The Soul of the Rose (28 page)

“Can I serve you tea, Mr. Lyons?” Mrs. Baker asked. “It won’t take but a minute to prepare.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself.”

“Well then, Miss Waul, do you need anything? Please, just say so.” Miss Waul shook her head. “All right, then.” She turned to walk down the hall.

“Won’t you sit here, Mr. Lyons?” Miss Waul indicated a chair near his former mother-in-law. “I can take this by the window.”

“Thank you.” Edward took the proffered seat. He looked at his old neighbor lying silently in bed. “Mrs. Divers?” She continued to breathe in a labored fashion, coughed, not bothering to cover her mouth.

Miss Waul rose from the chair she had just taken and came over to his side. “She isn’t too responsive, I’m afraid,” she said in an undertone. “But I’m sure she can hear you just the same. She hasn’t been herself since the fire. Just go ahead and say what you have to say.” She turned to her mistress and said loudly, “Mrs. Divers, Mr. Lyons is here to see you. Remember how he rescued you from the fire? We certainly want to thank him, don’t we?” She turned to Edward once again. “We do thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of our hearts. I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come.” Her voice caught. She reached over to grasp his hand resting on the chair’s arm.

He thought it an extraordinary gesture considering their past association. He looked up at her and smiled.

Edward then turned to the woman on the bed and cleared his throat. “Madam, how are you doing?” When she remained silent, he said, “You weathered quite an ordeal. I hope your condition is stabilizing.” He waited for her response. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “The reason for this visit is not only to see how you are faring, but to say something I should have said long ago. It’s about Marguerite.”

At the sound of her daughter’s name, Mrs. Divers’s eyes opened and as he waited, her eyes began to water. He stared at the tears. Suddenly, he knew Celia had been right, saw something of the terrible pain of this mother when her daughter died. Had never fathomed it before.

Mrs. Divers had truly loved her daughter, grieved at her passing, and he had—suddenly, his past hard-heartedness shocked him. He saw himself as Celia must have seen him. No wonder she’d misgivings, had held herself off from him.

Sitting there, he hardly knew what to say, but disjointed thoughts started spewing out. “Mrs. Divers, I’m sorry. About your daughter and all that happened. I never understood your pain in losing her.” He faltered, but then pushed on. “And I’m sorry for my part in her unhappiness. I didn’t love her as I should. And not to let you visit each other more often, that was wrong as well.” The room was quiet except for the sound of Miss Waul’s quick search for a handkerchief in her pocket. Edward asked, “Will you forgive me?”

His old neighbor stared at him, saying nothing. Tears began welling in her eyes. He reached across the coverlet and took one of her hands. “I am truly sorry.”

She closed her eyes.

In the strained silence, Miss Waul abruptly rose and came over. “Mr. Lyons, how very kind of you. On behalf of Mrs. Divers, I want to tell you how much we appreciate your saying this. We appreciate it very much.”

Edward looked up at her. “Thank you.” Miss Waul was wiping tears from her eyes. Here was one who was glad for his words. If he hadn’t come for anyone else, then he had come for her. He was about to say something else, then thought better of it. Instead, he leaned over to his old neighbor. “I will leave you now and hope the good Lord will minister to your healing.” He squeezed her hand gently, then rose.

“Will you accompany me into the hall for a few moments, Miss Waul?”

Outside the room, he asked, “What are your plans for the future? Is Mrs. Divers well enough to be moved?”

“Mrs. Baker and I talked that over. As soon as Mrs. Divers recovers sufficiently and can travel, we think it best she go to her sister’s. It would be a train trip of some hours. I don’t think she has it in her to return to her own home. To rebuild, I mean. You’ve seen how she is.”

“Yes. Do you need things from the house? I could send Mrs. Macon to help you sort through clothes and such to send with Mrs. Divers. And help wash them, I imagine they are smoke-stained.”

