by Merry Farmer
More Precious Than Gold
Merry Farmer
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright ©2015 by Merry Farmer
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B00X43DGEW
Paperback:
ISBN- 978-1511956260
ISBN- 1511956267
Click here for a complete list of works by Merry Farmer.
Created with Vellum
For my mom, Susie Farmer,
who would have really loved this book!
Foreword
The story that you are about to read is not a true story, but it was formed around actual events that took place in the history of the Church I was raised in. My Church, which was known as the General Convention of the New Church at the time when this story is set, was a new Christian religion, informed by the theological writings of the 18th century scientist and theologian, Emanuel Swedenborg. Throughout this story, I mention certain unique doctrines of the Church, some of which will be familiar to Christians at large, and some of which will be unfamiliar. I also include a couple of discussions about the issues that fractured the Church in 1890. The point of bringing these things into the story is not to proselytize, but rather to give you, the reader, a sense of what was at stake at this sensitive and painful time.
Spoiler alert, in 1890, the church did split into two groups, both of which are alive and well today. For most of my life, I knew that there was another whole group of people who used to be part of my Church, but who now weren’t. I never understood what happened. I never understood why the two branches never talked to each other. As I grew older, I started digging in the archives of the Swedenborg Library, in my hometown of Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, reading primary-source material, letters, and publications from the 1880s and 1890s. The story that emerged as I read the words of founding fathers—who had been gone for decades, but whose arguments were still loud and strong in my world—is one that I feel that every New Churchman should hear. I originally wrote this story as a way to teach about what happened through the eyes of young people who didn’t have a stake in either side of the argument. I myself do not take sides, and I hope both General Church and Convention members will identify with these characters.
But this story is so much more than that, and I want it to speak to the larger family of Christians too. At heart, it’s a story about two young people falling in love in the midst of crisis. I don’t think it matters what religion you belong to, where you live, or what your financial situation is, we can all identify with the need to cling to what makes us strong, even when those foundations are crumbling, and to call on the Lord for help when we can’t go on. We all belong to communities, and sometimes those communities, like families, argue. Through all that, love is the one thing that endures, God’s love most of all. It is what brings us together. As Swedenborg says, “Love is the life of Man.” I think that’s something we can all identify with and cherish.
Enjoy Louisa and Andrew’s story!
Chapter 1
Cape Ann, Massachusetts, 1889
June had always been Louisa White’s favorite month. June was filled with long days of freedom once school let out. It was awash in sunshine, roses, and salt air that rolled off of the ocean and across the green lawn of Cliff House—home of Louisa’s friends, the McBrides. It was a time for picnics and celebrations, weddings and the Swedenborgian Church’s birthday. Everything should have been glorious. But this June was different.
Wren McBride handed Louisa a slender racquet and a shuttlecock as they headed for the badminton net that had been set up on a flat stretch of the lawn.
“I know we’re too old for games like this now that we’ve graduated,” Wren lamented, spinning her racquet in her hands, “but it would break my heart to give it up entirely to be a proper lady.”
“Who says proper ladies don’t play badminton?” Gayle Tague, Louisa and Wren’s best friend, laughed.
“Only every etiquette book we own,” Wren answered. She glanced to her brother, Rowan, four years older than her, for confirmation.
Rowan merely smiled, saying nothing.
“I so want to be a proper lady and a good example of everything a New Church woman should be,” Wren went on.
“You are,” Louisa assured her. “We all want to be good examples.” She only wished she could be certain she was one herself.
“Of course we are,” Gayle agreed, skipping a few steps as she and Louisa took up their positions on one side of the net. “At least, we try.”
Wren and Rowan formed a pair on the other side, and the game began.
It was easy for Louisa to think that all was right with the world while volleying a shuttlecock across a net with her friends at a church picnic, easy to forget the cares that weighed on her. Cheerful sunshine bathed the sloping lawn of Cliff House as the members of the young Cape Ann society shared food and company. Children in their sharpest suits and prettiest gowns ran and played on the grass, or skipped down the stairs leading to the beach to play in the sand as their guardians watched. All day, Louisa had been catching snippets of rumors that a new chapel was about to be built. But she’d also heard whispers of the widening split between conflicting factions of the Swedenborgian Church.
Louisa stretched to bat at the shuttlecock, sending it over the net to Rowan. She should be giggling and smiling at the game, like Gayle and Wren, but as her muscles loosened, worry squeezed tight around her heart. Her itching sense of unrest was stronger than the laughter and smiles of her close-knit group of friends. There was more to fear than missing the shuttlecock in a game now that their school days were over.
“Mine,” Gayle called as she rushed to smack the shuttlecock that Rowan sent sailing over the net. Gayle was an undeniable beauty, with dark hair and spritely blue eyes, her white lace gown cut just above the ankles. Her gown would have made the finest ladies in Boston drip with envy, yet Gayle dove after the shuttlecock with as much effort as a boy. She groaned when she missed it.
“That’s okay, you’ll get the next one,” Wren called across to her.
Gayle smiled and clucked, “Wren, you’re on the opposite side. You shouldn’t be encouraging me.”
“Well you can’t very well expect me to break that habit after all these years, can you?” Wren laughed in return.
Gayle shook her head and tossed the shuttlecock over the net to Rowan with a grin. In contrast to her friends, Louisa swung at the shuttlecock with a conservative stroke and precise aim when Rowan served to her. She was a passable athlete, but she was anxious about playing in her church dress. Simple as it was, it was t
he only nice dress she owned. She’d already let down the hem twice to bring it to a length suitable for a young woman starting out in life.
The shuttlecock hit her racquet with a sharp thunk and soared back over the net. Wren whooped like a girl far younger than her eighteen years and jumped to return the expert volley, arms strong and aim true.
“Nice shot,” Rowan complimented her as the shuttlecock flew back over the net.
Louisa raised her eyebrows. Even two words were a lot to hear from Rowan.
Gayle lunged to hit Wren’s shot, yelping as a dark brown tendril escaped from her carelessly piled hair. She swung with all her might, losing her balance as the bundle of feathers darted across the net. It hit Rowan square in the chest, and Gayle tumbled to the grass in a cloud of white lace.
Louisa gasped and pushed her glasses farther up her long nose before rushing to Gayle.
“Are you all right?”
Gayle answered by giggling and rolling to her back. She sat up, brushing hair out of her face. Her fine dress was streaked with grass stains. As soon as Gayle saw the damage, she slapped a hand to her mouth and giggled harder.
Wren and Rowan ducked under the net as Gayle said, “I don’t suppose green tea dresses are going to come into fashion any time soon.”
“I don’t suppose….” Louisa was too shocked to finish the sentence. Her eyes were fixed on the stains marring the once perfect lace. The dress had been new and lace was precious. It must have cost a fortune. Now it was ruined. If Louisa had half the money that Gayle spent ruining dresses….
Once more, the aching sense of unease closed in around Louisa’s heart.
“Oh Gayle, you didn’t.”
Wren crossed her arms, still holding her racquet, one eyebrow arched in motherly scolding. Wren had the McBride height and blue eyes, but her hair was a distinctive strawberry-blonde instead of sandy. Louisa had always thought that her friend looked like some sort of Celtic warrior goddess—an effect that was heightened as she shook her head at Gayle.
Rowan tucked his racket under his arm and reached out a hand to help Gayle to her feet.
“That’s the third dress you’ve ruined this month,” Wren went on.
If Gayle heard her friend’s scolding, it didn’t show. “Nonsense,” she said as she took Rowan’s hand and pulled herself to her feet. Rowan circled his arm around Gayle with infinite care to steady her, lingering longer than he should have. Gayle brushed her skirts, shaking her head at herself, oblivious to the tenderness in Rowan’s eyes. “I’ve never ruined a dress in my life. These stains will come out. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”
Louisa shot a quick glance to Wren, who rolled her eyes over the ruined dress. Maybe Louisa was imagining things. Maybe everything truly would be all right. She forced herself to take a deep breath and put on a smiling face to match her friends’.
“And what about your blue dress?” Wren continued, tapping her badminton racquet on her arm. She was having a hard time keeping her good-natured smile from shining through her mother hen act.
“I didn’t ruin the blue one,” Gayle insisted. She stepped away from Rowan without a backward glance or a word of thanks, and skipped to retrieve her racquet.
“You ripped a hole in the skirt at graduation, so big that your hat couldn’t cover it.” Louisa crossed her arms in imitation of Wren, standing firmly by her friend’s side. When things were at their worst it always helped to imitate Wren and her unflappable McBride strength.
“What, that?” Gayle shrugged as she twirled the racquet in her hand. “Louisa could sew it up good as new and no one would know the difference. With Louisa’s sewing skill, I’m sure she could fix anything.”
A hot blush painted Louisa’s cheeks. She hoped her friends would think it was the sun or the exertion of the game. Yes, she was good with a needle and thread. But while her friends thought it was a skill to be proud of, she couldn’t bring herself to share their opinion. In a world where her friends enjoyed plenty and financial security, needlework was a diversion. Louisa’s skills weren’t a frivolous hobby, they were the difference between pride and humility, the difference between someone who belonged and a goose amongst swans.
“I’m not a miracle worker.” She raised an eyebrow at Gayle, hoping her words held the same joking tone as her friends’ and not the bitterness of her fate.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Gayle teased, swaying closer to her with all the grace of a society debutante. “Your secret is out, Lou.”
Louisa’s heart leapt to her throat. She swallowed as Gayle grinned like a cat with cream. It couldn’t be out. She’d worked so hard to keep her reversal of fortune to herself.
