Dawn in My Heart (21 page)

“You haven't returned?”

“No.” She took a careful bite of the pudding.

“Why not?”

“I found the dank church depressing, the curate a young, underfed-looking man with a shabby appearance, and the local congregation composed mostly of very poor laborers.” She did not add that the main reason was the way everyone looked at her as if she came from some strange land.

“The curate
is
very young,” he conceded. “The rector has two other livings, so he has put this young man in charge of this parish, the smallest of the three.

“He's a thoughtful young man,” he added. “His bent is evangelical.”

Gillian made a sign of disdain. “Low church. At least he's not a Methodist like your sister.”

“No, he's not Methodist, but his thinking is very much like Althea's. I've invited him here to visit.”

“You what?” She wrinkled her nose, determined to be disagreeable. “Doesn't he have a lot of young brats?”

He smiled faintly. “Yes, my father would be envious. He has four children. His wife seems a very nice lady, well educated and modest. She must be lonely in a little village like this. She is from Leeds.”

“You certainly discovered a lot about them in one morning.”

“I merely asked—and listened.”

“Well, do as you please. I'll endeavor to be out that afternoon. By the by, I shall be going into town tomorrow, if I may have use of the coach.”

“Of course. Shopping?”

“With no money?” she asked caustically.

“I'll give you money as soon as luncheon is over.”

She looked away, reluctant all of a sudden to take money from him when she knew it would be used to help her escape from him. Why the sudden scruples, she wondered. Wasn't she going to pawn the jewels he'd given her?

She had a right to that money, she argued to herself. Hadn't he taken control of her whole fortune and left her virtually penniless? she countered, jabbing at her pudding.

“It looks to be a beautiful afternoon,” he commented with a glance toward the window. “Would you care to come for a walk upon the moors this afternoon?”

“No, thank you,” she answered, her mouth drawn tight into a prim little line.

They ate in silence again. When the last dishes were cleared away and right before Gillian stood from her chair, Tertius said, “I was thinking of doing a little entertaining.”

She finished patting her mouth with her napkin and laid it down on the table. “You mean with the curate?”

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of a dinner party. We could invite the local families and maybe have a little dancing afterward.”

“By all means. Let us invite all the gentry, along with the curate and his sniveling brats. It sounds delightful. A bunch of country squires and their disapproving wives who have no conversation.”

“I thought you might enjoy some company after the long, solitary winter.”

She rose. “I've grown to enjoy my own company. But by all means, plan your little party. It's your house, after all, and I am merely your chattel.”

Tertius sighed after she'd closed the door behind her.

 

That afternoon, he went for his walk alone. As soon as he'd left the ancient hall and its oppressive atmosphere, he felt better.

It was the end of March, but the days were already balmy and the grass a deep-hued green. When he left the stone-fenced pastures behind him and began to climb a worn path toward the moors, his spirits lifted. The heather was still brown and lifeless on the moorland. Soon the path disappeared and he walked through the ankle-deep plants.

He wanted to rebuild his strength quickly. It sometimes seemed as if he'd wasted half his life and now he had much to make up for. He knew the Lord wanted him to exercise
patience, but part of him wanted to soar now that he knew the truth.

The blue sky above him reflected the expansiveness of his soul. He hummed a few bars of a hymn Althea had begun to teach him. The heavens truly declared the glory of God—and he had been too blind before to see it.

How he wished Althea had stayed a while longer. He had gleaned so much from her knowledge of the Scriptures. He still read voraciously but felt he needed someone to teach him. Althea had promised to introduce him to those at the mission once he returned to London.

He stood on a rise, which led to some rocky peaks farther up. He didn't feel strong enough yet to attempt the climb. The stones were great broken, sharp-edged slabs, which reminded him of a giant pair of Ten Commandment tablets hurled down and smashed against the earth, to lie in a jagged mound. Between and around them grew the stubby brown heather.

From his vantage, Sky could see miles around him, acres of heather that would soon spring to life into thousands of blossoms. Far down below were the green squares where sheep grazed, tiny dots in the distance, with a solitary stone farmhouse far beyond.

The only sound was the twittering of birds and the constant sifting of the wind like flour being passed through a sieve.

Beyond what he could see, miles down in the valley, sat the mill town. He knew a part of his mission lay there, in the mill owned by his father…by his family.

He remembered the cry of the poor and downtrodden in his vision.

He took a deep breath. First he must regain his strength, he reminded himself. Reluctantly, he left the spot where he stood and began his trek homeward. He stooped down to examine the heather every once in a while, wondering how such dead-looking plants could spring to life in a matter of a few weeks. But there were already signs, a slight tint of green at the tips here and there, hinting at new growth, and the pale white showing at the edges of yet unopened buds.

He had come farther than he'd realized. He had a few moments of doubt, wondering which way to turn, when the land dipped down and he lost sight of the sheep fields. It seemed then he was in a vast ocean of rolling moors. He had lost sight of any worn paths as he waded through the moors.

His legs began to feel weak and he wondered if he had been foolish to walk so far. His legs felt as if they would buckle under him at any moment. It was with a sense of relief he came finally to a stone fence at the beginning of a dirt track. He lowered himself onto it.

He had only been there a few minutes, losing himself in prayer, when he heard a dog bark. It was Sophie, Gillian's dog. He felt a sudden surge of gladness.

Far in the distance the dog came bounding toward him. Farther back, he could see Gillian following. His joy at seeing her turned almost immediately to a grimace. Would that look of dislike on her face ever be erased from her pretty features?

He didn't even require a grand passion with her, just a simple regard and mutual respect. That's all he'd ever wanted from a wife. But that seemed an impossible dream now.