“I’ve been to the house for just the necessities. It is disheartening. But I’m grateful the neighbor men have been so good as to cover and board up things where they could.”

“If you need help packing boxes or a trunk to send with Mrs. Divers, I could send Ned. And he can take you to the train in my carriage and carry the trunk and boxes in our wagon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lyons, you are most kind. I’d been wondering about these things, but didn’t want to burden anyone.”

“What are neighbors for?” He smiled. “Ah, something else. Does Mrs. Divers have enough funds for traveling? Do you? I would like to give you money for the trip if you need it. That would be one way I could make amends as her former son-in-law. Help take care of her, you know.”

“Oh, Mr. Lyons, that is most generous. I think she has money enough, but thank you, thank you so much. It is such a relief to me personally to think that such a man as yourself is looking out for us.”

“Well, it’s the least I could offer—” He waved away her thanks. “One other question. After you bring Mrs. Divers to her sister, what will you do?”

“I imagine I will stay a few days to help her adjust and then I think I best move on. I will apply as companion in another situation.”

“I’d be glad to write a reference. You have been devoted to Mrs. Divers.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who would be companion to Mrs. Divers could attend almost anybody.”

Miss Waul looked up at him and smiled. Gratitude shone from her eyes.

“I will send Mrs. Macon over in a day or so. Don’t hesitate to ask her to do anything. She will be instructed to help in whatever way she can. I will take leave of you now.” He inclined his head in a slight bow. Miss Waul accompanied him down the hallway.

He stood on the stoop a moment after she closed the door. Who would have thought a week ago he would apologize to his former mother-in-law? And have the degree of good-fellow feeling he now had?

It had been that dreadful fire. And Celia’s benevolent influence.

The familiar figure of a boy caught his attention, casually picking flowers out of a neighbor’s yard two doors down. Loydie. Edward watched, amused. The boy roughly arranged the flowers, and kneeling at a flat rock, took a pocket knife and cut the stems even. Edward strolled down the flagged path, then stopped at the front gate. The boy came up as Edward was undoing the latch.

“Hello, Loydie. I haven’t seen you since our adventure the other day. I’m glad you asked for help.”

“Hello, Mr. Lyons. Sure glad you were there.”

He looked closely at the boy, and remembered something. Mrs. Macon had been upstairs when Loydie ran into the house for help. Apparently, the boy had just let himself in. Well! “Flowers for Mrs. Divers?”

“Yeah. I know she likes them. Might cheer her up.”

“I’m sure they will.” Loydie stepped aside to let him pass through the gate, then went through himself and walked up to the house.

With a friend like you, Edward thought, I’m sure she’ll be well served, even if it’s at the neighbor’s expense. Suddenly he wondered if it had been Loydie who’d helped himself to his roses. He glanced back at the boy who had just knocked on the door. Mrs. Baker opened and a wide smile spread over her face. Apparently, he’d cheer up more than just the two old ladies. Well, all to the good.

Edward threw his head against the headrest of his desk chair. It had been a hell of a week. His hand involuntarily reached for the letter opener, then threw it back on the desktop. He
didn’t
like that word, why had it come to mind?

It was the fire. A hell for him.

He’d told Celia’s father he wasn’t sure there was a heaven or hell.

“But what if there is?” Mr. Thatcher had asked. “Are you willing to take a chance on something as important as that? And if heaven and hell do exist, are you confident in determining your way of getting to the former?” Mr. Thatcher’s pointed look had pierced Edward’s soul. “Why not consider what the Bible says?”

The man would brook no evasiveness.

Edward knew Boston Brahmins were a proud, self-sufficient lot. Their place in society, their money were very important to them. That might answer for this life, but what about eternity? Had they, in reality, conceived their own way of salvation? Were they that presumptuous?

He stared across his well-appointed library, at his books. All this knowledge at his fingertips.

Thoughts ran back and forth through his mind. He hadn’t felt this confused since very young. How could he gain clarity on this? He wanted someone to talk with, someone wise. Someone—like Celia.

