More Precious Than Gold

by Merry Farmer

  “Former boss, you mean.” Jamie leaned casually on the railing, glancing up and sideways at Wren as he did.

  Wren pretended not to notice his easy posture or his lazy smile. She, along with Louisa, Gayle, and Emma, looked across the gentle sea at the huge, twin-masted yacht bobbing about fifty yards away.

  “He’s your boss?” Wren’s voice rose as the stout man in a vivid, striped vest waved to Andrew and Jamie.

  “That yacht is huge,” Louisa said, waving back.

  “Of course it is.” Andrew grinned. “Mr. Rosenblatt is a millionaire. Happy Fourth of July, Mr. Rosenblatt,” he shouted across the foam-tipped waves.

  “Hello,” the jovial man called back to them across the swells. “Happy Fourth of July, McBride, Darling.”

  “He calls you darling?” Emma giggled.

  Andrew’s brows shot up, but it was Jamie who answered, “No, he calls me Darling.”

  He left it without explaining his full name, and Emma continued to giggle.

  Andrew sent a knowing glance to Louisa. His heart squeezed in his chest when she arched her eyebrow at him, as if sharing in a private joke. The moment couldn’t have been more perfect if he had planned it. The sun was setting in a riot of orange, yellow, and coral blending to violet and dark blue. The salt spray of the sea cooled the balmy air with the tangy twist that he loved. It was all so magical that he glanced up to the stars, just beginning to peek to life above them, and offered a spontaneous prayer of thanks to the Lord.

  “That’ll be me on a ship like that someday.” He pulled his gaze from the skies to look into the heaven of Louisa’s eyes.

  “What, plump and white-haired in a tacky vest?” Wren answered his boast.

  Her comment was greeted by a burst of laughter from their friends. Andrew looked to Louisa to know how to react. She seemed to think Wren’s comment was funny, so he laughed as well.

  “Absolutely. The plumper the better,” he made fun of himself.

  They stood along the railing, letting the sea rock them as the sun set. It never ceased to amaze him. With all of the marvelous, man-made inventions that seemed to pour into their lives on a daily basis, with all of the advances in shipping and fishing technology, even with all of the astounding things that could be done with electricity, the most amazing sights he had ever seen were those created by the Lord alone. The sheer magnitude of perfection in the sunset, the brilliance of the colors that painted the sky with wide, warm strokes and set the edge of the water on fire, was the grandest thing he had ever seen. As the sun sank with shimmering glory over the horizon, the water seemed to turn to fire, then melt into a glittering blanket of blues and purples and black, the tips of the waves reflecting the moonlight that now shone down.

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  Louisa’s soft whisper by his side touched the glory of the Lord’s creation with an edge of gold. She stood close by his side, gripping the railing, her hand less than an inch from his. Wren and the others had shifted farther along the yacht, climbing to a higher deck where several chairs had been set up to view the fireworks.

  “It’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve seen today,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

  Somewhere, on one of the other boats anchored in the spreading darkness around them, someone began to sing the first notes of the Star-Spangled Banner. The song was picked up by the other souls floating in the darkness, including their friends farther along the deck, and rose into the night breeze.

  “What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen?” she asked.

  He turned to face her with a grin he knew she couldn’t see. The night had crept up on them and it was hard to see more than the vague outlines of her white hat, the lines of her neck and the reflections of starlight in her glasses. Lamps had been lit on the yacht but their feeble yellow glow was nothing to the white light of the moon. She was ethereal with the sea breeze ruffling the ribbons of her hat and the loose strands of her hair. She was an angel.

  He didn’t answer her. Instead he inched his palm along the railing until the last two fingers of his hand twined with hers. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew, he felt, that there was no worry there. The anxiety that dogged her every waking moment and made him wish that he could take up arms and beat away every one of her problems was gone.

  He dared to slide his hand all the way over hers as it rested on the railing, curling his fingers under her palm. She drew in a breath beside him, slowly turning her hand up to hold his. He threaded his fingers through hers, taking her hand from the railing and holding it by his side, drawing her closer to him. She leaned against him.

  It wasn’t enough. He stole a peek at the dark outlines of their friends around the chairs farther along the deck. It was too dark to make anything out now. He couldn’t see them clearly, which meant that they couldn’t see him. He squeezed Louisa’s hand tighter, took a step back and led her farther into the shadows and away from the laughing and singing. They had finished the Star-Spangled Banner and had moved on to a hymn with a patriotic theme, treating the unseen occupants of the other vessels to an impromptu concert. But he and Louisa remained silent.

  When they reached the far end of the deck, Louisa turned to him. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness, couldn’t tell if she was happy or frightened or worried. All he could see was the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. He could feel his own breath coming in tight, shallow gasps, his heart pounding.

  He raised his free hand and sought out Louisa’s cheek in the darkness. Her skin was warm and soft to touch. He traced the line of her chin, cradling her jaw in his palm. Time seemed to tick by with infinite slowness, mingled with the lap of the waves against the side of the boat and the joyful singing of their friends. He leaned closer to her. She tipped her head back to look up at him.

