“Yes, Father.”
She knew she must, for her father’s sake, for Colin’s sake. She mustn’t let Joseph have the right to take over the glassworks, or then Colin would lose his position and his family would remain in a tiny, damp, and drafty cottage without enough fuel to burn or food to eat.
Father relaxed. “I’m glad to see you’ve gotten sense about this.”
“Yes, Father.”
Sense enough to pray that Joseph would not ask her. For surely this was not God’s will for her life, especially if Colin was right. God didn’t want her to spend money on fine furnishings so they could entertain the governor. God wanted her to open her school and knit mufflers for the children, aid the poor with soup and blankets, and make sweets for the church’s spring fete. Surely God wouldn’t give her a man she loved and one who loved her, only to tear them apart. God would never expect her to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of a man’s greed and desire to possess things.
“I just wish,” she ventured, “that Joseph weren’t so interested in owning things.”
“He was raised that way.” Father buttered more toast. “His father made a great deal of money as a privateer during the Revolution. But he didn’t live very long to enjoy it.”
“That’s very sad.” Meg rose. “I’ll go fetch the lap robes from the linen press. We’ll need them with this cold.” She hesitated in the doorway. “I’ve decided to open the school early, as a sort of Christmas present to the local children. A week from tomorrow. I’ll have a bit of a party. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, daughter, it’ll keep your mind off Sarah being away.” Father gave her an indulgent smile.
Strength flowing back into her limbs, Meg raced upstairs to collect the heavy rugs they used to keep themselves warm in the sleigh. She could start with her school. She could concentrate on the children and not think about Colin or Joseph.
Not thinking of either of them at church proved impossible. Joseph sat beside her in the Jordan pew rather than alone in his own family section, and Colin sat in the back. She exchanged pleasantries with Joseph, giving him an invitation to dinner, and turned as soon as the service ended in order to catch the merest glimpse of Colin.
With his height and bright hair, he stood out in the crowd, standing beside Martha and Thad Dalbow—and what appeared to be half a dozen young women surrounded him, fluttering their lashes and making their side curls bob against rosy cheeks. In response he smiled and turned a reddish hue that clashed with his hair.
Meg laughed. Seeing him with friends and well made her smile. His discomfiture over the female attention amused her.
“I’m pleased your father told him to stop annoying you,” Joseph said beside her. “He appears to get enough female attention without demanding yours.”
“He never demanded it, Joseph. He has a kind and gentle spirit.”
Joseph snorted. “Which is why he’s working for someone else.”
Meg swung around to stare at Joseph, sharp words burning on her tongue. A group of neighbors wanting to discuss the wedding prevented her from speaking her mind.
And from seeing more of Colin. By the time everyone drifted toward the waiting sleighs, he had departed. She probably wouldn’t see him for another week.
Heart lightened from the mere glimpse of him, Meg tucked herself into the sleigh. Father stepped in beside her, and they set out across the snowy landscape. Craning her neck, Meg observed her school. Snow piled on its roof gave it the appearance of an iced cake. Above it, branches of the oak sagged with their fluffy, white burden, and in their midst someone perched, knocking the snow away.
“Why is he doing that?” Meg cried.
Father pulled up the horse. “What?”
Meg gestured to the tree and Colin relieving the branches of their excess weight. “He’s going to hurt himself.”
“Not if he’s careful. It’s a sturdy tree.” Father nodded. “Thoughtful of him. Those branches could go through that roof if they got too heavy and broke off. He’s a nice young man.”
“Yes.” Meg craned her neck around so she could watch him as Father snapped the reins and got the horse going again.
“I’m sorry I can’t allow you to associate with him.” Father spoke after a few minutes. “If circumstances were different …” He sighed. “But they’re not. You need a man of substance and property.”
Meg caught her breath. “Are you saying you would approve of him if he had property, even though he’s a glassblower?”
