by Merry Farmer
“Is it a bad thing that we each seek to interpret the Lord’s Word and the Writings for ourselves, as if the Lord were speaking to us?” Mrs. Wick asked. She had the same earnest expression that C.J. often wore.
“How can you know if you’re interpreting it correctly without the guidance of clergy?” an older gentleman, Mr. Esworthy, replied, as if offended.
“How do we know that the clergy is interpreting it correctly?” C.J. rushed to defend his mother.
“Young man—” Mr. Esworthy began, puffed and scolding.
“How could anyone doubt that the Writings are the Word of God?” Mrs. Jasper, Mark’s mother cut him off with her own question.
“Easily,” Mr. Harrison, Warren and Victoria’s father, answered with a shrug, far less combative than his son. “Swedenborg was a brilliant man who was granted a powerful revelation, but his works are those of a man. It is not for us to ascribe that kind of level of divinity to any mere man’s work.”
“But the Writings are divinely inspired,” Henry argued.
Louisa was proud of him for speaking up at so young an age, but the whole debate had already made her nervous. Any time someone held a different view of something so important, it raised the potential for painful argument. Perhaps Andrew was better off miles away, on the rolling waves, after all. She would have preferred those waves to the ones she felt they were all riding now.
“I agree,” Mr. Harrison addressed Henry. “They are. But being holy and inspired, and being divine in and of themselves are two different things.”
Several people spoke up to argue with him at the same time. Louisa held her breath, expecting the friendly spirit of her neighbors to dissolve into conflict, but Rev. McBride held up his hands to stop them.
“Friends,” he spoke loudly to quiet the others. “I understand that this is a sensitive issue. It is one that has been debated since the Writings were first published and our Church first established. It has defined us and set us apart, for better or worse. I am not suggesting that today we decide what the truth of the matter is. I’m not suggesting that the truth should or even could be decided.” The room settled a fraction at his words. “The problems we face today are not doctrinal, they are personal. Our challenge is to decide what we, as a society, should do if the worst happens.”
“What do you mean by the worst?” Mrs. Jasper asked.
Rev. McBride paused, lowering his head for a moment, then said, “The trouble is not what any individual chooses to believe or not believe about God or about His Word. The trouble is that certain individuals say they have reached the point where, rather than working out the issues amongst ourselves, they must set out to form their own, separate organization. It was a shock to us all when Bishop Benade ordained William Pendleton as a bishop without the consent of the Convention—”
“I’ll say,” Mr. Harrison said.
“Those Academians have been trouble since the day they formed their school,” Mr. Harrison’s friend, Mr. Tennant, said. “They’ve already formed their second Church right under all of our noses, and we let them.”
He was met by murmurs of agreement.
“Each New Church congregation has been at liberty to form their own identity and conduct themselves as the society sees fit from the beginning,” Rev. McBride added, in as calm a voice as could be hoped for, as tempers rose. “I myself have been in correspondence with both Benade and Pendleton, and I believe their ideas are as sound as any. The work that Benade and his followers have done for the Church at large has been invaluable. But I understand how it has also rubbed many the wrong way. Especially now that Benade has reached the end of his patience with the matter and is considering removing his supporters from the Convention.”
The murmurs came back with a grumble of, “Can he do that?”
“Why not?” another voice answered.
“It’s splitting the church.”
“Good riddance!”
Louisa’s heart quivered down to her toes. There were some things that were worse than losing all of her money or being told she was moving to England. The Church had always been there, in the background of every step of her life, but now? What would it look like tomorrow?
Again, Rev. McBride held up his hands to still the troubled waters.
“We cannot stop the forces that are at work at the highest levels of the organization of our Church,” he said. “Yes, a split will be sad, tragic even. Yes, there is Truth and Good on both sides of the issue, just as there is selfishness and stubbornness on both sides. What I need to know from you, my friends, is whether, when the inevitable comes, you feel as though we should remain as we are, affiliated with the General Convention, or whether you feel in your hearts that we would be better served joining with the Academians. Benade has written to me inviting us to align with him.”
The room burst into a clamor of opinions on the issue.
“I refuse to join any organization which has that quack Benade as its bishop,” Mr. Harrison snapped.
“How dare you, sir?” Mr. Cleveland barked his reply.
“Benade is ill,” Mrs. Esworthy spoke waveringly.
“He is not,” the woman sitting next to her chirped in offense.
“Benade and Pendleton and all of them are rigid, dictatorial conservatives,” Mr. Harrison said.
“They are men of conviction,” Mr. Jasper argued. “Men of conviction are always passionate, maybe to a fault, but they believe that what they’re doing is what is right.”
“You’re confusing conviction with stubbornness.”
Louisa sucked in a breath and looked for a way out as the room dissolved into a bundle of small, contentious debates. She was close enough to the hallway that all she had to do was step around Gayle to flee. It was such a relief to get away from the living room and the debate that when she made it to the kitchen, she sagged against the counter and shut her eyes.
“I can’t believe what I was hearing in there.” Gayle’s lilting voice made Louisa snap her eyes open and whip around to face her friends.