How he respected her. Her sensitivity, her purity, her quickness of mind. The fineness, the subtlety ingrained in her had drawn him to her. She would stand up to him, but at the same time listen to his viewpoint. Give him respect even when she disagreed. That satisfied something deep within.

Though she was not a Boston Brahmin, she could have been.

Curious that she agreed with beliefs his Puritan ancestors had held, beliefs his family no longer espoused. His family now had a more liberal view of mankind—views he had thought true—but were they? Celia made him question them, examine beliefs he had taken for granted.

He swung around in his chair and crossed the room to the fireplace with its settee and chairs. Scanning the third shelf, he found the Bible Celia had handled.

He purposely sat down on the settee where she had sat. Even though she was miles away, he would invoke the sense of her being here, next to him. He could see her smile, approve what he was about to do. He opened the Bible to Genesis.

28

C
elia hastily put Mrs. Harrod’s letter in her dresser drawer and ran down the stairs. After Edward’s visit, she’d been reticent to talk about him, even with Grandmother, but after this letter she felt emboldened, compelled in fact, to do so. She ran out the front door.

When she had begun reading the letter, her eye caught a beloved name.
Edward.
Mrs. Harrod wrote he’d rescued Mrs. Divers from a house fire, and now she had pneumonia and was near death. Something extraordinary was taking place in Edward. Celia wished she could discover what he was thinking. However, she could only wait and pray.

The letter continued:
You know, Celia, my son wrote little of his visit when he stopped at your home on the way to Boston. All he will say is that you are the best of friends. Of course, I had always hoped for more. . . .

Celia had glanced ahead at the letter’s closing,
Your friend
. She was grateful that despite Mrs. Harrod’s disappointment, she was keeping their friendship intact.

And then a surprise near the end.
Our friend Mrs. Adams has decided to take an extended trip in Europe. Said her husband had never taken her and she’s always wished to go. Strange, I thought she was interested in Edward, and for her to leave now, I just don’t understand.

Relief washed through Celia.

She raced up the steps to her grandmother’s front door. “Grandmother!” she called as she opened the door. Grandmother rose from her chair in the front parlor.

“Your coming is well-timed, my dear. I’ve been sitting here wondering when I’d have you to myself for a good visit.” She then gave Celia a significant look. “And you know what I want to talk about. We’ll do so over tea and gingersnaps.”

Minutes later Grandmother set down her teacup. “That man who stayed here—you didn’t do him justice. I declare, Celia, what a gentleman. He looked after me like I was his own grandmother. He didn’t stand on ceremony as I expected. Oh yes, I saw his Boston Brahmin upbringing. One couldn’t help see his refinement and strength of mind. But his affability and sense of taste, well, I could go on and on.”

“What did you talk about, Grandmother?”

“Well, everything, I would think. A lot about family, especially your family, what each of your brothers and sister is like. However, he wasn’t being inquisitive in an inappropriate sort of way. With myself, he was interested in what I valued and asked my opinion about things.”

Grandmother’s eyes twinkled. “Celia, he is the most charming man. I really don’t know how you withstood him. I think I’ve fallen a little bit in love with him myself.”

Impulsively, Celia reached out and grasped her grandmother’s hand to squeeze. She would have a strong ally in Grandmother. “Did you talk of spiritual matters?”

“I’m getting there. You know, just talking with him, being with him, I could understand how you would admire and love a man like that. Whenever he mentioned you in the slightest way—I could see how much he loved you, yearned after you.”

Her grandmother stopped, looked dreamily over Celia’s shoulder. “I think he and I were talking about my marriage to your grandfather. I told him your grandfather’s love for me was a picture of how God loves those who believe in Him.” Grandmother shifted in her chair. “At one point, I looked right at him and told him that a man’s love for his wife—well, Christ loves us in the same way, but even more so. He died for us. How can we reject so great a love?”

