The Visitor (15 page)
“Good morning, Hastings. What is it like out today? I don’t hear rain.”
“It’s very nice just now. The sun is up and shining. I suspect it might get quite warm.”
It was their usual exchange on the weather conditions, but never was it just routine. Tate needed Hastings to give him these small details so that his mind could connect to life around him.
“Are you ready for your shave, sir?”
“Please.”
Tate sat patiently for this task, again appreciating the regularity of the routine.
“I expect Miss Steele today,” Tate mentioned, not noticing that he never addressed her as such. She had come to him as Cassandra, and Cassandra she had remained.
“Will you be in the library as usual?”
“I think we’ll start there, but if it’s very nice we might move to the veranda.”
“Very good, sir. I will see that all is in readiness.”
“Are you still looking for those books?”
“I am, sir. I believe I’ve tracked one of them down.”
Tate smiled. “Good. Keep it just between the two of us, and let me know as soon as you have even one of them.”
Taking pity on Hastings’ shaving efforts, Tate didn’t smile, but he wanted to. There would be time for smiling later, especially if the servant could locate the books Tate sought.
The Manse
“You look thoughtful,” Judith Hurst said to her husband over breakfast.
“I’m sorry.” His head came up when he heard her voice. “Did you just ask me something?”
“No, I only commented that you look thoughtful. Want to share?”
“What news have you had on Mr Tate?” he asked.
“Mrs Thorpe’s nephew? Nothing recently.”
“How often does the doctor check for improvement?”
“I’m not certain. Mrs Thorpe did tell me how much he enjoys your sermon notes, but we didn’t speak on his current condition.”
“I was just reading about Bartimaeus in Mark 10. When I read about his life, I’m always struck by my own tendency to take my sight for granted. Somewhere in there, Tate came to mind.”
“How do you pray for him, Frederick?” his wife asked.
“I ask God to restore his sight, or something better.”
Judith stared at her mate. She was so struck by his words that for a moment she was speechless.
How foolish I am, Lord,
she finally prayed,
to assume that the best for Tate is the return of his sight.
Judith did not continue to question Frederick. Indeed, she was silent for the remainder of the meal, thinking of all the wonderful things that could be better than having one’s sight restored.
Pembroke
“I’m so glad you came, Cassandra,” Harriet began, not able to keep the warble from her voice. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“As am I, Mrs Thorpe. Please forgive me.”
“No, dear, you misunderstand me. I came into the library and made poor assumptions. I won’t interfere with your reading to Tate again.”
“You are always welcome, I’m sure.”
Harriet hugged her. What a dear woman she was, her heart so ready to give and forgive.
Immensely relieved to have things settled, Cassandra left Tate’s aunt and made her way to the library. She half-expected Tate to ask her about the conversation, but he did not mention it. She reached for the newspaper, found an article she had not read to him, and began. It wasn’t a long one, but Tate still managed to interrupt.
“Would it be a terrible imposition to move outside?”
“Not at all,” Cassandra said honestly, thinking it was a perfect day. “Where would you like to go?”
“To the veranda at the rear of the house. I won’t need your arm while inside, but I hope you won’t mind helping me when we get out of doors.”
Tate came to his feet, as did Cassandra. She hesitated, not certain how to proceed, and then decided to ask.
“Mr Tate?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I go ahead of you in the house, or trail after you?”
Tate’s head bowed, almost as though he could look down on her.
“Are you sitting down?”
“No.”
Tate fought a smile. “You’re not very tall, are you?”
“Well, now, that depends,” Cassandra stated in good humor.
“On what?”
“On whom you’re asking.”
Cassandra watched a smile start at the corners of his mouth before he controlled it.
“All right, I’ll bite. Name someone who finds you tall.”
“I can name several: John Hurst, Lizzy Palmer, Penny Jennings, and Oliver Palmer, to name a few.”
“All right, we’ll start with John. He would be ten or eleven years old?”
Just holding laughter, Cassandra admitted, “I believe he’s six.”
Tate stopped trying to suppress his smile. It blossomed fully as he finished questioning her.
“And Lizzy?”
“Six also, I believe.”
“Penny?”
“She’s older.”
“Seven?”
“At least!” Cassandra told him.
“And who was at the end? Oliver?”
“Yes.”
“How old is he?”
Cassandra sighed. “I’m not sure. He’s still in nappies.”
The sound came again. In full volume, Tate’s laughter rang out, filling the room and spilling beyond. He did nothing to hide his merriment, and indeed, took some time to control himself.
“Are you still willing to read to me?” he finally calmed enough to ask.
“I shall have to tell you after we arrive on the veranda. If it’s as lovely as everything else at Pembroke, I might have to reconsider.”
“So it has nothing to do with me?”
“Of course not. You just told me I was short. You won’t be forgiven for days.”
Tate sighed dramatically. “I need to thank my Aunt Harriet for keeping such a fine home.”
“Yes, you should,” she continued to tease him. “Now, you never answered my question. Do I go ahead of you or come behind?”
“Just nearby should do the trick. If I’m going to upset something you can give a shout.”
Completely unnoticed by either of them, Harriet Thorpe stood outside the library and listened to their conversation. She watched them maneuver their way to the hall and toward the door that would lead them outside, her hand coming to her throat.
If I had chased her away, Lord. If I had done something and she’d never returned…
Harriet couldn’t go on. The thought was too painful. She simply hadn’t seen what was happening. Her eyes had not noticed how greatly Tate had come to need his visitor.
“Oh, my,” Cassandra said quietly when they were settled out-of-doors.
“You must be looking at the gardens or the architecture,” Tate guessed.
“Both. They’re unbelievable.”
“How are the flowers this year?”
“Simply lovely. Here,” Cassandra plucked a pink bloom from one of the many ornate planters. “Smell this.” She placed it into Tate’s hand and watched.
Tate raised it to his face and smiled.
“Very nice.”
“Do you like flowers and gardening and such?”
“Yes. I have a large garden in London. Why do you ask?”
“The reviews are so mixed in my family. Lizzy doesn’t care for flower arranging or for puttering in the garden. Neither does Henry. But Edward and I love it.”
“There’s one more sister, isn’t there? What about her?”
“Charlotte. She loves gardens. When she married Barrington, she told him she would fill the church with flowers, and she did.”
“Where have they made their home?”
“They’re still traveling, but they’ll settle in Bath.”
“Have you seen them lately?” Tate asked, having caught a wistful tone.
“No, not since the wedding. They write every so often.”
Tate might have been readying to say something more, but Cassandra felt she had talked enough about herself.
“Are you ready for the rest of this article?”
“Yes, please.”
The experience took on a whole new meaning in the out-of-doors. The incessant ticking of numerous clocks was replaced by the natural sound of birds and insects. Cassandra’s voice even sounded different without the four walls to hold it in.
Tate tried to concentrate, but today it wasn’t working. He ended up just sitting back, his legs stretched out, the sun on his head, listening to the husky sound of Cassandra’s voice as it floated over him. At that moment in time, he thought he could go forever without his sight and not miss a thing.
“Come and see me this week, will you, Steele?” Walker invited just before church on Sunday.
“Certainly. What day?”
“Wednesday. Does that work for you?”
“I’ll plan on it.”
Sitting in the pew and waiting for the service to start, Cassandra was completely unaware of this exchange. She had prayed for her brother since visiting with Walker and wondered still if she’d done the right thing, but each time she was tempted to worry, she remembered how tragic it would be to have Christ return before Henry could be counted as one of His own.
Even if he’s angry with me, I have to do all I can to make sure he knows You, Lord. Help Mr Walker to have just the right words. Help Henry’s heart to be open.
