The Proposal (10 page)

Jennings had kept his voice quiet during the entire tirade, but it had gone from passionate to thoughtful. He did not expect to turn and find his sister’s hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with merriment.

“Lydia, do not tell me you are amused by this!”

“But, Jennings,” she said as a soft laugh escaped, unable to help herself, “You are too funny. You insult us and then tell us you need us. On top of that, I don’t know when I’ve heard such passion from you on any subject.”

Though still not able to laugh at himself, Jennings relaxed some and even sat down again. He looked to his brother-in-law and found him slightly amused as well.

“Remind me, Jennings,” Palmer asked calmly, “what did we do those many years ago that caused you to run?”

Looking at them now, still the kind, warm people he remembered from many years back, Jennings drew a blank. They sat a moment, silence surrounding the three of them, before full memory returned to Jennings.

“Are you still attending that church where Pastor Hurst tells people about their sin?”

“Yes, we are,” Palmer said without apology.

“And how many followers does he have now?”

“Pastor Hurst? He hasn’t any. We’re following Jesus Christ.”

It was the very thing he expected them to say, the very thing that had made him so dreadfully uncomfortable before, but this time there was a difference. They had already welcomed him and the children, and he didn’t believe they’d done this with a hidden agenda.

“I guess the first thing I should ask,” Jennings started again, “is whether we’re still welcome now that I’ve insulted you?”

“For as long as you like,” Palmer said, his voice and manner still mild. “But I must warn you, as soon as the cousins meet, no matter how uncomfortable you feel, you’ll not escape easily at all.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jennings admitted, remembering how shocked he was to hear that his sister had four children.

After thinking for a moment, Jennings made up his mind. He might disagree wholeheartedly with his sister and Pastor Hurst, but he would not separate from his family again. He wanted to know his only nieces and nephews, and he wanted his young charges to know them. But even beyond that, one fact was glaringly evident: He hadn’t the slightest idea how to be a parent, and for the sake of the three children now entrusted to him, he would stay.

“What do you think of them?” Thomas asked of James when they’d found the nursery and settled in. The room’s furnishings were a bit on the young side for Thomas, but he was happy to do nothing for a time and to do it in a place that felt safe.

“They’re nice. Does Mrs Palmer remind you of Aunt Fanny?”

“She wasn’t really our aunt, James—just a neighbor.”

“I know, but her voice is like Aunt Fanny’s, and she was very kind.”

“Yes, she was,” Thomas agreed softly, and if James had been looking at him just then, he might have asked about the speculative look on his older brother’s face. Had Thomas shared, he would have asked how Mrs Palmer could be so kind when her brother seemed so aloof. He knew some of it was the difference between men and women, but his heart sensed that there was more to it.

“I can’t get it out.” Penny’s voice floated into Thomas’ musings, and he watched as James dislodged a block from inside the large dollhouse.

“Thomas,” Penny asked when she had the block in hand, “what did Mrs Palmer say her daughters were named?”

“I think it was Emily and Lizzy.”

“No, it was Emma and Lizzy,” James corrected as he dumped a puzzle on the floor.

“That’s right. And they’re your age, Penny.”

Penny nodded but didn’t comment. She went back to the dollhouse, her face pensive. Thomas could have asked her if she was upset, but he thought he knew. It was nice to feel safe, and it would be fun to gain new playmates their own age, but not all the toys and friends in the world would take away the ache they felt to see their father one more time.

The Palmer children were on an outing with their neighbor, Miss Marianne Walker. She was too young to be their mother but old enough to be responsible for them. A young aunt was how she’d described herself one time, but the children still thought of her as an older sister.

Young Frank Palmer, oldest of the Palmer children, not overly distracted by the flowers his sisters were picking, was enjoying his time by the stream. The small fish were active at this time of year. He found them fascinating and wondered at the fact that they never seemed to bump into each other. The occasional rub alongside could be seen, but rarely was there a head-on encounter, even in the midst of panic. That, along with the splendid rocks he was finding, made him feel he could sit in this spot all day.

“What did you find, Frank?” Walter Palmer, Walt to family and friends alike, asked as he approached.

