He sighed and his shoulders relaxed as he looked at his daughter. “I woke up this morning with a very different outlook for my day. I had intended to enjoy some time with Mr. Buxton when I received his letter at breakfast, for the two of you to have a wonderful afternoon talking and getting to know one another, and for him to leave this evening having worked out the details of an engagement.”
And then he looked at Mr. Nightingale. “And then you come over, and I find myself questioning if I really, truly know what is best for my own daughter. Did you mean what you said, about having known of Miss Worthington for almost an entire year now?”
Mr. Nightingale nodded.
“And that it was because you feared Mr. Buxton’s interaction with her this weekend would then mean the end of a possible relationship with Miss Worthington that you finally approached her?”
Mr. Nightingale nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
He shook his head. “Mr. Nightingale, what if that had not happened this weekend? Would you have been content to not speak with her, allowing your fear to control you and prevent you from playing the part of a proper gentleman? How long might you have waited, when it sounds as if you had opportunity after opportunity to speak with her, and not put me in this kind of a position?”
Sophia hung her head. So this was what he really thought. She felt her heart tighten in her chest. Did he not understand? Could he not see how happy they were together?
And yet, she looked over at Mr. Nightingale. The questions her father raised were good ones. Would he have ever come to speak with her? How did that make her feel? Would fear really have controlled him for so long? Could she be with a man so controlled by his emotions?
Mr. Nightingale’s face grew pale, and he looked at his feet, even though he stood easily a head taller than Mr. Worthington.
“Sir, I don’t know,” he replied.
“Well, I’m not sure that’s a good enough answer,” her father replied. He turned to head back towards Mr. Buxton when Mr. Nightingale held out his hand for him to wait.
“I don’t know how long it might have taken me, but I believe that it was not because of my lack of propriety or duty as a gentleman, sir. I did not believe myself to be anywhere near good enough for Miss Worthington.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Worthington said, and turned back to face him. “Well, it’s true. You are not good enough for my daughter.”
Mr. Nightingale flinched, and took a step towards him. “I adore your daughter, Mr. Worthington, what I know of her. How many men will you find that can say that? I was stunned to silence by her beauty, unable to move because of her grace. I worshipped the very ground that she walked on. Would Mr. Buxton be that way?” He gestured to the man who stood just outside the circle beside the door.
Mr. Buxton shifted his shoulders much like a bird ruffles its feathers.
“I have pined after her for an entire year now, and even though I feared conversing with her, it would not have lasted forever. The distance would have become unbearable, the patience run out. I would have feared what I feared this weekend; that someone else would reach her before I had.”
Mr. Worthington’s eyebrows tightened. “Hmph. And this is supposed to change my mind?”
Mr. Nightingale seemed to gain strength. “I wouldn’t just take care of your daughter; I would cherish her. I wouldn’t just provide for her; I would lavish upon her. And, my lord, I would not only enjoy her company, but I would love her with all that I have in me.”
Sophia’s face was rosy, and her eyes were streaming, her hands clutched in front of herself as she gazed up at Mr. Nightingale. Her heart swelled with pride. Any doubts that she may have had vanished like a mist on a bright morning. She had never known such joy.
Mr. Worthington must have noticed her reaction to his words, because he stared at her even as she stared at the gentleman who spoke so highly of her.
“Mr. Worthington, I am sorry if I do not meet your expectations about my forwardness towards your daughter. I apologize if my character is not as agreeable to you as Mr. Buxton. And I am sorry if you feel as if I have entirely ruined your plans.” He looked over at Sophia, who looked up at him as if she had never seen anything more lovely in all her life. “But I ask you, humbly, to allow me to have the chance to court your daughter.”
Mr. Worthington looked back and forth between his daughter and the young man. Silently he surveyed his daughter, the tears on her face, and his face remained unchanged.
“Sophia, dear, is this what you want?”
Sophia’s gaze returned to her father. Her eyes were wide and glistening still. She nodded at him. Was it possible that the day was changing? Was it possible that her father had changed his mind?
He sighed, heavily. Then he turned on his feet again and walked back up the drive to Mr. Buxton.
Mr. Nightingale and Sophia glanced at each other, a silent question in the air between them.
Mr. Worthington stopped in front of Mr. Buxton, who seemed to stand slightly straighter at his approach.
“Mr. Buxton, I must regretfully inform you that my daughter Sophia is no longer available for marriage. Another young man has approached me and shown me that he is a very good fit for her indeed.” He smiled at him. “Mr. Buxton, I do believe you would have been a fine match for my darling daughter. I know that you would have cared for her, and eventually, you too would have come to love her.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Nightingale, who looked as if he might pass out at any moment.
“But, unfortunately, this young man who wishes to court my daughter has something that you cannot provide, and that is a year’s worth of affection.”
Mr. Nightingale and Sophia looked at each other.
Mr. Buxton bowed his head, his face unreadable. But he did smile a small smile. “I suppose I cannot get in the way of love.” He placed a black bowler hat atop his head. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Worthington.” And to Mr. Nightingale and Sophia, he said, “And many blessings upon you both. May you be very happy together.”
