The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark (74 page)

“It would be nice to receive some mail for a change,” Noelle told him. “I’m the only person at the
Larkspur
who never gets any.”

“Do you think I could bring a picnic lunch here every other week or so? We could sit on the stoop during your lunch break.”

“Isn’t it the woman’s place to provide the food?”

“It still would be,” he replied with a sheepish expression. “Mrs. Coggins, my cook, indulges me shamefully.”

Noelle laughed. “Then I suppose we have all the rules agreed upon.” And this time she had no hesitancy in reaching across her desk to offer her hand. “It’s settled?”

“Settled,” he said. But then he paused thoughtfully, still holding her hand. “But not quite.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it possible that we could address each other by our given names? As long as we’re friends?”

“That sounds lovely to me, Paul.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Thank you, Noelle.” Then he left as promised. Noelle went to the window and watched him unhitch his horse from the post. He looked up, smiled and waved, and she waved back.

Early the next evening when Noelle arrived at the
Larkspur
from the library, Sarah told her that there was a letter on her writing table.
He certainly doesn’t let grass grow under his feet
, she thought on her way upstairs to her attic room. But the envelope was from London and in her mother’s script. Noelle sat on her bed and stared at it for a little while before breaking the seal.

It was quite lengthy, filled with news of her siblings, the servants, and some members of the congregation. Only in the last paragraph was it mentioned that, while her parents were overjoyed to learn of her changed lifestyle and did certainly forgive her, it would be best if she waited a while longer before visiting. Memories were still fresh, her mother explained.

Noelle grieved over the letter all during supper and even the next day while at work. It was the
visiting
part that stung the worst. She had not asked for permission to move back with the family, but it would have been nice had the invitation been extended. But when she went up to her room again, she sat down and wrote, thanking them for their forgiveness and assuring them that she understood.
Just tell me when you’re ready for me to come for a visit, and I will
.

From the top of her wardrobe she took down her biscuit tin and put her mother’s letter in it.
I should ask Mrs. Beemish for another tin, just for Paul’s letters
, she thought. The calendar picture caught her eye, and she took it out and touched it lovingly. If she had not found Truesdale, which had only existed in a little girl’s imagination anyway, she had found a place very close to it.

“When did you know for certain?” Jacob asked Lydia on Saturday as they finished their lunch atop a flat sandstone boulder. It was a perfect day to be overlooking the village, warm and breezy, with clouds as white as wool dotting the sky.

Lydia’s father and Mr. Ellis, trading jokes and stories of old times, had waved them on. Lydia supposed the two wanted to savor as much as possible of the working camaraderie that had developed between them. Next Monday several archeologists from the Archeological Association would be arriving in Gresham to join the excavation. The trips up the hill—and Lydia and her father had taken several over the past month—would likely be curtailed for fear of getting in the way.

“When did I know what?” Lydia asked after swallowing the last bite of a boiled egg.

“You know. How you…felt.”

Smiling to herself, Lydia marveled that her fiancé could still get flustered when speaking of their relationship. And some mischievous impulse caused her to reply, “About what, Jacob? Parliament?”

“No, about—” He lowered a dark eyebrow suspiciously. “You’re doing this on purpose, Lydia. Aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You are your father’s daughter,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.

She dabbed at the corner of his mouth with her napkin. “And
you
have mayonnaise on your face.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Brushing crumbs from the skirt of her mauve poplin, Lydia discovered herself to be just as flustered. She folded the napkin and tucked it in the corner of the basket for an excuse not to look at his face. “I knew I loved you the day you lent me your handkerchief. I just wasn’t aware that I knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if I can explain it.” She looked up at him. “All I can say is, when I finally realized my feelings, they came as no surprise. It was like waking up with a fever, and then realizing that for the past few days I’d felt out of sorts.”

His brown eyes became teasing. “So, in other words, you equate your feelings for me with an illness?”

“Dear me, no. One hopes to recover from an illness.”

Jacob’s laugh rang out—so loudly that it seemed the villagers below them should cock their heads attentively and smile. “Beauty and wit. I like that in you.”

Now Lydia could feel her cheeks grow warm. Looking down at the hands folded in her lap, she replied, “Please don’t make sport of me, Jacob.”

“And modesty, too, I forgot to add.” He gently took her chin and turned her face so they were looking at each other again. With all seriousness he said, “Please stop trying to deny me the pleasure of telling you how beautiful you are, Lydia.”

“It’s just that it’s not so.”

“It
is
so, Lydia Clark, soon-to-be Pitney,” he said quietly, releasing her chin.

“Very well,” she responded to humor him. And then to change the subject, she asked when he was sure of his affection for her.

“The day Mrs. Tanner opened the door and told me you were leaving. I feared I would never see you again.”

“I’m glad you found the dagger when you did.” Lydia smiled at him. “One day later, and we wouldn’t be sitting here together now.”

“I would have gone to Glasgow for you.”

“You would have?”

“Absolutely. But I’m glad that wasn’t necessary.” He leaned back upon his arms, looked out upon Gresham, and let out a deep, contented sigh. “This has been a perfect day, Lydia. I’ll miss you and your father coming up to join us.”