Tears came to Celia’s eyes. Leave it to Grandmother to get to the heart of a matter. How she loved her for it.

The older woman drew a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Celia, “There now.” Grandmother looked at her long, then added, “In our talk, we pretty much covered the ground.”

“Well, I would think you did!” Celia laughed, giving her nose a hard blow.

Grandmother’s eyes brightened. “Changing the subject, would you like to step outside and cut some flowers for your mother? My garden is bursting at the seams and I like to keep cutting to encourage more blooms. Maybe you can take some to poor Mrs. Jenkins. I hear her husband’s injury has kept her hopping with hardly time to do anything else. She could do with a bit of kindness, I think.”

A few days later Celia closed the door to Mr. Jenkins’s store. She had tidied up things to her satisfaction. “Should have broken my leg long ago,” he told her, “and had you come over to help. The store hasn’t been so well-organized in years.”

She was still smiling over his quip. He wouldn’t want to break his leg again under any circumstances, of that she was sure, but she loved his sense of humor.

As soon as she arrived home, she spied a letter on the hall table, addressed to her. The envelope was written in a familiar neat hand.

She scooped up the letter and walked briskly to the kitchen. Her mother was washing beans in a large bowl. “Mother, the letter from Mrs. Chestley, could I possibly read it before helping you?”

“Certainly.” Her mother’s lips curled up. “I’d like to hear anything you can share. I’m all curiosity.”

Celia gathered up her skirt and ran upstairs to her bedroom. Mrs. Chestley never wrote her, only to Mother. She settled herself in the chair near the window.

Dear Celia,

    I’m writing to say how much we miss you, especially my dear husband. He had thought I couldn’t be replaced in the bookstore until you came along. Now, he says you can’t be. You had such a way with the display window. I try to imitate you, but you always came up with new ideas. People tell me they came by the window just to see your arrangements. Hooray for you, my dear.

    Also, I heard Mrs. Harrod wrote you and I thought, why don’t I do the same, particularly when I know something of interest to you, something known only to my husband and myself.

    Mr. Lyons dropped by the bookstore yesterday and had a long conversation with my husband. He’s been reading the Bible straight through. Isn’t that amazing? He’d just finished the gospels. He talked as if Jesus were more than a good teacher. The account of His crucifixion moved him greatly. Now he is on to the book of Acts. I am so excited and will keep you apprised of any developments.

Edward! Immediately, Celia got down on her knees, hugging the letter to her as she knelt by the chair. She prayed his heart would be opening to the truth. Of how the Lord loved him. Dear Mrs. Chestley for writing her.

“Isn’t it wonderful our neighbors gave us all these cherries?” her mother said, putting aside a bowl for supper. “There’s nothing like eating fresh fruit in summer. And I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated your help this afternoon.” Celia caught her mother’s quizzical look. “You’ve been rather quiet. Nothing wrong, is there?”

Celia didn’t answer right away. “You remember that letter I received last week from Mrs. Chestley? Remember how she wished I would work for them again? Do you think there’s a possibility that will ever happen? They are such dears. I’m feeling now as if I’ve left them out on a limb.”

“But there’s Mr. Lyons.”

“Exactly.” Celia sighed.

Her mother wiped out a bowl before speaking. “We are promised the Word is ‘sharper than any two-edged sword, dividing bone from marrow.’ It does just that in a person’s thinking. In his heart. Who knows how Mr. Lyons’s perception of life might alter while reading the Bible? Where God’s concerned, my dear, there’s always hope.”

“Oh, Mother, I want it so.”

“Here’s a few cherries, I kept some aside for just us.” Her mother handed her a small bowl of the fruit, then sat down with her own dish.

Celia looked up. How beautiful Mother was. No wonder Father was still taken with her after all these years. How she hoped— She sighed again.

“Anything else on your mind?”

