by Lisa Prysock
“No, I cannot imagine having been in such a nightmare. By the grace of Providence Himself we were not at the first Sunday night service. There were seven corpses laid out upon the grounds… and nearly thirty injured and taken to a hospital from being trampled. By the grace of God we weren’t there.” Geneva finished her cider and added, “You know, Sarah, part of what sustains me is the more I ponder and pray about those circumstances, the more I realize Spurgeon had the attention of the entire world at his feet after that tragedy.”
Chapter 5.
Farewell
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. Isaiah 41:10
On the following Sunday, her last in Cardiff, the Palmer and Berkley families were absent yet again from worship services. The look on Father’s face as they drove home in the buggy stabbed at her heart. He appeared distracted at the Sunday dinner meal serving as her going away gathering. Perhaps father struggled with the financial aspects of the events swirling about them. Jen prayed the offering collected would be enough to keep St. John’s doors open, with or without Edward Palmer’s considerable tithe. Frank and Lillian’s presence made the afternoon a little more cheerful.
Mama, a crisp white apron tied at the waist over her Sunday best dress, leaned over the stove in the kitchen as she stirred a brown gravy in a sauce pan. With both of them wearing crinolines[12] beneath their gowns, there was barely enough room for the two of them to move about the cozy kitchen. Mama broke the tension in the air with her soothing voice of concern. “How are ye handling all of this, Geneva? I know you miss your friends, but you will make new friends in America.”
“Best as can be expected I suppose, Mama,” she replied as she stacked a generous number of the sour dough rolls on one of Mama’s pretty china plates from the cupboard. “I worry about you and Father handling the repercussions of these false rumors.”
“Oh, p’shaw! By this time next year, this little incident will be forgotten old news!” Mama winked at her with a cheerful smile as Geneva picked up the plate of rolls to carry it to the table.
The comforting and familiar sounds of Lillian setting the table while the voices of Father and Frank discussing the latest news drifted into the kitchen from the parlor and dining room. Geneva carried various items for the meal to the table from the kitchen to the dining room. She could hear bits and pieces of Lillian commenting about the upcoming wedding of Princess Victoria[13] to Frederick of Prussia.
“Despite he is Prussian, I am looking forward to a royal wedding. I do hope it will be in London. I would very much enjoy making the journey to glimpse the bride and groom enter and exit the ceremony, wouldn’t you Jen?” Lillian inquired as Geneva placed the rolls on the table.
“It certainly sounds as if it will be the wedding of the century! You must write and tell me every detail,” Geneva responded as she ducked back into the kitchen. Lilly kept talking about the event, but her words were drowned out with a clanging noise as she placed a handful of silverware on the table. Simultaneously, Mama opened and closed the oven door to check on the roast. This drowned out the discussion from the parlor and brought Geneva’s attention back to the kitchen work.
“I am very proud of you for being so brave. I know you feel betrayed by your friends, but as my grandmother always used to say, this too shall pass,” Mama reminded, tasting the gravy. She decided to add more salt and pepper. “Did you put the butter on the table?”
“Oh ydw… the butter! Rolls are best with butter. I know you are right, Mama,” Geneva nodded as she reached for the butter crock from the pantry to transport it to the dining room table. “One day God will set things right… I have to keep holding onto that. I wish there was something I could do to change the circumstances, but I cannot seem to think of a single thing ‘twould make much of a difference.”
“Our prayers and faith will make the most difference,” Mama replied as she continued to stir the gravy. “We may not understand everything now, but in time we will.”
Seated at the dinner table after Papa blessed the meal, talk of steam engines dragged on. There were concerns about coal getting through to London in the event of a blizzard. Geneva tried to enjoy the delicious roast beef Polly had prepared the day before for the family. Accompanied by boiled potatoes, roasted carrots, gravy, and sour dough rolls, it all tasted like sawdust in her mouth. Seeing these families she had known since her youth turn their backs on Papa by leaving the church made her feel numb all over. She could handle them turning their backs on her, but on Father? It weighed heavily upon her heart.
“Aunt Jen, would you kindly pass the rolls? I think I shall have another,” Lilly held out her hand for the plate of rolls to Geneva’s right, but she wore an oddly broad grin preventing Mama from slicing into the cherry cobbler.
“D-did you say Aunt Jen?” Geneva finally managed, looking up at Lillian with hope in her eyes.
“She did indeed say Aunt Jen!” Frank interjected proudly as he looked at Lilly, one hand wrapped around a glass of milk, the other arm draped across the back of his wife’s chair.
“Oh, Lilly!” Mama breathed, reaching across the corner of the table to hug her daughter. “A baby…? When?”
The table erupted with joy and for the first time since the morning worship service, Geneva forgot about the lump in her throat. Thankfully most of the parishioners were wise enough to disregard Bryn Palmer’s tales, but it was obvious the news had spread by the quirky looks in their direction. The news of a baby coming was exactly what they needed to take their minds off of the drab winter weather and icy social behaviors aimed at the Rosemont family. Though it dawned on her she would not be home to celebrate the arrival of a little niece or nephew for many years to come, she was finally able to taste some of the food as her nerves relaxed.