“It’s beside the point, Margaret. He doesn’t and never will. Now, what’s for dinner?”
“We’re having a roast chicken.”
“That’s good. Very good.”
The chicken would be good. The afternoon would not. She must spend it with Joseph, but she could bear it. Father’s words lit a spark of hope in her heart, and she determined to nurture it to a flame.
The spark gave her the strength to muster warmth as she served dinner. She needed to say nothing when the men talked of business, but she brought up her plans for a Christmas party at the school during a lull in the discussion.
“Isn’t that a great deal of work for you, my dear?” Joseph asked. “Don’t you and your father have a party on Christmas Eve, too?”
“Yes, but with Sarah gone, I need something to do, and why delay starting the school until after the first of the year? It’s ready now.”
Joseph turned to Father. “And you haven’t been able to talk her out of this … notion of teaching the charcoal burners’ and farm laborers’ children?”
“It’s harmless.” Father shrugged. “And working on it makes her happy.”
“But those children are such ruffians.” Joseph’s eyes held concern.
“I want to include all local children eventually. Most of them are well-behaved. The five boys from the charcoal burners are a bit high-spirited,” Meg admitted. “But I’ve managed to get them in line the two times I’ve encountered them.”
“You encountered them twice?” Father and Joseph both frowned at her.
“I knew about the kittens,” Father said. “When was the second time?”
“The day I went fishing with—” She pressed her serviette to her lips and sprang off her chair. “We have a spiced cake for dessert. I’ll go make coffee.”
She escaped from the dining room before they could question her further.
Meg stood at the window while the coffee brewed, and she watched some gray green finches pecking at grain scattered across the snow. Clustered in the stable doorway, five cats stared at the birds but didn’t venture into the cold wetness even for a bit of a hunt.
“Five cats.” Meg counted the kittens again. “Wanderer is missing.”
She wanted to escape out the back door and hunt the little creature down. His size must make traveling in the snow difficult. Surely he merely slept or hunted inside the stable and wasn’t so foolish that he thought he could climb white mountains for adventure. She needed to persuade Father to let her have the wee beastie in the house for his own sake.
In her head she heard Colin calling the kitten a wee beastie, and her heart fluttered. A man who showed such tenderness to a tiny creature deserved to have someone who could love him without reservation. She wanted to. Oh how she wanted to! But her father wouldn’t approve, and the man she was supposed to marry waited for her.
Colin and the missing kitten still on her mind, Meg took her tray of coffee and cake into the dining room and discovered her father no longer sat at his place.
“Your father wanted to look over some contracts before he posts them back to Philadelphia tomorrow,” Joseph explained. “He thought we would be comfortable here, since the fire is already bright and the room warm.”
“Then I’ll take coffee in to him.” Before Joseph could object, Meg snatched up a plate, fork, and coffee cup.
She intended to ask Father if she and Joseph could look for the kitten. Tramping through the snow, calling for a cat did not give rise to pe
rsonal conversation. But Father merely nodded in acknowledgment of the refreshment and kept reading. Meg waited a moment, hoping he would understand she wanted his attention. It failed to materialize, so she trudged back to the dining room.
Joseph greeted her with one of his thin-lipped smiles. “Do sit down. We can talk for a while.”
“I’d like to go look for my cat.” Meg bunched her ruffled white apron between her fingers. “He may be in the stable, but he’s not with the other cats, and I don’t want him in the snow when night falls.”
Joseph stared at her. “You want to tramp about in the snow looking for a useless creature like a cat?”
“Cats are not useless. They keep vermin away from the grain.”
“Not if you make pets of them.”
“I like animals. They’re fun to watch and nice to pet.”
“I do not believe in pets.” Joseph set the pot down with a thud. “Dogs are for herding and guarding, and cats are for killing mice. Horses are for pulling or riding. One does not pamper them or worry about them. Especially with a cat. If it dies, ten more are available to take its place.”
