He stood in the study looking at the view of Crown Hill that was his from the rectory. Turning slightly, he gazed to the fields laying quietly, awaiting a warmer, longer thaw. Several days had passed since the night of the wind storm. With it had come warm, unseasonably warm weather. The ground had dried and was no longer sodden. Some silly bushes were setting buds. Edward knew this would not last and that those bushes would be disappointed by the next freeze, but who was he to argue with the natural inclination of the shrubbery. It seemed fitting. The creation always running ahead of the greater, determining forces of God. This brought his thoughts back to Dr. Abernathy. A man determining his own fate before the last of the story is written. We all endeavor to force the hand of God at times, though most not with such finality and overt rebellion, he lamented. As a man trained in the orthodoxy of the Church, he was angered by this blatant contempt for life. The man who was the Doctor's friend was mourning his own blindness to the truth of the situation. He knew he could not force Abernathy to see reason, but he hoped he could turn his mind to other conclusions about the purpose of his suffering. Edward had been watching for Dr. Abernathy, but he had not come to the rectory or been seen much in town. He determined that if he had not heard from the Doctor in another day, a call to his residence would be in order. How to begin a conversation of the nature they would be having was still a puzzlement to Edward and he had meditated upon it quite often.

This morning, having closeted himself in his study, the Reverend thought and prayed on many matters, such as; the Doctor and his brother's dilemma and waiting to hear word as to Mrs. Lowell's arrival in Bristol and arrangements for the special license which would enable her and Junkins to marry quickly and more having to do with parish business. During the weekly visit to the rectory, his curate, Mr. Robert Cooper, had begun to hint that perhaps the Reverend Wentworth was too distracted by family matters to faithfully care for the sheep of His flock. Thinking back on the short, but discomposing interview made Edward mutter to himself, Perhaps Mr. Cooper should consider a circuit, I am well able to think of nine or ten parishes, all to which I would enjoy sending him. When the position of curate was offered to Cooper, he had taken it with gratefulness, now it seemed, that he was willing to bite the feeding hand. Ah . . . such is the inclination of man, he thought.

As Edward mused about Mr. Cooper, a soft knocking at the door roused him. He rose and went to the door, expecting it to be Catherine. Opening the door, he found it was not his wife. To his surprise, he found Mrs. Graham. "There's a Mr. Pultney to see ya sir." She curtsied and left.

Edward expected to see Mr. Thomas Pultney, the proprietor of the Dove and Quail Inn, instead, there stood his son, Joseph. Joseph was the young man Edward had engaged to clean the rectory stable. Since Frederick's coming though, his income was off. Out of orderly habits and not a little boredom, the Captain cleaned the stables, nearly every day. While Joseph's pay had not been much, it had been enough to make a thirteen-year-old boy somewhat important in his small group of friends.

"I'm sorry to disrupt ya, sir . . . Father sent this note to ya," he said, handing Edward the packet. Taking it, he looked at the inscription. It was addressed to him, at the rectory and in a feminine hand. He was hesitant to accept a note from a woman strange to him.

"Is this from your mother, Joseph?" he asked curiously.

"No, sir. Father just said I was to bring it straight to ya, no shilly-shallyin'," said the boy.

Edward smiled. If there was a boy in the village that would not shilly-shally, it was Joseph. "Well, such promptness deserves a reward. Here . . . ," he said as he fished about in his pocket for an appropriate bonus.

"Oh no, sir. Father said I was not to take money from the Rector. That would be a sin."

Edward chuckled, "Well, I do not believe it to be a sin." He looked through what he had. " Besides, if the workman is worthy of his wages, he should be paid fairly. Here." Handing him some coins. "I feel you are worthy of a wage, if your Father has any questions, have him speak to me after church Sunday," Edward said.

"Thank you, sir," Joseph said pocketing his unexpected prize. He turned and left, leaving Edward with the message.

Breaking the seal, he found the note to be from Mrs. Lowell. It was quite unexpected given the fact that Edward had been told he would hear from Mr. Mayhew-Jones before her arrival in Crown Hill. But, here was the note telling of her arrival in the parish and of her wish to meet. They--her cousin traveling with her and a man sent with them by family friends--had arrived earlier than anticipated. She requested that he and Mrs. Wentworth join her in one of the guest parlours at the Inn. She would request a light refreshment to be served. If there were no objections, one o'clock, Wednesday would be the time. That left him just a day to bring some order to his thoughts about how to proceed. There were questions he wished to ask and arrangements for the more formal meeting, then the wedding. Catherine had been keen on the preparations. Menus and arrangements for special viands. There was a bustling about the house that had not been before. Another change to their quiet life. A temporary change, but a change nonetheless.

