matter. But progress with my eyes or not, unless the doctor forbids the action, I would like to go to Newcomb Park on Friday evening. I don’t see it as not resting, and quite frankly it would be nice to do something for someone else.”
“That’s a good decision, Tate. I’ll get word to Elizabeth Steele. It’s a secret, by the way.”
“Thank you for your counsel on the matter, Aunt Harriet, and for listening to my roving thoughts. Now, what shall we take for a gift?” With that, Tate was swiftly onto his next line of thought.
The two of them spent the rest of their lunch deciding on the perfect gift.
Chapter Nine
Newcomb Park
“Cassie, are you still awake?” Lizzy asked, opening the door a bit.
“Yes, Lizzy. Come in.”
It was rather late on Sunday night. Both Cassandra and Lizzy had been buried in books for the evening, and the time had run away from them. They parted in the hallway, bid each other goodnight, and closed their doors behind them. Lizzy, however, arrived in her room to find a letter on her pillow. The front read, For Elizabeth and Cassandra.
“It’s from Henry,” Lizzy said, now on the edge of her sister’s bed and unfolding the pages.
“And it’s to both of us?”
“Yes. Shall I read?”
“Please.”
“My dear sisters,” Lizzy began.
You might think it odd for me to address you in such a manner, especially when we occupy the same home, but because you are well familiar with my communication skills, I hope you will understand and forgive me.
I have been meeting at Blackburn Manor with James Walker for several weeks, and it was he who suggested I write and tell you about it. I know you visited him, Cassie, and you must never think me vexed at anyone save myself. To learn that you fear for my salvation causes me no end of pain, but I can see how easily your mind would stray to such a conclusion.
I have been under the false impression that I could merely act out my belief in Christ. I have lived my life believing I have little need of words. Proverbs 22:1 says, “A good name is rather to be cho
sen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold.” I think my reputation as a fair man who is honest in my business dealings and as an employer are valid, and I would not wish to trade that, but as Walker brought to my attention, how can I tell anyone about the love Christ has shown me if I never open my heart and share? I now find that I have been so silent in my faith that my own sisters don’t even know where I will spend eternity.
This letter is to inform you that I am working on this area of my life. As you can imagine, it does not come easily to me. Indeed, it is one of the most draining exercises I have ever endeavored. I have such great love for both of you, but telling you this in person is not something that comes naturally for me.
This letter is to beg your forgiveness and patience as I labor in this process, which I hope will lead to further righteousness in my life. I would covet your prayers, and I thank you for your ever-present kindness.
I would also be happy to answer any questions you may have. Please feel free to come to me.
With greatest affection,
Henry
The letter went to Lizzy’s lap as she finished. The sisters leaned close to each other as tears streamed unchecked down their cheeks. Amazed that he had so many words bottled up inside, the women struggled to rein in their emotions. Reaching for hankies, they took some time before either was under control.
Cassandra soundlessly rose from the bed. When she moved to the door, Lizzy followed. The shortest of knocks was placed against Henry’s bedroom door before Cassandra eased it open. Finding darkness within, she nevertheless spoke from the doorway.
“Henry?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, Henry,” Cassandra told him, unable to hold the tears that started again.
“Thank you, Cassie.”
“As do I, Henry,” Lizzy added, her own voice thick.
“Thank you, Lizzy.”
“Goodnight,” they both bid him before returning to Cassandra’s room.