Celia laughed, felt a blush creep up her face. “I suppose so.I was thinking—when I first arrived some weeks ago and came into the study early, I noticed as if for the first time how affectionate Father was with you. How he loves you and wants to be with you. I had wondered about myself and. . . .”

Her mother pushed aside her bowl of fruit. “What a lovely thing to say about your father and me.” She looked at her daughter, smiled, then briskly suggested, “After we finish eating these, why don’t you take some to your grandmother. A walk will do you good. There are times in life when it doesn’t pay to sit around too much.”

Celia blushed again. “This is one of them?”

“Yes.” Her mother smiled. “And if it’s any comfort to you, I imagine Mr. Lyons needs to stay busy as well.”

“Oh, Mother!” Celia rose and hugged her hard.

Minutes later Celia placed a cloth over the basket of deep red fruit. She had wanted to talk with Grandmother again anyway.

She opened the white picket fence to her grandmother’s yard and ran up the front steps. Flinging open the door, she shouted, “Grandmother! I’ve a present for you.”

“I’m back in the kitchen!”

It felt good to be on such familiar terms. Celia cherished the strong, sweet connection between Grandmother and herself, and these feelings had strengthened since their heart to heart about Edward last week.

She entered the kitchen and plunked her basket of cherries on the table. Grandmother was stirring something on the stove.

Her grandmother looked up. “Pudding for you and the family. I had a feeling you might be over today, or soon at any rate, so decided to make some.” She gave one last stir and took it off the burner. “There, that needs to cool.”

“Just smell it. Our family favorite, old-fashioned vanilla.”

“And if it hasn’t cooled enough by the time you leave, you can send one of your brothers for it later.” Grandmother’s eyes sparkled. “But would you like a taste now?”

Moments later they sat by the table, each holding a miniature white crockery bowl containing the dessert. Celia dipped in her spoon, blew on it a little and carefully tasted the silky pudding. “Grandmother, this warms my insides as nothing else. Makes my visit doubly pleasurable.” After a few minutes, she carefully scraped out the last of the pudding, put her spoon down and gazed at Grandmother.

“Something’s on your mind,” her grandmother said briskly.

“Yes. It’s about—” Celia hesitated.

“Edward Lyons,” her grandmother finished.

“How did you guess?”

“I see it in your eyes. They shine. And there’s a restlessness about you. I can see the signs.”

“The signs?”

“Of someone in love.”

“Oh, Grandmother! I do so love him. But I promised myself that unless Ed—Mr. Lyons changed, I couldn’t go back to the Chestleys. I’m too much drawn to him. As hard as it is to be separated by all these miles, I do believe it would be harder to remain true to God and my convictions if I were around him.” She rose suddenly. “Those last few times we were together, I felt as if I—physically—” She felt her chest tighten. “I just wanted to be with him. Oh, Grandmother, what am I to do?” She put her hands to her face. Her shoulders quivered. “I didn’t want to leave him.”

“But you did leave. And it was right to do so, considering your differences. Before I go any further, dear, I want to say that whomever you marry, you will have differences. It’s a part of marriage. However, sharp differences in faith are too important to ignore. God’s Word must be heeded in this, or more unhappiness will breed than you care to deal with.”

“I couldn’t disobey God. That’s what decided me to come home.”

Her grandmother rose and said, “Somehow, I feel sure the Lord has used Mrs. Divers’s house fire in Edward’s life. We don’t always understand God’s dealings, but we can trust Him. Even when He uses extreme measures to accomplish His ends.” Then she held out her arms and held Celia hard and close.

An hour later, Celia closed the front door, considering what her grandmother had said. Decided, too, that whenever she needed comforting, she would go to Grandma’s.

She held the basket with care as she walked down the porch steps. Vanilla pudding had replaced the berries. It was still quite hot, but the basket made it easy to carry. Her brothers would crowd around her, if they were home, and she would be the center of attention. How she loved bearing gifts to her loved ones.