All the Tea in China (6 page)

And while she did that, I did exactly as she suggested. After I had dressed, I chanced upon the Chinese version of the Gospel According to St. Luke that Mr. Snowe had given me. I thumbed its pages, marveling at the mysterious foreign characters. They held the very wisdom of God-breathed writing, surely no less in substance than my own authorized King James version. I concluded my prayers and contemplated instead on deciphering the curious Chinese characters.

I picked at my dinner that night, thinking about all the poor Flora and I had seen that day. What were they dining on this evening, if at all? Flora was right that their existence was squalid and, I must confess, somewhat repulsive. But I could not attach their circumstance to any lack of moral character on their part, as some did. The women kept their homes as tidy as possible and often tended to far more people than their strength allowed . . . not only children but parents, grandparents, and the occasional drunken husband.

The weight of these women’s fates seemed heavy on my shoulders, and I wanted to pitch forward into my sumptuous food and weep.

“Is everything all right, Izzy?”

“Oh, Uncle . . .”

He patted my hand. “If it will make you feel any better, I sent word to Mr. Snowe that I would return him to China with a contribution for his missionary efforts. Your recommendation was all I needed.”

“That is wonderful, but what have
I
to contribute?”

“Why, whatever is in my name is in yours as well, dear Isabella.”

I shook my head. “If you could have but seen the women and children in need of the common things . . .”

Uncle Toby’s expression softened. “I have tried to shield you from such ugliness in life. The poor we will always have with us, true, but you were born to a better station. It is our responsibility, of course, to help those less fortunate, but you must not let it discourage you from leading your own life.”

“But I have no life,” I mumbled. I was close to wallowing in self-pity, a most undesirable state, but the emotions of the day had coupled with my own.

Flora bustled to the table, teapot in hand. “Miss Isabella, would you like some tea? It is a special blend straight off His Majesty’s most recently arrived East India ship. Cook got it at the market just today.”

“Where is the tea from?” I inquired listlessly. “India, I suppose.”

Flora shook her head, smiling as though to burst her apron strings. “China! Wouldn’t Mr. Snowe be impressed?”

I glanced at Flora, and the beginnings of a smile tipped my mouth. She stared at me. “Miss Isabella, are you all right?”

I turned my attention to Uncle Toby, a full smile in bloom now.

“Izzy?”

I clasped my hands in my lap, trying vainly to contain my joy. “I prayed that God would show me my purpose today, Uncle.”

“And?”

“The tea! It is from China. Just like the Gospel According to St. Luke that Mr. Snowe gave me. My pink slippers also were presented to me with Chinese letters.”

Uncle Toby and Flora stared at me.

Did they not understand? It was obviousness itself. “All three are answers to my prayer. I know what my purpose is! God intends for me to travel to China with Phineas Snowe’s missionary group.”

Teapot in hand, Flora stood frozen. Uncle Toby as well, until a smile lit his face. “I cannot discount any message from the Lord, but you
are
prone to spontaneity, Isabella. I must wonder if your deduction has been reached in haste.”

“I cannot believe it has been. I feel such a . . .” I drew in a deep breath. “A
rightness
about this.”

Flora set the teapot on the table and fled the room, apron at her mouth.

“Why, what is wrong with Flora?” I said.

Uncle reached across the table to take my hand. “It is not every day that a gently bred young woman announces her intentions to give up civil life for that of a missionary. In a country halfway around the world, no less.” His expression softened. “I have my own doubts, Isabella.”

My resolve crumbled. I thought they would be pleased. “But . . . it is a worthy calling.”

“Indeed it is. For someone like Phineas Snowe. He is a single man with no encumbrances of family.”

“As am I! . . . Except that I am not a man, of course.”

“Of course. But my dear, have you forgotten Flora and me? Your sister Frederica and her family—Lewis, your nephew?”

I doubted that, of all people in Britain, little Lewis would mind my absence. “I would miss you all, Uncle, but my religious duty must come first.”

“God and king, Isabella?” Uncle smiled.

I nodded. “Please, would you speak to Mr. Snowe on my behalf to ask if I might sail with his missionary group? He told Flora and me that they are to leave in two days. Surely it is not too late for me to join them.”