Now Meg stared, her mouth open on a gasp. “Surely you don’t mean that. We are to care for all God’s creatures. They are precious to Him and should be to us.”
“Oh, that.” Joseph waved his hand in the air as though erasing a slate. “Animals, like some men, are here to serve the rest of us.”
“No.” Meg took a step backward. “We are the ones who serve. We serve God and His creatures and our fellow man. The more fortunate we are, the more responsibility we have.”
“Of course.” Joseph smiled, his eyes flat and cool. “We have a responsibility to be good stewards of what we’re given and be generous when possible.”
“But what of ourselves?” Feeling a little weak in the knees, Meg dropped onto the nearest chair. “We are supposed to give of our abilities to do the Lord’s work. I have some skill with teaching; I learned in school with the younger girls, so I want to teach children close to their homes.”
“Not after we’re married.”
“As long as I’m able.”
“You won’t be able. You won’t have time.” He drew his chair closer to her, his knees mere inches from hers. “You’ll be too busy setting up our home and entertaining.”
“Of course I’ll do those things for my husband,” Meg said, choosing her words with care, “but I will still teach and knit and take food to the sick.”
“Not as my wife. I won’t have you associating with those people and risk becoming ill.”
“But what about church activities? What about serving the Lord?”
“Arranging fetes and so forth, of course.” He leaned forward and patted her hand. “That’s completely appropriate. And you may embroider handkerchiefs but not knit. Knitting is common.”
“I can embroider handkerchiefs?” Meg nearly choked on the words. “When a child is cold, what good is an embroidered handkerchief? How does that demonstrate God’s love?”
Joseph shrugged and reached for the coffee. “You take cream and sugar, don’t you?”
“I’ve worked hard to prepare this school,” Meg plunged on. “I’m not going to give the children a taste of education then pull it away, while I live in luxury.”
“Come, come, you make too much of it.” He slid a cup of coffee toward her. “It’s not as though these children expect to go to school or even will if it’s offered.”
Meg held her breath. She counted to ten. When she didn’t feel as though she would strangle if she spoke to him, she leaned forward, her hands folded on her knees. “Joseph—”
A knock on the kitchen door interrupted her. She sprang to her feet and sped from Joseph to whoever called at the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon.
“I found the wee beastie outside the glassworks.” Colin greeted her with a sodden mass of black-and-white fur limp on his palms. “He’d been chasing the birds that far, I’m thinking.”
“Thank you.” Her heart soared like a winged creature the cat might chase. “Is he all right?”
“Aye, that he is.” Colin smiled. “Now that he’s with you.”
His eyes held hers, conveying the message he referred to more than the kitten’s being all right in her presence. She grinned in return, feeling the same about him, and held out her hands to accept the bedraggled burden.
“I’ll make him a box here by the fire. Maybe you would—”
“Good of you to return the cat,” Joseph pronounced. “Allow me to recompense you for your time.”
A flash shot through Meg’s side vision. A silver coin sailed toward Colin’s still outstretched hand. An instant before it should have landed in his palm, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, allowing the money to hit the floor with a resounding ping.
“I did not bring the cat home for money,” Colin said in a voice icier than the snow behind him. “I did it as a favor to Miss Jordan. Now I’ll be on my way. ‘Tis her wish, you ken.”
For your sake, she wanted to cry out.
“Take care of yourself.” She hugged the kitten to her. “I’m going to keep this beastie near me all the time now for his own good.”
“Thank you.” Smiling, Colin tipped his hat to her then spun on his heel and strode off through the packed snow.
“Revolting.” Joseph reached past her and slammed the kitchen door. “You lower yourself, Margaret.”
“Because I’m going to care for a kitten?”
“Because you care for a mere glassblower. When we’re married, you will never associate with the glassblowers or their families.”
Meg turned on him. “I will associate with whomever I please. I want to be with glassblowers or anyone else. I’m sure it’s what God wants for me.”
