A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  Her words caused him to pause. Was she simply talking about the crab shell, or was it indicative of something deeper? Was he a fool to wonder if she might be happy with a humbler life than that to which she was obviously accustomed?

  “May I ask why you believe this, Miss Hatherleigh?”

  “Oh.” She gave a small shrug. “I appreciate the warmth to be found in smaller dwellings.”

  She spoke as if used to a palatial style residence, which renewed his swirling doubts. But he remembered the surprising change in circumstance which had led his family from a parsonage to something far more grand, and how much closer his family had been before the weight of titled obligation. “I agree.”

  “I suspect one is forced to interact with others in a more personal way than when one is surrounded by so many rooms, and can find escape or distraction more easily.”

  “Ah, but such close interactions might be driven by necessity, not necessarily by choice. I cannot think the poor prefer to live in a single-roomed house.”

  “I suppose it’s not the size of the house itself, but rather the quality of the interactions I admire, such as is demonstrated between you and Emma. I would like to have such a thing,” she added in a softer voice, almost as an afterthought.

  “This may come as something of a surprise, Miss Hatherleigh, but I do not always find myself in agreement with my sister. We disagree, but I have always hoped to follow the maxim given us in the book of Romans: ‘If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.’ I do not always manage it,” he admitted, “but I try.”

  “The book of Romans?” she inquired.

  “In the Bible?” he prompted hopefully.

  “Ah, yes.”

  But her look suggested she was not much acquainted with that particular book. “It is found in the New Testament. Paul’s letter to the church at Rome.”

  Her brow puckered for a long moment, then she sighed. “Well, regardless of your reasoning, I find myself challenged to reconsider my interactions with my own sisters, and see the times when I have fallen short.”

  “I am sure we all have times when our dealings with others have not been as they ought.” His last encounter with Pratt leapt to mind. Perhaps he had been a trifle heavy-handed …

  “Indeed.”

  Another moment, soft with accord, stirred between them.

  Then her smile flashed. “I must say it is somewhat refreshing to talk to a gentleman who does not hide behind false civilities, someone who would say, ‘Oh, I’m sure you mistake the matter, Miss Hatherleigh; you would never exchange a cross word with another person in your entire life.’”

  “You mean you have?” he said, opening his eyes wide.

  She laughed, a rich, sweet sound that reminded him of warmed honey. “Yes. And I might be so bold as to say I rather think you have exchanged hard words on occasion also, if that look of yours but a moment earlier was to be believed.”

  He inclined his head. “I am but a sinner, and will confess to behavior that has not always made me proud.”

  “But pride is a sin, is it not?” she asked, innocently.

  A chuckle escaped, and he shook his head. “You make me forget myself, Miss Hatherleigh.” He offered his arm. “Now, where is that sister and foppish friend of mine?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE CONVERSATION LINGERED in Caroline’s memory, pursuing her into sleep, the conviction that she had not treated others as she ought almost like a tangible thing, chasing her into spending the following day writing kind letters to Serena and to her own sisters.

  To Serena she offered apology for her self-interest over the years, and her hopes to rekindle a warmer friendship.

  To Cecilia, she expressed regret at the hurtful words she had communicated on the day of her departure; Cecy’s letters had possessed a polite stiffness, as if all trace of warmth had gone from their relationship. And while she could not regret Cecy knowing the truth about Ned Amherst’s lack of interest, she realized now that her communication of that fact had more to do with her own pride than with a desire for Cecy’s well-being.

  Her letter to Verity was more of a challenge—how could she extend an olive branch to someone who was so dissimilar in every single way? But perhaps, she reflected, perhaps she and Verity were not so very different after all; they both cared for others, even if their demonstration of such care varied widely. And Caroline could now finally glimpse a little of what Verity seemed to long for in seeking to rebel against societal rules, wanting to be free. For herself, Caroline was not yet sure if she possessed enough courage to follow her passion—whatever said passion may be—but regardless, she now knew that not all people might be content to settle for the grooves established by society. To Verity she finally managed to write something of her regret at her treatment over the years, that she had not proved to be the supportive sister she could have been.

  The writing of such letters would doubtless be frowned upon by Mama, who always thought apology a sign of weakness, but Caroline felt so much better, more at peace, more at charity with the world, like invisible cords within her heart had been untied. Perhaps there was more to be said for aspiring to live at peace with others, as the Kirby siblings believed.

  Perhaps there might even be something to seeing what other words of wisdom might be found in the Good Book they liked to read.

  THAT NIGHT FOLLOWING dinner, she decided to see if she could find the passage Mr. Kirby had quoted. Grandmama had gone to the Assembly Rooms, but Caroline had pleaded a headache—not wanting to admit that the only people she wished to speak with were unlikely to be there. Neither the Kirbys nor Mr. Kenmore gave the impression of being terribly wealthy, nor that attending society events would be their preferred way to spend time. So instead of trying to maintain the polite fiction of caring about insipid conversations, she was snuggled in the four-poster bed, carefully turning the pages of the rather large and heavy family Bible she had liberated from the library.