“Well . . .”

“Please, Uncle.” I tried to signal my earnestness with my expression. I would never resort to the lowly feminine trick of tears, but to my surprise, moisture welled in my eyes.

Uncle Toby, who could spare me little and knew that I seldom asked for much, sighed. “I will ask him, Isabella. Your agreement must be that you will abide by his decision if he says no. I will warn you in advance that I believe that will indeed be his answer.”

Joy lightened my heart. Of course he would say yes! Had he not complimented me today on my patience as I held squirming, squalling children and fed feeble elderly mouths? His answer would be yes just as surely as it was already God’s!

3

You may think me insane to have wanted a future with Phineas Snowe, since he was most peculiar. I marveled at my decision as well, but I can recount with all honesty that Snowe was a different man when he was about the Lord’s work. He spoke gently with the poor, offering comfort and aid.

His assistant, Julia Whipple, also did the missionary society proud. I did not care for the dark brown clothing she wore, but I supposed it was necessary for the required physical labor of a missionary and as good a detriment to a lady’s vanity as anything. Miss Whipple spoke little but dispensed food and medicines and bandages with a shy, cheerful demeanor that greatly lifted the spirits of the destitute, I am certain. I longed to serve beside her in China.

Besides, surely Snowe and I would not have to work in close proximity.

Uncle sent word to him that very night, at my insistence, of course. I am happy to report that I did not resort to tears; indeed I was ashamed that they had manifested themselves earlier. I choose to believe that Uncle Toby thought them merely strong evidence of my sincere desire to serve the Lord in China.

I knew that no answer would be forthcoming from Snowe that evening, yet I waited with keen impatience. One of Uncle’s friends, a dean from another college at Oxford, called on us after dinner. With no family of his own, Erasmus Howe often warmed himself before our fire and exchanged intellectual conversation.

I tried in vain to work at an embroidery Flora had insisted I begin, but the threads refused to lie flat. My fingers, representatives of my inner being I am certain, trembled with eagerness for Snowe’s answer. Normally I enjoyed Mr. Howe’s visits, for he was too old to disapprove of my joining the discussion with Uncle Toby. Tonight, however, I found no pleasure in even their spirited argument about the philosophy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

“The development of the sciences and arts have contributed to society’s moral corruption,” Howe said, wagging his finger.

Uncle Toby shook his head. “Old friend, I am afraid you overlook the inherent evil of man himself. His academic and aesthetic reaches are only reflections of corruption, not the root cause.”

“Bah!” Howe crossed his arms. He turned to me. “What say you, Isabella? Will you not side with me?”

I set my embroidery in my lap, sighing. “I am afraid I have no worthwhile opinion tonight at all, Mr. Howe. If I were to choose sides, however, I would say that each of you possesses a modicum of truth in that your belief is so fervent.”

“So then belief is all that is wanted for truth?” Howe twisted further toward me, settling in for further discussion.

“Isabella, would you please ask Flora for some more tea?” Uncle Toby asked softly, gesturing toward the doorway with his eyes.

I gratefully laid the embroidery aside altogether and rose. I would have hurried off to find Flora right away, but something told me to tarry. I was not given to eavesdropping, but Uncle Toby’s dismissal had been extraordinarily abrupt.

“What is wrong with Isabella tonight?” Howe said. “She does not seem quite herself.”

Uncle Toby sighed. “She wants to go to China.”

“China! Whatever for?”

“She has a notion that God intends for her to become a missionary. Because of Phineas Snowe and his fellow servants of the Lord, she is convinced that is her calling, as well.”

“But perhaps it is!” Howe said. “Admit it, Fitzwater. You would welcome the chance to travel again.”

A long pause ensued. “I would,” Uncle finally said. “Even at my advanced age, I wish I could travel to the Continent. With the war on, it would not be safe to take Isabella. But, oh, to visit France again. Germany. Italy.” He sighed. “So many places of historical interest. So much literature to be read in their original languages.”

“Can you not let Isabella decide about the risk for herself?”

I shamelessly moved closer to the door.