And with that, he tipped his hat to them all, and began to make his way down the drive.
“Allow me to call the carriage for you, Mr. Buxton!” Mr. Worthington called.
He waved his hand, not turning back to them. “I’d much prefer the walk to town, thank you. Give me some time to clear my head.”
Mr. Worthington sighed, and waved his hand in the air in farewell. Then he turned back to the two standing beside the bench. He walked over to them.
“I almost feel bad for him,” Sophia said. Her heart saddened as she watched him walk away, alone. “I know I would have made a poor wife for him. Even still, I hope that my actions have not hurt him too much.”
Mr. Worthington shook his head. “I hope so as well. I would not wish to be the cause of any malcontent from his family to our own.”
Sophia hung her head.
Mr. Worthington smiled then, and crossed his arms.
“So, you’ve made your decision?” He looked between them.
Both nodded.
“Well, then I suppose we have much to discuss then, don’t we?” He gestured behind him to the windows into the library. “I say we go have some afternoon tea, a long talk, and together form a letter to send to your parents. I suppose it is time that Mrs. Worthington and I acquaint ourselves with the Nightingales.”
So then he turned and made his way back towards the house.
Mr. Nightingale beamed down at Sophia, who smiled right back.
He held out his hand to her, which she looked at for a moment, her heart beginning to beat faster, and then took it.
And as they made their way into the house, following the footsteps of her father, her hand in Mr. Nightingale’s, Sophia felt certain that this must be what love feels like.
THE END
Bonus Story 20 of 20
The City of Eternal Spring
Beth was exhausted. She could barely keep her eyes open as she leaned against the cool window of the bus that wound its w
ay through the mountain pass just outside of Cuernavaca. Her cell phone was pressed against her ear and she listened to her brother’s annoyed voice drone on like the static on a barely tuned radio.
“I still don’t get why you had to go so far,” he said for what felt like the millionth time. “I mean, why do you have to go all the way to Mexico to help people?”
Beth closed her eyes as much in exasperation as exhaustion. She’d had this talk with her brother every day since she’d decided to go on this temporary missionary posting. He’d pressed the same arguments at her ever since she’d signed her name to that list at their church back home in Oklahoma.
“I told you, Jack,” she said. “It’s a personal thing. I just feel like I need to get away.”
“You’re lucky you get to run away, then,” Jack said a bitter tone to his voice. “I’m stuck here with Dad. You know what he’s like. And it’s gotten worse since Mom…” here he broke off as though not sure how to finish the sentence.
“...since Mom,” he finished lamely. Beth felt a twinge in her stomach that caused her to wake up slightly. That twinge was accompanied by a deep pain in her chest at the mention of her mother.
It had been less than six months since the accident. Less than six months since her mother died, pinned beneath the frame of a car.
Ever since, she’d pretended, at least to Jack and her father that, by going to Mexico, she wasn’t running away. Not really. She told them she felt like God was calling her to Mexico, and that said Mom would want her to keep doing good, to keep helping people.
Now, when she heard her brother’s desperate and broken voice, she recognized, with a stab of guilt that the reasons she’d given for leaving were only partly true.
It was true that she wanted to help people. It was true that Beth had always felt a certain calling to mission work. But, it was also true that she was running away.
Now that she had graduated from college, she’d had nowhere to go but home for the summer while she searched for a job. As soon as she arrived, she’d realized that she could not stand being in the same house as her alcoholic father who, despite her best efforts to forgive, she still blamed for her mother’s death.
And, though she hated to admit it, she couldn’t stay in the same house as Jack. Her bitter little brother was outwardly hostile to their father and screamed at him far too often.
Now, listening to Jack on the other line of the phone, she knew she that what she’d done was a bit selfish. All the same, she’d been the peacekeeper between her father and brother even before their mother died. All she wanted was one summer where she didn’t have to come between them.
“It’s only for the summer, Jack,” Beth assured him. “Then you’ll be going back to college anyway.”
“Yeah,” Jack said sardonically. “In the meantime, I guess I’ll just try and avoid Dad as much as I can. Which would be a lot easier if you were around.”
Beth winced back another stab of guilt at Jack’s accusation.
“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Beth said. “The bus will be arriving soon. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Jack replied. “Talk to you then.”
As she hung up the phone, Beth let out a sigh. A tension she didn’t know she’d been holding faded from her shoulders. The guilty sting was still there. Partly because she’d left her brother with their father and partly because she’d lied about the bus arriving soon. The orphanage was still ten or fifteen minutes away.
She settled back to enjoy the scenery. Soon, she saw a small mountain village up ahead.
“Almost there,” Pastor Robert called from the front of the bus. The short, balding, bespectacled man sounded energized, even eager despite their long trudge from the Mexico City airport, through the city of Cuernavaca and up to the mountains all in one day. The other passengers on the bus, all volunteers for the orphanage, looked as tired as Beth felt.