  Andrew didn’t know if she could see him or not. Part of him was afraid of what she would find if she looked in his eyes right then. He’d never felt so consumed by love. He wanted to say something, to whisper her name at the very least, to tell her so many things, make so many promises, but his throat was closed tight. There were no words to say what he felt. He would have to show her.

  He brought his mouth closer to hers, close enough to feel the moist heat of her breath on his lips. He closed his eyes and inched closer.

  A deep boom rumbled in the distance, and seconds later the sky was alight with blossoms of red and green and gold. His eyes shot open as Louisa gasped. For half a second they stared into each other’s eyes, illuminated by sparkling bursts of color from above. Her mouth was soft and half-opened and her eyes were deep with emotion for the barest of heartbeats. Then she snapped her mouth shut and took a step back, letting go of his hand and turning to the side of the yacht.

  Andrew froze, stunned by the sudden, drastic change of mood. He closed his mouth and swallowed hard, running a shaking hand through his hair and blinking up at the fireworks.

  “They’ve started,” he observed needlessly, voice hoarse.

  “I—” Louisa croaked, cleared her throat, and began again. “I’ve never watched fireworks from the water before. They’re so close.”

  Another volley of red and blue and white burst in the sky. A chorus of oohs and aahs sounded from the other end of the yacht, followed by a round of giggling. Several loud, snapping fireworks were launched and their noise was loud enough to make Louisa flinch and raise her hands to her ears. Andrew stepped toward her, arm outstretched to protect her, but she backed farther away.

  “We should join the others,” she mumbled quickly.

  “Louisa, I’m sorry. Did I—”

  “They probably think we fell overboard,” she finished and started to skirt her way along the railing in the dark.

  Andrew pressed his lips shut, fighting the wave of frustration that attacked him. Every time he thought he was getting close she pulled away. Why?

  “Here,” he sighed, hoping the defeat in his voice w
asn’t too pointed. “Let me help you across. Wouldn’t want you to trip on anything, would we?”

  She paused and waited for him to catch up to her. He took her stiff arm and guided her around a coil of rope.

  “Thank you, Andrew,” she said, just above a whisper. Another burst of color illuminated the sky and for a fraction of an instant he thought he saw more than ordinary gratitude in her eyes. “You’ve always been so helpful.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to help her so much more. He longed to tell her so. The question he knew he wanted to ask hung on his lips. Another squealing burst of light split the sky above them.

  “Louisa,” he began, “I want—”

  “There you two are.” Gayle’s cheery voice cut between them, strong enough to make them each take a step apart. “Come up here. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Sorry,” Louisa answered the call, her voice high and tight. “We thought we would be able to get a better view from the other end of the boat.”

  She sent Andrew one last look that was lost in the dying light of a burnt-out firework, then scurried the rest of the way across the deck to join her friends.

  Andrew sighed and appealed to the heavens one more time. Show me what to do, he prayed.

  A splash of red lit the sky. He blinked and then grinned at the odd answer, thrusting his hands in his pockets and wandering the rest of the way across the deck to join the party. He wasn’t going to let one minor set-back get in the way of his grander plans. He knew, as surely as he knew the changing moods of the sea, that he would find Louisa, alone, as soon as possible and ask her to become his wife.

  Chapter 7

  Louisa sat at the kitchen table, squinting over the gown she was embroidering for a wealthy Boston debutante’s latest ball. Henry lounged opposite her, absorbed in his reading, humming one of the patriotic tunes they’d sung on the Wick’s yacht. The Fourth of July was days behind them now, but it hung on like Henry’s tune. Her brother’s cheery voice and the breeze that blew through the open kitchen door were almost enough to convince her that everything was normal. But Louisa knew that everything had changed.

  “Would you please stop that?” she asked Henry.

  “Stop what?” he answered with an innocent smile. He winked went back to humming. He had been insufferable for the last few days since the Fourth of July, and every time she asked why he was so smug he would tell her it was ‘nothing.’

  Louisa sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. Right away she popped them open. Every time she closed her eyes she saw fireworks, felt the gentle pressure of Andrew’s hand over hers. Every time she let her mind wander, she could hear the rolling of the waves as they lapped against the Wick’s yacht, the joyful singing of her friends.

  She lost track of her stitches and set her work down as she remembered what it felt like to have Andrew so close, to feel his breath against hers. The wonder of that moment—when he almost kissed her—hung like an unfulfilled promise in the air. If would have been so easy to let go of her worry and fear and give in to the warmth of that promise.

  The cold light of reality hit her like a flash of color from a firework. Andrew couldn’t be hers. The gulf between them was too great. Soon an ocean would be between them as well. It was as certain as the flow of the tide. If she stayed at home, her fortunes would fall until it would be utterly beneath Andrew’s dignity to even look at her. If she moved with her mother to England she would be a world away and he would forget about her. Dreaming of the possibility that things would turn out any different for her could only bring misery.

  “Why do such horrible things always happen to us?” She sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose, then focused on her embroidery.

  “What horrible things?” Henry asked from across the table, not looking up from the book he was reading.

