Today's Embrace (13 page)

Missionaries—Dr. Jakob van Buren came to mind again, and her heart beat faster with a longing and enthusiasm to go to his mission station in Bulawayo. He was her mother's blood cousin, and she longed and prayed to reach out and feel the warm, human clasp of her own family, albeit he was a distant cousin.
I will go to South Africa
, she affirmed.
I will see Cousin Jakob and learn about my mother. Maybe I can even meet Jendaya, the Christian Zulu woman who saved my life at Rorke's Drift
.

And there was Heyden … Heyden the murderer, who had killed Henry Chantry, arranged Uncle Edmund's tragic accident in the carriage, and pushed her down the attic steps. She shuddered. Heyden, too, was in South Africa somewhere, perhaps seeking Jendaya. Heyden was sure the woman knew where the Kimberly Black Diamond was hidden.

Evy lifted her chin as she stared at the photographs on the wall. Vicar Edmund Havering and Grace; Vicar Brown, Derwent's widowed father, who'd served a short time as vicar after Uncle Edmund; and now Vicar Osgood and his wife, Martha.

Rogan won't stop me from going with him to South Africa
.

Then she stepped back emotionally. What had she come here for except to talk to the gentle Martha about the role of a Christian wife? She must be teachable. But she had so many questions about what true submission to one's husband meant!

Must I be wishy-washy? with no will or interests of my own? Must I give in to everything Rogan demands?
But was that a fair question? Rogan was not doing that. He did not want to put her in a box.

Evy could hear Mrs. Croft's nasal voice singing loudly in the big rectory kitchen, where she still worked as cook for the new vicar and Martha. Dear Mrs. Osgood had an ailing heart and could not be too long on her feet lifting heavy pots.

Evy went to the kitchen, knowing she was always welcome. “No
need to knock, my dear,” Vicar Osgood and his wife often told her. “Just come in and be at home. This is your home too.”

Rookswood was her home now, or was it? She felt like an unwanted stranger, except when she was in Rogan's arms. Rogan scoffed over her feelings of not belonging. Was he right, was she too sensitive, or was he the one out of tune with Rookswood, where he'd grown up?

“
Everything is exactly the same at Rookswood
,” he had said, “
except you are now with me instead of down at the rectory.
”

Her gaze traveled the huge stove, long sideboards, and floor-to-ceiling cupboards stashed with dry foodstuffs, chipped dishes, and great beat-up pots and pans that had served numerous generations before her.

Mrs. Croft was beating some batter with relentless dedication. She was a tall, bony woman, with white hair skewed from its bun, and a rather pointed nose below sharp, beady eyes. If Evy had any family at all, it would be Mrs. Croft, whom she had known since she was a small child, and who had become her adopted “Granny.”

“Grab a chair, child. I'll pour you some good Indian tea. Just made scones, too. Thick with cinnamon and sugar.”

Evy nearly gagged at the thought and shook her head as she slipped into the hard-backed chair at the huge wooden table against the wall.

“Just tea, Mrs. Croft—and no milk in it this time.”

Mrs. Croft's prickly white brows shot up like arrows.

“Pah! What's this, my girl? No scone, an' it being your favorite, too. What's come over you, eh? A bit of early fall grippe coming on, is it?”

Evy grimaced. “No, I feel fine, just a bit nauseous. Make the tea very hot.”

Mrs. Croft lowered the small metal spectacles on her nose and eyed Evy suspiciously. Evy looked away.

“Hmm …” Mrs. Croft poured a cup of tea and brought it to her, then went over to a big calendar and stood looking at it, floured hands on her hips.

“Mrs. Croft, please don't do that!”

“You been married over three months now.”

“I know, I know—and oh …” She rubbed her forehead. “You know what all those nasty cats are going to say.”

“Can't keep 'em from howling among the trash cans, dearie, and them that know you since you were a wee little girl isn't going to believe a word of it. Did you tell the happy daddy to be?”