As promised, it was not long before they pulled into the village. It was filled with small shacks that served as houses. There were a few shabby-looking shops and food stands, and one large building that held a sign in both Spanish and English.
The only word on the Spanish portion she could read with any certainty was ninos. Which, she knew meant children. The English sign, luckily, provided the translation: Children of God Orphans’ Home.
As the bus pulled up to the brick building, Beth saw a small gaggle of children run out the doors to greet them. As the pastor led the way off the bus, each volunteer, in turn, was assaulted with hugs, grasping hands and a cacophony of small voices.
When Beth stepped down the stairs a surprisingly strong little hand grabbed hold of hers. When she looked down she saw a little girl in a simple but clean summer dress with long, straight dark hair looking up at her.
“You bring presents from America?” the girl asked in heavily accented English.
“I...um…” Beth started, not expecting to have such a request made of her as soon as he arrived. “I think I have something.”
Not wanting to disappoint the little girl with the dimpled smile, Beth rustled in her backpack and produced a small tube of lip gloss she had thrown in her purse without thinking. With a shrug, she gave it to the little girl.
The girl looked at it then up at Beth.
“Is this para…” the girl seemed to have lost the English word. After squinting her eyes and thinking for a moment, she pointed to her lips.
“Yes,” Beth said with a nod. “For your lips.”
“Gracias!” the little girl said then ran off to show her treasure to a circle of little girls who had gathered just outside the orphanage’s front door.
Almost as soon as Beth’s gift was given, two pale men came out of the home, their white skin glowing in comparison to the darker-skinned children around them.
The older one was blonde, with a small pot belly, and nearly as bald as Pastor Robert.
The younger one was neither bald nor pot-bellied. He had a mass of curly hair which was light brown in color. He was also tall and broad-shouldered with green eyes and freckles across his pale skin.
“All right kids,” the older man said with a good-natured chuckle, “give them room.”
The older kids heeded the older man’s request and moved away at once. Some of the younger kids, however, looked confused and turned to the younger man as though expecting him to clarify the request.
The younger man looked at the little ones and Beth’s eyes widened in surprise when he spoke in what sounded to her like perfect Spanish. Apparently, he had reiterated the older man’s request, because the younger children now followed the older ones in running away from the volunteers and back towards the house.
The older man walked towards their group and, with a good-natured smile, offered his hand to pastor Robert.
“Paul!” Pastor Robert said genuinely. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” the man called Paul said. “I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you here.”
“Everyone,” Pastor Robert called to the small group of volunteers. “This is Pastor Paul. He runs the children’s home where we’ll be working for the next three months.”
There were a few murmurs of greeting from the group, though no one seemed to have enough energy to generate a great deal of enthusiasm.
“It’s great to see you all,” he said. “We’ve been looking forward to this for a long time. As you can probably tell from the welcome you got, the kids are very excited to have you here.”
He smiled and a few little chuckles came from the group, though, once again, they all seemed too exhausted to give much more.
Paul did not seem at all wrong-footed by this. His upbeat attitude undented, he turned towards the younger man and ushered him up front.
“This is Brent Eisner,” he told the group. “Brent grew up in Mexico, and, as you may have heard, he’s completely fluent in Spanish. Which I am not, I’m sorry to say. Some of you who are working with the children will be workin
g a lot with Brent.”
While Brent gave a little nod and wave, Beth could not help but notice that he did not smile. Indeed, he looked almost reluctant to be there, as though he was being held against his will.
“But, enough of introductions,” Paul said. “I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry, if you’ll just follow us, we’ll show into the dining room. We’ve got dinner all set for you.”
The murmurs from the group of volunteers were much more enthusiastic at the promise of food. Beth made to follow the group, but then Pastor Robert beckoned her over.
Pushing back a slightly annoyed feeling at the delay of her dinner, she moved over to him with as much of a smile as she could possibly muster.
“Beth,” he said as soon as she arrived. “I thought you should meet Brent and Paul personally. Brent’s the head teacher at the school connected to the home and, as you’re the only one signed up to teach, you’ll be the one working the most closely with him.”
She turned to Brent and gave him a small smile, which he did not return. Instead, his green eyes looked into her blue ones as though he was trying to find some fault in her. Trying to keep the smile on her face, she held out a hand to him.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, as graciously as she could. Finally, he took her hand very briefly. The warmth of his skin on hers in no way matched the coldness in his eyes.
“I hope you’ll last longer than the last one,” he said. And, dropping her hand, he turned from the group and headed back into the home.
“Don’t worry about Brent,” Pastor Paul said apologetically. “It takes him some time to warm up to newcomers. Just give him a few days and he’ll get used to the idea.”
Not knowing what to say to that, too tired to say anything at all, she followed the two pastors into the house.
But, as she watched Brent, unsmiling and making no attempt to converse with the volunteers at dinner, she couldn’t help but wonder what made him so aloof. She decided that she did not like his manner. Indeed, she began to think that, even though this Brent might warm to her, she wasn’t sure whether or not she could warm to him.
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