by Lori Wick
“Are you coming, Papa, Mama?” Marianne paused to ask.
“You go ahead,” her father answered, sending her off with a wave. A moment later the room was once again peaceful.
“No wonder she’s not interested in marriage,” Mrs Walker commented, her face and voice thoughtful. “She has Lydia’s four to raise and enjoy.”
“And aren’t they blessed?” her husband said mildly, barely glancing up from his own dish of sorbet.
“As are you, Mr Walker,” she accused. “You’re not fooling me a bit.”
“Why would I try, Mrs Walker? The day Marianne falls in love, I’ll post the banns myself.”
Mrs Walker had nothing to say to this. Her entire family knew that she was more talk than anything else, but she did wish for her youngest child to find happiness in marriage. At age twenty and four, the title of spinster was already being liberally applied.
Her own sweet in front of her but ignored, Mrs Walker watched her daughter on the lawn. Marianne laughed with the children and even threw a ball to Walt, the sound of her sweet laughter floating inside to her parents.
“You’re worrying again, Mrs Walker,” the man across from her stated, and this time his gaze was full on her.
“I am,” she admitted. “When Elinore was married, I never dreamed that Marianne would be years behind her.”
“What is it that worries you?”
“That she’ll be alone and uncared for.”
“And how could that happen with James to take the estate and Henry after him?”
Mrs Walker stared at him for a moment. He certainly had a good point. James and Henry both adored their youngest sister. Should anything become of Mr Walker, they would see she came to no harm.
“You’re right, of course. I’m just anxious.”
“Why are you?” Mr Walker pursued in genuine caring.
Mrs Walker stared at him, loath to admit the truth. Mr Walker’s brows rose as he waited.
“Some days I feel my own mortality most keenly. Lately I’ve been feeling old.”
“And if you’re not here to take care of Marianne, the job won’t get done.”
“Put like that you make me feel a fool, but that is the way I feel right now.”
“Your four older children would cry in outrage—you know that, don’t you?”
Mrs Walker smiled at the thought, knowing he was right. Mr Walker smiled back. They did not continue to speak of it, but it was good to have such thoughts on the table. If the truth be told, Mr Walker struggled with his own brand of protectiveness toward his youngest child. In a directly opposite manner, he feared that Marianne would marry too soon, that it would be to the wrong man, and that she would be unhappy for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, the bottom line was clear: Neither one of Marianne’s parents were trusting God in the way they’d taught her to do. And she would probably laugh at them had she been able to overhear their conversation.
“Come quick!” Walt burst into the room, his eyes huge as he called to the Walkers. “Marianne is hurt!”
No further words were needed to bring husband and wife to their feet. Their child was hurt. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
Chapter Six
All three of the children looked up when Jennings entered the nursery at Tipton. Thomas came to his feet, as did James, but Penny stayed behind the large dollhouse, her small face peeking out.
“How are you doing?” Jennings asked, sitting in one of the rocking chairs and waving the boys back to their seats.
“Fine, sir,” Thomas answered for all of them, not adding that they were a bit hungry, even though they’d just been speaking of it.
“Have you been outside of this room? Are you getting to know the house and grounds?”
James looked to Thomas. He had wanted to go exploring, but his older brother had thought better of it.
“I wasn’t sure if we should,” Thomas admitted without embarrassment.
“I should have been more specific,” Jennings said. “You’ll find my sister’s family very welcoming. Come and go as you please.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll plan on that.”
“Are you getting hungry?” Jennings asked next.
“Yes,” James spoke up, and even Penny came to her feet.
“Well, lunch is about ready. By the time we get downstairs, it should be on.”
The children needed no other urging, and Jennings was reminded yet again of how much care was involved in parenting. Part of him wanted to tell Lydia to take over and that he would follow her lead, but if he did that, would the children’s view of him be altered? And that question begged one more: What was the children’s view of him?
With a mental start, Jennings realized all three children were standing and waiting for him.
“Shall we go?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm, all the while thinking that he would have to pull himself together.
Thomas, James, and Penny filed out in front of him and proceeded down the stairs. Lydia met them at the bottom, stopping short of saying she was just headed to check their progress. Her brother had his inscrutable look again, and she wondered if something had gone wrong.
“Did you enjoy the nursery?” Lydia asked, leading the way to the small dining room.
“Yes, thank you,” Thomas answered.
Lydia’s attention turned to Penny. “What did you play with, Penny?”
“The dollhouse,” she said quietly, her eyes taking in Lydia’s face and hair. Penny had not spent much time in the company of ladies and was captivated by what she saw. She wanted to touch Lydia Palmer’s light blue dress but knew she must not.
Lydia caught the little girl’s eyes on her but didn’t comment. She wondered how long the child’s mother had been gone and forced herself not to dwell on how alone the Jennings children were at this time.
“We have some lovely things to eat today. Are you all hungry?” Lydia asked.
The children smiled as they answered in the affirmative, and Palmer, who had watched them come in, felt his heart turn over.
If Jennings leaves and takes these children away from us, Lord, it will be many days before I stop thinking about them.
To cover this sudden rush of emotions, Palmer invited James to sit on one side of him and Thomas on the other.
“You take a seat by Mrs Palmer, all right, Penny?”
That little girl bit her lip but still managed to have a seat. As they’d come to expect, Jennings was quiet. He was seated next to James and across from Penny. It wasn’t normally considered protocol to give deference to children when an adult was in the group, but Palmer hoped that Jennings would understand this one time.
“We always pray before we eat, children, so if you’ll bow your heads,” Palmer said, letting the sentence hang and noticing that the children had a completely comfortable reaction to this, their eyes closing as their heads bowed over their plates.
“What a joy, Father, to have Jennings, Thomas, James, and Penny with us. We thank You for them, for this food, and for all You provide each day. Amen.”
“Amen,” the children chorused softly, and Palmer and Lydia exchanged a swift look.
It was obvious to the host couple that someone had been working with these children. Jennings also noticed it, and to his surprise, no negative feelings came to mind. These children had been exceptionally well behaved, and maybe some sort of faith in God was the reason.
Jennings almost shook his head over his own musings. Where that thought had emerged from, he would never know.
“So tell me, Thomas,” Palmer prompted, “what schools have you and James been attending?”
“We are both at Wimley Banks, in Bristol.”
“I know the one. A fine school.”
“Our father attended.”
“And you carried on the tradition. I think that’s very fine.”
“Is it a large school?” Lydia wished to know.
Thomas did the honors, filling the adults in before going back to his
meal.
“How was the weather in London when you left, Jennings?” Palmer worked to include him, and this seemed to do the trick. Jennings was more talkative as the meal progressed.
“I think we’ll take a turn through the grounds,” Jennings suggested when he could see the children were finished. “How does that sound?”
The children were amenable, so after thanking their host and hostess, they left with Jennings. He hadn’t trooped around the property for many years and was eager to explore as well. As soon as they emerged from the house, they headed for the stables.
“Do the Palmers have many horses?” James asked, having spied the building.
“They do, yes—some fine stock.”
The foursome continued to head that way, taking in the grounds as they walked. A long gravel drive led to the stable area. They passed sweeping lawns and manicured gardens ablaze with color. Penny was preoccupied with the flowers she saw but didn’t wish to be scolded for lagging behind. If she could have stated her opinion just then, she’d have told someone that she was tired and wanted to be read to, but no one had asked her.
Nevertheless, some of her fatigue fell away as they entered the large barn and saw several horses, beautiful animals with proud heads, long manes, and gleaming coats. The group walked through the building, looking their fill and discussing different aspects of the stock and stable.
James made a comment about the haymow, which drew all eyes that way. It was on the tip of Jennings’ tongue to launch into an explanation and turn this outing into a learning experience, but Penny chose that moment to yawn. The boys, although not looking tired, both had sudden looks of vulnerability on their young faces. Putting his own wants aside, Jennings spied some iron benches in the distance, beyond the barn a piece, and took the children that way.
“Let’s sit here,” he suggested as they approached, and the boys did. Penny had found some flowers just off the path and was looking to her heart’s content.
It took a moment for Jennings to find his nerve, but at last he admitted to his cousin’s sons, “I should have asked you before about the way your father died. Would it be too difficult for you to tell me now?”
“Do you think it would be all right if Penny went into the field just there and picked flowers?” Thomas asked unexpectedly.
“Certainly,” Jennings said, hiding his surprise. “I think that would be fine.”
“Here, Penny,” Thomas said, gaining her attention for the first time. “Mr Jennings wants to speak with James and me. You go ahead into the field and pick some flowers.”
Penny looked in the direction he was pointing.
“I can pick them to keep?”
“Yes. Not too many, but some.”
“What if I find a snake?”
“If you see any snakes, just return here to the bench and tell us.”
The little girl needed no other urging. Even Jennings turned to watch her wade through the tall wildflowers, her progress impeded because the grasses were up to her waist.
“Is she not afraid of snakes?”
“No, not unless they take her by surprise, and then she’s only startled.”
They watched Penny for a few minutes longer, and then Thomas explained. “Penny doesn’t know the details of our father’s death. She can be timid about some things, such as strangers, but she’s never shown any fear of horses, and my father wouldn’t want her to.”
“But that’s how your father died?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, knowing how ironic it all was and amazed at how fresh the pain felt. “A snake came across the horse’s path, and the animal reared so violently that they both went down. The horse landed on my father, who had been thrown against the ground, and Father was killed instantly.”
James’ eyes were averted, but there was no missing the tears. Thomas was very brave, and Jennings almost wished the boy could cry—it might make him feel better.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“May I ask you a question, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what’s being done with our father’s estate? Is that all settled?”
“The instructions in Mr Willoughby’s letter were not overly detailed. He requested that I contact him. I didn’t want to do that until I’d spoken to you.”
Thomas nodded, his face thoughtful. Jennings continued, wanting the boys to know all the facts.
“I didn’t explain to you at the time, but the solicitor’s letter was mislaid. I was handed the letter and learned of your arrival at the same moment.”
Both boys showed surprise over this, and James even blurted, “So that’s why you hired that awful Mrs Smith.”
Jennings couldn’t stop his smile over this youthful insight.
“I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that, James, but you are partly right. Tell me, boys, what do you recall hearing about the estate?”
“That William Jennings would be in charge; that William Jennings would handle it.”
“And I shall,” Jennings assured them. “Who was left to care for your home when you came to me?”
“I know Murch was staying on.” Thomas took this question. “He and Mrs Murch will see to things.”
“Were they seeing to things before your father’s accident?”
“Yes, along with Chauncy. He did the gardening.”
Jennings thought a moment. Now that he’d spoken with the boys there were several ways he could handle this, and one in particular was looking the most favorable.
“A bee!” came a small cry from the field.
Thomas stood. “Do not panic, Penelope! Walk back to us. Don’t run.”
The little girl did as she was told, and during her progress, Jennings revealed his plan.
“I shall be in touch with your father’s solicitor and clarify the details with him. Once I have all the information, we’ll plan a trip to Morehouse and see everything settled. Does that suit you?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“I should like to see home again,” James admitted quietly.
“And so you shall, James,” Jennings found it felt very good to be able to tell him.
Penny had almost arrived back. The three watched her approach. When she stood before them, her small hand clutching a bunch of wildflowers, they saw that her cheeks were red and a single tear had escaped.
Not able to help himself, Jennings hunkered down very close in front of her for the first time.
“Were you stung?”
“No,” she said, tears very near.
“But you were frightened?”
“He was on a flower I wanted,” she explained, and another tear slid down.
Jennings didn’t even try to stop himself. A smile tugging at his firm mouth, he pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopped her face.
“Do you need the other flower?” he asked her.
Looking a little less miserable and remembering what she’d been told about being thankful, Penny forced herself to say, “I have enough.”
“Mr Jennings was offering to take you back, Penny. You need to thank him.”
“Thank you,” Penny said, having more eye contact with him than she’d ever attempted.
“You’re welcome.”
Unfortunately for both of them, the older Jennings was out of words. He came somewhat awkwardly to his feet, stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and suggested they explore a bit longer.
“So what do you think, Palmer?” Lydia asked the question she’d been wanting to ask since her brother arrived.
“I think he’s utterly lost. I mean, he always has been, but this time it’s obvious even to him. He was so certain that if he could have offspring under his own terms, life would be perfect.” Palmer chuckled a little. “It’s almost amusing to watch him learn otherwise.”
Lydia shook her head in wry agreement. “I want them to stay. I want it very much.”
“As do I, but we’ll have to wai
t and see. We can’t have Jennings upsetting our own household in his attempt to find himself and his parenting skills.”
“Yes, Palmer, but will Thomas, James, and Penny survive the process?”
“I think they’re stronger than we give them credit for. There’s a peace in the boys that tells me someone has been teaching them the Way.”
“I sense it too. I hope they get on with our children. It could so help during this painful time.”
“When are they due back?”
“They were going to lunch at Blackburn Manor, so probably midafternoon.”
“Good. They’ll all have the rest of the day to get acquainted, and we’ll keep the next few days uneventful.”
Lydia nodded, pleased that her husband had a plan. It was on the tip of her tongue to admit to him that she wanted to keep the children for her own, but she kept quiet. God had a plan in place, and right now it included Jennings. If the need ever arose for those children to become her own, she wouldn’t need to tell anyone how she felt—it would be written all over her face.
“Frank!” his mother said with some surprise when she looked up from her writing desk about an hour later to find her oldest child in the doorway. “I didn’t realize you’d returned.” Even as she said this, she knew something was amiss. “What is it, Frank?” she asked as she stood. “You look upset.”
“We tried to get Marianne to stay home, but she insisted on bringing us back.”
“Why would you want her to remain at home?”
“We were playing ball in the yard, and she got hit in the eye.”
“Oh, no. Where is she?”
“In the carriage if you wish to see her.”
Lydia very much wanted to see her. She followed Frank’s progress back outside and found her other three children crowded around the door of the carriage, laughing and smiling.
“Here, children,” Lydia said firmly, “let me past.”
Lydia stuck her head in the coach to find a smiling Marianne.
