The Visitor (17 page)

“A number of things, the first of which is that I’ve heard you’re very quiet. You’re not quiet with me, so it makes me wonder how you live the rest of your life. Are you unusually talkative with me, or unusually silent with others?”

“The latter, I would have to say.”

“Why is that?”

“As my sister says, I don’t need words to live.”

“But how do you share your faith? How do you show people the joy Christ brings?”

Henry began to look uncomfortable, but at the same time he was very humbled by the calm caring he saw in James Walker. Given a choice, he would have avoided this subject like the blight, but the man’s voice and manner caused him to listen carefully and to think about his life.

“I try very hard to be an example in my dealings, Walker,” Henry offered. “I’m careful to be fair and honest in town and with workers who come to Newcomb Park. And certainly with the staff.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Steele,” Walker said calmly, but he was done with tact. “But if your own sisters doubt your salvation, something is wrong.”

These words shook Henry. He took a moment to ask, “Has Cassie come to you?”

“Yes. Did she tell you?”

“No, but when I noticed that a coach was gone, my man told me she’d come here.”

“She cares desperately for you, Henry. I hope there won’t be any hard feelings against her.”

“Against Cassandra? Never. She’s the sweetest woman who ever walked the face of the earth. She seeks my company out, even though I have nothing to say.”

The thought—Henry’s own words—shook him even more.

Coming to his feet, Henry went to the window. He was not a man of great outward passion. It was true that he didn’t need conversation to be content, but that didn’t mean he could follow his heart.

“What caused her to come exactly?”

“She’s confused by you. She said you value things above people.”

Henry turned from the window.

“In truth, I don’t, but since I never share my thoughts, how much I love and pray for my sisters and Edward, they never know.”

Walker remained quiet. He had decided to speak to Henry, assuming he was a believer, not knowing it would open the floodgates. In the next three hours Walker learned how Henry had come to Christ at his father’s knee, Charlotte, just two years younger, right beside him.

He learned of the way he’d met with Pastor Greville in Bath for personal Bible study but now did all of his studying alone. For long stretches Henry talked nonstop, telling Walker of the truths he’d learned from Scripture and the way God had changed his heart in many areas.

“But you never tell any of this to your siblings?”

“No, I guess I don’t. I’m a kind person, generous even, and not easily angered. I assumed that they understood the reason I was able to be such a man.”

“What would Cassandra say if she was to hear all of that?”

Henry knew in an instant.

“She would ask me why I never inquire about her day or her shopping trips. She would ask how we can go for our morning rides and not say two words to each other.”

“So she doesn’t speak either?”

“She’s only doing that for me.”

Walker smiled at Henry Steele.

“Henry, you’re one of my favorite people. I feel that way because you’re intelligent and we can talk on any subject. I don’t know why you haven’t been able to do that with your family, but God can change you. I’m sure of it.”

Henry sighed. “This might be more than He’s ever asked of me before.”

Walker was still smiling.

“But if He requires it of you, and I suspect that He does, He’ll help you. You know He will.”

Henry could not help but agree. He and Walker talked on for the next hour, mapping out a plan and looking at verses that spoke to the man of the family and how much he needed to lead. By the time Henry left for home, he was well and truly spent, but he was also determined to change. He and Walker would meet at the same time next week.

Thinking once again that his sisters had doubted his salvation made his heart ache.

“I don’t know how to talk to them, Father. I don’t know how,” Henry said softly in the coach as it moved toward Newcomb Park. And from that point on, he prayed until the coach pulled into the drive.

Chapter Eight

Pembroke

The sun was up and warm in a cloudless sky when Cassandra arrived on Friday morning. Hastings told her at the door that Tate was already on the veranda. Cassandra headed that way.

“Hello, Mr Tate.”

“Hello, Cassandra. Can you stand to be outside today?”

“Yes. I might have begged for this if I’d found you inside.”

Tate waited for her to sit and then handed her the book he’d been holding.

“Here you go.”

“What’s this?” Cassandra looked down at the new volume.

“Our next book. Have a go at it.”

A moment later Cassandra’s laughter bubbled out. She didn’t know if it was Japanese or Chinese, but she knew one thing: She couldn’t read it.