“And I will as well.”

“I almost feel as if we should be reciting poetry to each other.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Almost.”

“Never did take a liking to poems,” came a familiar paternal voice from behind.

Lydia turned to smile at her father and Mr. Ellis coming to join them.

“Me neither,” agreed Mr. Ellis as Jacob handed him the stillheavy lunch basket Mrs. Tanner had sent up with them. The two men waved aside his offer of the boulder and settled upon the grass with creaks of aged knees. “Most are either sickeningly sentimental or depressingly morbid.”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Lydia protested.

Her father nodded agreement with Mr. Ellis. “Then give us one that isn’t, daughter.”

“Yes, Lydia,” Jacob told her, his eyes merry with challenge. “Give us one that isn’t.”

“Very well. I’ll just need a minute.”

“A minute she needs,” Mr. Ellis laughed. “Take all the time you wish, Miss Clark. Just bear in mind that we have to leave here at sunset.”

The men chuckled at this bit of wit while Lydia pressed her fingers to her temples and mentally sorted through the myriad of poems she had memorized over the years. Suddenly the perfect one came to mind.

“Very well,” she said. “I have one that you’ll all enjoy.”

“No one dies at the end, does he?” Mr. Ellis asked, causing more male chuckles.

“No. At least no human.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

With a smile for each, Lydia began.

At River Bryce a tortoise bit my toe,
I danced and roared but it would not let go…

Chapter 47

Six months later on the first Saturday afternoon in February, Saint Jude’s lone bell broke the snow-numbed stillness of the village. It was the signal for the congregation to don coats and gloves and, with pinkened cheeks and reddened noses showing between the space of cap and muffler, leave their fireplaces for the joyous occasion of a wedding.

Instead of at the open main doorway, Andrew stood to greet people just inside the nave, allowing the vestibule to be a buffer between the warm air of the nave and the frigid air outside. He had asked Julia to stand with him, and so the Phelps family were the first to arrive besides Mr. Sykes, who kept the stove fires going.

“Here, Grace, your locket is facing backward,” Julia said, motioning the girl closer. No matter how much time they gave themselves to dress, it always seemed at least one of the children managed to leave the house needing repairs to his or her appearance. She had the girl turned around in front of her and was squinting at the tiny catch on the gold chain when the vestibule door opened. Laurel and Aleda smothered giggles with their hands.

“Girls!” Andrew scolded in a hushed voice. “Remember where you are!”

“But Philip…”

“Philip what?” the boy asked, entering and quickly closing the door behind himself.

Julia smiled and even Andrew let out a chuckle, for Philip’s auburn hair stuck out in all directions. He put a hand up to his head and frowned. “It’s my cap.”

“You’re just going to have to spit on your hands and smooth it down,” Andrew told him.

“Andrew!” Julia said, shocked.

“Well it’s either that or go outside and get a handful of snow. He can’t walk around looking like a porcupine.”

“I’ll go back in there,” the boy said, heading back toward the vestibule and sending injured looks to all three sisters, for even Grace had joined in the giggling.

The locket straightened, Julia leaned down to brush a fold from the hem of Aleda’s green satin gown, her Christmas dress. The girls then went up the aisle to sit in the second pew, today reserving their usual places in the front row for the families of the bride and groom. Philip came back through the doorway, looking much neater and accompanied by Ben Mayhew.

“My family’s on their way,” the boy explained, his cheeks tinted pink from either the cold or self-consciousness as Andrew shook his hand. “I thought I would come on ahead and get a good seat.”

“Very prudent of you,” Andrew observed with a nod toward the rows and rows of empty pews.

After sending her husband a quick warning glance, Julia smiled at the boy. “It was good of you to come, Ben. I realize boys your age don’t care for weddings.”

“I’m actually starting to like them,” Ben assured her.

“And we know what that means,” Andrew whispered as the two boys moved toward the front. “I don’t care for the idea of Ben and Laurel sitting together. It might give them ideas.”

“It’s too late to do anything about that, Andrew.” Apparently the poetry Ben continued to send Laurel had won her heart. At least he was a decent young man, and if they did indeed marry some time in the future, he would make her a fine husband.
But if he moves her across the country, I don’t know how I’ll manage her father
.

The door opened, and Elizabeth and Jonathan walked through it. “Hello…Papa, Julia!” Elizabeth greeted, looking surprisingly robust for having given birth six weeks ago. They exchanged embraces and kisses, and Jonathan surrendered the blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms to Andrew, who cooed down at the face of his grandson, John Andrew Raleigh.

When it was Julia’s turn to hold the newborn, the child stared back at her with innocent blue eyes and worked his tiny bow mouth as if to speak to her. She laughed and pressed a kiss against the soft little forehead.
Why didn’t anyone tell me how wonderful it is to have a grandchild?
she thought. But other families could be heard entering the vestibule, and she had to give the baby back to Elizabeth.

“Why don’t you sit between Laurel and Ben?” Andrew suggested as they started up the aisle.

“I beg your pardon?” Jonathan turned to ask.

Andrew sighed. “Never mind. I might as well try to stop a moving train.”

“What train?”