by Sally Laity
fifteen
“Well, that’s the end of it,” Eliza said, stepping back to admire the last length of wallpaper she’d hung in place, its design one of charming forest animals frolicking amid groves of trees. “And not bad, for someone who’s previously only watched the process from a safe distance, I might add.” She leveled a glance at Anabelle, seeking her approval.
Her friend, though decidedly less than keen on messing with gummy paste or sloppy brushes, had made a valiant attempt at lending a hand. She appeared almost as disheveled as Eliza felt. “I’d say it looks. . .sufficiently. . .childlike.”
Sputtering into a giggle, Eliza turned her eyes heavenward. “Are you telling me it resembles the work of a child?”
“No, not at all.” Ana pinkened delicately. “What I meant was it should appeal to one.”
“Oh, well that’s better. Then let’s clean up the rest of this clutter so we can go down for a bite of dinner. You must be just as hungry as I am, after all this hard work.”
Already gathering remnants of discarded wall covering together in a somewhat neat pile, Anabelle straightened and assessed the room. “When the mattress is delivered and we make up the bed, it should be quite homey in here.”
“Especially after I finish hemming the curtains and put them up,” Eliza added. “I truly appreciate your help, Ana.”
“I’m amazed we’ve been able to accomplish so much in only a few days.”
“Well, I just hope it’s soon enough.” She swung dreamily around in a circle, her arms wide. “Oh, can’t you just picture a little girl or two, coming here from a shabby hovel where people have been crowded together like cattle? Imagine how it’ll feel to realize there’ll be only one other person in this huge bed, in a clean room with pretty colors and lots of new playthings. . .”
The honey blond tilted her head back and forth, her demeanor unreadable.
“Of course, I know this whole effort might be for naught,” Eliza continued as she resumed tidying up. “It could turn out that there are suddenly enough beds at other shelters. Maybe there won’t be a need for one more place, temporary or otherwise. But just knowing that if one arises, we do have a suitable room should make this all worthwhile. And won’t it be fun seeing the expression on Micah’s face when he finds out what we’ve done?”
“He’s sure to be surprised. It’s been hard not confessing why I’ve been spending so much time with you these past few days.” A wistful smile lit Ana’s features. “But here I’ve been, deriving pleasure from merely decorating a bedroom, while you’ve been thinking ahead to its occupants, to helping those he carries such a burden for. I. . .sometimes wish I could feel as strongly as he does about them. As strongly as you seem to.”
Eliza knew the young woman had spoken candidly, and though she had almost as hard a time understanding how someone could not care about the hopeless predicament faced by so many immigrants, she did not feel it was her place to judge. “You do what you can in contributions and your sewing. Everything helps, believe me.”
“Perhaps.” She paused, as if trying to formulate her next comment. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued. “But I often wonder if I will ever truly be the wife Micah needs.”
Setting aside the refuse she had gathered, Eliza crossed the room to give her an encouraging hug. “Don’t be silly. You two have loved each other forever. And that’s what’s most important in a marriage.”
“Is it?” Anabelle asked quietly, drawing away. “Then, why haven’t we been married forever already? Most of our friends have made that commitment and are now in the throes of parenthood, raising broods of children. Micah and I, on the other hand, merely see each other every day—or almost every day. And instead of growing closer, we’re almost—”
She waved a hand uselessly before her face. “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t bother you with our problems.”
“That’s what friends are for, is it not?” Eliza answered gently. “Personally, I feel your concerns are completely ungrounded, and that in time, you two will work out your differences and get married. See if you don’t.”
But Anabelle didn’t seem overly comforted by Eliza’s assurance. She just bent down and picked up some of the trash.
❧
Making a hasty loop of the horse’s reins at the hitching post in front of the Dumont house, Micah all but ran up the walk. He paused at the door to straighten his coat sleeves and catch his breath, then rapped.
In seconds, Anabelle swung the portal wide and stepped out of the way so he could enter. “We thought you weren’t coming. We’ve already started without you.”
“I’m truly sorry I’m late, sweetheart, but I’m afraid it couldn’t be avoided.” Removing his gloves, hat, and coat, he disposed of them on the hall tree.
“Let me guess,” she challenged in syrupy tones, arms crossed as she eyed him with irritation. “Some destitute family needed groceries, and there’s no one on Earth who can see they get some but you. Or yet another street urchin out in the cold, with no place to go until you happened by. Or—”
Clasping her upper arms, Micah looked directly into her eyes, the gray-green depths decidedly cooler than normal. He tempered the tone of his voice, not wanting to speak harshly to her, yet pronouncing the words slowly and distinctly. “It’s what I do, Ana. I go where there’s a need, wherever and whenever I must. You know that. You’ve always known it.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line and stared for a few seconds before relenting. “Yes, I know. It’s just—I get so tired of waiting for you, never knowing if you’ll be on time, or late, or even come at all. And Mother and Papa are forever asking when they might start plans for the wedding, and. . .”