“Where did you unearth this?”

“Hastings is very resourceful,” Tate answered with a broad smile, clearly pleased with himself.

“And what if I’d been able to read it?”

“Ah, yes, that would have been fun. The joke would have certainly been on me.”

Cassandra laughed a little more.

“Are there other languages you can speak?” Tate suddenly wondered. He was as good with Italian and French as Cassandra was, but until that moment assumed there was nothing else in her repertoire.

“Now that would be telling,” Cassandra hedged. In truth, any other language she’d worked on was sketchy, but she didn’t want to admit to that just yet.

“You choose to remain a mystery.”

“For the moment.”

“I might have to keep searching for books.”

Cassandra laughed at this and was ready to reach for the nearby paper, but Tate had another question.

“Has anything been rectified in your painful situation?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How would you not know?”

“Because at times things happen quietly or slowly. I’m fairly certain that some talking has gone on, but it’s rather new, so time might be needed.”

“If I were to pray about the situation, for what would I ask?”

Wanting very much to continue to be discreet, Cassandra had to think on that.

“I think we can pray that all hearts involved be open, humble, and patient. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

“Do you want me to read now?”

“That’s fine.”

Cassandra reached for the paper but didn’t open it.

“Mr Tate, may I ask a question of you?”

“Yes.”

“How do you pray for yourself? How do you stay at peace when you don’t know what will happen with your eyesight?”

“I pray that I’ll keep trusting.”

“So the biggest issue for you is trust?”

“Yes. It helps that I was studying Moses at the time of my accident. God asked Moses to trust Him in so many ways. Sometimes he failed, and other times he was obedient. But what stuck out the most to me was God’s plan in Moses’ life. Clearly God knew what He wanted from Moses and how best to take care of His servant.

“As His child, I believe that God has a plan for me. God knows whether my having my sight restored will bring Him honor and glory. I can’t tell you that it wouldn’t be an adjustment to remain in darkness, but if I need to stay blind in order to be more pleasing to Him, I can’t fight that. If I don’t thank Him for whatever He has planned, I’ll be miserable and fruitless. I fail in my efforts—every day I fail—but my goal is to be righteous and trust Him.”

Cassandra found herself oddly choked up. Had she just met this man, all he’d said might have sounded like a lot of religious platitudes. However, she felt confident that he meant every word. She’d been with him for days, seeing his calmness, his sense of peace, and even his effort to put others ahead of himself.

“Are you still there, Cassandra?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t disguise the thickness of her voice. Indeed, tears were very close. She forced them back. “I’ll read to you now.”

Tate didn’t comment. He had no idea his thoughts would affect her, but he found it strangely comforting. Coming to need her warmth, sweetness, and sense of caring in his life, he suddenly realized that if she felt nothing for him, it would feel like a rejection.

He listened to her read, no particular emotion showing on his face, but he was pleased right then, very pleased indeed.

Newcomb Park

“How was Mr Tate yesterday?”

For several heartbeats Cassandra didn’t answer. She had heard Henry’s voice and seen his mouth move but still couldn’t quite manage the fact that Henry had initiated a dialog.

“He’s doing well. Thank you for asking, Henry.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Henry moved on his way then, Cassandra staring after him. Lizzy chose that moment to walk from the library with a book.

“What is it, Cassie?”

“I don’t know. Just something odd.”

“Henry?”

“Yes.”

Lizzy nodded. “He asked me if I’d visited with Anne Weston lately and how she was doing.”

“Did he go and see Mr Walker? Is that where he was on Wednesday?”

“I believe so.”

“What do you suppose happened? Should we ask Mr Walker?”

“No.” Lizzy immediately shook her head. “Let us take our cue from Henry. Clearly he’s trying, and we need to be as open and receptive as we can be.”

Cassandra only nodded, still feeling somewhat in shock.

Why do I pray for something and then feel amazed when You bring it to pass?
she asked the Lord, a bit miffed with herself and her own lack of faith.
I shall do better,
Cassandra decided.
I shall ask believing and be more willing to trust.

Having only just decided this, Cassandra realized she’d completely forgotten what she was about to do. She looked toward the library door but nothing jogged her memory. A moment later she gave up and returned to her room.