Jubilee Bride

by Jane Peart

  Only recently when Faith had confided a sense of confusion about her future, Lydia had encouraged her. "When I've felt that way, I've gone to the Psalms—particularly chapter 37, verses 3 and 4."

  Faith had quickly looked it up: "Trust in the Lord... . Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart."

  Would He really? Jeff was the secret desire of her heart. But now he seemed totally beyond her reach.

  chapter

  22

  TWO DAYS after the wedding, every room downstairs was still filled with reminders of the gala event. Huge arrangements of garden flowers scented the atmosphere, and Evalee insisted on wearing her flower girl dress and carrying the bridal bouquet she had caught when Lally tossed it.

  As for conversation, almost every comment centered around the bridal pair and their future together. Dru rhapsodized on the beauty of the bride, the gallant grace of the groom. Blythe complimented Garnet on her superb management of the entire affair, particularly in view of the short time there had been to make preparations. Garnet mentioned Lally's going-away costume of soft cream-colored mulleton trimmed with passementerie and fringe. And the adults had to agree with Evalee that the occasion had most certainly been a real party.

  At the end of the week, Blythe and Rod and their children left for London, where they were to have a few days' visit with Jeff before attending the opening of the exhibit at the Waverly Gallery, which had accepted his painting, "Guinevere."

  Having seen the departure of her summer playmates—Scott, Kitty, and Cara—Evalee was everywhere at once. Still stimulated by the excitement of the wedding, the child began making a nuisance of herself. Realizing that she was lonely and begging for attention, everyone tried to put up with her antics, but her persistence was irritating.

  With Lalage on her honeymoon in Scotland, and Lenora strangely distracted, and with Miss McPherson's duties at an end, Faith gallantly took on the task of keeping Evaiee occupied and out of mischief.

  She led the little girl on an exploration of the estate, usually ending up down by the lake, where Evalee liked to wade and float the armada of toy sailboats left by the other children.

  Although this amused Evalee for hours at a time. Faith's heart was sore. The lake held special memories of times with Jeff. Here they had spent hours talking, feeding the swans, skipping pebbles across the smooth surface, creating circles within circles. Everywhere she looked was a reminder of the emptiness in her own life, the hopelessness of her love for Jeff.

  One of her most vivid memories, the one most precious to recall, was a special afternoon while Jeff was still at Oxford. He had brought his sketchbook down with him to the lake and had been idly doodling. After about an hour, he had thrown it down in disgust.

  "I need instruction, Faith. I can't get past a certain point. I don't know enough about perspective or composition, and I don't have the basic tools I need to be an artist. And that's what I really want to do with my life! I know that sounds crazy—but it's the truth." He turned toward her with an air of desperation. "You're the only one I can be honest with, Faith. Rod is art-blind . , . just try to discuss the subject with him! And Mama doesn't want to hear!"

  He had looked so unhappy, so discouraged, that Faith had impulsively put her hands on his shoulders and leaned her head against his.

  "Oh, Jeff, I'm sorry. What can I do to help?"

  "Believe in me, Faith, just that."

  And then Jeff had kissed her. It was their first real kiss. In it were all of Faith's dreams, her expectations, her hopes. There had been something very moving in Jeff's plea—a need for her strength, her loyalty, and love.

  "Don't ever stop, Faith—believing in me," he had said at last.

  She had kissed him again, this time with a lingering sweetness.

  "I promise I never will," she had whispered.

  That had been the spring before he had made his decision, before he had had his near-religious experience about becoming a painter.

  Did Jeff remember that scene? For Faith—that day, that kiss, those words were a treasured memory, cherished as a special bond between them of mutual trust and love. How could he have forgotten?

  At lunch one day Dm read aloud from a letter from LaLage, postmarked Scotland:

  Dearest Family,

  We have just had the most heavenly day. We went to Tweedside in Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott's estate. It is very grand, but sadly enough, turned out to be rather a "white elephant" for him as he went into great debt to build it, continually making additions until he had to spend the rest of his life writing books in a desperate attempt to avoid bankruptcy.

