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November 23 - November 26, 2024
Praise God from whom all blessings flow Praise him all creatures here below Praise him above ye heavenly host Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Oh may my soul on Thee repose and with sweet sleep mine eyelids close, Sleep that may me more vigorous make to serve my God when I awake.
“Kindness leads to repentance, and repentance leads to change,” I said—so easily that it must have
“There’s more than one kind of love, Edith. There’s the love we have for those who nurture us when we are young, because we have need of them. Then there’s the kind of love we give as a gift, regardless of need. A love we choose, though we
could have got on tolerably without it. I suspect that is what you have now, and what has changed you.”
“Not at all. It’s simply that when you can choose to love someone freely, without needing something from them—then you begin to understand a little about the love God bears towards His children.”
“Do I? I don’t mean to. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God—there’s no suggestion that peacemaking is anything other than extremely hard work. God works very hard Himself, I believe.”
“Things have been falling apart at Wormwood Abbey, regardless of you, Edith, for generations. Wherever you go, you ought to do it soon—if only to cure yourself of this belief that everything will fall apart without you. Then come back and see it all with fresh eyes. Now, your mother will be waiting for me, so I will bid you goodnight.”
I took a quick breath. “Then you came along for yourself? Because you—wanted something?” He flushed and looked ashamed. “Yes.” “You didn’t come because you thought it was your duty?” I persisted. “Why are you smiling?” he asked, astonished. I was beaming. “Because it means that you can change! You’re not frozen, not semper eadem! I never change? My sainted aunt!” I scoffed. “Or rather, my aunt is Jewish, it turns out. So I suppose she can’t be a sainted aunt. They don’t have saints. Though they do treat Abraham rather like one. And Jacob, though I can’t understand why, since he was such a
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“All of us require forgiveness, Edith,” he said very quietly, checking my flippant laugh.
“Yes. He says he can see no reason to decline. And I’ve decided I’d like to marry Simon, but he won’t ask me, because he thinks his mother and I will not make for a happy family life. I think absence will help him see things differently. You know. Pining.”
I wondered if you’d like me to bring anything for you when I come home? I’m bringing your sister lemon drops, though she asked for a motorcar.
She disappeared. I’d never been without that book since my father gave it to me. But giving it away didn’t feel like a loss. I felt I’d grown richer by it.
Money, of course, could not have bought back my mother, but it might have made my father’s mourning period less comfortless, or have made me grow into a less serious child—someone who hadn’t set out to attain financial independence at the earliest opportunity, as I had.
How odd to think that someone I had hardly known might still influence the daily decisions and personal tastes I had thought so entirely my own.
“I’m afraid I’m too stupid to read novels,” admitted David ruefully. “Too stupid for novels? How refreshing!” I laughed. “Usually, people say they aren’t stupid enough.”
I had that unmistakable sense every woman has when a man has found her pleasing to the eye.
I didn’t want kingdoms—I would be admirably content with a dragon to ride and Simon to marry. Well, I was halfway there already.
To be a sheep farmer, I had discovered during my time in Yorkshire, required the steadiness of a rock in the face of storms and disasters.
“Edith, perhaps I’ve no right to give advice in this matter, but I have begun to think that the happiness in your family is due in large part to the honesty with which you treat one another.
Would it really prove simpler to woo a dragon than Simon?
When we brought out the saddle, Cariad flared up like a schoolboy seeing a textbook during his holidays.
In the novels I had read, the hero was always able to convince the reluctant object of his affections to forgo her maidenly condition simply by his persistence and shining character, but literature had sadly little to say about such a situation in reverse.
I exclaimed, stamping my foot in frustration, and stubbing my toe on a cobble stone for good measure. Simon started to laugh.
Mother had always said I was too old for my years.
I thought that I would not mind even death itself, if I could die like this.
So far, I can’t convince him that his mother is an obstacle we can overcome together.” “Of course you can’t.” This startled me. “Why 'of course’?” “Well, it seems to me the obstacle in this situation isn’t Helena at all. I’m very much afraid it is Simon.”