  She stared incredulously at him over the rim of her glasses.

  “Really, Henry. Look around. We’ve lost Father, we’ve lost all our money, we’ve lost our house. I’m terrified that we might lose the Church too. And now Mother wants me to move to a foreign country, thousands of miles away from …” She stopped herself just in time. “Away from you.”

  “I’ll write,” he mumbled, still staring at his book, even as a grin twitched the corners of his mouth.

  His flippancy irritated her to no end.

  “I’m serious. How does so much evil happen to a family who tries so hard to be good?”

  Her throat constricted as the full force of her anguished emotions hit her. Henry glanced up from his book and lost his smug grin.

  “I know they say that the Lord never gives you more than you can handle,” Louisa went on, “but when is enough, enough? Haven’t we reached that limit?”

  Henry put down his book and reached a hand across the table to take hers.

  “We have been through a lot.” The compassion in his eyes brought tears to hers. She swallowed hard and tried to blink them away as he squeezed her hand tighter. “Spiritual temptations are always hard, there’s no getting around that. But we gain more than we lose by going through them, Louisa.”

  “It hardly seems fair that we have to go through them at all.” She sniffled, trying her best not to feel like a child for weeping.

  “I don’t think it is fair. And believe me, if there were anything I could do to stop you from feeling so bad I would do it in a heartbeat.”

  She managed a smile, along with another sniffle, and wiped her eyes.

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  His expression melted into a mischievous grin. “I’m fairly sure that I’m not the only one who would do anything for you either.”

  Her already red cheeks flamed hotter.

  “Stop.” She scowled at him and pulled her hand away to continue with her embroidery.

  “What?” He held up his hands defensively. “I was talking about Rev. McBride. He’s our pastor and I’m sure he would help you in whatever way you need help.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s what you meant.” She made a face at him. He narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her, then went back to reading his book. For one shining moment she wanted to giggle. She may have lost a lot, but her heart would always be warm as long as she had her brother.

  But as she continued her work, Henry’s joking comment stuck with her. It was true. Rev. McBride would do whatever it took to help them. He was a fine, caring man. If he knew they were in trouble he would find a way to help them out of it. She knew that her mother trusted him. It had been Rev. McBride that she had talked to about moving to England before anyone else, before her children even. A pastor was like a shepherd to his congregation, and if a sheep were in trouble he would want to help it. He had been there night and day in the last days of her father’s life. If he knew the situation they were in now, he would want to help.

  The thought stuck with her through the rest of the afternoon, even after Henry left for work, and as she kept busy preparing supper for her mother and herself. Perhaps there was a way out of the horrible situation after all. At that point, after her taste of the beauty that might exist with Andrew if she could stay and be lifted out of her troubles, any idea, no matter how far-fetched, seemed like a good one. She saw no harm in asking for help if help was really needed.

  It took far longer for her to work up the courage to broach the subject with her mother once she returned home from work than Louisa thought it would.

  “Honestly, I sometimes wonder at the customs of society,” her mother commented as the two of them prepared for supper. “I spent my day altering a dozen dresses for a soon-to-be mother of one of the finest families in Boston so that she wouldn’t show. Why young ladies want to hide their blessed condition is a mystery to me. We should all celebrate the miracle of new life about to enter the world.”

  Louisa bit her lip and kept quiet as she fixed her mother a plate of supper from the dishes on the stove. She brought it to the table where her mother sat without commenting.

 
; “I will say, though,” her mother went on as Louisa sat and picked at her own food, “It was quite a treat to explore the bolts of lace that Mrs. Hellickson received from Holland this afternoon. They were exquisite.”

  Louisa’s reply was a faint, “Hmm.”

  Her mother set down her fork and reached a hand across the table.

  “You seem quiet tonight, my darling. Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Louisa’s face shone bright pink and she couldn’t bring herself to look her mother in the eye.

  “Mother,” she began, her voice higher and tighter than she wanted it to be, “are you sure that moving to England to live with Aunt Rose is the only solution to our problems?”

  For a moment Mrs. White blinked, eyes wide. Then she sighed and smiled wistfully.

  “I’m afraid it is, my darling.” She patted Louisa’s hand as it rested on the table. “We can scarcely afford our daily bread at this point. Modest as it is, the rent on this house is quite steep. If we lived in a different area, perhaps, but Boston is expensive.”

  “I understand that.” Louisa searched for another way to speak the ideas that she had been working on all afternoon “But I can’t help but think that there is help to be had out there, if we could just … ask.”

  Her comment was met with a skeptical frown as her mother’s back straightened with pride. “Who would we ask?”

  “What about Rev. McBride?” She rushed to share her idea before she lost courage. “He is the pastor of our society. Surely there must be some way that he could help, that the Church could help us. We are all part of one community, aren’t we? Perhaps … perhaps the Church has provisions to help people … people in our situation.”

  She paused to watch the play of emotions across her mother’s face. At first her eyes widened in surprise. Then a cloud of pride and perhaps indignation passed over her face. Finally, she settled into a compassionate, almost sad smile.