“An interesting rock. Look at the shape.”

“It looks like a fish.”

“I think so too.”

“You should see the fish a little way down the stream, Frank. Come and see them.”

“Look right here, Walt,” Frank invited. “They’re very active here too.”

“Oh, yes, but there’s more down where I was.”

That was all Frank needed to hear. He accompanied his brother down the shore and sure enough, they stumbled on roughly twice the fish as had been in Frank’s area.

Across the small wooden bridge, knee-deep in wildflowers, stood their escort. Beside Marianne were Emma and Lizzy Palmer.

“Look at this one, Marianne,” Lizzy directed, showing her a small yellow bloom.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Marianne agreed as she shifted the basket to include it.

“Where did the pink one go?” the youngest girl now asked.

“With all the other pink ones,” Emma explained, her brow raised in surprise that this had not been more obvious to her sibling.

“But I wanted that one,” Lizzy said, her face sincere.

“Here.” Marianne crouched down to her level and let her look into the basket. “See if you can find it.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” Emma said with a laugh like her mother’s, “you’ll never spot it.”

“I will, Emma. I know just the one.”

Marianne remained quiet as Lizzy examined the flowers. Lizzy’s small brow was earnestly wrinkled as she searched, and Marianne couldn’t stop her smile. The almost-five-year-old was such a perfect combination of her parents, with her father’s dark curls and her mother’s blue eyes.

“This is it,” Lizzy said, her face lighting up.

Marianne hugged her.

“I’m so pleased you found it.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Yes, it is—just like the little girl holding it.”

Lizzy smiled at her and moved in for another hug.

“Marianne,” Walt called to her when she came to her feet; he was still near the stream. “Are we moving on now?”

“Are you ready?”

A yes came from both boys, and the girls began to gather their things. The five of them walked back to the waiting carriage and driver, towing along their rocks and flowers.

“Are your hands muddy, Liz?” Frank asked of his sister before he would allow her to climb into the carriage.

“Just a little,” she said as she displayed them.

Marianne came from behind them and offered her handkerchief. “Here, use this, Lizzy.”

“Thank you,” the little girl said, remembering her manners. But it did little good. The handkerchief ended up as dirty as the small hands, which didn’t look as though they’d been cleaned at all.

“It’s all right, Lizzy. You can wash before we have lunch. Mildred is always ready for you,” Marianne said, referring to the head housekeeper at her parents’ home.

“Are we having lunch at your house, Marianne?”

“Yes, Walt. I wanted to show you my new book.”

“The one on pyramids?”

“Yes. It arrived yesterday.”

With that they were off. No one ever declined a meal at Blackburn Manor—it was much too fun for that. Blackburn Manor was Tipton’s nearest neighbor. Set in a fair glen at the base of the foothills, it was picturesque and inviting.

When the coach stopped in the wide courtyard, a footman held the door while the five explorers emerged from the carriage.

“Here you are!” Mildred exclaimed with delight as she met them just inside the front door. To Marianne she said, “Your mother is on her way.”

“I’m here,” Mrs Walker proclaimed as she entered the spacious foyer not many steps behind Mildred, a smile in her voice and on her face. “How was the outing?”

“Splendid, but we’re all quite famished,” Marianne responded with familial ease as she kissed her mother’s cheek.

“How are you, children?” Mrs Walker greeted. She listened to their tales of the morning’s adventure before Mildred whisked them away for a swift wash before convening for an early lunch.

Around the table just ten minutes later, Mr Walker also in attendance, the children continued to tell of their exploits.

“What color flowers did you girls find?” Mr Walker asked of Lizzy and Emma.

“Some yellow, some pink, and some muddy.”

The table enjoyed this description from the youngest member of the group.

This covered, Frank wished to know if Mr Walker knew anything of fish and their swimming habits. Mr Walker, Frank, and Walt then had a long discussion on the subject.

Not until the meal began to wind down did Marianne say they would be having pudding on the lawn. Thrilled with this news, the children happily moved outdoors from the comfort of the dining room and the delicious meal that had been prepared. Remembering to express their thanks, they trailed after Marianne as though she were blowing a flute.

“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.