The Visitor (10 page)

Pembroke

On Wednesday afternoon Cassandra was met at the door by Hastings, not Mrs Thorpe.

“Good afternoon, Miss Steele. Mr Tate is in the library. Shall I show you in?”

“Oh, I can find my way,” she told him kindly and proceeded in that direction. She didn’t hurry and enjoyed taking in the fine lines and furnishings of the foyer and hallway that led to the spacious library.

Once at the open library door, she knocked, not wishing to surprise her host, and spoke from the doorway.

“Mr Tate?”

“Come in, Cassandra. Did my Aunt Harriet not meet you at the door today?”

“No, not today. And I told Hastings I could find my way.”

“Very good. Are you up to a little more Italian?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

Cassandra began, her voice weaving its spell over Tate’s mind. He wasn’t anxious before she arrived or after she left, but the relaxation he felt in having her read to him was unparalleled to anything since he’d been blinded. Nevertheless, today his mind strayed a bit, and he began to wonder about the woman herself, a woman who would come in as part of a joke and return with such selflessness.

Cassandra sensed none of this as she read page after page, but she had only been working her way through the book for ten minutes when Tate interrupted her.

“Cassandra,” he said quietly.

“Yes?”

“What is your last name?”

“Steele.”

Tate’s brows rose over the patches. “Is your brother named Henry?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” his voice softened with recognition. “I’m being read to by one of the beautiful Steele sisters.”

Charlotte and Elizabeth’s perfect faces sprang into her mind as Cassandra felt her own face flame, tremendously thankful that her host could not see her.

“Do you wish me to go on?” she finally managed.

“Please,” Tate replied softly, wishing he’d kept his thoughts to himself. Clearly he’d taken her by surprise and made her uncomfortable, something he never meant to do. Missing part of the story, he debated whether or not to speak any more on the subject. He felt himself tensing and realized that was defeating the whole purpose.

Forcing his mind back to the story, Tate relaxed once more. He might give some thought and energy to the matter later on, but not now. Now he would just relax and listen to her read.

Brown Manor

“Is anyone ill at your house?” Anne asked Lydia almost as soon as she arrived on Thursday, her scheduled day to visit.

“No, but I heard about Judith, and I believe Cassandra Steele has caught it.”

“It doesn’t sound very fun.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t want you to catch it.”

The women looked at each other, both wanting Anne’s baby to be all right.

“I have something for you,” Lydia finally said, bringing out the gift she had carefully bundled along.

“Oh, Liddy,” Anne said when she saw the framed painting. “It’s beautiful. Wherever did you find it?”

“I bought it the last time Palmer and I were in London. I knew someday God would give you children, and this would be perfect.”

Anne looked at the painting. Six young children played in a yard, four boys and two girls, and in the background was a home that greatly resembled Brown Manor.

“We shall put this on the nursery wall,” Anne said with a smile, “and tell our baby that it’s from our good friends the Palmers.”

Lydia smiled at her, just holding tears.

“We’ll have none of that,” Anne teased her. “You’re here to cheer me up.”

Lydia laughed a little, lightening the mood as she proceeded to do as Anne requested, telling stories about her own children, what they thought of the painting, and what fine parents she knew Weston and Anne would be.

Newcomb Park

“You’ll have to send word to Pembroke,” a miserable Cassandra told her older sister. “I can’t possibly go to read.”

“I did that first thing this morning,” Lizzy consoled her, “when you woke up so ill.”

“Thank you.”

“Try to sleep for a time, dear.”

Cassandra gave a small nod and did try, but it wasn’t long before her stomach woke her, making demands in a most uncomfortable way.

Pembroke

“Word has come from Newcomb Park, sir,” Hastings told Tate as soon as he awoke. “Do you wish to hear it now?”

“Please, Hastings.”

“‘Mr Tate, my sister is unable to come today. She is ill. Elizabeth Steele.’”

“She doesn’t say if it’s that flu?”

“No, sir.”

“Please send word back to her from me.”

“Very well, sir.” Hastings was prepared as usual, and pulled out the needed paper.

Tate dictated this message: “Cassandra, I hope this finds you improving. Please take care of yourself. I’ll be praying for your full recovery. If you care to return to Pembroke when you are well, I would welcome your visit. God bless you, Cassandra. Tate.”

“Would you like this sent out right away, sir?”

“Please, and let me know immediately if there is any type of reply.”

Tate was glad to be alone with his thoughts a moment later. He hadn’t checked with Cassandra about his comment the last time, thinking that it was best to leave it alone, but now she was ill. Or was she? He didn’t think she would play games with him, but what did he really know of her? It was a question that plagued the blind man the rest of the day, even as he reminded himself that he was supposed to be resting.

Newcomb Park

Cassandra was feeling better by late afternoon, not so sick to the stomach but still terribly weak. The staff had come and gone all day, seeing to her comfort, and Lizzy had been around much of the time, checking on her and doing small things to ease her pain.

“Lizzy,” Cassandra called to her when they were on their own.

“Yes, dear.”

“Is Henry a believer?”

Lizzy had prayed about that very thing and asked herself that question many times, but she had never voiced it out loud.

“Why do you ask?” the older sister inquired, sounding calmer than she felt.

“It makes no sense to me that Henry can be as selfish as he is if Christ lives inside of him.”

“That’s a very profound observation,” Lizzy said, moving a soft, cool cloth to Cassandra’s brow.

“Have you ever talked with Henry about the matter?”

“No, have you?”

“No,” Cassandra was forced to admit. “What do you think Henry would say about his salvation?”

Lizzy looked pained and skeptical. “Probably that he’s reserved but in church every Sunday, and what more does God expect?”

“But, Lizzy, how can he feel that way when he hears the truth each week? When Pastor Hurst and Pastor Greville are so good about explaining how God’s plan works?”

“You forget, Cassie, that I answered for him. He hasn’t actually said that. Maybe that wouldn’t be his response at all.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement. It really wasn’t fair to put someone else’s answer on him, but his life did cause one to wonder.

“What brought this to mind?” Lizzy asked.

“Oh, just the fact that he hasn’t even checked on me today. I wouldn’t want him to catch anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to poke his head in and say hello.”

“Maybe he did that while you were sleeping.”

Cassandra’s head full of dark red curls moved against the pillow.

“No, he didn’t. I asked Mrs Jasper, and she said he’s been in his study all day.”

“Well, there are several hours left in the day; maybe he’s still coming.”

For a moment there was silence in the room.

“You’ve forgotten again.”

Lizzy looked confused, her beautiful blue eyes looking down at the woman in the bed.

“Forgotten what?”

“That I’m not a five-year-old waiting for Father to come home.”

Lizzy looked stunned this time.

“How often do I do that?” she asked when she could find her voice.

Cassandra only smiled, and Lizzy’s sigh held more than a little weight.

“I guess I’ve a need to baby someone, Cassie, and you’re it.”

“I didn’t mean it as a rebuke, Lizzy, but clearly you’ve had some of the same thoughts about Henry as I have. Maybe if you didn’t see me as the baby we could have spoken of it before. It would have done my heart a lot of good.”