Oh, God,
he prayed,
we've been joined in holy matrimony. Yet we're living like strangers and enemies. Can You heal this
rift between us? Can You bring Gillian to a place where I'm not wholly distasteful to her?

She spotted him when Sophie ran up to him, barking and seeking to be petted by him. Tertius obliged the dog, as he waited for the inevitable confrontation with her mistress.

Gillian finally reached him. “What are you doing all the way out here?” she asked sharply.

“Resting.”

She frowned. “What's the matter?”

He smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I overdid it a little today on my walk,” he admitted.

“Can you make it back?” she demanded, no hint of sympathy in her tone.

“I shall endeavor to…in a few minutes. I'm glad I saw you. It means I must be on the right way home.”

“Yes, you're not too far from the first farm.”

To his surprise she sat beside him on the fence.

“You don't have to wait here. You haven't finished your walk.”

“It doesn't matter. I'm not going to leave you out here alone.”

He said nothing, afraid to bring on an acerbic comment.

They sat quietly for several moments, watching Sophie run about and nose around the heather and bilberry plants. Finally he tried to stand, but found he still had to support himself on the stone.

She stood immediately beside him, concern in her pale green eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Pathetically weak,” he said, trying to make light of it.

“Well, as I said, it isn't too far back, perhaps a mile,”
she said briskly. “Here, I'll help support you if you think you can walk a bit.” As she spoke, she guided his arm around her shoulder and the two began to walk back slowly.

“I'm sorry about this,” he ventured, imagining how disagreeable it must be to her to help him.

“Never mind about that.”

They walked excruciatingly slowly through the rough heather plants. Tertius found himself concentrating on putting one leg in front of the other without falling flat on his face before her.

“You seem to know exactly where to go,” he remarked in admiration.

“I ought to by now. It's been one of my few occupations these last few months.”

One more thing to regret, he thought. How many times might she have been lost or stranded out here on these treacherous, lonely moors during the long winter months?

He noticed how good and right she felt nestled under his arm. So small compared to his frame, but so right, tucked in his embrace.

Suddenly they both stepped into a boggy patch, the cold water rising immediately around their ankles.

“Oh, bother!” she cried, as the two tried to find a dry spot. As they only succeeded in getting their feet wetter before stumbling to higher ground, she began to laugh. “I told you the moors would be wet and muddy this time of year,” she scolded.

“So you did, which is why I wonder that you should be out here alone.”

“I usually manage to avoid the wet spots,” she said.

“If I were half the man I used to be, I'd carry you over this wet patch. Instead, here you are half carrying me,” he muttered.

“Come, I think it's dryer here.” She tugged at his waist with her arm and led him along another route.

When they finally made it back to the hall, she seemed to sense how light-headed he felt. Without a word, she led him to her sitting room, where the warmth of a fire permeated every corner. She assisted him onto the couch.

“I'll ring for some tea,” she said with a sigh of relief as she helped him off with his greatcoat. Then she proceeded to help him off with his boots and stockings.

“Here,” he said, trying to stop her, “you can call Nigel.” He felt embarrassed suddenly at his bare feet.

“It's all done,” she said, spreading a throw over him before carrying his boots and stockings to the hearth.

“You are wet as well. Why don't you go and change? I'll be all right now.”

Rather than reply, she removed her own hat and pelisse and rang the bellpull. When Katie came to the door, Gillian instructed her to bring some tea. Katie looked in surprise and concern, over Gillian's shoulder, toward him. “Oh, yes, and please bring some dry socks and slippers for us both and some papers to stuff into our wet boots. That will be all, thank you.”

When she closed the door behind her, she went to a chair by the fire. As if she had forgotten his presence entirely, she bent to remove her own half boots and stockings.

He could feel the heat rising in his face at the sight of her slim arched foot and the curve of her calf. She worked quickly and efficiently, first one foot then the other, but not
quickly enough to prevent Tertius from being overwhelmed by a swift, fierce desire for his wife.

It was over in a few seconds. Two pairs of boots stood neatly by the fire, two pairs of stockings draped over the fender. What a sign of domesticity, and it came to him with a sudden, jolting clarity that a platonic sort of respect and affection from his wife wouldn't satisfy him. He wanted a passion to match the one he was feeling.

She turned to him and he quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Sleep was the last thing his pounding heart was capable of at the moment. He heard her rise and pour something into a glass.

She approached him and crouched by him, gently placing her hand under his head and raising it. “Here, drink this,” she directed softly.

He drank a sip of the liquid, his light-headedness disappearing.

“Thank you,” he said, lying back against the cushion she had placed for him.

“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked when she had set the glass down.

“If you wouldn't mind.”

She retrieved her book and brought a chair up close to him. As she began to read, almost without conscious thought, he took her free hand in his and held it loosely.

She didn't draw her hand away, but continued reading as if nothing had occurred. He felt the wedding band between his fingers and began to play with it idly. His eyes focused on it and he was grateful she was still wearing it. But what of the other? he wondered, thinking of the ruby and diamond ring he had given her. His gaze strayed to her bare foot
peeking out from the hem of her gown and he forgot about the ring.

At length he drifted off to the sound of her soothing voice, at peace, his fingers still loosely entwined with hers, knowing the warmhearted girl he had fallen in love with hadn't disappeared. The girl who'd risked her life for a flea-ridden stray was still there beneath the hurt and bitter exterior.

When had he fallen in love with her? Was it when he'd seen her petting the dog, oblivious to its dirt and fleas? Or when she'd confessed shyly to wanting a home and children of her own? Or when the Lord had filled him with His love—such a love that overwhelmed and overflowed until it couldn't be contained but had to touch others?

I'll make it up to you, Jilly girl,
he promised in an inaudible whisper before drifting off to sleep completely.