After reading the note again, he studied the writing, endeavoring to make out what he could about her. The hand was lovely. Well-formed letters, straight lines and no blots or smudges. The wording was fine and to the point, though some of the terms were bothersome. It was not enough to forcefully break with the King, they were determined to begin changing even the King's English. Well, never mind that, he thought. The Mrs. Lowell presented in this piece of correspondence was refined and gracious. He was beginning to be hopeful about this whole scheme and looked forward to their meeting.

The next day dawned much as the previous. Fair and warmer than one generally hoped for in the midst of January. While the weather was nearly the same, the emotional difference in the two days was remarkable. The previous day, thoughts could be had with a certain leisure. Today, thoughts were few to be had, nerves had taken their place.

"Please hurry, Catherine. Mrs. Lowell will be awaiting our arrival." With no introduction, Edward was anxious having to meet the woman Joshua had betrothed. Having to perform that function for his friend was proving to be a new and uncharted territory for him. He was piqued that his wife seemed intent upon being late. This was the fourth gown she had been in thus far. "What is taking so long, dear. We will be quite late," he called as he forced his tense fingers to button his cuffs.

Coming in from the dressing room, Catherine was in the process of trying to arrange a tucker. Hurrying to the mirror, she said, "Nothing fits! I have put on each gown and find that all are too tight in . . . places. Look at this! Things are not . . . contained as they should be." She turned to him to show her predicament. "What shall I do, I cannot meet this woman looking as though I am . . . bread dough rising in a warm kitchen!" she wailed. She pulled the tucker from her neck and stood staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Edward stood by helplessly, commanding his lips not to smile. While he understood exactly what she was speaking of, he did not think this the time to point out he did not mind the changes that her flourishing body had, so far, brought. That was counsel best kept to himself. He moved to her side as she stood before the mirror. Things were a bit . . . ample. "Perhaps the best course would be to plead a chill and keep your wrap fastened." He frowned, her shoulders sagged as she gave him a sidelong glance. This was not a helpful suggestion.

Catherine fussed with her hair and then smoothed the gown, standing a moment, she moved back to the dressing room. Edward heard things being moved about and muttering. She called out in an exasperated tone, "Finally, something of my mother's choosing shall do me a good turn." As she came from the room, Edward saw that she had a long, rather unattractive silk scarf her mother had given to her on her birthday. It had been abandoned to the back of the wardrobe, but now seemed to have a function. Moving back to the mirror, Catherine arranged the scarf about her shoulders so it draped itself over the front of her dress, covering the . . . difficulties. "I think this will do. I shall pin it--here." A small stick pin with an enamel violets would hold her disguise together. "There, that is presentable."

"You look lovely, my dear. No one will know your secret." He smiled to himself. There is a time to speak and a time to keep silent, I think I chose rightly this time. "We should be leaving, it will take a few minutes to walk up to the Dove and Quail. I sent word we would be there promptly at one." He took one last look in the mirror at his own appearance. Neckcloth tied well, waistcoat buttoned, jacket brushed and smoothed. Black and white, just as all good clerics should be. "Come Catherine. We are as presentable as we shall ever be."

The Dove and Quail was not the only public house in Crown Hill, but it was the most respectable. The other establishment, The Boar's Nest seemed to well reflect its condition as well as its clientele. It was fortuitous that arrangements had been made at the one and not the other.

"Hello, Mr. Pultney. How is business this fine day?" Edward asked as they entered his establishment. Mr. Pultney and his wife were two of the Reverend's favorite parishioners. Not that he was to have favorites, but it was hard not to like them. They both were in the habit of listening when he preached. That could not be said of all in his flock.

"It is a good one, ain't it? Business off a bit though. Only two ladies and the fella squirin' 'em right now." He took notice of Catherine and said, "Mrs. Wentworth, it is good to see you. The misses were sorry she weren't able to greet you in services Sunday, she had a bit of beef roasting and was worried the girl would ruin it."

"Oh. I understand perfectly. Give her my regards," Catherine said politely.

"Speaking of your guests, we are here to see a Mrs. Beatrice Lowell. Her note said she had arranged for tea in the guest parlour. Do you know if she is down yet?"

"Oh! yes. The tea and all are in there. I think I saw her going in just a minute ago. Let me take you in." He stepped from around the counter and proceeded down a short hall to an open door. Glancing in, he turned to Edward and Catherine, "She's there. If you need anything, just come and tell me." He gave a small bow and went back to his work.

Edward showed Catherine into the smallish room. The furnishings were a touch worn, but quite serviceable. The room was cheery to the extreme. They assumed that Mrs. Pultney had accomplished the decorating and it was evident that her favorite colour was yellow, considering it was used so extensively. With the colour and the bank of windows which caught the afternoon sun, the room was nearly too bright to be comfortable. Fortunately, the chairs were arranged in a good fashion for conversation and would give some relief.

