Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty

by Ted Bader

  A woman about ten years older than Sarah opened the door and said, “Are you Sarah Bingley?”

  “Yes.”

  “My mother has been waiting for you. Please come in. I must leave now to return to my own family.”

  Sarah entered to see Granny Williams in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace. As the door closed behind the retreating woman, Sarah remained motionless as she grew accustomed to the atmosphere of the cottage. The strange stillness was broken only by an occasional crackle from the fire. Sarah continued to stand for a minute and felt the “thickness” of the cottage air; not the physical air but the emotional feeling present; or, was it a spiritual sensation which caressed her soul? The sensation was not unpleasant, but, nonetheless it produced a serious response. The only time Sarah could recall a similar feeling was a few instances in the parish church.

  “Come and sit, my child,” her hostess said as she pointed to a chair across from her and in front of the fender.

  Sarah did as requested and expected further conversation; the old woman looked into the fireplace and said nothing for a long time. At first Sarah was impatient and thought to volunteer a statement; but, to do so felt impertinent or even rude.

  Granny Williams finally spoke, “How do you feel about teaching the class?”

  Surprised by the direct question, Sarah was freed to confess her misgivings. “Ma’am, I am so young to lead those who are older than me.”

  Her hostess did not respond except by beginning to rock her chair slowly. Sarah felt her excuse weak, so she added, “Is it right to offend men by teaching them?”

  Granny Williams tweaked a weak smile and helped Sarah, “Do you think it is wrong?”

  “I am not sure. I have not devoted any time to consider it. My friend, Mr. Andrew Darcy, clearly believes it to be wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “I am uncertain–perhaps, because it has been traditional in the church,” her voice trailed off. Sarah then asked, “What do you think?”

  “I thought as much, or should I say, as little about it as you have before being asked to lead the class.” Granny Williams paused for a few seconds and then said, “The principle founder of the Methodist church, John Wesley, who I would remind you remained an Anglican priest until his death, struggled with this issue; however, when he saw the Lord using women as wonderfully or even better in the Lord’s work than men, he asked, ‘Who am I to stand against the Lord Almighty?’”

  With this she lapsed into silence and Sarah realized her hostess could only speak in short spurts and the last statement had taken much effort.

  “Come here, my daughter; let me see you better.”

  Sarah moved and knelt before Granny Williams.

  “Do you feel a prompting to lead this class?” Sarah gazed at her and observed that the old woman suddenly appeared younger (or was it a glow?), as she returned Sarah’s look. “Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be here. . . however, I see fear. I hope to recover from this illness; but, if not, eternal glory awaits. . . Lord willing, your involvement would be temporary. . . .”

  They sat in silence another minute before her hostess asked, “What are you afraid of, my dear?”

  Sarah put her head into the woman’s lap and tears began welling up. “I am anxious about what others think. Nay, I fear that one person in particular will disapprove. I am afraid I am putting others before . . . .”

  “You mean before God.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “My child. The Lord understands. . . if it is meant to be, the people in your life will respond. Deeper help and understanding will only come after obedience to your calling.” The old woman began praying and Sarah now recognized the feeling in the cabin. What could it be other than “holiness”? She wept and then felt a burden lift. Peace and joy filled her heart.

  Sarah came to the cottage unconsciously seeking help and had found it. The path she should follow was now clear. She felt like dancing. The room seemed filled with sunshine. Her reverie was interrupted.

  “Daughter, will you help me into bed?”

  Sarah did so and kissed Granny on the cheek as she pulled the bed covering up over her hostess who seemed to have fallen instantly asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Sarah walked to the Hand Cottage on a Wednesday night, she again felt doubts about her decision to lead the Methodist class. Not because the Methodists had any differences in Christian belief from her Anglican raising, of which there were no substantial differences; save, perhaps a more heartfelt approach or as some would put it–emotional display.

  The impertinence of leading those older than herself had lost its effect after months of literacy teaching to children and adults in Sunday School. Similarly, her reticence to teach Christian ideas to a class containing men would probably also fade.

  No, the struggles over the latter issue had resulted in her not taking time to ascertain what usually transpired in a class. This deficiency now loomed ahead of her.

  As she knocked at the familiar door of where she taught Sunday School, her realization of being ill-prepared produced a reluctance to enter.

  The door opened and Mrs. Hand smiled and ushered her in. A cheery fire was blazing in the fireplace. Four men and Mr. Hand were present along with six women of diverse ages. Three of the men were sitting with their wives with the remaining women to the left and the one unattached man sitting to the right.

  The cottage atmosphere and smiling faces immediately told Sarah she was welcome and this helped to lessen her apprehension. As she sat on her usual stool for her Sunday class, she began, “I must honestly tell you I feel unqualified to lead this class. I have little knowledge of how you run your meetings; and, am I not supposed to have a ticket to enter?