She would desperately miss the children and her work at the Fenway Street Mission, but Father would never have allowed her to become a full time teacher there. Her work there was limited for a variety of reasons. Being a volunteer had drawbacks. Since the mission could not afford to offer her any remuneration or salary for her work, there were limitations to what she could do for them. The living conditions and location were complexities she could not overcome at her age. Teaching on a plantation at Aunt Millie’s school would offer her circumstances without such obstacles. Even Father was keenly aware of the benefits this change would offer his daughter. He had said her years as a volunteer on Fenway Street would serve her well in America. She tucked his praise into her heart. It meant a lot to her to know he valued her work and experience at Cardiff.
They students showered her the Friday before with a going away party with slivers of vanilla cake, lemonade, and gifts of poems, songs, and notes written to her on paper. She had packed the stack of folded notes carefully into her new travel trunk along with the rest of her most cherished possessions. Her gift to the each of her students had been a small bag of lemon drop candy she purchased from Frank’s mercantile using some of the coins she had earned running errands for a few of the elderly parish widows. Their eyes had sparkled to receive such a gift. Candy of any kind was a rare treat for the orphans. Even as she washed dishes in the kitchen with Lillian and Mama after the meal, she attempted to memorize the glowing faces of each child when she hugged them good-bye.
For the director and the three other teachers on staff, most of whom worked endless hours at the mission, she had given each a small book of Byron’s poetry with a crocheted bookmark. They were sad to see her go, but happy for her to embark on a new and exciting experience. As she dried a plate Mama handed her from the basin of soapy water with a dish towel, she reflected on the teacher gift Nell had given her, a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress with a signed note on the first page of the book. She would certainly miss Nell; Miss Radcliffe, as the students addressed her. Nell, with years of teaching expertise behind her, had given Jen a great quantity of apprecia
tion, friendly advice, and confidence in her own teaching ability.
When the last dish was washed, dried, and put away into Mama’s slate blue hutch, the ladies settled into the parlor with Frank and Vicar Rosemont to enjoy the rest of the afternoon in family companionship with light sewing; cups of steaming tea; generous slices of bara brith; and good conversation. Geneva played a few songs on the piano and all the while attempted to etch the day’s memories into her mind. She noted her sister chatting on with excitement about the baby to come; the joy in Mama’s eyes; Frank’s occasional remarks; and Father nodding off now and then as he fell asleep. She didn’t want to forget a single thing about Sunday afternoons at home in Cardiff, Wales of beautiful England.
“I imagine you will appreciate Kentucky knowing how you enjoy the countryside,” Frank offered when she was done playing the piano. “I hear ‘tis beautiful there. Rolling green meadows, hill country, the Appalachians to the east…”
“I believe the only drawback to Kentucky is the disturbing fact the state and the nation, primarily the south, yet abides with the barbarous act of slavery, as Prince Albert[14] has referred to it in times past,” Geneva responded.
Father startled himself to a state of being awake on hearing the statement, his eyes popping open to join the conversation.
Mama shook her head as her crochet needle wrapped around the yarn in her hand. “I don’t know who reads the newspapers more in this house! Sometimes it is James, and other times, Jen! I am still a firm believer ladies should not participate in political discussions if they want to attract a husband.” Mama sighed as she threaded a needle for an embroidery project.
“Alas, you have exposed the one shield left in my arsenal to keep potential husbands at bay. I’m not in the least bit interested in attracting a husband yet, Mama!” Jen responded, making them all laugh.
“Aunt Millicent is dreadfully wealthy. You will have us all in a state of envy upon hearing how she will dote upon you with new dresses, balls, garden teas, and all sorts of opportunities for meeting the very best sort of husband, just like my Frank!” Lillian flashed an adoring stare up at Frank. He peered down lovingly at her from his seat on the parlor bench, his arm still draped across the back of the bench where his fingertips could occasionally wrap about his wife’s shoulder. Geneva noticed the brief look they exchanged from her position on the chair she had brought in from the dining room so the two lovebirds could be seated next to each other on the bench. She supposed the kind of love they shared would be wonderful someday, if she could ever find the right sort of fellow. With Aunt Millie’s wealth to be left to her, it had crossed her mind more than once in recent weeks she would certainly not be in any need of a husband if she didn’t want one.
“How did your sister become so wealthy, Papa?” Jen inquired.
“Yes, do tell us,” Lilly chimed in with avid interest.