Evy groaned. “That's just it. He doesn't want any. Not now, anyway. He's going to be very upset with me.”

“Upset with you? Well, ain't that too bad! That scoundrel can be told a few things, an' I'm just the tongue to do it too.”

“No, no, Mrs. Croft. You mustn't say a word to him, or anyone else. I'll handle this—eventually.”

Mrs. Croft gazed at her over her glasses. “Hmm, now what could you have in mind, I'm wondering?”

Evy remained silent.

“Humph. Well, you'll have to say something sometime, and soon. There's no keeping this from him long, or anyone else for that matter.” She walked over to Evy, the wood flooring squeaking under her heavy shoes, pulled out a second chair, and lowered herself with a grimace. She rubbed her elbow.

“Getting old.”

Evy felt a surge of melancholy. “No,
don't
say that. You've got to stay around a long time. You're all I have.”

Mrs. Croft's callused hand covered Evy's on the table. Her eyes were so kindly they sparkled. “Now, what is this about I'm all you got? And after the biggest wedding Grimston Way saw in many a generation? What's that rogue doing to you that you feel like this? Where's my frying pan? I'll conk him on his hard head, I will!”

Evy smiled, envisioning Mrs. Croft going after Rogan with a black skillet, then her laughter turned to unreasonable tears.

“He'll leave me behind and go to South Africa if he knows. And I just received a letter from Dr. Jakob. He's opening a new mission station
at Bulawayo. He wants to become acquainted with me there. For the first time, Mrs. Croft, I'll have a blood relation. So you see why nothing must keep me here at Grimston Way?”

“Sure I do. But remember, it's no great haroosh to go atravelin' when you're expectin'. Can be dangerous, too.”

“Oh, Mrs. Croft, you sound like Rogan!”

“Hokey-pokey, not saying you ought to stay home 't'all. Just uncovering the basket of worms so you'll know before you go.”

“He said no babies—he didn't want
any.
”

“For double shame. He said that to you?”

“But I am going to South Africa,” Evy gritted, blinking away the brief show of tears. She leaned across the old table, squinting her eyes with determination. “We both are. You're coming with me.”

Mrs. Croft raised her brows again and drew back against the hard-backed chair. “Well, 'course I am, Evy. A team of wild foxes won't keep me here now. It'll be the day when I leave that rogue to look after you without my keeping a sharp eye on him to make sure he does it right. Just remember, you'll be hampered down with the precious thing for months of nursing and such, and 'twill be a good year before the baby's proper weaned.” Mrs. Croft scrutinized her face. “You're aware of all that, Evy girl?”

Evy did not want to think about it now. “I'll manage.”

“ 'Course you will.” She patted her hand again. “Now you just stay calm. Have you seen Dr. Tisdale?”

“Yes. He said—that I was.”

Mrs. Croft nodded, satisfied. A tender, reflective smile spread across her face. “A baby. Your own little one. To think I'll live to see a new generation come along.” She counted on her bony fingers. “Around July.”

Evy discussed matters more closely, then made Mrs. Croft vow to silence.

“Well … if you insist.”

Evy then inquired about Martha Osgood.

“She's doing dandy, she is. Out in the sunshine garden doing her embroidery.”

“I'll go see her.”

Martha Osgood's thin, veined hands worked tirelessly with her needle and pink thread on the rosebuds sewn onto a dresser scarf. She sat in the garden chair in the sunshine with a big hat shading her face and shoulders. With the sparrows chittering and the late mums blooming, Martha was the homily of all that was gentle and unassuming. For a time Mrs. Osgood chatted about village news. Evy listened without much comment. Somehow, just hearing her calm voice at peace with the God of all circumstances was soothing. Here was a woman who'd throughout her life had small portions of earth's vaunted goods, so coveted by small and great so as to lead to all manner of vice, even murder. Yet Martha was not striving. Her health was weak and growing more so by the month. She had lost her only child when newly married, and the Lord of Grace and Good Gifts had not seen fit in His wisdom to give her another baby, or reward her in this life with goodly possessions, though she had remained faithful through her loss.

