The Visitor (7 page)

“All right,” Cassandra said willingly, knowing that hearing her out wouldn’t mean she had to agree.

“Could I possibly impose upon your time to explain in, say, an hour?”

“That would be fine. Where would you like to meet?”

“Gray’s?”

“Gray’s it is. I shall be there.”

Harriet smiled at both younger women, bid them good shopping, and moved on her way. Lizzy looked at her sister.

“Cassie dear, I do believe I’ve been bored without you here and didn’t even know it.”

This sent Cassandra into gales of laughter that she was forced to stifle or be guilty of making a scene in the store.

Both women worked to control themselves and get back to the task at hand, Cassandra with a reminder to herself that she had to be at Gray’s in an hour.

Brown Manor

“Oh, it’s all so lovely,” Anne exclaimed as Lizzy and Cassandra held up each tiny item. The bed was strewn with small caps and buntings, blankets and soft fabric for nappies and bath times.

“We got a bit of everything in all colors, even though we both think you’ll have a boy.”

“Is this based on science, or are you prescient?” Anne wished to know.

“Well, I hadn’t seen you yet, so I guess that makes me prescient,” Cassandra decided, but Lizzy had to admit to opinion only.

“We can’t stay, Anne,” Lizzy told her after a very short time. “We would love to, but we mustn’t tax your strength at all.”

“I understand. Judith was here this morning and said the same thing. Do tell me you’ll come back, however.”

“We certainly will.”

The Steele women did a swift cleanup job, embraced Anne before they exited, and met Weston in the hall.

“I could tell she was pleased,” he said without hesitation. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s our pleasure, Weston. Just send word if we can do anything else.”

“We will probably be fine, but I won’t forget your offer.”

Weston saw them down to their coach and waved as the horses pulled away. Lizzy turned to her sister the moment the coach was in motion and stared for several seconds.

“Tell me again what Mrs Thorpe asked you to do.”

Cassandra laughed and willingly obliged, causing Lizzy to shake her head in wonder all over again.

Pembroke

It couldn’t have been more perfect. Harriet had all she could do not to dance when she realized that Tate had gone back to sit in the library just before Cassandra arrived on Saturday afternoon.

“Is this a good time?” Cassandra asked.

“This is perfect. I’ll just bring you into the room and let you take it from there.”

Cassandra smiled at the delight in the other woman’s eyes, trusting her to know what was best for her nephew.

“Tate,” Harriet began as she stepped into the library, “you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Tate listened as his aunt walked from the room. The moment her footsteps died away, a woman’s husky voice spoke.

“Hello, Mr Tate. I’m Cassandra. Your aunt asked me to come and read to you.”

“Did she now?” he asked with a bit of humor in his voice, needing no time to catch on.

“Yes. Is there something in particular you’d like me to read?”

“Why, thank you for asking. Why don’t we start with this book right here?”

“Very well.”

Tate felt the book leave his hand, not entirely certain his aunt hadn’t tiptoed back to watch. If she had, she’d know soon enough that he was about to turn the joke back to her.

It was with a great deal of admiration and some chagrin that he heard this Cassandra woman begin reading to him in perfectly accented French. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, as she stopped after just a few paragraphs.

“Is this where you were in the story, Mr Tate? I found a slip of paper and assumed.”

Willing to listen for a time, and hoping that his aunt was in fact nearby, he responded, “That’s fine.”

Cassandra didn’t know if Mrs Thorpe had remained in the vicinity or not. She had been given instructions and was just doing as she was told. She was to stay for less than an hour and to leave sooner if she was asked.

“Excuse me,” Tate cut in after only five pages. “Would you mind terribly if we changed books?”

“Not at all.”

Tate had all he could do not to snap his fingers in defeat when her Italian was as well versed as her French. He would never have dreamed he would need more languages, or he’d have put Hastings to work.

