by Lori Wick
I don’t know about you, my friend, but I find it such a comfort to know that God alone holds the keys to life and death. But that’s not all. He loves and yearns for me, for all of us. And if I will only follow His plan, the one He fulfilled when His Son died to take away my sins, then I can enjoy Him for all of eternity.
“How are you holding up?” Lydia was suddenly at Anne’s side, taking her hand, her eyes full of compassion.
“I’m all right, Liddy. Thank you.”
“I so appreciated some of the things Pastor Hurst said.”
“I was just thinking of that. You knew that he’d had some conversations with my father?”
“Yes. I was so excited to hear it and feel confident that God’s will has been done, Anne. He loves us so greatly that we need never doubt His plan.”
“I’m certain I will need to remember that in the days and weeks to come.”
“Don’t ask yourself to mend too swiftly, Anne. It takes time to feel less of the hurt, and it’s all right if a little bit of it always stays with us.”
“Thank you, Lydia.”
Others were waiting to talk to Anne, so Lydia moved on. Weston stayed within arm’s reach, keeping a careful eye on his wife.
The Hursts served lunch for the grieving couple when everyone left the church, but Anne was rather drained by then. It helped to have the children join them, especially with eight-year-old Margaret in a talkative mood.
“You have prettier flowers than we have.”
“Do you think so, Margaret?”
She nodded. “But I’m supposed to be thankful.”
“And how are you doing with that?”
Margaret shot a glance at her mother, who kept silent. Only just that morning there had been some grumbling over the shoes she had to wear.
“I’m working on it,” the little girl volunteered.
“I’m glad, Margaret. That’s what I do when I struggle with sin too.”
“Maybe I could come and pick flowers again some time.”
Before her parents could protest her boldness, 11-year-old Jane spoke up.
“Margaret, the Colonel just died and Anne is sad!”
“But flowers could make her cheery again. I’m sure of it. I would do all the work, and she would need only to hold the basket.”
Pastor cleared his throat and both girls turned to him.
“Thank you, Jane, for being sensitive to Anne’s feelings right now. Thank you, Margaret, for wanting to cheer her with flowers, but we will not be making plans today. Mr Weston is going to want to take Anne home soon so she can rest, so let us not dawdle over our meal.
“Jeff,” he said, turning to his oldest. “Will you tell us how school is going—some of the things you’re working on with Palmer and Jennings?”
It was the perfect diversion. The meal passed without Anne having to contribute, something she was too tired to do. There was much on her mind, but not even when she and Weston were alone in the carriage could she muster the thoughts into words. Her father was gone, dead and buried.
Weston was equally tired but kept himself going until Anne was resting on her bed. It was only just now occurring to him that when you married a woman, you also married her family; all the joys and heartaches became yours as well.
I feel as though I’ve taken this marriage seriously, Weston prayed as he sought some solitude in his own room. But there’s still so much for me to learn. Help me, Father, to be the man Anne needs right now. Help me to lead in kindness and strength. Help us to accept this death, be thankful, and to keep growing in You.
Weston’s thoughts turned to his mother just then. He would lose her some day as well. There was no use worrying about it—that was a waste of time—but someday she would be gone. Just as Anne had recalled, Weston was thankful for Pastor’s reminder that God alone held those keys.
The letter started, My dearest Anne. Lenore wrote to her new daughter the moment she received word of the Colonel’s passing. Anne found a quiet spot in a comfortable chair and settled in to read.
What words are needed at a time like this? Even having experienced loss in my life, I’m not sure. I didn’t sit and think about what I wanted to say; I’ve simply begun my letter so you can know all my thoughts.
First of all, I love you. You are beyond precious to me. It is for this reason that my heart breaks for your pain. I so wish the journey was a bit shorter. Do know that I would have come if I could have made it in time.
What will the days be like for you now? I know that I can speak to you as a sister in our Lord, and although He fills our every need, you will know a certain emptiness, Anne. You will experience a void that will last for a time. There might be a measure of relief. Do not fight this—it’s normal. But mostly you will be reminded again and again that he’s gone. In time this will lessen for you. In time the pain will fade. Do not rush your heart. Do not make yourself bear up and be brave. If you need to cry, indulge yourself. Robert will always understand.
I wish I had known your father, Anne. You expressed wanting to know me because of the son I had raised. I know your father was not well in these last years, but I too would have enjoyed meeting the father of my precious Anne.
The comfort that I have knowing God and Robert are with you is indescribable. I pray that you will be comforted as well. God’s will and timing are always perfect, even when we wish to argue. Ask Him to keep your thoughts clear of bitterness or anger, and be thankful for His timetable. I will pray that very thing for you every day.
If my timing is not all wrong, I would love to come and see you. Will early October work? There will be no wounded feelings on my behalf if you wish me to delay this visit. I will come at your discretion and will wait for your word on the matter.
Please greet Robert for me.
Love to you both,
Mother
Quite confident as to what his answer would be, Anne did not even seek her husband out. She immediately started a letter back to London, one telling Lenore to come whenever she liked.
“Do you know what your mother likes to eat?” Anne asked Weston a week before she was to arrive.
“Everything we like.”
“That was vague.”
“Was it?”
Anne smiled, now having caught on to what he was doing.
“I want to make it special for her.”
“I know, love, and it will be special. Just her visiting will make it special. She won’t care what she eats.”
“But we could surprise her with one particular meal.”
“True,” Weston agreed, thinking maybe Anne did need this diversion. She had been drawn and pale lately, and he didn’t want her overly burdened with anything.
“Can you think of one thing?”
“She’s fond of chocolate and cocoa.”
“All right.”
Anne was ready to ask for more, but Mansfield came to the door.
“Your guests are here, Mr Weston.”
“Thank you, Mansfield. Please tell them I’ll be out soon.”
“I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Anne commented.
Weston stopped himself from telling her that they had talked of it.
“It’s Jennings with Jeffrey, Thomas, James, Frank, and Walt. As part of their course on mathematics, Jennings wants them to measure and study the construction on the conservatory.”
Anne nodded as it came back to her. Not wanting to keep her husband or his guests waiting, she didn’t ask any other questions, but the matter was not really settled about what his mother liked to eat.
Weston had no more left her when Anne felt too tired to care. Wanting to enjoy her mother-in-law’s visit, Anne wondered when she would ever feel lighthearted again.
“She sleeps quite a bit.”
“I think that might be normal, dear,” Lenore tried to reassure her son, even as she felt her own sense of worry.
“I’m hoping your being here will cheer her some.”
Lenore nodd
ed, not able to promise him anything, even though she wished for the same thing.
The door to the salon opened, and Anne came in. She smiled in true pleasure at the sight of Weston’s mother.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
“Robert did the honors, dear. Don’t give it a thought. How are you?”
“Doing well, I think. Better when I rest. I must admit that I nap most days.”
Lenore had taken her hand.
“You need that right now. Don’t worry about entertaining me. We’ll just visit or do whatever you like.”
Anne’s heart lightened at the prospect. It had been many years since she’d had a mother, and Weston’s mother was so fun and easy to be with.
Lenore’s visit signaled a period for fun. The three of them shopped a bit and even dined out, but most of the two-week visit found Lenore and Anne walking, talking, reading, or puttering in the garden. Anne was able to put some of her mourning on the shelf and enjoy this visit.
Lenore enjoyed it as well and left with the promise that she would come again for Christmas.
Weston was headed to town. His mother had been gone for a few days, and his wife had held up beautifully during this time, but he could see that her heart was still broken. He wanted to find her a gift, something that would make her smile.
After breakfast he had been vague about where he was headed or how long he would be gone, and he did not invite her to go with him.
“Are you all right?” Anne questioned him, a little concerned.
“Yes,” he told her, punctuating his words with a kiss. “I just have a bit of business on my mind.”
Weston told himself he was being truthful: It was the business of finding his wife a gift, and not just any gift but one she would treasure.
“Did you need me to pick anything up?”
“No, I shall be fine, thank you.”
Weston kissed her again, and with a good deal of enthusiasm took his leave. Anne wondered at his business and wished she’d asked but decided not to worry about it. In truth, she’d realized in the night that she hadn’t played the piano for weeks and headed to the music room immediately.
It didn’t take long for Anne to forget Weston’s trip to town. One of her favorite pieces of music was still on the piano, and in moments the room filled with the sounds of her playing. She was deep into the melody before she realized she was being watched. Hands still moving, she glanced up to see her husband coming toward her, his face showing surprise. Anne came to an awkward halt, not sure what was wrong.
“You play the piano.” Weston stated the obvious.
“I thought you were gone.” Anne said the first thing that came to mind.
“I forgot something and had to come back. Why have you not played before?”
“I do…I have…” she began, stumbling a bit. “I guess you weren’t here.”
Weston’s brows rose in surprise. He wasn’t away very often. How could he have missed this?
Seeing Anne look uncomfortable, Weston immediately tabled his plans to leave. He went to his wife, joining her on the piano bench. Things were coming back to him now. The look on Anne’s face the night at Berwick when they’d listened to Louisa Cavendish play, the interest she’d shown in the music at the bookstore—clear indications he’d totally missed.
“I need to ask you some things,” Weston said quietly.
“All right.”
“When did you first play this piano? When I was on my trip?”
“I think that was it, yes. So much has happened since then.”
“Is that why you haven’t played since, or have I made you feel as though you mustn’t?”