  The class laughed as Mr. Hand rose, “Miss Sarah, I have no doubt the parson will issue you a ticket showing you are in good standing; we will forego that requirement tonight. . . . I am the steward of the class and my responsibility each meeting is to collect a penny from everyone for the Methodist relief fund for the poor. As you know, my reading is better but not yet good enough to read the Bible out loud.

  Our class session is simple since we are simple people. We read the scripture, listen to testimonies and then pray together.”

  The group nodded while Mr. Hand sat and the unattached older man (who Sarah later learned was a widower) with a white hair and a bushy white beard stood and said, “We don’t need any of that high class, high church palaver they serve down at the parish church. Much of it I don’t understand anyway.”

  “We know that, Sam,” Mr. Hand rejoined.

  Sarah ventured, “I am glad you are not expecting a theologian or minister, since I am neither. . . I can read a passage of scripture, however, and will be happy to do so. . . is there a request for a particular passage?”

  Please read the story of the lost sheep.

  Luke 15:3-7 And he (Jesus) spake this parable unto them, saying, What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he finds it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.

  “Aye, that be my story,” one of the younger men stood again.

  “I used to drink gin til I blacked out. I weren’t no good to anybody. The gin ate my furniture and my hope; if it had not been the good people in this room and the mercy of God searching for me, I am certain I would be dead and in perdition now.”

  Quiet amens were said in the room as the younger man went on, “I want to be sober and work hard; however, my resentment at the cruel practices and low pay at the mines make me angry. I am glad the Methodist parson is representing the men, women and ch
ildren who work in the mine.

  We need to pray for the parson. We don’t want to strike and close the mine, or worse, be dragged off to jail.” A stillness lingered as the going man sat down as his serious testimony had touched the entire group. The statements made evoked pity and compassion from Sarah. As a governess and nurse she would have liked to right all their wrongs and heal their hurts.

  “We need to pray for Granny,” Mrs. Hand requested.

  Sarah’s unspoken reaction to her hostess’ remark was that Granny probably didn’t need as much prayer as others did, but looking from face to face, she saw a heart-felt love in the gorup for her elderly predecessor.

  The next morning Sarah returned to Andrew’s sick room. He had now recovered from the acute sickness associated with his injuries and seemed much more to be his cheerful self.

  “Have the apples started blossoming yet?” was his first inquiry.

  “I do not think so,” was Sarah’s reply.

  “I have never thanked you for the wonderful roses and fruit trees you gave Mr. and Mrs. Hand upon this wedding. They have already been planted and cared for by all.”

  “It is a pleasure to accept gratitude from a lovely woman such as yourself.”

  Sarah was a little surprised at the departure from the language of friendship into the realm of admiration.

  “Have the black and blue marks faded on my face?”

  “Yes, they have.”

  “Good. Unfortunately, I am finally to be moved back to Pemberley tomorrow. I shall miss our times together.”

  “So will I,” Sarah replied.

  “May I ask you to accept something tomorrow?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Sarah playfully responded, “Why not tell me now?”

  “No, I have not the items present that I desire. No, it will have to wait.”

  As Sarah was relieved by Georgiana, she was too busy with Anna and Edgar to think much about Andrew. However, that night she allowed herself to guess what Andrew might give her. Since she had mentioned her gratitude for the roses and trees given to the Hand’s; perhaps, he had a new or exotic plant. She could not think of anything else as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next morning, Sarah entered the parlor where Andrew was lying. It could certainly no longer be called a sickroom. Sarah was surprised at the transformation of the room into bright colors. The blinds were open with golden sunshine suffusing the room. Roses were everywhere–she was filled with delight as she looked from the white bouquet to others of yellow and pink.

  “Oh, Andrew, you shouldn’t have! Are these for me?”

  “Of course.”

  She went over to where he was lying and spontaneously placed a friendly kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I could do no less for my wonderful nurse.”

  Sarah turned to sniff one of the white roses near his bed as he continued, “I hope you will not mind me saying that the happiness of my whole life depends on your esteem; nothing short of your entire affection will be so desirable; with truth, I declare that I prefer you to all women. . . will you consider marrying me?”

  Sarah was stunned as she turned to her old friend whose face was all brightness. She was speechless from her surprise. She felt a surge of pleasure and happiness, which immediately evaporated as the implications of such an offer began to take hold.

  He continued, “I have always felt a strong regard for you, you are very special to me; I hope our friendship will grow to another level.

  She sat down.

  With uncertainty, Andrew quietly spoke again, “I see this was unexpected. I had hoped your feelings mirrored mine. I am not trifling with you. Please do not tax your amiability by searching for studied phrases of acceptance or denial.

  She looked away.

  In a staccato manner, she choked out, “I am fond of you. . . this is too good. . . I hoped, but never expected. . . I cannot.” With that she began to sob quietly.

