by Ruth Trippy
“One minute,” he said. He reached for her left hand. “Let me do this, Celia. Trust me.” He removed her glove. He kept her hand in one of his while he reached for something in his breast pocket. He drew out a ring set with a magnificent ruby. For a moment he held it to the sun shining in her window. “See its scarlet glow? The fire of my love burns like the red flame of this stone.” He lowered the jewel to slip on her finger. “This proclaims you are mine. When men see it, they will know you belong to another. Some might say, how dare I do this when the woman of my heart has not said yes to my proposal. ‘But I know her heart,’ I would say to them, ‘I know her wishes. She is mine, whether she says it or not.’ ”
The carriage jostled slightly. Ned had taken off one of the bigger bags. Edward raised her hand to his chest and held it there. Then he lowered it. “I will help see to your bags. Stay here until I return.”
Celia sat back on the seat, unable to say anything, hardly able to think. Edward had so mastered the situation. Had she done the right thing? But she hardly cared at the moment. All she knew was that she didn’t want to leave. But she must. She could barely cope with his presence at her side, his professions of love.
How she wanted to assure him of her love, hint at the deep yearning he had awakened in her. She felt limp, stunned. Thank God they had arrived at the station, that Ned was looking out for them. Otherwise, she would have given herself away. It would have needed only a little more and she would have exposed her heart to him completely.
How could she be so compliant? She almost despised herself. She had felt the danger, yet wanted to be part of it. Shameful of her. Oh, how glad she was he’d gone to see to the luggage.
As she waited, her head began to clear, her senses returned to normal. What had become of her, alone with him, just a few minutes ago? Had she no conscience? No firmness? For, of course, she could give him no hope—as much as she wanted to. Unless he changed toward God, their oneness was a dream, merely a wish of his.
Should she return his ring? To do so immediately would be the right thing. Looking out the window, she saw a growing number of passengers alighting from conveyances. She didn’t know what to do. Rather, she did, but wasn’t sure if this was the right place and time. But when would she see him again?
She saw him make his way around a carriage. Saw the seriousness, the determination, the pain etched into his face.
At once, she knew she could not hand back the ring. Not at this moment with the movement and people and animals all around. If she did it now, it would be done too quickly and would be like a slap in the face. And she could not slap the face she loved. Not after what Mrs. Macon had told her last night. She would not wound his pride like that. Later, she could think more clearly and would know what to do.
Edward stepped back into the carriage. With a quick motion, he let loose the curtains of the side nearest her, dropping them to give them privacy. He settled himself next to her, then drew her to him.
“Celia, in these final minutes I vow my unfailing love for you. I pledge myself to you. I pledge my name, my worldly possessions. I trust you as no other woman and have given you my ring.” His arm tightened around her and he said this time with more urgency, breathing the words, “Oh, Celia, how can I let you go?” Gently, he took her hand in his and kissed it, then kissed it again. His kisses were fearfully sweet.
Inside she trembled. She must master herself, take control of self and the situation. God help her!
After a few moments, she resolutely separated herself from him and put her glove back on her hand. “Is my trunk in baggage?”
He gazed at her. “So, you are resolved to leave?”
She nodded.
He reached into a pocket. “Here is your claim.” He preceded her out the carriage and handed her down. He was now the gentleman and placed her hand on his arm. He was the perfect gentleman, but he was also staking his claim, seeing to her and protecting her.
He went on board the train and helped settle her in her seat. After the final “All aboard!” he took her left hand in his and fingering the ruby through the glove, leaned over to her. His cheek pressed hers. His voice whispered, “You are mine. Remember that, darling.” He pressed her hand again, then stepped back, smiled, and turned to leave.
Celia watched him walk down the aisle, his shoulders straight, his head held high. She was glad she hadn’t given back his ring, not just now. No sooner would she cause those shoulders to droop than she would disappoint her own father. Somehow, she would find a way to return the ring.
Her heart constricted with the coming separation, but knew it must be so. She would be strong and cling to what was right. She feared that unless she held to her convictions and carried through with this drastic departure, he would have no motivation to examine the very thing that separated them. And she would rather turn the knife in his heart than see him a soul forever damned.
He waited on the platform, watching her as the train started with a jerk. She sat, crushing the handkerchief in one fist, holding a smile on her face as the train picked up momentum. The man on the platform didn’t know it, but she was leaving, truly leaving. She held up her hand in a small, impersonal wave, longing to show some indication of her love, but she would not. Then he disappeared from view. Then and only then did she lift the handkerchief to her eyes and wipe the tears.
24
Celia, dear! We received your telegram.” Her mother wrapped her arms around her and held her hard. “We’ll talk more about that later. First, sit down, and have some soup. The rest of us have eaten.”
Celia looked around at her brothers and little sister who’d given her the grand welcome at the station full of hugs and squeals. Now they sat at the table or milled around the kitchen, all with smiles on their faces eager to hear her latest news.
“You’ve come to stay, you won’t be here only a few days?” her youngest brother asked. On her nod, he yelled, “Yea!”
