Winter Is Past (6 page)

“Althy…” moaned the girl, her head turning from side to side, her eyes still closed. “Oh, Althy, my head hurts so. My whole body hurts….”

“There, there,” she answered in soothing tones, smoothing the hair off her forehead. “Your papa's here.”

Rebecca opened her eyes. “
Abba,
you came home.”

“Yes, dear.” Simon sat on the edge of the bed as Althea moved to the night table to measure out a dose of laudanum. Simon continued speaking in soft tones, stroking his daughter's forehead as
Althea had done, while she administered the medicine. The two of them stayed there until Rebecca finally fell asleep.

When they returned to the sitting room, too restless to sit again, Simon leaned against the back of his chair, his forearms against it, vaguely aware of Althea adding coal to the fire. The new chunks sizzled as they touched the red-hot ones beneath. He stood, staring at the glowing coals but not really seeing them.

Abruptly he looked at her as she brushed off her hands. “How often do you have to give her the laudanum?”

She met his dark gaze as she bit her underlip. At last she answered him softly, “Almost every night.”

At least she was honest with him. He grimaced. “It's funny—since you came I've been sleeping through the nights, but it's not because my daughter has been getting any better. She merely has a better nurse.”

Althea looked down at her hands.

“I would like to apologize for doubting your abilities, Miss Breton.”

She raised her head. “No apology is necessary. I only wish I could do more….” Her eyes had an appeal in them.

“You've made Rebecca happy. That's all I can hope for.”

She continued looking at him, and he waited, wondering if there was something else she had to tell him about Rebecca. He was right.

“Your daughter needs something else to make her happy.”

“Name it, and I shall do all in my power to obtain it.”

“It doesn't cost anything.” She smoothed her skirt. “Your daughter needs to know about God.” She clasped her small hands in front of her, her gaze resolute.

He just stared at her, not expecting that reply. A short, humorless laugh erupted from him as he rubbed his forehead with a hand. “Well, I have to admit, that is something I can't give her.”

They fell silent. After a while, Althea said, “I would like your permission to read some Bible stories to Rebecca. I gather from my conversations with her that she receives no religious training,
neither Jewish nor Christian. If you'd rather, I would just read to her from the Old Testament—”

He waved a hand, almost in relief at having this topic so easily solved. “Old, new,
Tanakh, HaBrit Hachadashah
—you have my permission to read her what you like. I was exposed to both as a lad, and you can see what little harm—or good—they did me.”

“Thank you” was all she answered.

She seemed satisfied and resumed her seat. Simon didn't leave, but began to walk slowly about the room, one hand covering the other in a fist. He almost envied Miss Breton her faith. She had a cause she'd be willing to lose her job over, he'd wager. How clear and simple things must be for her.

He thought about her tenderness with his daughter just now in the other room. He wished he could do something for her to express his real gratitude. He finally stopped before her chair.

“I have been meaning to thank you for what you have done for Rebecca. She truly seems happier since you've been here.”

She looked up at him with a smile, and he suddenly saw the resemblance to her brother. They both had a sort of radiance.

“It is I who should be thanking you for giving me the opportunity to come here,” she said.

Simon didn't reply right away but stood, considering her. On impulse he said, “I would like you to attend the dinner party next week.”

She opened her mouth in stupefaction. “Oh, no, sir! That is not at all necessary.”

“I know it isn't. Still, I would like you in attendance.”

“Please, sir, I…I would rather not….”

He peered at her more closely, not understanding her reaction. Fool that he was, he had thought she'd be pleased, even flattered. Why hadn't he recalled her own admission of her opinion of Jews? Annoyed at both himself and her, he said, “I don't want to argue with you about this, but I really must insist that you attend. You are Lord Skylar's sister, for goodness' sake. Yes, I know, I know, his
half
sister.

“Furthermore, you are a lady in your own right, whether you choose to go by a title or not. I cannot have you
not
attend. I couldn't face your brother ever again, for one thing, nor my own conscience, for that matter.”

Panic was visible in her eyes. “Mr. Aguilar,
please
don't concern yourself with appearances. My brother will understand if I decline to attend a dinner party. He knows perfectly well why I am here in your employ. He would never expect you to—”

Simon waved his hand impatiently. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded! If I cared about appearances I would never have hired you in the first place.” His tone softened, sensing her aversion had nothing to do with him, but with some kind of fear on her part. “I merely thought perhaps you would enjoy an evening in polite society. You spend all your time in a little girl's company. As much as I love my daughter, I know it must be draining to be in a sick child's company twenty-four hours a day.”

Her voice was perfectly composed. “Thank you for your consideration, but believe me, it is completely unnecessary. I am perfectly content to sit here.”

He gave her an amused look, determined to get to the bottom of her refusal. “Do you always decline any and all overtures into society? Is that part of the reason you shut yourself away in the East End?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I know what you are—you are a reverse snob, are you not, running away from your own class?” He saw the dismay in her gray eyes and knew he had touched a nerve. “What are you afraid of? Possible contamination with sinners? You can't expect me to believe you prefer to sit here alone night after night, hiding behind that gray governess garb. Is that the prescribed color of the Methodists, by the way? Is it the badge that proclaims them sin-free?”

She stared at him, her cheeks pink, her lips pressed together.

So there was a weakness there somewhere in her religious armor, thought Simon in satisfaction. She didn't realize he was a master at finding a person's vulnerability and exploiting it. He'd
had to do so to survive. This time, however, he felt no satisfaction. Instead, her discomfort touched something in him. Suddenly he felt protective of her.

He pulled at his cravat, uncomfortable with the notion. All he'd wanted to do was repay her in some way. He'd ended up delving into something deeper that common sense told him was better left buried.

“If you can't bring yourself to join the company for your amusement, you can always come to make yourself useful, pouring tea or something,” he ended in annoyance. “Think of it as helping me out. After all, you yourself said I needed a pair of ladies to even up the numbers.”

She said quietly, “Very well, I shall come to serve.”

He let out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Miss Breton, you try my patience.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that's what you wanted. I shall attend your dinner party. Was there something else you required?”

He met her guileless gray eyes, and his frustration dissipated. He said gently, “I didn't mean my invitation to sound like an order. Let me restate it. Please
honor
me with your presence. You have done so much for Rebecca already. I wished to express my gratitude to you in some small way, that is all.”

Once again her face flooded with color, although this time not in anger. She seemed embarrassed. “You needn't feel obligated—I have done nothing extraordinary—”

“Please, Miss Breton, will you honor me with your presence—of your own free will?” The last words were said a bit awkwardly, as he was unused to entreating people. Then he smiled, wanting to tell her not to be afraid, he had faced a lot worse situations than a simple dinner party.

He could see the struggle in her features. Finally, she gave a small nod and looked away.

“Very well.”

 

After he left, Althea stood by the fire thinking about what her employer had said. Simon's words had hit their mark, although he probably didn't realize just how accurately. Did she indeed hide behind her simple gray dresses and pious acts? Why did she feel physically sick at the mere thought of reentering the world she had known all her life? Why was she so afraid of it? She knew it no longer had any power over her. She knew the Lord had set her free of its hypocritical standards.

She thought she had turned her back on it, following a different road the Lord had opened up for her. Had she in fact merely been running away?

If so, her appearance at this dinner party would be her first act of facing down her long-dormant fears.

 

“‘…And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?'” Althea made her voice speak the words solemnly and prophetically.

Rebecca took up her cue, responding in the queenly voice of Esther. “‘Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day: I also and my maidens will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law: and if I perish, I perish.'” Rebecca caused her puppet queen's head to bow down on the last word, her fingers bringing the arms together against the queen's breast.

The two had worked together the previous day fashioning the puppets for a presentation of
Esther.

“What wonderful words—‘if I perish, I perish,'” sighed Rebecca, her own hand against her breast.

“It says here that on the third day Esther put on ‘her royal apparel, and stood in the inner court of the king's house.' We must fashion a properly royal gown for her,” Althea suggested.

“Oh, yes, a royal purple gown, velvet perhaps, with silk ribbons.”

“That sounds suitable. I shall consult Mrs. Coates about scraps of material.”

“Maybe you could cut up one of my old dresses.”

“I shouldn't think we need go so far, but perhaps there are some ribbons you no longer use.”

“Oh, I have heaps of things. Let's look in my cupboard.”

“Very well.” Althea moved to the dressing room adjoining the bedroom. Rebecca was correct. Dozens of dresses were hung up, little kid slippers and boots lined the bottom shelves. Cupboard drawers were piled to the top with petticoats and stockings.

“You could dress a whole neighborhood of children with these clothes,” she said, thinking of all the ragged children in the mission's neighborhood.

Rebecca laughed. “Look at the green velvet dress. That used to be my favorite. When I was littler.”

Althea pulled out the dress and brought it to Rebecca, who put it up to herself. “I used to wear this to go to my grandmama and grandpapa's. Now it is too short.”

“It is very pretty. Has it been very long since you went to your grandparents'?”

“No. I went to visit right before you arrived.
Abba
usually takes me for the holy days and sometimes for Shabbat. Grandmama always has lots of food. Mostly they visit me here, though.”

“Perhaps if you are feeling a little stronger, he can take you again soon.”

Rebecca's eyes lit up. “And we could put on the puppet show for them!”

“Yes, that is an idea. You could write up some invitations, just as your papa has done for his dinner party.” Althea put a finger to her mouth. “I wonder where we can find a puppet theater?”

“Perhaps in my old nursery. That's where I used to sleep, until I got ill then
Abba
decided to move me down here. This used to
be his bedroom, you know. And Mama used to sleep where you are now sleeping. But that was long ago. I don't remember that time.”

“I see.” So she and her charge were occupying the master suite. She had wondered at the size and splendor of the rooms and the presence of dressing rooms.

She returned to the dressing room and brought back some ribbons and a dress that looked absurdly small. “There seem to be clothes in here that go back to when you were an infant. I wonder if someone would mind if we cut this one up for the puppets.”

“Oh, I'm sure no one would mind. I shall ask
Abba
tonight.”

“Who goes over your wardrobe?”

Rebecca shrugged. “I don't know. Mrs. Coates, but she hasn't looked at my clothes in ages. The governess didn't do anything about clothes.”

Althea considered. “I know some children who haven't even one good outfit of clothes.”

“Really? Are they the ones at the mission?”

Althea sat back down by Rebecca's bed. “Yes, and many more that live around it.”

Althea continued telling her about the children at the mission as she drew up some patterns for the queen puppet's outfit. They had made her out of an old stocking stuffed for a head, sewed to a piece of cloth for body and arms.

“Tommy used to steal fruit from the market.” She spoke as she cut and sewed. “One night, he decided to break into the mission. He must have heard there were all kinds of things in it—food and books, even toys. Well, I hadn't been able to sleep that night, and I had come downstairs because I was going to fix myself a cup of tea. I heard the sound of shattering glass.”

“Were you frightened?” Rebecca's gaze was riveted to Althea's face.

“A little, perhaps. I had known someone eventually would try
to break in. You see, the house is in a part of London where there are many poor people.”