“I just don’t know what to think of it,” Wren agreed. She seemed tired, and suddenly much, much older than her eighteen years.
“The worst part of it,” Gayle strolled to the counter and leaned against it at Louisa’s side, “is that it doesn’t really seem to be about what our Church believes at all. As far as I can tell, the whole thing is nothing more than a personal disagreement between a few important ministers. And I just don’t care.” She huffed to emphasize her point.
“To be fair,” Wren said, leaning against the sink opposite her friends, “the doctrinal matters that they’re disagreeing on are at the core of who we are and what we do.”
“I thought that who we are is good people seeking to live upright lives and what we do is live those lives according to the Ten Commandments,” Gayle said. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“Yes.” Wren threw her arms wide. “And the doctrines that define us are the guidelines that teach us how to be good people.”
“Yes, but—”
“Please!” Louisa stopped Gayle before she could go on. “I can’t listen to another word of disagreement. Doctrine or not, it’s all just giving me a headache.”
She rubbed her eyes under her glasses, wishing she could go back to being a child at play on the beach, wishing that the greatest trouble she faced was sand sticking to her feet. It seemed like only yesterday that she was playing badminton with Andrew on the lawn. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Now she had to find a place to live, a way to sustain herself, and all with the one thing she was certain was stable trembling around her.
“Well, I don’t think it will come to much in the end,” Gayle said, giving Louisa a hug from the side. “By this time next year these silly disagreements will all have blown over. And you’ll be all the way in England, being courted by a duke, and Wren and I will be on our way for a visit to find counts of our own.”
With a rush like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, every good
thing that had happened to Louisa in the past few days returned. She stood straighter, a smile breaking out on her face.
“I haven’t told you,” she said. “Mother has agreed to let me attempt to find a situation right here on Cape Ann that would allow me to stay when she moves.”
In a flash, all thoughts of the disturbances in the Church were gone.
“Louisa, that’s wonderful.” Gayle clapped her hands like a child half her age.
“Andrew will be so happy,” Wren agreed. As soon as the words were out, she slapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself.
“No, it’s all right. I think Andrew will be happy,” Louisa reassured her.
She reached out and clasped her friend’s hand, taking a deep breath and letting the deeper peace of faith fill her.
“Who knows what will happen, good or bad, with the Church or in our own lives,” she went on. “No storm lasts forever, even if it’s raging right now. We’re all in the Lord’s hands. And after a certain recent conversation, I can really feel that now.”
“Ooh?” Gayle perked up. “What did Andrew say?”
Louisa shook her head. “Not Andrew. Jamie.”
“Jamie?” Wren balked. She dropped Louisa’s hand and crossed her arms, wariness in her eyes. “What did he say?”
Louisa smiled at her friend’s mistrust, smiled over the spark of eagerness in Wren’s eyes that contrasted with it.
“That’s between me and Jamie,” she said and added, “He’s a surprisingly wise man, and a good friend.”
“Hmph,” Wren hummed in doubt.
“I agreed to do a favor for him.”
“What favor?”
Louisa’s smile grew. “I agreed to plan and execute a party for him and for Andrew, to celebrate the beginning of their new business.”
“Oh, can we help?” Gayle asked.
“Certainly. I have more work on my hands than I know what to do with.” She stopped her friends before they could interrupt when their faces pinched into concern for her. “I’m more than happy to do it. There’s nothing I can’t do with your help.”
The debate in the other room was forgotten as Louisa explained the ideas she had about the party. Upset voices could still be heard down the hall, and in the back of Louisa’s mind she knew they would always be there, arguing away, whether about the current issue or a thousand other points of debate. But with her friends, focused on the good they could do in spite of disagreements, there wasn’t a doctrinal issue in the world that could break the joy in her heart.
Chapter 11
Andrew stood on the deck of his schooner, carefully eyeing both the approaching dock and the pilot who guided the vessel into its spot. After a week at sea, he was dirty, sweaty, and sunburned, but the joy that filled him outweighed anything in his physical state. He took in a deep breath of harbor air, the smell of fish and water and wood. The sea breeze ruffled his unkempt hair and he smiled as if his heart would burst.
“Jamie!” He shouted across the distance to where Jamie and his pilot had just finished docking. Jamie stood in much the same position as Andrew did, overseeing the workings of the boat while their crew members—men who had left other positions to come to work for them—scattered around the deck and the dock to secure them. Both of their holds were full of fish—cod and mackerel, and even a few lobsters they had set traps for on a whim on their way out.
A corner had been turned. They were more than just fishermen now. They were businessmen. Their enterprise was going to be a success.
Andrew stepped closer to the pilot at the wheel.
“I owe you my sincerest thanks, Jason.” He slapped the older man on the back.
“It’s an honor, sir,” Jason replied.
Andrew nodded to him, then hopped across the deck to the front of the boat to be ready to jump ashore at the first possible moment. Jamie had already left his boat, and stood on the dock waving to Andrew as he sailed in.
“Hail to the Academian and the Convention upon their successful maiden voyages,” he shouted with a laugh.