Her sister sidled up to her and circled her arms around her neck. “We’ve missed you, Celia.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” She looked at the curly blond head. This was food for her soul, a family who loved her. She glanced at her mother, pouring out soup from the big pot on the stove, her father now settling himself at the opposite end of the table with a cup of tea. She could talk with them all—oh, the riches of love and conversation she had here in her old home. The sweetness of it was almost too much to realize.
Her thoughts reverted to earlier in the day. Did Edward have anyone who loved him, there where he lived? She had such blessings that he did not. Her heart ached for him but also knew things had to be this way. If he felt his need, maybe it would drive him to God.
“We’ll visit Grandma tomorrow, maybe late in the morning,” her mother was saying. “You may have one day to sleep in and acclimate to life in this busy family, then you’ll find plenty of work to do, my dear. I’ve been thinking. For the time being, you could help out at the general store. Mr. Jenkins broke his leg and finds it difficult to get around. You probably won’t get paid at present, but that’s all right. We need to aid our neighbor. The boys can lift the heavy things, but help with the little, detailed matters is what he now needs.”
So within a few hours of homecoming, Celia felt she would fit right back into life in the small town. It looked as though mornings through early afternoon she would assist in the store, then help Mother at home. “Having you here late summer will be such a treat for me,” her mother said, “especially with all the canning. Best of all, we can talk.” Her mother emphasized her words punctuating them with a large spoon. “When you left at the end of canning season last year, I didn’t know how I would get it all done this year, but now, here you are. I think the Lord brought you home just for me.” The spoon tapped her forefinger. “Of course, I’m joking a bit, but the Lord has a way of working out the details of everyone’s lives so they mesh in the most intricate, interesting ways. We can trust Him with the smallest aspect, can’t we?”
After supper the following evening, Celia walked down the hallway to the sitting room. The rest of the children would follow later. They were to clear the table and do dishes while Mother and Father spent time alone. This had been a nightly ritual since the children were old enough to do chores. Even when the youngest child couldn’t yet help, the older children looked after her while Mother and Father had their time together.
Once her oldest brother Joe asked what his parents did. “We talk,” Mother said. Later Mother explained to Celia that a number of years had passed before she discovered how Father loved time alone with her, that talking with her was his special delight. It brought them closer. “At first, you all clamored for my help in the kitchen. Well, clamored isn’t quite the word.” Mother laughed. “You were never allowed to do that, as you well know.”
Celia remembered. Mother had patiently showed them how to do each required task, then firmly walked out the door to be with their father. When the occasional dish broke, she made herself adopt a sang-froid attitude, knowing she was attending to the more important business of keeping her husband happy.
Tonight, Celia had been asked to come in early, ahead of her brothers and sisters. When she opened the sitting room door, she found her parents in a close embrace.
The tender scene struck her in a way she’d never noticed before. Yes, she’d seen her parents’ gestures of love and caring before and surmised devoted husbands and wives did the same in the privacy of their homes. And growing up, she’d seen her parents embrace many times, but now it affected her differently. She noticed not only the tenderness in her father, but his—she searched for the right word—desire for her mother. And she for him. She felt herself flush. It was what she had felt for Edward and it frightened her, especially when marriage could not be considered. With strong feelings like these, a whole new world had opened up to her.
“Come in, Celia,” her father said. He gestured toward a chair opposite the couch where he and Mother sat. “Now, tell us why you came home so suddenly.”
Celia hesitated at the door, then entered. Best make a clean breast of it.
Later that night, she lay in bed, gazing up at the white ceiling. Its blank whiteness was the picture of her future. Mother and Father had made it clear she could stay with them as long as necessary, that under the circumstances, it was just as well she didn’t continue to live near Mr. Lyons.
“He seems an interesting man,” her mother said. “I wonder what I would think if I met him.” That her mother had evinced a degree of sympathy for the man surprised Celia.
“He seems a compelling individual with a formidable mind,” her father added. “Because of his kindness toward you, I know that made it all the more difficult to discern what to do.” He had looked at her carefully before continuing, “Daughter, I believe you did the right thing in coming home. I’m glad you assured us the Chestleys wouldn’t be too inconvenienced by it. So you worked to put the bookstore in good order before you left?”
She replied in the affirmative.
“Taking care of all these details on such short notice was admirable.”
Celia was relieved her parents approved all that had transpired. As she rolled over on her side, her mind went back to her parents themselves. She thought of her mother, the way she saw to Father’s needs—his desire for time alone with her as well as the other things she did for him in the course of a day. She was starting to see the word wife in a new light. No other woman occupied this particular role in his life. It was a special place indeed. Her mother had made it a place of honor and respect, herself loved and desired. A deep longing took hold of Celia. Oh, to be that woman—to someone.
These first days home, while someone was speaking, Edward would suddenly come to mind. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her? And now, with her absence, was Mrs. Adams stepping into the gap Celia had left? Though terribly curious about that visit Mrs. Adams had made to Edward’s house alone, Celia hadn’t felt the freedom to ask him about it. But it made her heart ache.