  We also visited Melrose, about two and a half miles east of Abbotsford, to see the picturesque ruins of the monastery Scott used as background in his "Lay of the Last Minstrel." Our guide told us that the heart of the Scots' hero-king, Robert the Bruce, is buried beneath the high altar. Isn't that the most romantic thing you've ever heard? But then Scotland is the most romantic place—or maybe any place would be romantic with Neil!

  Dru looked around the table, beaming. "The child is deliriously happy! What a summer filled with romance this has been!"

  Faith could not resist a glance at Lenora to see what her reaction to her sister's wedded bliss might be. Was she the least bit envious of her younger siste'rs happiness? But Lenora's expression was one of dreamy sweetness, and Faith felt a sharp dart of pain. Was she thinking of Jeff? Such a prospect caused Faith to feel more isolated than ever.

  A few days later, Jonathan left to meet the Cameron family at the Claridge Hotel in London. He would be accompanying them to the Waverly opening before leaving for Boston and Cape Cod, where he would join Davida and the children.

  Faith would have loved to go up for the opening, too, but she dreaded seeing in Jeff's painting, "Guinevere," what she feared most—that Jeff had fallen in love with his model. So she made plans to view it alone during the month-long showing.

  She believed that Jeff had absorbed the pre-Raphaelite myth—that a woman should be a goddess, desirable but unattainable; that if she loved in return, she would be stepping down from her pedestal. Knowing that Jeff had patterned his technique after the artists he admired so much, she now believed he might have been tempted to embrace their values. If only she could share with him what she had discovered from her own research—that few of the pre-Raphaelites had formed lasting relationships, enduring marriages.

  "Why doesn't he understand that loving and being loved is the most important thing in any life?" she anguished.

  Faith knew that the Bondurants were waiting for Lalage and Neil to return from their honeymoon before leaving for their home in Charleston, South Carolina. The plans were to meet in London and go together to the Waverly Gallery to view Jeff's painting.

  Observing Lenora during the days immediately after the wedding, Faith could not read her thoughts, but her cousin's dreamy expression was that of someone in love. Faith was consumed with curiosity. Had Jeff communicated with his Guinevere? She yearned to know but dared not ask.

  On the evening following the opening, Jeremy announced at dinner that he had brought home some interesting news, and suggested they open one of the remaining bottles of wedding champagne.

  Garnet lifted her eyebrows. "Are we celebrating something special?"

  "Indeed, yes. Quite special, I should say!"

  "Are we going to have another party?" piped up Evalee who, as the only child now in the house, was allowed to dine with the grown-ups.

  "I think my news merits a party," agreed Jeremy jovially. "In fact, it probably calls for a double celebration."

  "Why must you always create so much suspense, Jeremy?" demanded Garnet with a slight frown.

  "My dear, this news deserves a proper anticipatory moment—" He unfurled the newspaper he had under his arm and held it up. "Jeff Montrose's painting, "Guinevere," has received an honorable mention at the Waverly exhibit and, I might add, rave reviews!"

  Faith darted a q
uick look at Lenora, who paled then flushed pink, one delicate hand fluttering to her throat.

  Jeremy continued. "Moreover, Waverly Gallery has issued the astonishing statement that his painting has been purchased by an anonymous buyer for an undisclosed amount. Apparently, the gallery spokesman leaked' the information to a reporter—" He studied the article again through the glasses perched on the end of his nose. "It is the highest sum ever paid for a painting by a new and hitherto unknown artist. However, he adds that from now on the work of young Geoffrey Montrose will be increasingly in demand!"

  "Blythe must be elated," murmured Garnet, sending a worried glance in Faith's direction.

  Faith was never sure how she got through the rest of the dinner hour. She had only a blurred recollection of toasts made, congratulatory comments, and excited predictions about Jeff's future. But the moment they retired to the drawing room, Faith excused herself and hurried upstairs.