Edward observed a figure by the table where the tea had been placed and judged this to be Mrs. Lowell. Not knowing exactly how to go about this, he stepped forward and said, "Mrs. Lowell?" The woman turned to face the voice. Edward looked to Catherine and her to him. Mrs. Lowell was not quite what they had anticipated.

Chiefly, the woman before them could, in nowise, be the woman in the painting Joshua had shown Edward. Certainly the colouring was the same, but there the similarity ended. The painting had shown a pleasant, mild looking woman with an agreeable smile. The lady standing in the guest parlour of The Dove and Quail was neither pleasant nor mild looking. The gown she was wearing was of several seasons, or perhaps, American fashion was different to that of home. Whatever the case, the effect was of an ill-stuffed mattress, sparse in places, rather hard in others. Mrs. Lowell was not as young and slender as she had once been.

"Yea, I am Mrs. Lowell. Wha' can I do far ya?" she said with an accent quite unidentifiable. "Oh! You must be tha' curatosity or whatever i' tis they calls ya here." Mrs. Lowell extended her hand to Edward, which he took, not sure what she may be expecting him to do. Kissing her hand is out of the question! he thought, though giving her a welcoming smile. "I am Reverend Edward Wentworth, Rector of Crown Hill Parish," he said with a touch of annoyance. Surely a rector is not unknown in America, he thought.

In an attempt to show understanding of British civility, she gave a curtsey worthy of the King and all other royal personages. While rising--aided significantly by the Reverend--a definite creaking sound could be heard. This was rather alarming to Edward and he looked to his wife. She smiled broadly in his direction for she knew precisely what it was. A creaking corset is not much a surprise with a creature such as this. Catherine thought. Upon rising, Mrs. Lowell smiled widely at the couple.

Edward was still pondering the creaking when he discerned the whole of Mrs. Lowell's facial features. Apart from the doughy face and the odd tilt of her nose, her teeth presented the largest challenge to his gentlemanly demeanor. He was not certain whether it was the various angles they seemed to point or the colour which was more disconcerting. While a person's appearance is not material to the goodness of heart, there are times when propriety is strained by so many peculiarities consolidated in one face. For a moment Edward had no notion what he should do. It then came to him, he had not introduced Catherine. Turning to her, he took her arm and pulled her forward. She glared as he moved her toward the lady.

"Mrs. Lowell, allow me to introduce Mrs. Wentworth, my wife. Mrs. Wentworth, this is Mrs. Lowell." Oh heavens! What has Joshua gotten himself into? As Catherine exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Lowell, Edward composed himself somewhat.This is completely unsupportable, I cannot allow him to marry this woman. How can this be undone? Edward cried in his mind.

"Reverend, Mrs. Lowell is going to serve now." In a low, somewhat annoyed voice, she said, "Stop staring and be seated, Edward."

"Oh. Yes." Helping Catherine with her coat, he deposited her near Mrs. Lowell. He took the seat furthest from the table. He chose to study this woman. Surely, she could not be the owner of such a neat and compact hand or possess the language which composed the note he had received. This woman was obviously a fraud! This was not the woman in the picture, but more to the point--this could not be a woman with any knowledge of art, philosophy or any higher things. Watching her affected manners with the tea and the airs her vocabulary took on made it clear that Joshua was being duped. In his mind, Edward began to compose a strong letter of castigation to Jonathan Mayhew-Jones, Esq.

"Oh God, bu' the sea was rugged! We were pitched as a rough nigh' o' wooin', if ya know wha' I mean!" Mrs. Lowell said rather loudly and with a sly smile to Catherine. Catherine did indeed know what she meant and paled in response. The coarse statement drew Edward from his thoughts and placed him squarely in shock. Feeling the flush come up from his collar, he looked to his wife; who had stopped mid sip to contemplate the whether a response to such an assertion was necessary. If her colour does not return soon, we shall have an out from this grim occasion. he reasoned. This was to be an interview not soon forgotten.

Mrs. Lowell took no notice of the discomfit she had brought with her last utterance, she was busily devouring a shortbread. In the process of dipping it into her tea, she lost it. She daintily retrieved it from the cup and after popping it into her mouth, carefully licked her fingers. By this point, neither Edward nor Catherine were able to contribute much to the conversation. This did not seem to slow Mrs. Lowell. Her narrative was long, colourful and illustrated with hand gestures.

The interview had been in session for nearly a half an hour, when a younger woman entered the room. She stood for a moment, obviously awaiting an introduction by Mrs. Lowell. With an ill-bred wave, she was motioned to a small sofa by the tea table. The woman served herself and sat.