Drawing her close, Micah hugged her. “I understand, sweetheart, I really do. And I wish I could make things easier for you. I just don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do,” she insisted, her cheek against his chest. “You could find some other employment. There are lots of other ways one can help people. In fact, Papa told me there’s an opening at the bank for someone with your qualifications. You’d be able to arrange financial aid for the unfortunates.”
“Ana, I—”
“Are you coming to the table, Daughter?” came her father’s voice from the dining room.
“Yes, Papa. We’ll be right there.” Releasing a weary breath, she stepped out of Micah’s embrace and took his arm. “Come on; we always set a place for you, regardless.”
In the face of the false smile she’d plastered on, he hesitated.
She gave another tug, a trifle more playful this time.
He still didn’t move. He could see she was in a mood, one that had been coming on for some time. Well, so was he, and he was getting rather tired of always defending his calling. “Now and then I wish you’d be just a little more understanding,” he heard himself say, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I’ve had a beastly day today. Nothing worked out right, no matter what I tried. Everywhere I turn there’s more need than I can alleviate—”
“Need, need, need,” she wailed, rocking back on her heels, bright circles of color rising on her cheeks. “Honestly, between you and Eliza, I hear more than I can bear about poor people and homeless children and the miserable, huddled masses. Why don’t you two put your heads together and come up with some grand plan or noble scheme that’ll solve all the problems of mankind! Obviously she suits you more than I ever will.”
“What?” Flabbergasted at the uncharacteristic outburst, Micah could only gape at her.
“Anabelle!” From the dining room a chair scraped back.
“Supper’s getting cold,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
“Well, I thank you for the invitation,” he said, rising anger throbbing through him with each beat of his heart, “but I find I have no appetite after all.” Crossing to the hall tree, he put on his coat. “Good night.”
“Oh, Micah. . .” Her tone turned apologetic.
Past caring, and not even bothering to close the door after himself, Micah strode purposefully to his buggy, yanking the reins free on his way to the seat. He clucked his tongue and slapped the traces against the horse’s back without so much as a backward glance.
In his room a short while later, he kneaded his jaw, forcing himself to relax those muscles. Now that he’d calmed down, he wasn’t really angry with Anabelle so much as disappointed. And at the end of his patience. How could it be that despite all his efforts and a virtual mountain of fervent prayers, his fiancОe was no closer to accepting his ministry, but in fact seemed to be drifting farther from it? Why couldn’t she be more like—
Without permitting his wayward mind to complete the comparison, he sank to his knees. He was done in, mentally and physically, and knew he lacked whatever it took to deal with disillusionment right now. He needed a new supply of wisdom and strength. . .the kind he could obtain only from spending time with his Lord.
❧
“Hm. I wonder why Anabelle hasn’t come today?” Eliza mused, checking out the window for the dozenth time. The pale afternoon sun was well on its downward slide, lengthening the shadows of the hemlock trees.
Aunt Phoebe set down the crystal vase she’d been dusting and turned. “Well, it is quilting day. Perhaps she was needed at the sewing circle, for a change.”
“I’m sure that must be it. I have rather been taking over her every spare moment lately. I just surmised that with the mattress due to be delivered this afternoon, she’d have wanted to be here to help me make up the bed with the lovely variegated green counterpane she helped pick out.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, dear. No doubt she’ll come by tomorrow.”
Crossing to the chair to put the final stitches into a pair of soft green and white curtains, Eliza retook her seat. “I suppose you’re right, Auntie.” But surely Ana would have mentioned something about having another engagement, Eliza told herself.
Her unease multiplied a short time later, when she looked up from counting the number of lace scarves remaining in one of the gift shop cabinets, to see Micah Richmond entering the room.
“Oh, yes, the contribution,” Aunt Phoebe said as he ap-proached the counter.
“I know it’s not my usual day, ladies,” he said cheerily, “but I was in the neighborhood.” He glanced around in curiosity. “Ana’s not here?”
Eliza shook her head. “Her talents must have been needed at church. I’ve been monopolizing the poor girl far too much these days.”
“Strange; I just came from there. When I stopped by to see if they’d finished any new quilts, everyone started hounding me with questions, wondering why she hasn’t been coming lately.”
Prickles of alarm skittered down Eliza’s back. “Weren’t you with her last night? Did she mention having other plans or anything?”
Tugging at his cravat, he cleared his throat. “I. . .uh. . .did go there for supper, actually. Couldn’t stay long, though. She didn’t say much.”
“How odd,” Aunt Phoebe murmured. “Now I’m beginning to worry about the dear girl myself.”
“Well, put your minds at ease, my friends,” Micah said with assurance. “I’ll call on her this evening and find out if anything’s amiss. Perhaps she’s had one of her headaches and wanted to rest at home.”
“Of course,” the older woman said, sounding somewhat encouraged.
“Be sure to give her our love,” Eliza added. “And tell her we missed her smiley face around here.”
“I’ll do that.” With a grin, he turned for the door.
“Wait, son. I’ve yet to give you my contribution,” Aunt Phoebe said.
Halting, he swung around, chagrined. “Oh, yes. I must be a touch overtired myself.” Accepting the funds she held out to him, he left.