  By some inner direction, she found herself in the old schoolroom, the place of refuge she had often sought in times of childhood distress. Holding herself as if in physical pain, she curled up on the window seat and looked out at the gathering darkness.

  She should be happy for Jeff, happy for his success, and that the love he felt for Lenora had been successfully transferred onto his canvas. It had resulted in a prize-winning painting, after all.

  What did the Bible say about love? "Love seeketh not its own—" If she really loved Jeff—and she did—she knew she should share everything he must be feeling. Yet, all she could feel was a wrenching sense of loss and despair. Faith put her head down on her knees and sobbed.

  Sometime later, Annie found her there and was dismayed when Faith turned a pale, tear-stained face toward her.

  "Oh, my, miss, whatever is the matter? I went to turn down your bed and lay out your night clothes, and I waited for ever so long, but you didn't come. It's past midnight, miss—"

  Faith pushed back her hair that had come loose from its pins, making no effort to check the tears that continued to roll down her cheeks.

  "Oh, Annie, I'm so miserable!" she moaned.

  Annie could not believe her eyes or her ears. To hear Miss Faith take on so! Was this the independent, steady young woman she had come to admire so much in the last five years since she had become her lady's maid? She thought she knew her mistress—thought they had become so close, closer than what Mrs. Devlin or, for that matter, her own mum would consider proper. She had seen Miss Faith at close range, and a more sensible person it would be hard to find, especially among the pampered gentry. Annie had her own opinion of them, having observed some of the shallow young women who attended house parties and such at Birchfields. But she was genuinely stricken by the look on her young mistress's face, the sadness in her voice.

  Then she remembered the Grace Comfort piece she had clipped out of this morning's paper after Mr. Hadley, the butler, who was always addressed by the household staff and who always had first look at the paper when it was brought from the dining room, had finished with it. She had intended to send it to her younger sister Beth who, according to their mum, was walking out with Tim Givens, the butcher's helper in their village.

  But now it seemed Miss Faith might need its wisdom more. So after only a second's hesitation, Annie whisked the creased newsprint out of her apron pocket and spoke briskly.

  "Now listen to me, Miss Faith. You have more than most to be thankful for, I'm thinkin'. There's not a bit of use for you to be talkin' like that. Here's what the Good Book and Grace Comfort would say to you—" and Annie began to read aloud:

  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

  No matter how dark the stormy night, dawn will surely come.

  A dream is never dead, its sweetness will remain. And as an ancient Chinese proverb claims, If you keep a green bough in your heart, surely a singing bird will bring you joy again.

  Wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands in a childlike gesture, Faith unfolded herself from the window seat. "You're right, Annie," she said to her earnest little maid. "I'm through crying now. And tomorrow, everything will look better—or, at least, different."

  "Come along, then, miss. I'll fix you a nice cup of hot milk so you'll sleep well. You're just worn out, that's all, what with takin' over the charge of Miss Evalee, that little scamp! She's a right handful—anyone can see that!" Annie shook her head as she led the way out of the schoolroom with Faith following more slowly. "I suppose the Bondurants will be leavin' soon now that they've married off Miss Lalage." Turning, she gave Faith a sharp look. "It isn't that Mr. Neil Blanding you're cryin' over, now is it?"

  "No, Annie," replied Faith, wondering why the girl had not guessed that it was Jeff who was the source of ail her pain . . . and all her happiness.

  chapter

  23

  TRUE TO HER word, Faith tried to rise above the lurking sense of melancholy that continued to plague her. And the very next day something happened to lift the spirits of everyone in the household who had been experiencing the let-down so common after weeks of wedding planning.

  On Monday evening her father, looking enormously pleased with himself, called another impromptu family meeting to make yet another announcement.

  "I have a nice surprise for you."

  "For goodness sake, Jeremy, don't keep us in suspense again? Garnet exclaimed, adding dryly, "On the other hand, I think we've had our share of surprises lately. I'm not sure I could stand another."

  "I think you'll share my delight in this one, my dear," said her husband with confidence. "I am expecting a guest this weekend."