  With restrained alarm, Andrew asked, “What is the matter? I have no desire to hurt you.”

  Sarah cried a while and felt Andrew was looking at her. Of course, he needed an explanation.

  “I am sensible of the honor you bestow upon me . . .,” she began. “Do you not know you are intended for someone else?”

  “Nonsense. I know of no one else.”

  Sarah thought Andrew was so kind and it was just like him not to have noticed Laura’s coquetry.

  He continued, “You must have some other reason than to fancy another woman.”

  “Would you know the other reasons? Even if they might offend?”

  “Honesty may hurt in the beginning, but it is surely best for understanding later.”

  “Would it irritate you to see me, a woman, continue to write and publish? Could you bear to have your wife teach the lowly Methodist class–a woman leader?”

  Andrew said nothing as his countenance became serious.

  “Could you ignore the scar on my forehead?”

  His face reflected grief and disappointment as he replied, “Words fail me now. Perhaps, the future will change your heart. I can only hope to gracefully remain your friend.”

  She felt faint and knew she must soon bid him adieu. She continued, “I have no desire to distress you. I value your friendship; however, we must part for a while to gain control of our feelings before seeing each other again.”

  She quickly stepped out of the room before he could reply, and as soon as she was safely out of Andrew’s hearing, Sarah burst into tears.

  Sarah was hopeless of happiness as she bitterly said to herself, “If only things had only been different.” Once again Laura stood in the way. If only she had not wished to be a writer or if the scar had never formed! She was fond of Andrew, and if these objections were not present, she could imagine herself quite capable of growing in love towards him. But, alas, this could never be.

  A few hours later, after Andrew was carried out of the house, Sarah saw Georgiana open her door and walk softly to sit in a chair by her bed. Her visitor remained quiet. Sarah said softly, “I need your help. You are like a mother to me.”

  Lady Staley looked encouragingly.

  “You can probably guess that Andrew proposed to me. I did not expect it, nor could I accept it.”

  Her aunt became very attentive but remained silent.

  “The objections are too many. He is intended for someone else.”

  Georgiana’s eyebrows moved upward with surprise as she replied, “As one who has held Andrew as a newborn baby, I am surprised to learn he is matched to someone else. I understand his parents are quite opposed to that sort of thing.”

  “I am not certain how official it is, but it has always seemed to me that my older sister was intended for Andrew.”

  “I see.”

  “And, then, of course, Andrew is opposed to female authors and I doubt he would want me to continue writing.”

  “Has he said so?”

  “Not in so many words, though once I overheard his friends laugh at the idea and he did not contradict them.”

  Georgiana was silent again. “I do not know what to think about you and Andrew. You are two of the dearest people I know. Andrew is a worthy man who is very capable of the right kind of love. Things are not always what they seem. Still, only you can know your own feelings. Your heart would have to be clear towards him. You should marry only with affection.”

  Georgiana paused for a minute and then asked, “May I tell Sir Thomas what has happened?”

  “Certainly. It will help explain my countenance for the next few weeks as I try to quiet my heart.”

  The following evening, after dinner, and with the children in bed, Sarah returned to the parlor of Staley Hall where Sir Thomas and Lady Staley were seated and engaged in reading the paper and embroidery, respectively.

  She sat down and remained silent. Sir Thomas put his paper aside and looked at the fire. He picked up his pipe and began to tamp tobacco into i
t.

  Sarah volunteered to Sir Thomas, “I suppose you want to talk to me about what happened yesterday.”

  “My dear Sarah, I would not think of intruding into your feelings.”

  “Still, I would like a man’s point of view about Andrew.”

  “It sounds as though you are uncertain about him.”

  “I must confess I am.”

  Thomas winked at Georgiana as he said, “The guiding principle in selecting a partner for marriage is to choose a person of good and reliable character.”

  “What do you think about Andrew?”

  “He is a good man. He has always done what he said he would do.”

  “Do you think he would force me to stop teaching the Methodist classes?”

  “Did he say you should?”

  “No; however, I overheard him say once that disapproves of women leading religious groups.”

  The sweet aroma of pipe tobacco filled the room. Sir Thomas did not respond. After a few minutes, Sarah answered her own question, “I know you approve of the Methodists. I daresay you would tell me to ask Andrew directly what he thinks.”

  Sir Thomas smiled.

  “What about his disapprobation of authoresses?”

  “You may have misjudged him on that point.” The sweet aroma of pipe tobacco filled the room. Sir Thomas did not continue and Sarah waited a long minute before asking, “What makes you say that?”

  “It never occurred to me to tell you that Andrew was responsible for getting your first poem published. He went to London for that purpose and presented it to a friend from college. After that, your writings were accepted on their own merit.”

  Sarah was thrilled. She hoped she could hide her reaction. She was glad that Sir Thomas and Lady Georgiana were often silent in the evening. This time the peacefulness was particularly charming to her.