Eliza didn’t know how long she continued to watch after him, but when she caught herself staring into nothingness, she sent a silent prayer aloft for Anabelle.
❧
It took considerable courage for Micah to approach his fiancОe’s home that evening, considering his hasty and heated departure the previous night. But after so many people had asked about her during the day, he was concerned. Tying the horse at the rail, he strode up to the door and knocked.
Anabelle’s mother answered the summons. “Oh. Micah. I wasn’t expecting you.” Ever dignified and proper, every graying brown hair on her queenly head in place, there came no typical smile to soften the timeless beauty of her face. But the familiar countenance seemed no less friendly, despite a few added lines around her green eyes—eyes that were lightly rimmed in red at the moment.
“I wasn’t coming for supper, Mother Dumont. I was wondering if I might speak with Ana.”
Nibbling the corner of her lip, she shifted from one foot to the other, as if hesitating to answer at first. “I’m afraid she isn’t available just now.”
“To anyone,” he asked, “or just to me?”
Another slight hesitation. “She asked me to give you something. Wait just a moment.” Withdrawing from the immediate vicinity of the door, she returned directly, a sealed envelope in her hand. “I hope this will answer your questions. I—” A mist rose in her eyes, and she closed them momentarily while she swallowed. “Good evening, Micah.”
Ana’s letter clutched in his hand, he watched as the door closed gently in his face, leaving him little choice but to go home.
sixteen
Micah lingered on the Dumonts’ doorstep for a long moment, debating whether to knock again and hope Anabelle would come to the door this time. Or if she didn’t, perhaps her mother would go into a few more details. It was quite obvious the woman had been crying. What had upset her?
But considering the close relationship he had always enjoyed with Ana’s parents, Mother Dumont wouldn’t have hesitated to invite him inside—or at the very least, answer the question he’d put to her—unless something was very, very wrong.
Releasing a pent-up breath, he slid the letter she had given him into an inside pocket and walked back to his buggy. Then he took the shortest route back to Columbus Avenue and made quick work of stabling the horse and parking the buggy before going into his room.
The place was cool from being vacant and shut up all day, but the temperature didn’t faze him as he tossed his coat and hat onto the arm of the sofa. More for light than heat, he lit the logs he routinely laid in the fireplace each morning, then lit the lamp next to his overstuffed chair and sank wearily to the seat. In seconds he had Ana’s letter open:
My dearest Micah,
After the way I spoke to you when we were last together, I felt horrid. To think you and I would ever come to the place where we could actually say hurtful things to each other dealt me a crushing blow. Knowing you as I do, you must have felt the same.
Be that as it may, I cannot help but believe we were honest in expressing our innermost feelings. Perhaps more truthful than we have ever been before.
“Were we, Anabelle? We barely discussed anything. There wasn’t time to really talk.” Shifting in his chair, Micah focused again on the neatly penned missive:
But there were important things which I, for one, left unsaid. I will try to write them as best I can now.
I think I have always loved you. Whether that fact can be attributed to the long-standing relationship shared by our parents, or perhaps even came to be because of it, I cannot be sure. Certainly knowing their grand expectations for us had to have played some part in our planning to marry one day.
Micah, despite himself, had to agree with that statement, at least to some extent. Yet there’d never been anyone else—for either of them. Didn’t that prove something? Impatiently he looked back at the letter:
I doubt it is possible to completely analyze the deep affection I feel for you. You have b
een my best friend, my confidant, at times even a big brother, offering whatever I needed, always giving the best of yourself. You could give no less, for that is the kind of man you are.
I am, and have always been, very proud of you, Micah. It has been with great joy and wonder that I watched you turn from a freckle-faced lad who delighted in putting frogs in my pocket, to a handsome champion of the downtrodden. The Lord has blessed you with that kind of generous and unselfish nature, and in my heart I know He has wonderful things in store for you.
However, I have recently come to realize that those plans do not include me.
“You can’t mean that, Ana. We’ve always planned to marry one day. There’s no reason we couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. We’d be throwing away a lifetime of caring.” Emitting a ragged breath, he read on:
Looking around at so many of our closest friends and their marriages, I cannot help but see that for a marriage to endure there must be a certain kind of harmony. And though you and I possess that in some ways, it is sadly lacking in the most important one. Try as I might, I cannot force myself to enter into that benevolent work you feel is your ministry.
“No, you’re wrong. You just need time. Time, and maybe an opportunity to come with me on my calls, to see things with your own eyes. It would make a difference.”
For that reason, I have decided to leave New York for an undetermined period.
Micah slammed a palm against the armrest of his chair. Where would she have gone?
I have petitioned my parents not to divulge my whereabouts. We need an opportunity to be apart from each other and seek the will of the Lord in regards to our future.
At this, he crumpled the pages in his hands and lay his head back, staring at the ceiling. A deep emptiness surged through him, one so profound he could hardly bring himself to read farther. But finally the need to know the rest made him unravel the letter and smooth out the wrinkles as best he could.