“Even so, she would be a burden,” Uncle Toby said. “I would be obliged to look after her welfare to the point that my research would be impeded. No, Howe, I am afraid it is a dream that will remain unrealized.”

I shivered as though someone had pushed me outside into the cold. Poor Uncle Toby. I was apparently an impediment to his resumption of the life he had lost so many years ago when Frederica and I were thrust upon him. Oh, how the reality of my spinsterhood these recent days must have rankled.

“Isabella!”

I started. “Flora. You gave me a fright.”

“Whatever are you doing away from the fire?” She wrapped her shawl closer about her shoulders. “It is a chill night.”

To be certain.

“I . . . I was looking for you, Flora. Uncle Toby has requested more tea.”

“I was on my way into the study to see if more was needed. I am sorry you were indisposed.”

Hearing Uncle and Howe’s chatter in the room beyond, I drew Flora away, whispering, “It is well that I was, for I have learned an unsettling truth.”

Flora clapped a hand over her mouth. “Phineas Snowe will not take you.”

“No!” I glanced over my shoulder to make certain we had not been overheard. I lowered my voice. “At least, I do not yet know his answer.”

“Then what?” Flora took my hands in hers and rubbed them. “Lord love you, child, you are chilled. Tell me about this dreadful truth you have learned.”

I repeated Uncle Toby’s exact words. Flora ceased rubbing my hands yet still held them. “You know that he did not mean for you to hear that, Isabella.”

“Of course he did not. Uncle Toby would not hurt my feelings for the world. But I cannot ignore his own desires and dreams.”

“His desires and dreams are your well-being. They have been such since the day you and your sister arrived in this home.”

“I heard his words, Flora,” I insisted. “If he would not hurt my feelings, I would not hurt his.”

Flora gave my hands a final pat and released them. “It will all be well, dear one.”

I repeated her words to myself as I lay in bed that night. Just before sleep overtook me, I reminded myself that God had called me to be a missionary in the Far East. Phineas Snowe would send an affirmative answer that I could join his group, and both Uncle Toby and I would have our lives laid out for us. Why did I worry when both our problems would soon be solved?

The letter arrived the next morning. Flora showed it to me, and we examined it together. Addressed to Uncle Toby in florid handwriting and sealed with the wax impression of a cross, it could only be from Phineas Snowe.

I clutched the letter between my hands. “Oh, Flora, this is my future life. Where is Uncle Toby?”

“I believe he’s in the study with one of the students—” I hurried down the hallway.

“Though I do not think he would care to be disturbed!” Flora called after me.

Outside the closed study door, I drew up short. I raised my hand to knock, then took a moment to straighten my skirt, pat my hair, and compose myself. Then I knocked. When Uncle Toby gave me entrance, despite my best efforts, I fairly flew through the door. I am not sure who looked more startled—Uncle Toby or his student, James Beatty. Beatty was an overly anxious young student who often turned red in the face, particularly in my presence. My impression of him was as a large puppy with feet still too big for its bearing.

Uncle Toby adjusted his spectacles and closed the book he and Mr. Beatty studied. “Here,” I said without preamble. “It must be my answer.”

Uncle Toby accepted the paper. “Mr. Beatty, we have studied enough for the day.”

“Yes, sir,” Beatty said. “Thank you, sir.”

Uncle Toby waited until the young man had presented us with a fumbling bow, then stumbled his way from the room. I took the chair he had vacated and leaned toward Uncle while he used an opener to unseal the wax. His expression never betrayed his emotion as he read. How long could the missive be?

“Well?” I finally asked.

Uncle Toby removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes with one hand, then put the spectacles back in place. “He says no.”

Hope dashed, stomach churning, I reached for the letter. “He said
no
?”

Uncle handed the paper to me, and I scanned the lines, reading aloud.
“. . . flattered that she envisions herself . . .
however . . . gently bred . . . certain she will make a fortunate
gentleman a caring wife . . . sail tomorrow . . . wish you both
God’s blessings . . . your generous contribution will not go un-rewarded
. . .”

Dazed, I let the paper fall to my lap. This rejection was far worse than David Ransom’s. Or Catherine’s, for that matter.

“I am sorry, Isabella. Surely it is for the best.”