“No, nothing like that. I hadn’t played in many years, so I guess the first time I wished to be alone, but not now. It only just occurred to me last night that it had been some time since I’d come back to this room.”
“When did you learn?”
“As a girl.” Anne smiled at the thought. “My mother taught me.”
“Did you have your own piano at one time?”
“Yes.”
“And it had to be sold,” he stated more than asked.
“Of course.”
Sitting side by side staring at each other, the two laughed.
Weston watched her, never growing tired of her nearness. “Have you ever thought about how blessed we are?” he asked.
“Often.”
“We could have gone for years without this level of care and commitment to each other, this love for each other, but we grew into it rather soon, didn’t we?”
Anne put her hands on his face, touching him gently and marveling at the special man he was.
“God must have prepared our hearts, do you not think?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I was embarrassed in front of you after the ordeal with our first ‘marriage,’ but after we talked at the manse, I knew such a peace.”
“With the occasional doubt creeping in,” he teased her, thinking of the times she’d asked him if he had regrets.
Anne kissed him.
“Play something.”
In an instant she was shy.
“I thought you were going to town.”
“I will, but play something first.”
“Don’t watch me. I really am quite rusty.”
Anne took on a case of the giggles when Weston stayed on the bench but turned his back to her.
“Go on now,” he said, his back still to her and the piano.
Anne took a moment but eventually began to play, softly at first, wanting to keep laughing at her husband’s broad back, so close to her shoulder. But in time the music took over. When Weston did turn back around, Anne didn’t notice. She played with complete concentration, making herself repeat parts that were anything short of perfect. When the piece ended, she again turned to the man next to her.
“You peeked.”
Weston didn’t answer. He stared at her for what seemed like minutes before placing his arms around her. The two enjoyed a long and tender kiss and the piano was forgotten. Indeed, Weston never did leave for town that day.
Chapter Twenty-One
The door to their bedrooms was left open now. Neither Weston nor Anne felt any need for privacy from the other, so the door lay back against the wall in Weston’s room most of the time. For this reason, Anne was nearly to Weston’s shoulder before he realized she had entered. He was reading his Bible but put a hand out to catch hers.
“Here, sit on my knee a moment and listen to this.”
Anne slipped an arm around his neck to get comfortable and noticed that he was in the book of Jeremiah.
“This is from chapter 9. ‘Thus saith the LORD, Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches: but let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the LORD which exercise lovingkindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth: for in these things I delight, saith the LORD.’
“I thought of you as I read that,” Weston told her when he finished. “On days when you might be tempted to question God’s timing, you can remember this verse. You can remember that our God is loving, a righteous judge who only does what’s best for us.”
“Thank you,” Anne said sincerely. She hadn’t even taken the time to open her Bible that morning. “I grow discouraged too easily these days. My father’s interest in Christ was such a lovely surprise, and the instant I heard about it I determined that God was going to save him before he died.”
“And He may have, Anne. Your father may have repented. What we need to remember is that we are not lost in the last moments of life. Most of us have years to accept or reject God’s offer. He never forces it on us, but it has to be on His terms.”
Anne nodded. “Which is only right, considering that He’s the potter and we’re the clay.”
Weston kissed her cheek.
“Di
d you come in for something in particular?”
“Just to be near you.”
Weston put both arms around her. “Are you a little down this morning?”
“I am, yes. I have much to be thankful for, but all I can think about is my hurting heart.”
“Can you do both?”
“How’s that?”
“Can you be thankful and still having a hurting heart? Can you have a hurting heart but not be consumed with it?”
Anne had to think about that. It was a challenging idea. She knew that Christ Himself understood mourning, so there certainly must be a righteous way to go about it.
“Another passage just came to mind,” Weston continued, paging in his Bible to the book of Matthew. “Remember the man in chapter 12 who had an unclean spirit? It would seem that he got rid of it but didn’t replace it with anything, so the spirit returned with seven other spirits, even more evil, and the man was in worse shape than ever before.
“I think believers do this. They try to overcome a sin without putting something else in their heart. You’ve lost your father, but you have the ultimate Father in God Himself. Fill your heart with God’s Word. Don’t let there be an empty space inside of you, and God will see you through every moment of pain.”
“Oh, Weston,” Anne breathed as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I haven’t known quite what to do. I do feel empty. I read my Bible and still feel so sad—not a righteous sadness, but one where I want pity. Now I know what to do. Now I can mourn but have joy and thankfulness in my tears.”
Anne buried her face in his shoulder. Weston smiled. She was trying to choke the life out of him, but it was worth it. To see her face light up with a plan to keep molding herself to Christ as she mourned was worth every second.
Tipton
“You don’t think it too soon after my father’s death, do you?” Anne asked of Palmer and Lydia.
“No, Anne, we don’t,” Palmer said immediately.
“And from what you’ve said, you’re not planning an overly large affair,” Lydia put in.