“Who said the two could never work together?” Andrew joked.
He was eager to join Jamie ashore, and paced the deck as his men brought the vessel carefully into its dock. As soon as he was able, he scrambled over the side and landed on the dock. It felt strangely solid under his feet after long days in deep waters. It always took him at least a day to lose his sea legs. He shook his head at himself, and wobbled toward Jamie’s boat.
“There once was a time when we made it back to port and could just unload the cargo and go home.” He greeted his friend with a congratulatory embrace, thumping his back.
“Ha. Those were the days.”
“I can’t even think, we have so many things to do now. We have to let Erikson know that we’re back, let him take a look at our catch and price it.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Jamie answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’ve got other things to do.”
“What other things?” Andrew glanced suspiciously at his friend.
“We’re a success, right?”
“It looks like we just might be.” He played along.
“And we promised everyone a lovely party to christen the boats and celebrate.”
“We did.”
“So you have to go talk to our party coordinator.”
“We have a party coordinator?”
Jamie’s smile widened further as he winked and said, “Louisa White.”
Andrew’s heart flipped in his chest before sinking into his stomach. Not a day had gone by while they were out to sea that he hadn’t thought about Louisa. He wanted to show her the sunrises and sunsets they had witnessed, he wanted to tell her all about the pod of whales they had intercepted. He had even caught himself mentally explaining the process of gillnetting to her as they cast their nets for the first time. But mostly, he had lain awake at nights, stretched out on the deck, staring up at the canopy of stars, praying for the Lord to show him a way that he could wipe out his stupid mistakes and win her back.
“Ah.” Jamie elbowed him, knocking him off balance as they reached the shore. “I knew one mention of her name would send your thoughts back out to sea.”
Andrew grinned and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Louisa said she would plan a party for us?”
Jamie shrugged. “She owed me a favor. I called it in.”
The bicycle tire. Of course.
Andrew smiled and shook his head. “If I didn’t know you were my friend, I would swear you were trying to kill me.”
Jamie put on an expression of mock offense. “Why would you say something like that?”
Rather than play along, Andrew let out a tense breath.
“I said some pretty stupid things to her, Jamie, and she was incredibly angry about them. I think she’s still angry. She was … well, she wasn’t herself the last time I saw her. I should have dropped to my knees to beg forgiveness, but I lost my nerve.”
His friend chuckled. “What do you expect? That she’ll forgive and forget without a second thought simply because you want her to? I don’t think so. You’re going to have to work for it. Woo her. Win her.”
“Wren said the same thing.” He raised an eyebrow and took up the challenge Jamie had thrown down. “What would you have me do?”
Jamie laughed and shook his finger. “I’m not telling you what to do, friend. I have merely given you the opportunity to do it. So go.” He shooed him with a gesture. “Go tell her you’re back and make some plans for our party.”
Andrew shook his head and thumped his friend on the back before stepping away.
“Make it a good party too,” Jamie added. “I want a real blow-out to celebrate the beginning of our shipping empire.”
Andrew laughed at his friend’s ribbing as he turned to head out of the marina and up into the town, but a bubble of anxious anticipation welled inside of him. What kind of a chance had Jamie given him? He ached with curiosity to know what Jamie and
Louisa had talked about in the rain at the Clevelands’ house after church. Try as he did to wheedle it out of him, Jamie wouldn’t let a single hint drop. But if he had made Louisa promise to help them plan the party, then maybe there was hope.
Let there be hope. He sent a quick prayer up to the sunny sky as he wove through the streets and climbed the hill to his apartment above the soda shop. His apartment was exactly as he’d left it, which was an odd feeling to come home to. Life at Cliff House had always moved on when he was gone. Every time he came back from the sea, a different chapter of the same familiar book was playing out. His world now seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for him to come back to it.
He took a hasty bath and changed his clothes, figuring he should look his best when he showed up on Louisa’s doorstep, penitent and humble. As he combed his wet hair and donned a vest and jacket, he wished that Wren were there to make sure he looked presentable. He never would have thought that he would have to rely on his own judgment for something as frivolous as his appearance. He had a suspicion Wren would tell him he needed a haircut and would shake her head at the sunbaked freckles that had broken out on the bridge of his nose underneath the sunburn.
He grabbed his cap from its hook by the door and fastened it on his head before bounding down the stairs and out into the street. Two steps around the corner, and he came face to face with Louisa’s shiny red bicycle parked in front of the soda shop. For a moment, Andrew could only stand there and stare at it. He cleared his throat, telling himself he had no reason to be nervous, and walked up to the open door of the shop.
Louisa was standing at the counter with a pencil and a pad of paper in her hands, talking to the soda jerk. Andrew’s chest squeezed tight and he swallowed before starting up the steps and through the door. Louisa smiled as she talked to the young man, her cheeks rosy. Andrew couldn’t see the expression in her eyes behind her glasses across the distance, but she wore her hat at a jaunty angle, and her hair was tucked into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. There was something light and cheerful in her voice. That Louisa—the one who was happy and intent on whatever business she had—was a sight for sore eyes. How he’d missed her.