Evy mentioned this to her, and Martha smiled and nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, it has been hard sometimes. It is so difficult to wait on the Lord, isn't it? When we feel we
need
provision
now
. We can't
see
what He is going to do, and oh, how we wish we could.” She shook her gray head and clucked her tongue, as though remembering her own youthful struggles. “Ah yes, we want so desperately to
see
, don't we? But we must ‘walk by faith, not by sight,' as Scripture tells us. For me, dear, life is like walking through a valley with high mountains. We walk just one step at a time, trusting His Word, and as we progress, sometimes we see very little of what lies beyond the valley's high mountains. But God has
promised bountiful blessings. He will always be faithful. Faithful and True are two of His names.”

When Evy remained quiet, Martha looked up from her embroidery. “And what of you, my dear? Are you adjusting to married life at Rookswood? Such a beautiful mansion, I always think. Except those ghastly gargoyles.” She clucked her tongue again. “Whatever were folks thinking in those days, I wonder? One would think angels would be so much more attractive, don't you agree? And Lady Elosia? Is she doing well with her back pains? Such an energetic woman! I've always thought she would have made a wonderful twin of Queen Victoria, don't you think?”

Evy smiled but realized Martha was innocent of any double meaning.

“So determined is dear Lady Elosia, so here and there and everywhere.”

Evy put her fingers to her lips to keep from laughing.
Here and there and everywhere
, yes, that was Lady Elosia, putting her tuppence in every situation.
Oh, goodness! What will she be like with Rogan's child?

“Do you have a headache, dear?”

“Um—oh, well, I suppose I do, rather. You were saying?”

“I noticed you were massaging your forehead. And you do look most distressed, Evy. Perhaps another cup of Mrs. Croft's tea with a tweak of herbs added will make you feel more relaxed. The weather, you know.”

“Yes?”

“Warm days, chilly evenings. I daresay we'll soon have our first frost.” She looked about the garden and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. “Fall makes one double-minded. You're having second thoughts about Rogan, are you?”

Evy looked at her, surprised. She hastened, “No. Oh no, I am very much in love with him.”

Martha nodded and worked her needle. “Yes, I can see that. I am so
pleased. It's the adjustments that pose problems. Two very different people suddenly joined together in everything from morning tea to sharing the same bedroom, seeing each other in the worst possible moments and the best, differing on things great and small. There are bound to be conflicts.”

Evy sipped the tea Mrs. Croft had brought to them. The taste of tarragon was typical of a Mrs. Croft tea for “tired nerves,” as she put it.

“It hasn't been quite that for me, not yet. It's clashing over plans. Rogan feels strongly one way—and, well, I feel the opposite. And Rogan is, shall we say, determined.”

Martha nodded. “Ah yes, I see, very much so. Very protective of you, I would think. Very much the squire's son. A delightful young man. Very opinionated, I should think. Then as you say, so are you. Yes, I can see the potential for struggle. Then again, many women would be thrilled to have a husband so interested in their doings, so as to have strong opinions about them. Some husbands don't care a bit about what their wives do as long as it doesn't interfere in their own desires.”

“You think Rogan is interested in what interests me?”

“Oh, good gracious, yes. I have seen how Rogan is quite interested in all you do. Being a strong-willed man, he would have opinions, naturally, because he cares so much for you.”

“Trouble is, his opinion and my opinion differ considerably,” Evy repeated in stronger emphasis.

“Yes, yes, that can be quite discouraging. And you have made your wishes known quite clearly and wisely, I gather?”

Wisely?

Again, Evy kept silent.

“What I mean, dear, is letting him know you reverence him, that his ideas on matters that disturb you are nonetheless esteemed by you?”