A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  She began sobbing in earnest. He didn’t know what to do. With his free hand he groped for his handkerchief and tried to give it to her. She took it from him but her crying didn’t stop. All he could do was shelter her in his arms. Her shoulders shuddered and he rubbed his hands over her back, murmuring soothing words. What had happened to her? Who had upset her so? He could ask nothing until she was calmer.

  When her tears finally dwindled into a few sniffles, he dared say, “None of us knew where you were. Mrs. Nichols said you’d gone to visit a friend, but no one knew where. When you didn’t come back by dinner, and then supper, we grew concerned.” He coughed, suddenly embarrassed to admit how worried he’d been.

  She drew away from him just enough to look up into his face. The scant moonlight illuminated her tear-streaked cheeks. How he wanted to bring his hands up to cup them…bring his lips to hers to kiss away all trace of tears. Her words put a stop to his thoughts. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would notice my absence.”

  “Not notice your absence?” He stared at her through the gloom. “How could you think that?”

  She sniffled, looking down, saying nothing.

  Realization dawned on him. “Did you think I’d care so little I wouldn’t notice you’d gone? I thought you’d—” he swallowed “—run away.”

  “I did,” came her small voice, and he felt stabbed afresh. She quickly added. “Not from you.” A deep sigh shuddered through her. “But from what I…I’ve done to you. I’ve caused you so much harm.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve done nothing to be sorry about. Get that silly notion from your pretty head.”

  At her stubborn silence, he tightened his hold on her. “You’ve caused me nothing I can’t face. It is I who should be sorry. I’ve been treating you abominably.”

  “No, you’ve been so patient with me.”

  “I’ve left you alone, not thinking how strange and new this life must be for you. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s just I’ve felt so useless at the parsonage. And I’ve brought such calamity upon you. I’m so ashamed.” Her voice sounded wobbly again.

  The admittance of how he’d failed her convicted him afresh and he drew her against him. “None of that. You’ve brought nothing of the kind to me.” Nothing but joy—bittersweet joy—but joy all the same. “Why do you say such things?” He felt the softness of her hair against his lips, the slimness of her back under his hand and wished…for more.

  “I overheard about the bishop. You’re to be censured because of me. Because of the lies I told. The ladies of the congregation despise me and I deserve it. I’ve ruined your life.”

  “No, you haven’t. Who has been treating you so ill? You must tell me, and I shall deal with them.”

  She shook her head against his chest. “Oh, no!”

  He smoothed his hand down her back, trying to reassure her but feeling helpless to ease her pain. “If anyone has treated you unkindly, it is probably because they are jealous of you—your beauty, your fine manners, all that is noble and good in you.”

  “I’m s-sorry I’m crying so much. I d-don’t know why it is. I must be homesick.” She gazed up as if horrified she’d said something wrong. “Not for all I left behind, but for knowing who and what I am. Nothing I do here is right.”

  “I’m sorry for not noticing how unhappy you’ve been.” How could he tell her he’d stayed away from her deliberately? And in doing so, he’d made it worse for her. Instead of loving her, he’d proved himself a selfish individual, caring only about protecting himself. “Let me make it up to you.”

  She drew away from him and reluctantly he released her. “You know what I’d like best?”

  He stared at her in the dark, wondering what she would say. “Whatever it is, I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you.”

  “Oh, will you?” He read hope and anticipation in her tone.

  “Yes.” Anything to bring joy to her face again.

  “I should dearly love to be more involved in your work. Not here at the parsonage,” she added quickly. “I mean, when you go about your rounds—teaching at the orphanage, the kinds of things you and Florence are involved with at Newgate, at the workhouse…” Her voice dwindled away in doubt as he remained silent.

  His heart fell in dismay at her request. If there was anything he wanted, it was to shield her from the sordid world he entered so often in his call as minister. “I…” He stopped, trying to find a way to dissuade her without further discouraging her.

  “Oh, please don’t refuse me this! It’s what I should like more than anything in the world!”

  He sighed. “It’s dangerous work, often filthy. I wouldn’t want you to expose yourself when there’s no need. There’s ample for you to do with serving the congregation here as a hostess—”

  Before he’d finished speaking, she’d turned away from him, her shoulders slumped.

  He tried to think of a way to distract her. “Perhaps tomorrow, if the weather is as nice as it has been, we could go out for a drive or—” he had a burst of inspiration “—a picnic somewhere out in the countryside.” He remembered something he’d heard a parishioner talk about. “Perhaps a boat ride.”

  “Yes, that sounds lovely.” There was no enthusiasm in her tone. “But only if it doesn’t take you away from your duties.”

  “It’s quite all right. Perhaps getting away will inspire ideas for the sermon I’m struggling with right now.”

  “Maybe I can help you.” Her tone brightened a bit.

  “Yes, perhaps you can,” he said in relief. “Come, let’s get you back home. Everyone has been frantic.”

  She rose when he did, his arm still around her. “I’m so sorry I worried them. I didn’t mean to cause anyone concern. I must apologize to Mrs. Nichols.”

  “That’s all right. I’m just so glad you came here.” He frowned. “Why were you here? How did you get in?”

  She glanced around the darkened church and shivered. His fingers tightened around her shoulder as if to warm her. “I should get you back. You’ll be chilled in here,” he said.

  “No! I mean…not yet.”

  He nodded, wondering what she dreaded so much.

  “I came here when I got tired of walking.” A smile lifted the edges of her lips. “I’d been walking all day. I didn’t know where else to go. I finally came back here. The door was open and old Mr. Henderson was working in the back. I slipped inside and hid until he left. I just…needed a quiet place to sit and think.”

  “I shall have a key made for you. I often come here to think and pray. I was going to do that now, as a matter of fact.”

  She looked into his eyes once more. “But it’s so late.”

  “I needed the Lord’s guidance to find you. Jacob and I looked everywhere we knew. I kept telling myself you must be spending the night with a school friend, but when you sent no note, I couldn’t help imagining the worst.”

  He took her lightly by the elbow and led her out of the church, turning to lock it after them. As they walked around the back toward the parsonage, she said again, “I do so wish you would let me come on one of your visits to the orphanage.”

  Her tone sounded so wistful he couldn’t refuse. Perhaps if she went once, she’d be discouraged by the sight of so much need and would leave the work to him. A visit to the orphanage wasn’t as dangerous as one to the workhouse or prison. “Very well. Perhaps the day after tomorrow, you could accompany me.”

  She stopped and turned to him, bringing her hands together. “Oh, truly! That would be wonderful!”

  He couldn’t help the warmth filling his heart at her enthusiasm. Would that he could make her feel so joyous every day!

  The next day Lindsay stood at the edge of the large pond in Marylebone Park as Damien negotiated the rental of the boat. She still could scarcely believe he’d taken the whole day just for her.

  After paying, he climbed aboard the rowboat from the small dock. She tensed as the boat rocked under him. Would h
e maintain his balance? Her arm reached out, but she dropped it almost immediately, remembering his dislike of being treated like a cripple.

  He turned to her with a smile, a hand held out.

  She placed one hand in his tentatively and lifted her skirts with the other. She stepped off the low dock onto the boat and stood a moment as the boat rocked under their feet again.

  “All set, sir?” The owner of the boats for hire handed him the rope.

  “Yes.”

  Lindsay settled upon the small seat at the stern, then watched as Damien sat facing her on the one thwart in the boat, closer to the bow. He took up the oars where they rested in the oarlocks and pushed away from the dock.

  She sighed happily as the boat pulled away from shore. If only she could leave all the unpleasantness of the parish behind as quickly. She lifted her face to the warm sun. The day was perfect.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Damien asked. She opened her eyes and met his with a smile.

  “Oh, yes! Thank you for bringing me here today.” She looked around at the vast parkland beyond the pond where a few sheep were grazing. “I’ve never been up this way before, though it really isn’t so far from Mayfair.”

  The large pond was in the center of Marylebone Park. Away in the distance a forested slope was dark green against the blue sky. Puffy white clouds floated above her.

  “Yes. I thought you might enjoy it. I haven’t been here in an age. My sister and I used to come here often, growing up rather nearby.” His arms pulled against the oars. “Soon it might be closed off if the regent has his summer palace built here. Construction of some of the villas has already begun.”

  When they’d first arrived, they’d passed the beginning of the terrace houses at the southern edge of the park. “I imagine it will be quite elegant when it’s completed.”

  “Yes. But it’s a pity ordinary citizens will no longer have access to it. Already the tenant farmers’ leases haven’t been renewed.”

  “Where will they go?”

  He shook his head. “Who knows? Either they must find other farms to lease or move to find employment in the city.”

  She’d never thought of things like that. Her life had always been ordered for her. She gazed fondly at Damien. He had such a heart for the least important individual.

  The small boat reached the middle of the pond. Large willow trees trailed their feathery branches into the dark water at its edges. An occasional swan or pair of ducks glided past them.

  She fiddled with the tasseled end of her parasol. “It’s not too much for you?”

  He raised his eyes to hers, a slight frown of incomprehension bringing his brows together. “What?”

  She gestured. “Rowing.”

  “No, it’s all right. It involves my arms, not my legs.” The words were spoken with an abruptness she’d never heard from him before. Her cheeks colored and she didn’t know where to look. Unfortunately, her focus couldn’t help shifting to his lower legs, the one, a long and shapely calf in its black stocking, the other a polished brown wooden stick.

  What had she done? She bit her lip, removing her gaze and fixing it once more on the horizon. The beginnings of the city were visible through the trees at the southern end, and the muted sounds of construction came to them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  Her eyes flickered to his and she was caught by the intentness of the blue irises. “For what?”

  “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “Oh, you didn’t. I’m sorry for thinking you couldn’t handle the boat. Please forgive me.”

  His lips curved upward and she remembered the feel of them on hers. How she yearned to reach toward him. But she’d probably rock the boat until it turned over. She couldn’t help smiling at the image of them both in the water. It would feel good on this hot day.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Oh! Nothing.” She couldn’t help laughing at the sheer wonder of being out on the water alone with Damien and having him smiling at her as if no one else existed for him at the moment. “I just had a funny thought of us tipping the boat over and going for a swim.”

  His smile widened into a grin. “A swim would be a lovely thing on a day like today.”

  She wondered if he could swim with his wooden leg. His smile faded as if he read the direction of her thoughts. She quickly looked away again.

  They rowed for a while longer in silence.

  “When Mama was alive, I’d often go on outings like this with her at our country house. But since she died, and I’ve been away to school, life has been so different.” She took her eyes off the scenery and looked at him. “Tell me about your parents.”

  “My parents were always so proud of me, although unwarranted, I assure you. I could do no wrong in their eyes, and perhaps because of that, I always wanted to do my best for their sake. I knew how hard they worked so I could go to school.” He shook his head in amusement. “Even though I know if I’d ended up following in Father’s footsteps as a simple clockmaker, he’d have been just as proud.”

  “He sounds like a fine man.”

  Damien nodded thoughtfully. “He was.”

  She smiled at the obvious admiration he had for his father. Then she sobered. She’d admired her father, perhaps too much, and had disappointed him beyond words. “My papa was always trying to teach me things when I was younger and still at home—things that interested him, like mathematics and scientific method—but he finally gave up, saying I was too stupid.”

  “No!”

  She blinked at the vehemence in his tone.

  “I meant that you’re not stupid at all.”

  She warmed at the praise. “Oh, he didn’t say it in a mean-spirited way, only as an observation. He has that way about him. He never raises his voice to me—at least not until the night I came to you.” She dipped her hand in the dark water. “He would just say things to me in the same way he’d remark about an experiment he was conducting. He told me I’d do better to stick with my watercolors and music.”

  “Both of which you do admirably.”

  She raised startled eyes to him. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

  His eyes shifted away as if she’d caught him at something. “I’ve heard you singing and seen your pictures on the easel. I’m sorry we have no pianoforte for you to practice on.”

  “That’s all right.”

  His gaze rested on her once again. “I’m sure in his own way, your father has always been very proud of you.”

  “Perhaps. He admires my…beauty. Like one of the butterflies in his collection. I often felt like a great big blue one he captured in Africa when I was a child. It’s quite stunning.” She blushed as she realized how she sounded. “I don’t mean I’m stunning, but my father admired it so much, he had it put away beneath a glass case.

  “I remember thinking what a pity it was pinned down until my father told me not to worry. It couldn’t feel anything anymore. It was all dried up inside.”

  “Well, you were half-right.”

  She tilted her head at him, puzzled by what he meant. He was looking at her so warmly, she felt herself blush. She opened the fan she had looped around her wrist and began to fan herself.

  “Is it too hot for you out in the sun?”

  “No, I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

  He maneuvered the boat down a stream that emptied into the pond at the northern end. Here, more willows and large elm and oak trees offered shade. He rowed upstream until they came to an abandoned farm field. “Shall we have our picnic?”

  “Yes, it’s perfect, there under the tree.” She closed her parasol and pointed with it to a chestnut tree not far from the stream.

  He rowed close to the edge, then stood and pulled the boat with the oar until it bumped against the bank. He stepped out of the boat, taking a half jump through the reeds, and secured the rope around a stump. Then he held out a hand to her. “Here, let me help you. The edge is a bit muddy.”

>   She clutched her parasol in one hand and waited to see what he would do. He grasped her about the waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. She clutched at his shoulder with her free hand. “Oh!” She said, then quickly added, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “One thing about a wooden leg, it doesn’t matter if it gets muddy.”

  She gasped, her gaze flying to his. But his eyes only twinkled back at her and suddenly they were both laughing. He set her down on the grassy bank, and her hand brushed the length of his arm before letting go of him.

  He stepped away from her, his eyes not meeting hers, and busied himself with their picnic hamper and blanket.

  “Let me take something.”

  “It’s all right. I have everything. Come, you pick out a spot.”

  She led them to an area under the chestnut tree where the grass still grew, and the shade was speckled with sunshine that shone between the large leaves.

  “Perfect.” His voice expressed approval.

  They set about spreading the blanket out and she knelt down and began unpacking the basket. “Mrs. Nichols outdid herself. Did she think we were going to be gone for a week?” She laid out rolls stuffed with sliced sausage meat and spread with mustard, cold pieces of chicken, blocks of cheese, hard-boiled eggs. “Oh, strawberries!”

  Damien chuckled. “She believes one’s digestion is directly related to one’s state of happiness.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  Damien removed his hat and said a blessing.

  As she fixed her plate, she asked, “Do you ever think about it much—having a wooden leg?” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t take offense. He sat now with his good leg bent, the other stretched out.

  He seemed startled for a moment but then replied thoughtfully. “Hardly anymore. It was difficult in college, not being able to play at sports, but since taking up the curacy, I’ve come in contact with so many less fortunate souls, whose condition in life is so much more severe than mine, that I’m thankful every day for all the Lord has blessed me with.”

  She smiled, thinking of her own well-being at that moment. “He has blessed us, hasn’t He?”