  Really, it felt strange to be even holding a Bible, let alone reading it. Surely only church ministers did such things? But something about the Kirbys’ sincere belief had compelled her to see if this book contained truth like they thought—though heaven knew what her parents would think if they saw her now. No doubt they would say something about the foolishness of believing old myths and trusting in an invisible being.

  She located the book of Romans that Mr. Kirby had quoted and began to skim the words, looking for the part about living peaceably with all. A section in the third chapter gave her pause. Really? God thought they were all sinners? Well, she certainly wasn’t; it wasn’t as if Caroline had ever murdered someone! The old indignation rose before memories of her words yesterday gave renewed pause. Hadn’t she herself admitted to being less than perfect? And hadn’t she acknowledged the times she had fallen far short of what she had known was right? And this with people she was related to, that were her friends, that she was supposed to love. If she had failed to love them appropriately, how much less righteous were her actions towards those she did not know so well?

  She bit her lip, and read on.

  In the sixth chapter she found another verse that seemed to parallel the previous one. Her heart sank at the first words: the wages of sin is death. How true that could be; even if it did not mean physical death, sin still had a way of poisoning one’s heart, of deadening one’s soul, of making someone uncaring and unkind. She could see in her own life how pride had stolen her compassion. Even if God wasn’t truly real, this verse still held some truth.

  But—she felt her frown lift—if the second part of the verse was true, the part about the gift of God being eternal life through Jesus Christ, then how wonderful was such a gift! That is, if Jesus Christ had really lived. Although, now she thought on it, if Jesus hadn’t really lived, then it seemed strange that so many people believed He had, especially those interested in history and science, like the Kirbys and Mr. Kenmore. Was her parents’ opposition to faith due more to tradit
ion or unwillingness to examine their own lives than based on what the results of real study had given?

  She read on. The next chapter talked about the law, about commandments, things that seemed somewhat confronting and challenging to understand. But one part did make sense, that concerning the good left undone, and the evil—well, the sin, at least—she should not do that she had done. How often had she tried to not say something hurtful only to speak unkindly mere moments later? But it was at the end of the chapter she found words that really struck her soul. “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

  The way, the means, to salvation lay in this person Jesus Christ. The way to freedom from the law of sin and death, the way to freedom from her pathetic attempts at righteousness that always fell short. Such freedom was found in Jesus Christ.

  “Jesus Christ.” The words spoken aloud sounded almost blasphemous, but also seemed to hold a curious strength. Had He truly come to save a person from the guilt and shame of sin? Could He truly help her? Was He even really real?

  “Please help me understand.”

  To whom she spoke, she could barely admit, the words rippling forth from her soul, chased as they were by doubts. If this was real, then this was wonderful; if not, then she’d be a fool. But she’d be a fool in excellent company. And somehow, she had recognized elements of truth in what she’d read …

  She waited, listening, anticipation thumping in her heart. Would she hear some sort of reply? Or was expecting such things evidence that she had plunged to the depths of madness?

  Outside, the wind held an eerie moan. Inside …

  Silence.

  Then there came a patter of feet before the door opened and Mary peered in. “Excuse me, miss, did you call for me?”

  “No, thank you, Mary,” Caroline said.

  “Oh. I thought I heard voices.”

  Caroline swallowed a smile, then gave strict instructions not to return—yes, Caroline was quite capable of tending the fire and putting herself to bed—and sent her maid away.

  Conscious of a curious sense of disappointment—had she really expected an invisible being to speak to her?—she began to read the rest of the book, and found the section Mr. Kirby had quoted. “If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.”

  She closed the Bible’s hard covers gently, mind spinning over the implications of this, and the other verses she had read tonight, the doubts of the past battling with the promise found in a book much older. Was God real? Was Jesus Christ His Son? If true, what would this mean for her life, for her family, for her future? Or was this all an elaborate deception?

  Caroline shook her head. No, she had tasted something real within these pages, something that made her want to change. Regardless of anything greater, one thing was certain.

  “If it be possible, as much as it depends on me, I will live peaceably with others.”

  She shifted and blew out the candle.

  The day for their next excursion proved fine, allowing for time to appreciate the contrast of colors between cliff, sky, and sea. As the others engaged in conversation, Gideon focused on the cliffs, the storehouses of history that he longed to know. The deep-ribbed red cliffs around Sidmouth showed the wear of centuries, erosion eating away at the rocks, revealing tiny skeletons and fossils from eons ago. When he had first shown an interest in studying natural science and geology, years before on a family holiday to the south of England, his father had been shocked and not a little dismayed, decrying the pursuit of understanding an ancient past as something that was ungodly. “Why would you wish to dig up that which can never be again? Surely such a desire to learn how the world was made is in essence trying to become like God, and as such, is blasphemous.”

  “Father, my study has nothing to do with blasphemy, and everything to do with honoring our Creator.”