And then to his surprise, somewhere in the story, the joke faded away. Tate found himself relaxing, his mind willingly following the plot and her deep, soothing voice. She corrected a few of her pronunciations from time to time, but it wasn’t distracting in the least. Tate was nothing short of amazed when she stopped and closed the book.

“Well, Mr Tate. We made it through the first four chapters, but now I must be off.”

“Thank you,” Tate said automatically, realizing she was moving out of the room before he could frame any more of a reply. Not long after, he heard a door close and knew she had gone. He wasted no time coming to his feet. He found the door out of the library and hollered like a fishwife.

“Harriet Thorpe, where are you? Harriet Thorpe, you come here this instant!”

Her laughter gave her away as she came from the foyer, so satisfied with herself that she danced a little jig.

“Come here,” Tate commanded, holding his arms out to hug her.

Harriet went into his embrace and hugged him right back, both of them laughing until they felt weak.

Still holding his aunt close, Tate’s voice became serious. “Have I told you how much I appreciate all you’ve done?”

“I think you just did.”

Tate found her forehead and kissed it. Harriet, still very pleased with herself, told him that tea would be in an hour and that she was going to change.

Tate sat in his bedroom on Sunday morning—although the whole house was quiet—to pray and think on the Word. He had been studying the life of Moses when the accident occurred, and he worked every day to recall what he’d learned about that man and God’s work in his life, asking Hastings or his aunt to read to him about things he couldn’t remember.

This morning, however, he just wished to pray. Prayer had become an integral part of his life since the accident. He’d always wanted to be stronger in that area, and having been plunged into darkness had certainly accomplished that.

Please bless Pastor Hurst and all those listening to him today. Prepare hearts and change lives, Lord. Thank You that Harriet could meet with the church family this morning. Thank You for her love for You. Bless her, Lord. Help her ears to be open to Your Word this morning and to listen keenly for things she needs to learn. And please help her, Lord, to be aware of others around her.

Tate stopped. This was not so much a prayer request for his aunt but one that he would be praying for himself should he ever see again. He had not been an uncaring man, just a busy one.

“Of course,” he said quietly in his room, “that’s probably the same thing.”

Tate spent the next two hours in his room. At times his heart was quiet, just thinking about the great God who loved him. At other moments, he lifted up all he could think of, friends and family alike, asking God to protect and save.

Not until it was almost time for Harriet to return did Tate remember Cassandra. She had such a nice voice—deep and soothing. He wondered if she was going to come again.

“I’m fascinated with Jonah,” Pastor Hurst admitted during his sermon. “I think I would choose to do better. I think in the same situation I would act differently, but then something comes up in my life that reminds me I am not thinking as God thinks, and I have to suspect that I would have done no better than Jonah.

“He’s doing the right thing one minute and completely rebelling the next. Can you imagine being one of the sailors on that ship? They begged God not to hold them accountable for the murder of Jonah, but what else could they do but throw him overboard? The ship was being torn to pieces. Murder or not, they had to try it or all drown.

“Rebelling against God is exhausting work. The sea and wind are about to break this ship to pieces, but Jonah is sleeping somewhere below deck. I personally would be so seasick that I would wish for death, but he’s run from God and is now worn out.

“Do you ever run from God? I don’t mean literally, although that might be the case. I’m talking about the times you ignore what you’re supposed to do. That’s a form of running from God. How about the sin you know it’s time to give up? Guarding that sin and pretending you’re not is running from God.

“But as we talked about last week, in God there is always hope. Even when we run, God is planning for our return. Even Jonah understood this. He’s been cast into the sea and swallowed whole, but look at what he says in chapter 2, verse 4. ‘I am cast out of thy sight; yet I will look again toward thy holy temple.’ Verse 7 goes on to say, ‘When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord; and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple.’

“Hope, my friends. It’s a precious thing. The hope we can have in our saving God is huge. There is no sin that He can’t forgive. There is no need that He can’t supply. Even if you’ve run. Even if you’re running right now. Our saving God is waiting for you to turn to Him.”