Edward was desperate to free himself from Mrs. Lowell's boisterous commentary on a winter sea voyage and began to study the younger woman. He was astonished at her beauty. Dark hair neatly arranged. Fair complexion. Deep brown eyes with nicely arched brows. The two women were antipodal to one another. While Mrs. Lowell was rather frightful in costume and manner, this woman in a simple dark gown, was obviously well bred and pleasant and mild . . . He began to feel a gross error had taken place and he had been its primary instigator.

Taking advantage of a break in the conversation--of which there had been few thanks to Mrs. Lowell, Edward asked, "Mrs. Lowell, would you be so kind as to introduce my wife and I your companion?" It was rather indelicate of him to press this point of courtesy, but it was obvious that if an introduction were left to Mrs. Lowell, it would not occur.

"Oh! This i' my cousin by marriage, Mizes Bea Lowell." Turning to her, she said, "Show t'ese lovely folk some manners Be'trice, give a proper hallo."

The second Mrs. Lowell gracefully rose from her seat and came to stand before Catherine. Catherine was still reeling from the previous conversation and was struggling to rise for the introduction. "Please, do not get up, Mrs. Wentworth. The pleasure is mine." She curtseyed properly and moved to face Edward. He had risen and was ready to greet the genuine Mrs. Lowell.

"Mrs. Lowell, I am Reverend Edward Wentworth. It is a pleasure to meet you, finally." He took her hand and bowed. She acknowledged this with a curtsey. By the amused smile on her face, Edward knew that she was looking forward to explaining the confusion.

"The pleasure is mine, Reverend. Mr. Junkins has regaled me with some of the stimulating discussions in which the two of you have engaged. I am hoping you will continue to be such a foil to him. A good mind needs counterpoint." Edward was impressed with her poise and manner. Now this was a woman who could captivate his friend and bring an end to years of loneliness.

Beatrice Lowell turned to the other Mrs. Lowell and said, "Dear Cousin Humility, I dare say, you should be enquiring after your trunk. It must still be packed and loaded. Three o'clock will be upon us before you know."

"Sweet Mother! I fergo' the time!" She rose, sloshing tea and crumbs down her front. Setting the cup and saucer hard on the table, she fairly ran from the room. Stopping, she turned and said, "I' wa' lovely ya come ta visit," and she was gone.

The entire room sighed in relief at the absence of the first Mrs. Lowell. The second Mrs. Lowell spoke. "I am sorry for the confusion. My cousin and I sharing the same last name has caused difficulties before. It does not help that she is somewhat . . . lacking in social acumen." She turned to face Catherine. "Again, I apologise, especially to you Mrs. Wentworth. I was not present for all of her . . . account of things. But, I am certain, by the expression on your face, she was rather . . . indelicate." Catherine smiled her thanks.

"Mrs. Lowell," began Edward. "I feel that I am chiefly to blame in all of this. I neglected to specify 'Beatrice' Lowell. Had I done that, this entire . . . misadventure could have been avoided." Edward felt rather embarrassed about the mistake, but not nearly as he was for enduring the chronicles of Humility Lowell. The lady went on to explain that Humility Lowell was a cousin to her late husband and that this was a grand adventure to her. She had seemed not to notice that Beatrice Lowell was coming for much more serious reasons.

"Well . . . perhaps we should each take for ourselves a just portion of blame and leave the rest to my cousin. She is of the mind that most visitors are clearly for her and does not take the effort to ascertain their true intent. As you saw." She motioned for Edward to be seated again and took the seat vacated by her cousin.

"So, Mrs. Lowell. From your cousin's account, the trip over was anything but easy. A winter crossing is always harsh," he said.

Mrs. Lowell smiled, "While my cousin no doubt embroidered a bit, the crossing was difficult. And as I recall from Mr. Junkins, you might know this from experience?"

Edward was a bit uneasy that she would know much of him personally and he knew nothing of her. "Ah . . . yes. I sailed for a few years when I was much younger. Though I prefer dry land."

Mrs. Lowell laughed lightly, "Yes, I understand completely. I preferred to be aland and help at the lighthouse and watch the sea rather than to be upon it." She looked toward Edward for a moment. Coming to a decision, she spoke, "You look at me intently, Reverend. I suppose this is because of the picture you have no doubt viewed of me."

Edward was taken aback that she broached the matter so directly. But, since the subject had been opened, it was time to pursue it. "Yes. I have seen the portrait and while the woman in it is well-looking, it is not you."

Catherine, never having seen the painting was surprised and watched with interest the exchange between the lady and her husband.

"No. She is my sister, Grace. I sent her picture on purpose." Mrs. Lowell rose and poured more tea as she spoke. "I suppose you think that to be a fraud. I know it is." She looked at Edward. "I was afraid that Mr. Junkins would become . . . daunted if he were to see me truly." She turned and replaced the pot. Regaining her seat, she continued, "Mr. