Tomorrow's Treasure (42 page)

“But—the money. How will we manage?”

“I have the money.”

Evy stared at this calm pronouncement. “Where did it come from?”

“Now, dear, did I not tell you before that I must be allowed my little secrets? It is enough that the money is available. No, you will finish your schooling, and who knows? Derwent may receive a living at a vicarage in another section of England with better possibilities than Grimston Way. Should he end up in London, you could get a position teaching in a music school. So you see? There's not a thing to worry about, Evy.”

Evy could have told her there was plenty to concern them, but not wishing to put further stress upon her aunt's thin shoulders, she said nothing and simply returned her bright smile. She would keep her fears about her mother and the future locked inside her heart.

“If you say so, Aunt. I have much to be thankful for, I know. My future, it seems, is in God's hand.”

“Most certainly. Like the pillar of cloud leading the children of Israel, there is One directing our path through the wilderness.”

Despite her aunt's assurances that all was well, Evy still struggled with uneasiness. Concern—unnamed, unknown—loitered in the background like some ominous phantom of darkness ready to spring upon her. She took solace in the words of the psalmist: “My times are in thy hand.”

During the following days, before returning to London, Evy tended to Aunt Grace's vegetable garden and fruit trees. In early September Mrs. Croft came, and they enjoyed time together with Aunt Grace, preserving the bounty.

Evy prayed often that whatever their allotted time together might hold, the favorable hand of their heavenly Father would overshadow and protect her and her aunt. Much to her dismay, she did not see Rogan again before he left for his final year at the university. She suspected that Heyden van Buren had also left with him for London.

It is just as well
, she told herself time and again. She still fumed when she thought of the way Rogan had taken such liberties with her. He would not have dared if he had not been a Chantry.

As the days slipped by and she prepared her winter wardrobe to return to London, she wondered if the divine promise of God's protective oversight might not be gracious preparation for what awaited. For disappointment came only a few days before Evy and Derwent were to board the train together for London and their respective schools.

It was around five o'clock in the afternoon, and Aunt Grace was taking a nap, something she needed far more frequently of late. Evy was alone in the kitchen, kneading dough for the following day's bread, when Derwent showed up on the bungalow porch. He always tapped and looked in through the window on the door. She saw him outside, his hands pushed into the big pockets of his faded coat. She raised floury hands and gestured he should come inside.

He opened the door, and a gust of wind followed him.

“Brrr, it's getting colder by the day. Autumn's coming sooner this year.”

The sun was dipping low in the pearl-gray sky, and she motioned toward the lanterns. “Would you light those for me, Derwent, please?”

“Sure enough.” He looked over at the counter by the big black stove. “What are you stirring up?”

“Bread dough for tomorrow. I'm all done.” She went to wash her hands, then removed the apron that had been Aunt Grace's. “I will put the teakettle on.”

“Um … I really cannot stay that long, Evy. Thanks, anyway.”

She was rather surprised. He usually had tea, then cleaned out any sweet biscuits left from the morning. “Is anything wrong?” She looked at him in the lantern light.

He shifted. “I would not say it that way, but, well, I would rather just get on with the news that brought me here.”

“Well, all right.” She sat down on the kitchen stool. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I will get right to it. I won't be returning for my final year at divinity school.”

Evy stared at him, not sure she'd heard right. Her first thought was that Rogan must have had something to do with this. He had already
planted a song of high adventure in Derwent's mind.
South Africa again
, she thought shortly.
Gold fields and diamond mines!

“So you are going to Capetown.”

“No … That's not how it is, Evy. It is my father. I've been noticing it all summer, and maybe you have too, but it is getting unmanageable. He is just growing old, I expect. He forgets things. That's all right, if it does not hurt anyone, but that's the pain of it, you see. Last night he decided to make himself a mug of tea before bed. Next thing I knew, I woke up smelling smoke.”

“Oh no! Derwent!” She reached out to take his hands.

“That's what I told myself. ‘Oh no!' I went rushing down to the kitchen not knowing what to expect and found the water in the kettle had boiled away. The kettle was black and smoking up the kitchen. I took care of things, then checked on him. Do you know he was fast asleep! If I hadn't been home and smelled smoke, the rectory could have caught fire. And that isn't the first time … Two weeks ago he left some candles burning off the holder. Mrs. Croft found them.” He squeezed her hands. “He is getting worse, you see. You know what that means.”

“Is there any damage to the kitchen?”

“Oh, some smoky darkened areas by the stove. Mrs. Croft says she won't attempt cleaning up unless I help, so naturally I will. Wouldn't think of leaving the mess all for her, especially the ceiling. We'll do it tonight.”

She almost smiled when he released her hands to reach for the plate of sweet biscuits. He frowned as he chewed. “My father's losing his clarity, that's plain to see. It is getting worse by the week. Seems to be coming on awful fast. He can no longer prepare his sermons. No one knows that yet. I've been helping him all summer. He has merely been reading them from the pulpit. So you see”—his tone was heavy, resigned—“I wouldn't feel good about myself if I just up and left him for school. You understand, don't you, Evy? You feel that way about Miss Grace sometimes. But she's not half as bad off as my father.” He searched her
eyes, as though seeking some kind of confirmation from her. “If it were just his leg or a knee, I could handle that. I could just get the sexton to come and help him with personal matters while I was away at school. But his mind … well, it is different. Sometimes he gets frustrated and cross about it. And he says I imagine it all.”

Her heart nearly broke for him. “Derwent, I am so sorry. Of course I understand your dilemma. I wish there were something I could do to help.”

“There's nothing anyone can do. He is my father, and I will look after him. But it does throw a corker into matters, doesn't it? I will need to delay graduation, and if I must do that, then I'll need to delay—well, a lot of other things.” He took her hands again. “You know what I mean, Evy?”

“Yes, of course I do.” And she did. But what she didn't fully understand was the rush of relief the news brought her. “That is very understandable. You must not worry about any of that now. You have enough on your shoulders.”

“It is not that I was worried, or that I'm thinking things are too burdensome. It is just that setting future things by the stovepipe is inevitable right now. I worry something dreadful could happen. If I went away now, the rectory could burn down, or he could take a fall and break a hip.”

“That would be dreadful indeed.”

“So, at least until the bishop appoints someone to take over the rectory, I cannot return to school.”

As he spoke she had the oddest impression that he was just a trifle relieved over the postponement.

Derwent gave a deep sigh. “When a new rector comes, then I can carry on at divinity school.”

Evy nodded, but Aunt Grace's warning drifted through her mind, about the difficulty of getting back on the path to learning once one stepped off the narrow way.

Derwent stood, then hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more and could not find the words. He shuffled his feet and put
the collar up on his coat. “Well … you will be leaving soon for music school, I daresay.”

“Yes, in three days now.”

“I will write you about how things are going here.”

“Yes. And I will write you.”

He maneuvered his way to the door. “Try not to worry about Miss Grace. I will look in on her every day, and so will Mrs. Croft.”

She nodded. “That will be a great blessing for me.” He was such a kind man. Why couldn't her heart react to him as it did to Rogan? “Thank you, Derwent.”

He hesitated once more, then opened the door and stepped out to the porch. “G'night, Evy. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, good night. And I will be praying for you and the vicar.”

He smiled. “I knew you would. You are good at that sort of thing. Better than I. It was your upbringing.”

He shut the door, and she heard his feet leaving the porch. From the kitchen window she saw the chilling purple twilight settling into darkness.

Soon it was time to pack her trunk, and then Mrs. Croft drove her and Aunt Grace to the train depot in the one-horse jingle. Evy boarded the train and waved good-bye as the train chugged out of the station on its two-hour journey to London.

Now she would play the piano every day. How she had missed it. Of course, she'd played at the rectory when she had time to walk there, but now music would fill her life, her soul. What joy! Oh, to fill her mind and heart with glorious music and forget everything unpleasant that had plagued her these summer months.

Everything … and everyone.

As Grimston Way and Rookswood estate faded into the distance, Evy wondered if even her love of music would be able to free her mind of the dark clouds of suspicion surrounding the Kimberly Black
Diamond and Henry's mysterious death. Or if it could keep her from dwelling on the unthinkable—that somehow her mother had been involved in theft and deception.

Would Rogan let the ugly past alone? Could she? She did not know. She could only pray for God's wisdom and guidance.

On the first day of the new school year Evy and the other students were assembled in the great hall, where Madame Ardelle, who reigned over Parkridge Music Academy as though she were its queen, addressed them. She was clad fully in black, except for a bit of white lace here and there. Though formidable and demanding, she was otherwise a pleasant woman, who commanded the respect of her students, most of whom were pleased to be in this serious learning environment.

Madame emphasized how fortunate the students were to be here and that they must now live up to the reputation of the school. This seemed to worry her a good deal of the time, for Master Eldridge would teach the final year at Parkridge. She seemed to have no greater chagrin than that her music students would not measure up to his expectations. She constantly reminded them that Master Eldridge had played piano throughout Europe and was considered one of the great musicians in England.

“I think Madame is in love with Master Eldridge,” Victoria, one of the girls in Evy's room said.

Another of the girls, Frances, dismissed this notion. “She's too old.”

“Who said old people do not fall in love?”

“It seems quite obvious that romance and marriage are for the young.”

“What nonsense!” Victoria grimaced. “Who wrote the great romantic plays, pray tell? Men with gray hair.”

Frances considered, then shrugged. “Maybe you are right. I never thought of that.”

Alice Tisdale was not in Evy's room this year. In fact, Evy had looked for her at all the large gatherings but had not found her. That seemed a bit odd. Was all well with Alice? She had seemed rather wan and quiet all last summer, as though something had been troubling her. In Evy's next letter to Aunt Grace, she asked about the Tisdale family and whether Alice had been seen in church.