“Well, the Rosemonts have always had some degree of our own wealth and lived a comfortable life for a number of generations, being Scottish, English, and French landed gentry, as you well know. I thank God for His blessing upon our families. My sister Millie was introduced to Colonel George Bradford from America in Edinburgh, at a debutante ball as I recall.” Father scratched the back of his head as he tried to remember the details. “I believe the Bradfords were far wealthier than the Rosemonts in their own right. Their fortune was acquired not only in land, but they invested some in coal mines… and kerosene oil, I believe it was. I think those investments allowed the Bradfords to tour England, Scotland, France, and a few other places in Europe. The Bradfords had family in Edinburgh. George and Millie fell in love at first sight and the rest is history. He took her to his home in America after a beautiful Scottish wedding. Everyone attended the wedding… and Mama cried. My mother never did get to visit the states. Millie hasn’t been home since, even though the Colonel passed away and she has the freedom and resources to do as she pleases.”
“Do they have slaves, Papa?” Lilly asked.
“No, they do not,” he answered. “The Colonel believed in share cropping as I recall from his letters. Strong aversion to slavery…”
“Thank the good Lord he wasn’t ignorant of the despicable horrors and ills of slavery,” Geneva inserted.
“Ydw,” Father agreed, nodding.
“Maybe it is one of the things I will write about to help bring about reform in America as we have here in beloved England,” Jen mentioned as she reached for her crochet basket.
“I do believe you will write about it and many other things, our dear Geneva,” Mama smiled. “You must promise to return to us.”
“We could not bare it if you don’t return, and often!” Lillian insisted, shooting a stern look at her sister.
“I will visit,” Geneva promised, blinking back a tear to hear her family truly cared as she fished out a ball of coral yarn for the wrap she was making. She would not allow herself to pout over the disloyalty of her friends. The truth would eventually surface she reminded herself. God would rise to her defense. In the meantime, she decided she would focus on the family about who loved her. “Why didn’t Aunt Millicent ever return to visit, Father?” Geneva asked with curiosity.
“‘Tis something you will have to ask Aunt Millie yourself as it remains a mystery to your Uncle Jonathan and me. Lord knows I’ve written to her a number of times asking her to come home.” Father rose from his arm chair to toss more logs on the fire. “I know your Uncle Jonathan has also written and asked her to come home, a number of times.”
“How ever did you talk Mama into allowing Polly to go with you?” Lilly asked as she put another stitch in the sampler in her hands.
“It was Mama’s idea Polly should accompany me. Papa would not give in unless I had a decent chaperon… and Aunt Millie sent an extra boarding pass. I’m not entirely certain who is more excited. Some days ‘tis me… Other days… ‘tis Polly!” She thought it best not to mention Peaches. Father didn’t like cats. Polly would be bringing Peaches aboard the ship in a bamboo cage.
The conversation turned to the layette they would surely begin to sew for the coming baby, and then the newest books in print as Father settled back into his chair, smiled contentedly, and nodded off again. Geneva was glad he didn’t appear to be too worried about the tensions in Cardiff. In fact, he seemed blissfully at peace about the situation. The good Lord had given them a measure of peace and strength despite the circumstances. As she crocheted, she thought of Psalm 29:11, a verse she had committed to memory: The Lord will give strength unto His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace. She felt the Lord working on their behalf in the situation. It was good to keep her mind focused and renewed upon the living Word of God. The Word could be trusted. It was pure, good, lasting, and upright no matter what else happened in their circumstances. These were the thoughts she would carry with her to America and teach her students at Aunt Millie’s mission school.
When the snow began gently coming down by four o’clock on that cold, February day, Frank decided it best they hitch up the buggy toward home. She lingered in an embrace with Lilly on the front porch, Mama and Papa standing in the doorway looking on. Her sister tucked a brown paper package into her hands before turning to go down the steps while firmly holding her husband’s hand. Seeing them together, she knew she needn’t worry about Lillian. Frank would take good care of her. She hoped she would find a husband as caring as Frank someday when she was finally ready to settle down into a marriage. At present, she didn’t think she could trust a man after what she had witnessed and experienced concerning Bryn, not to mention the behaviors of other ill-bred men attracted to the brothel on Fenway Street. The consequences had been disastrous. No wonder Father so often lectured about actions and the consequences to them in his sermons.
“What’s this?” she asked, feeling the squishiness of the package curiously. It was tied with a pretty blue ribbon.
“Just a little something I made for your journey,” Lilly replied, tears glistening in her eyes
. “It’s a plaid scarf for winter made from the finest yard goods our mercantile carries. Don’t open it now. Wait until I’m down the street a bit and think of me whenever you wear it… Try to get home now and again, Jenny!”
“Thank you! I will wear it all the way across the Atlantic, thinking of you all the way to Kentucky! Write me, Lil… promise me. You’re a terrible letter writer!” Geneva insisted.
“I know I am, but I promise. I will write you.” Lilly turned to Frank and clasped his hand, continuing down the brick path to where their buggy and horse stood waiting patiently for them. “Wait!”
He stopped. Lillian turned and dashed back up the steps to embrace Geneva one more time. They laughed, this time both of them with tears streaming. Then she turned again and took Frank’s hand back down the steps. Over her shoulder she tossed, “Show America what you’re made of ‘Little Welsh Princess!’ I will be praying for you!” How many times Lilly had bequeathed her with the delightful princess title over the years…