  A twinge of guilt had crossed his heart. Perhaps Gideon’s own interest stemmed from honoring God, but he knew there were others who sought an explanation for the world’s formation that denied God’s sovereign power; indeed, there were some who denied the existence of God altogether. For these fellow scientists, he could only pray that the endless quest they had for answers might one day result in finding the greatest answer of all, the Answer who gave hope and purpose to life, rather than reducing all existence to mere happenchance.

  Father had eventually come around, persuaded that Gideon wanted nothing more than to learn about the magnificent ancient creatures referred to in the Bible as leviathan or the behemoths of ancient days. Were such things somehow related to the ichthyosaurus skeleton discovered in Lyme Regis? How he wished he might discover something for himself.

  “Darling brother, at the risk of sounding like a bore, may I enquire if we have much farther to travel?”

  “Not much farther, I promise you.”

  He smiled at his companions. Emma—God bless her—had agreed to accompany them despite not feeling well, which had permitted Miss Hatherleigh to attend also.

  His pulse scampered. To have Miss Hatherleigh here seemed barely believable. As much as he wanted her to visit, he would never have imagined her grandmother would grant permission for two outings within the week. But when Emma had posed the question, Lady Aynsley had assented, which meant Miss Hatherleigh was here, and he would have further opportunity to get to know her, while taking great delight in displaying the layers of time as revealed in the rocks.

  The path turned then lowered alongside the beach and he soon drew Nancy to a halt. Aidan helped the ladies descend while Gideon secured the horse then retrieved his materials, which allowed a moment to surreptitiously observe his special guest.

  Miss Hatherleigh wore a yellow gown that perfectly highlighted the gold in her russet curls. Her bonnet and gloves detailed her father’s wealth and her own exquisite personal style; she looked as neat as if she might be attending a London soiree rather than a trek through sand and dirt to inspect rocks. He smiled. For whatever reason she came, he was grateful.

  “Are we ready?” he asked as they approached the stone-specked shoreline.

  “Are you sure it will be safe?” Emma said, with a worried glance at her friend.

  “We shall be quite safe,” he assured them both. He’d checked the tide; it was going out.

  “And I shall be here to protect you,” Aidan said, with another of those disconcerting looks at Emma that reminded Gideon of his urgent need to talk to his friend. But any time he ventured down that path Aidan diverted him with discussion of recent fossil finds, and Gideon, to his shame, had too easily allowed himself to be distracted.

  To draw Emma’s attention, he pointed out the little pools between larger rocks, bending to show the elegant corallines.

  “What is that?” Miss Hatherleigh said, pointing to an example of an anemone, the curious animal flower of fungus consistency but with a Medusa-like head of small snakes.

  He explained, and she sounded interested, so he went on to explain about other of the brightly colored creatures that could be found in this locale.

  “They seem a form of natural treasure,” she said.

  “Indeed they are.” Much like the treasure hidden in the cliffs.

  “Speaking of treasure, are you sure we shall not meet any smugglers?”

  He grinned, offering Miss Hatherleigh his arm as they reached a section of slippery sea-washed stones. “Ah, now that I cannot guarantee.”

  “I do think that would make for quite a story.”

  “I’m sure it would, but perhaps I will show you the merits of this story …” He gestured to the rock wall which they now faced, a wall whose different layers of colors told the story of millennia.

  Unsure just how much Miss Hatherleigh knew, he gave an abbreviated version of scientific discovery, sharing how just like excavations had led to discoveries of Roman forts and houses, history of a natural order had been preserved in the rocks until discovery in more rece
nt decades.

  “So, it is not blasphemous to discover what has been, as the land is simply a record, enabling us to learn about the past.”

  He saw that she had no reaction to his talk about blasphemy, which boded well. Perhaps she was more enlightened than his father with his strict puritanical beliefs. Or perhaps it stemmed from a lack of interest in God generally. He shook away the disquieting thought.

  “See this here?” He pointed to a small shell-encrusted ridge. “This is often where we can find ancient shells that are actually types of ammonites.”

  There were murmurs from the ladies that suggested interest, even though he knew Emma had seen similar specimens before. Aidan, he knew, had often seen such specimens; had in fact accompanied Gideon on some of his fossil-finding expeditions.

  “And how long ago do you think such things might have lived?” enquired Miss Hatherleigh.

  “There are different accounts as to how old they might be,” he said carefully. “Some believe the world to be seven thousand years old, others believe it to be much older.”

  “Why would people think the earth to be seven thousand years old?”

  “Because of certain ways of reading and interpreting the Bible.”

  “I see.” Her head tilted. “Do you mean to suggest that the Bible is to be taken as a literal account?”

  Here was the crux of the matter. If as a scientist he wanted to progress in his field then perhaps adhering to literal accounts was injurious to being treated seriously. Indeed, there were several professors at university who had scorned any attempt to reconcile biblical accounts of the formation of the world with scientific views, had indeed treated such beliefs as quaint and misguided. For his own part, Gideon could not reconcile how people who purported themselves as being open to discovery and reason seemed so closed to viewpoints not their own, and indeed went to extremes to make alternative viewpoints appear foolish. But such was the way of the world.