  "There's nothing surprising about that! We have guests almost every weekend."

  "Yes, I know, but this is a very special one." Jeremy paused as all eyes focused upon him, then said triumphantly, "Grace Comfort will be here this Friday evening!"

  He waited a minute for the effect of his dramatic announcement, which was not long in coming.

  "Grace Comfort?' echoed Garnet and Faith in unison.

  The others at the table looked on in bewilderment.

  "Yes, indeed. Grace Comfort. And I cannot tell you what a feather in my cap this is!" Jeremy continued. "We must all do our best to roll out the red carpet, extend the royal treatment. If I can get Grace Comfort to sign a contract— Well, my dear," he said, turning to Garnet, "what was that set of sables you had your heart set on? They're yours if all goes well."

  "Who, may I ask, is Grace Comfort?" Randall wanted to know.

  "Yes, who in the world is she?" asked Dru.

  "You wouldn't believe it if he told you." Garnet rolled her eyes. "She writes the most sickening treacle for the newspapers—"

  "Now, wait a minute, dear," Jeremy interrupted. "Of course, the poetry is atrocious. And maybe Keats, Shelley, Barrett, and Browning—whom Grace quotes frequently—should be turning over in their graves! But this writer is immensely popular. The people at the newspapers tell me they receive more letters addressed to Grace Comfort than to any other columnist. Readers are constantly writing in for reprints of one or another of her columns. Why, I'm told that her 'Moments of Inspiration' column sells more copies of the daily paper than the headlines!"

  He turned to Randall for confirmation, as if he, a man, would surely understand the business side of things. "My firm feels that landing Grace Comfort as one of our authors would be a tremendous coup, with endless possibilities for spinoffs—collections of some of her best columns, gift books for all occasions. Our editorial staff has already come up with dozens of ideas for capitalizing on Grace Comfort's immense popularity."

  "Then I suppose you want me to ready the room overlooking the garden for the illustrious Miss Comfort," said Garnet, with only a trace of sarcasm.

  'Wait until I tell Annie!" Faith said.

  "Don't!" Garnet held up her hands in alarm. "If the maids find out who's coming, they won't be fit for anything!" Turning to Dru, she explained, "They all worship this Grace Comfort and think she
's the personification of the Oracle at Delphi!"

  "Everyone reads Grace Comfort, it seems, from the Queen to our own kitchen maid," declared Jeremy. "She has found a way to touch every heart in some incomprehensible way, whether it is to strike a chord of memory or pathos or nostalgia. Sometimes for a childhood one has never experienced, a love that one has never known— Still, there is that indefinable . . . connection . . . she seems to make with all her readers. They recognize a kindred soul, I think, though they probably couldn't put it into words."

  "Well, personally, I can't wait to meet her!" laughed Dru.

  By midweek, some of Garnet's friends with visiting grandchildren invited Evalee over to spend the day, leaving the ladies with a rare day of leisure. Garnet suggested that she and Dru go to a china shop specializing in Wedgewood to select a tea set for Lalage. Faith gratefully seized the opportunity for a free afternoon and caught an early train to London.

  At the station she took a cab straight to the Waverly Gallery. At last she would see Jeff's "Guinevere."

  At this time of day the gallery was not crowded, and Faith was allowed to wander alone through the rooms, making an unhurried circuit of the exhibit. Then, from an archway into a smaller, well-lighted alcove, she saw Jeff's painting, and her heart gave a little leap of recognition. Slowly she moved forward and stood before it.

  All Faith knew about art was what she had derived from Jeff and the books she had read, trying to understand the nuances and subtleties of some of the paintings he admired. But this she knew instinctively was good.

  She might not know about the technicalities of brush strokes, perspective, or composition, but she saw that Jeff had succeeded in bringing a mythical figure to life. Everything about Guinevere was luminous—the skin tones, the sheen of the hair, the texture of the clothing, the glimmer of the finely detailed jewelry she wore. More than that, the expression of love, longing, and loss in her face spoke to Faith's own heart.