“Celia!” her mother called, “a telegram for you.” Her mother held it up as Celia rushed down the stairs.
Carefully but quickly Celia opened it. “It’s from Charles!” She glanced at her mother. “He’s the friend who attends law school in Boston.” Celia could see her mother brimming with curiosity. “He says he’d like to stop here on his way to Boston. Late tomorrow morning.”
“Will he need overnight accommodations?”
“He doesn’t indicate it but we might be prepared just in case. I saw him only a short while ago. I wonder what’s on his mind.”
“Well, I’ll have a nice meal for him.”
Celia smiled at her mother. “His family has been so gracious to me. You remember, his mother invited me to accompany her to Boston? I would like to have things special for him.” Regardless of why he was coming, he would provide a diversion from other thoughts that pulled at her doggedly.
The next day when Celia and her brother Joe walked up the steps to the train station, she felt such pleasant anticipation in seeing Charles again. Preparations for his visit had been accomplished in a leisurely and equally pleasant manner.
“You say he’s training to be a lawyer?” Joe asked.
“Yes, I believe he’s near the end of his schooling. His father is one, you know.”
“I’ve thought that is something I’d like to do.”
“Well then, this is a good opportunity to ask questions. What Charles doesn’t know from his studies, he’ll surely have learned from growing up in a lawyer’s home.”
The train whistle sounded in the distance. As they sat on one of the oak benches to wait, Celia glanced at her tall, lanky brother. Being with him gave her such a sense of confidence. How proud she was of her family. When the train arrived, there would be the anticipation of seeing in which car Charles sat, what window he might be looking out. She had forgotten the sense of excitement in the small things of life.
The train steamed into the station. “There he is!” Celia spotted his friendly wave at the window.
Charles put his bags in storage and the three of them walked down the road, chatting comfortably. Charles talked so companionably with her brother. How nice to have such friends. And so the visit went. It wasn’t until after the meal that Charles asked permission to speak with Celia alone. Her father acquiesced, suggesting the sitting room.
“Now, Celia,” Charles began, sitting next to her on the couch, “do you wonder why I dropped by when we just saw each other?”
“I certainly do.” She smiled at him.
He returned her look, a light in his eyes. “This sudden change in your address affected me in a way I hadn’t antici-pated. I thought you would always live near my parents,whenever I came home, I would be able to see you. At the luncheon a few days ago, I suddenly realized I was losing something valuable. Somehow, the place wouldn’t seem the same. It would be empty of the woman I had come to esteem and admire in a way I don’t feel about any other person of my acquaintance.” He reached out to take her hands. “Can you guess why I’m here, Celia?” For the first time she saw a shy, almost sheepish look cross his features.
“I’ve always been terribly fond of you,” he continued. “You have a first-rate mind. You are discreet and do everything well and properly. And, most of all, from a man’s point of view, you are a beautiful woman. I remember seeing your blond hair for the first time. It pulled me like a magnet. No, don’t pull away from me now. I need to say this.
“I told Mother of this visit and she was delighted. In fact, there’s nothing my mother would like more. From the very beginning, she saw the possibilities in you and warned me not to flirt with you unless I was serious, that you were far too nice a girl to trifle with.
“Well, I’m not trifling now. I am in dead earnest.” His eyes had lost their hesitant, apologetic look. They were eager and his bearing had the resolute look of a lawyer arguing before the jury. “Celia, you are one of the loveliest women I know, striki
ngly so. I would be proud of you. You are an absolute dear in the way you approach and handle people. You would make a lovely hostess.”
He continued. “You know, when I heard of your leaving, I thought you were going to your parents for just a visit but when I heard you had moved out of the Chestleys’ lock, stock, and barrel, it woke me up in short order. It appeared more was afoot than I guessed.
“I wondered why you hadn’t said more at the luncheon. That night as I was pondering all this, I remembered that little scene in the bookstore when Edward stepped forward so suddenly after I offered to bring you to the station, how he forcibly informed me that he was already taking you. Thinking back, it had the nature of his staking his claim on you. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t like it one bit.”
Charles looked down at the hands he held, then grasped them tighter. “Celia, forgive me for taking you for granted. Now I want to make sure you are mine before it’s too late.” He looked at her expectantly. “It’s not too late, is it?” When she looked down, silent, his voice faltered. “It’s not Edward—is it?” He paused repeatedly while talking, as if he was thinking while he spoke. “You’re free, aren’t you—free to entertain what I’m asking to you consider—free to be my wife?”
He was serious, then all of a sudden, he chuckled. “Nothing like pushing through to the heart of the matter! You know, Celia, you don’t have to decide this moment. I realize this is rather out of the blue. I just became serious myself a day or so ago.” He grinned. “But you always knew I thought the world of you. You couldn’t have missed that. Why even in Boston, during your visit, we got along famously. When I think back on it, I saw then how well you looked in that city. You would make a superb lawyer’s wife. Never mind that Mother had worked her wonders with your wardrobe, your bearing said you belonged there. You have style, poise—and loveliness—to suit the most exacting of tastes.