“Not possible.” Joseph curled his upper lip. “You are gently bred and beautiful. You deserve better associates than that.”
“I don’t deserve anything. I’ve been blessed is all.” She carried the kitten to the arc of warmth around the stove but kept her gaze on Joseph. “Since you think to associate with only those you consider worthy of notice, what is your notion of serving the Lord?”
“I go to church on Sundays and holidays and give generously.” He cut himself a slice of the cake still sitting on the worktable and bit off a generous hunk, chewed, and swallowed, while Meg waited for him to say more. “Other than that, I’m far too occupied with my properties to do anything.”
“I see.” Meg’s spine stiffened. “And you’re saying that you won’t allow your wife to do much more than work on the church fetes?”
“You won’t have time.”
“Even if I want to use my time for something other than housekeeping and entertaining important people?”
“You won’t have a choice.”
“I see.” Meg took a deep, shaky breath. The kitten’s claws dug into her shoulder like a pricking conscience. “Joseph, I need to go to my room. Please excuse me.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she strode past him, through the dining room, and up the steps to her bedchamber. Once there she tucked the kitten into a quilt on the floor, then she fell to her knees.
“Lord, I don’t want to marry him. I simply can’t do it. Surely You don’t want this for me either.”
She so disliked the idea of marriage to Joseph that she couldn’t believe God wanted the union. Yet she couldn’t figure out how to make things change. Her father’s future depended on the marriage. Colin’s future depended on the marriage. His family’s future depended on the marriage. As for her future …
“God, I can’t do this. I believe You want me to serve You with the school, yet I’m being forced to marry a man who doesn’t serve You at all. It’s wrong. I can’t—I can’t—”
She sobbed and didn’t care who heard her.
“I thought if I did enough, You would honor that and give me what I want. Is that too much, Lord?” She pounded her fist against her mattress. “I want to teach at the school. I
want to bring home kittens or orphans or whoever needs help. I want—”
Her own words began to ring in her ears, and she stopped, choking down the next sob.
She was telling God what she wanted to do for Him. Rocking back on her heels in a puddle of crumpled muslin skirts, she scanned through her mind to think of when she had asked God what He wanted her to do. No time came to mind, not a single prayer, even a brief one. All her prayers regarded what she wanted to happen. She told God; she didn’t ask Him.
“But I haven’t done anything wrong.” The minute she made the statement, she knew it was a poor excuse for going her own way.
Going her own way was doing something wrong. Father denied her little, so she asked for the school, knowing she would get it. And the school cost Father money and resources he couldn’t afford. She pursued Colin, knowing he found her attractive. And their relationship put him in Joseph’s sights, endangering Colin’s future at the glassworks. She had no idea what sort of troubles she had caused others with her willful behavior.
“Lord, I need You to show me what You want for me.” She gulped. “Even if that means marrying Joseph.”
More peaceful, if not entirely settled in her heart and mind, Meg returned downstairs to clear away the dinner dishes. Joseph was nowhere in sight. Neither was Father. She sliced bread and buttered it, then she set it on a plate with pieces of cheese and ham and some apples and left them on the kitchen table for Father’s supper. Back in her bedchamber, she decided to push forward with her party for the potential schoolchildren and listed things she needed to accomplish for both that event and the one for neighbors on Christmas Eve. She worked until the candle guttered and her eyelids drooped. She still hadn’t heard Father come home, but she crawled into bed to sleep.
Sometime during the night she heard the sleigh swoosh into the stable yard, harness jingling, and a few minutes later the back door closed. Father had returned from wherever he had gone. Meg rolled over and fell into a deeper sleep that lasted until Ilse arrived and the aroma of coffee drifted up to Meg’s room.
She dressed with haste and ran downstairs for breakfast.
“You look pretty today.” Ilse set a mug of coffee before Meg at the kitchen table. “The wedding must have pleased you.”
The Glassblower Page 12