“Oh, my dear Edith, no one who has ever seen the way you look at a treacle tart, let alone the way you look at Simon, would ever think you capable of such a thing.”
“What! Mother, why did you never tell me this before? Are you seriously telling me I look at Simon like—well, like a greedy child outside of a sweet shop!”
“But you’ll have to be very patient with her.” Violet nodded vigorously. “You’ve never seen someone as patient as I can be! How long do you think it will take?” “Oh, Violet,” I sighed. How alike we were sometimes!
“But you wish to learn, my dear. To say I don’t know is always the beginning of learning.”
Dear Cousin Edith, I have tried provoking Simon to pine but I have failed. He just looked at me very solemly solemnly when I spoke of your letter from London, and did not go into a jealous rage when I told him that you had many bows beaus beaux at your feet there. (I know that was not strictly true but there is a poet who
said all is fair in love and war, Aunt Emily told us so.) So I don’t think he wants to marry you after all. You should come back and take Janushek before it is too late. He is mooning after Lily now. I don’t think she likes it, but she may weaken if much time passes, because she has no other prospecks prospects here. I thought you ought to know. We have put G.S. back into the river as he was becoming very troublesome to all. Una did not cry, and Pip made her a portrait of G.S. to remember him by. She decided to let him go, I did not make her. Your Devoted Cousin Violet P.S. Aunt Emily does
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Let it not be him! I thought desperately. But it was like hearing a footstep in one’s bedroom at night. If I hid under the counterpane, I’d never sleep again.
But I could not say what might be more terrible: the darkness, or whatever the light would reveal.
Gwendolyn beamed as she bustled about setting up the tea things on an alarmingly small table. If one of us sneezed, all would be lost.
Suddenly they were both looking at me fixedly, and I found I wasn’t laughing anymore, but crying. “Oh!” said Sylvia, looking from me to the plate of buns. “I see we are going to need more of these. I’ll go for reinforcements.” She disappeared.
“Just what are you doing here, Father?” He drew out an invitation from his pocket. “I was invited, I’ll have you know! Did you really think I would miss your debut as a celebrated author?”
Could I hope to wrestle with every secret in my chequered family history until it blessed instead of cursed us?
I am, I can, I ought, I will.
“If I thought on every sheep that’d take ill and perish in my lifetime, I’d lie down on ma bed and not get up again. But this yow—she needs help with ’er leg now. So I won’t lie abed and mourn for those that canna be helped while she sickens. Mend what falls to tha hand, lass, and leave all to God.”
“Just start at the top of the pile, Edith, and go from there. You’ll find it will lessen before you know it.”
“What a dreadful thought! But love isn’t like that at all, Mrs Drake. It’s not a plate of buns without enough buns on it for everyone who came to tea. It’s a teashop, stocked with all the things to bake buns forever and ever.”
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“Indeed, ma’am,” I said firmly, “you will never convince me it is ever too late for salvation.”
“Well, the Stamp Act, for one! Your eyes always glazed over completely whenever political science was mentioned.
I wasn’t sure what kind of claims might reasonably be made upon the time and energies of one’s sweetheart, having never before had one of my own.
“Don't you think Eden was significantly warmer than Yorkshire?” George asked. “After all, our first parents didn’t wear any clothes.”
Her eyes went to Janushek, and again, there was that quiet warmth from her amber eyes. He smiled, and I think at least three of us were remembering that moment when Lily had felled him with a spade.
He let out a long breath, which ruffled my hair. “You take me up already, Edith,” he said quietly, “just by looking at me the way you do.” Abruptly, I twisted round in the saddle to confront him. “Not like a treacle tart?” He blinked. “I beg your pardon?” “Something humiliating Mother said. Do I look at you like that?”
did indeed,” I said. “One has to be very firm in situations like these. These women would have had you running errands for them all afternoon! When I particularly want you.” Just for good measure, I picked a non-existent bit of lint off his jacket. He took up my hand and kissed it quickly. I sensed a general intake of breath from all onlookers. “Gently does it!” I warned him. “I need you to be eligible enough to sell all these gimcracks.”
