The Visitor (5 page)

“Is my aunt nearby?” Tate asked, his voice dropping a bit.

“No. Shall I find her?”

“No,” Tate stopped him, barely hiding his smile. “I have something I wish for you to do.”

Hastings had a smile of his own by the time Tate finished describing his scheme, and only just in time. Harriet came looking for Tate’s man a short while later with a question. When the three finally separated, Hastings and Tate for the haircut, and Aunt Harriet for town, Tate’s plan was in place.

Tipton

The entire family was gathered at the Palmer home for dinner. Palmer and Lydia’s brood of five were around the table, as were Jennings and Marianne’s four children. Mr and Mrs Walker—grandparents to the Jennings children—had also joined the party. Seven-month-old Catherine was on her grandfather’s knee, attempting to place the tablecloth in her mouth. Young Oliver Palmer, now nine months old, was in his sister’s lap, happy to smile at anyone who caught his eye. Conversation flowed freely, and it took a moment for Palmer to gather everyone’s attention so grace could be said.

“I think we’ll pray now and get started, although it doesn’t seem as though anyone is lacking energy from not having eaten.”

Those gathered about the table laughed at this light humor and then bowed their heads.

“We have much to thank You for, heavenly Father. Thank You for the food, the hands that prepared it, and all who have gathered here. Help us to be wise and mindful of You as we enjoy this time. I ask these things in Christ’s holy name. Amen.”

The conversation went back to full volume as food landed on every plate, and the feasting began.

“What do you hear about Tate?” Lydia asked the table. “Any word on his sight?”

“Harriet was over on Sunday,” Mr Walker answered. “She said he still needs to take it easy and keep his eyes covered.”

“How long has it been now?” Marianne asked.

“A while,” put in Lydia.

“Since before Christmas,” added Mrs Walker.

“Has it helped to be here in Collingbourne, taking things slower?” Jennings asked, having heard the reason for the move.

“They won’t know for some time.”

“He’s so shut off from everything. How is he handling it?”

No one knew specific answers, so speculation abounded. Soon they moved on to the children’s schooling. The older children were asked to report on what they’d been learning, the adults questioning them at some length. By the time this was accomplished, the children were finished eating and were dismissed.

The six adults enjoyed conversation of their own, and interestingly enough, the Hurst family came up. Palmer shocked everyone with his first statement.

“I think Judith might be expecting.”

“Who told you that?” his wife wished to know, her mouth opening in surprise.

“No one. I just think it might be true.”

There was no end of ribbing when he said this, and Palmer took it in stride. The group was right: He didn’t know for certain. Nevertheless, he was quite sure in his heart, and when the topic changed to a possible trip to London, he did nothing to dissuade it. He told himself that they would all know soon enough.

Pembroke

“Aunt Harriet, is that you?” Tate called from the library. It had taken two more days to execute his plan, but he was now situated casually in one of the deep chairs, a side table next to him.

“Well, Tate,” his aunt said with pleasure, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in this room since we arrived.”

Tate smiled to himself but said honestly, “I’d forgotten how good a library smells.”

“It does at that,” Harriet agreed softly, her eyes caressing the beautiful book-lined shelves.

“Are you in the mood to read for a time, Aunt Harriet?”

“Why, Tate,” his aunt said with pleasure. “I’d love to read to you. What shall I read?”

“Oh, anything will do.” His voice was a study in nonchalance. “I think there might be a book right here on the table.”

“Wonderful.”

Tate barely held his composure as Harriet took the book from his outstretched hand. He heard her settle in to read, turning the first few pages, but then everything stopped.

“Oh, Tate, this book is in French. My French is terrible.”

“Oh, all right. No problem. I think there’s another volume of some sort right here.”

Tate took a second book from the table and held it out.

“Wonderful,” Harriet said again, ready to do some serious reading this time, but again, all movement stopped.

“Tate,” she said, her voice growing suspicious. “This book is written in Italian. I don’t know Italian.”

“Don’t you?” he asked, as though this were breaking news.

“Alexander Tate!” she explained sternly, even as laughter escaped. “Who helped you with this?”

Tate’s head went back as he laughed, a full-bodied sound that Harriet hadn’t heard in far too long. She went over to hug him, and he squeezed her tightly, very pleased with the success of his joke.

“You rascal!” she accused him, still laughing at his ploy. “Was Hastings in on this?”

“Of course.”

Harriet sighed before asking, “
Would
you like me to read to you?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m happy just to sit here, but thank you.”

“That was very naughty.”

“Wasn’t it?” Tate agreed, doing nothing to hide his smile.

Harriet began to rethink her plan. Maybe Tate didn’t need anything else right now. Then again…

Tate was speaking to her, so Harriet attended as best she could, but her thoughts were running in a certain direction. It would be most intriguing to see what the future might bring.

Newcomb Park

“You’re pacing,” Henry said mildly, the second time he passed Lizzy in the large entryway. She turned to him, trying to look innocent but doing a dreadful job. Henry’s serious eyes caused her shoulders to droop.

“I thought she would be here by now.”

“As did I, but that doesn’t mean something is wrong.”

“I wonder why I always assume it does.”

Henry didn’t answer but did join her near the window, his own gaze going to the quiet driveway. He stood for several moments, his thoughts to himself, before touching Lizzy’s shoulder and moving on his way.

Tempted as she was, Lizzy did not go back to pacing. Telling herself she would be too weary to enjoy Cassandra’s first day back if she didn’t settle down, she made herself stand still.

“Lizzy,” Cassandra’s rather husky voice came to her in the night, and Lizzy wished it was more than a dream.

“Wake up, Lizzy. I’m home.”

“Cassie!” Lizzy gasped in surprise and delight when she realized her younger sister was sitting on the side of her bed, shaking her awake.

“It’s terribly late. We had one delay after another. But I wanted you to know that I’d made it.”

Lizzy hugged her for all she was worth.

“Are you all right?” Lizzy needed to know.

“I’m fine, and I’m so glad to be home. We’ll have days to visit, but right now I’ve got to sleep.”

Lizzy saw Cassandra to her room after she hugged Henry, who met them in the hallway, and then went back for her own sleep. She lay in the darkness a few moments, smiling up at the ceiling and thanking God for His protective hand that had brought her sister home.

Brown Manor

Anne did not know where her energy had gone. She had awakened that morning with such plans, but suddenly she had no will for any of them. Not even time in the garden sounded appealing.

Weston had gone to his study to get some work done. Anne knew he liked to have quiet, but right now she felt a need to be near him. She made her way toward the stairs, planning to apologize for being such a baby, even knowing he would understand.

Thankfully Weston had just left his desk to find Mansfield. He exited the study and saw his wife just as she reached the bottom of the stairs and collapsed into a small heap.

Anne was in Weston’s arms just moments later, having missed his shouts for help and for a doctor, and when she awoke, his concerned face filled her gaze.

“I fainted, didn’t I?”

“The doctor’s on his way,” Weston told her, his voice breathless with fright.

“Do you think I need a doctor?”

“Well, even if you don’t, I do.”

Anne smiled at his attempt to make her laugh, but she could see the distress in his gaze.