Gayle went on. “Emma Wick told me that you did the needlework on her graduation dress.”
“Well, I….” Louisa could feel sweat trickling down her back and it had nothing to do with badminton. Emma’s dress had paid for the groceries for two weeks.
“You did all those tiny roses?” Wren’s brow shot up. She dropped her arms and gaped at her friend. “They were gorgeous.”
“But what I want to know,” Gayle pursued the issue, planting her hands on her hips, “is how, when you made such a beautiful graduation present for Emma, you possibly had time to embroider those wonderful handkerchiefs as gifts for us?”
Relief and guilt swirled together in Louisa’s stomach. Her friend thought Emma’s decadent gown had been a gift.
“I had time on the weekends,” Louisa answered, dropping her head and hiding her eyes behind her glasses.
Wren and Gayle exchanged looks that told Louisa they knew she being too modest. Rowan stood, polite and quiet, glancing across the lawn.
It stung to lie to her friends, but the truth was too sad and too horrible. Gayle had been born to wealth, and before he became a minister, Wren’s father was a successful businessman. Young ladies of standing, like Wren and Gayle, did not keep company with working-class seamstresses once they became adults. With graduation, their childhoods were over, and if the White family secrets got out, right or wrong, their friendships would be over too. It was simply the way things worked.
“You know what I think?” Gayle drove on, smiling to Wren, who eyed her warily.
“Do I want to know what you think?” Louisa replied, voice small.
Gayle lowered her voice, eyes alight with mischief. “I think she did the needlework on Emma’s dress to impress C.J. Wick.”
“Gayle,” Louisa yelped in protest, all shame at her working-class status forgotten. Emma’s brother was kind and very handsome, but she would rather die than throw herself at a boy. They had only been out of school for a few weeks, but the time for childish flirting was most definitely behind them. Even Wren chewed her lip in shock at the bold accusation and opened her mouth to defend Louisa.
They were saved from Gayle’s mischief as two young men rounded the house, striding toward them.
“Andrew.” Rowan nodded to his brother, engaged in his surroundings once more.
Andrew McBride bore a strong resemblance to Rowan. They were both tall with sandy-blond hair, but Andrew was tanned and fit where Rowan had the look of someone who spent too much time indoors.
“Who’s your friend?” Wren nodded to Andrew’s companion. She had a decided light in her eyes as she surveyed the newcomer.
The man who walked beside Andrew was shorter, with dark hair and eyes, and deeply tanned skin.
“James Darling.” The young man held out his hand to Wren.
Wren hesitated, blushing, then shook it with reserved formality.
“I’ve told you about Jamie. He works with me on the boat.” Andrew spoke to Wren and Rowan but his eyes traveled on to Gayle and Louisa.
He paused and his smile grew when his eyes met Louisa’s. Louisa had the sudden urge to look away, as if Wren’s brother could peer right into her soul and see what she was thinking. They’d been friends so long, he would know everything she’d been hiding.
“You’re Jamie?” T
he sharp surprise in Wren’s voice snapped Louisa to attention. “But I thought Jamie was a grizzled old sailor.”
“Not so old, nor so grizzled.” Jamie winked, and Wren’s blush deepened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. You must be Wren, Gayle, and Louisa.” He nodded to each of them in turn. “Am I right?”
“You are.” Gayle reached out her hand, as bold as any of the men.
Louisa was ready to be scandalized and ashamed on her friend’s behalf, but Jamie laughed and shook Gayle’s hand like a good sport. Wren’s mouth dropped open as though she didn’t know what to say or how to behave. Louisa adjusted her glasses and tried not to giggle.
“Andrew talks about the three of you all the time when we’re out at sea,” Jamie continued. “He tells me about all the trouble you get into.”
“Andrew.” Wren frowned at her brother while Gayle laughed and Louisa bit her lip. It had never dawned on Louisa that anyone would talk about her, least of all Andrew.
“He tells me stories of how you ride all up and down the coast of Cape Ann on your bicycles, like wild women getting into mischief.”
“We do not.” Wren clasped a hand to her heart, sending Jamie a wary sidelong glance. “Well, perhaps before, but we are mature ladies now and examples of the church.”
“Well, we still cycle around a little,” Gayle added with a sheepish giggle. Wren and Louisa both sent sharp looks her way, then dissolved into guilty laughter when their eyes met.
“We’ve all known each other since we learned how to walk.” Andrew grinned and nodded to his friend. “Wren, Louisa, and Gayle are the same age and went to school together, spent holidays together. I can’t remember them ever being apart. It’s hard not to get into trouble when you spend that much time in cahoots. Did I tell you about the time they filled their bicycle baskets with apples nabbed from the Clevelands’ orchard, and how Wren’s basket ripped? Apples everywhere. Pedestrians and other cyclists were falling like flies in their wake.”
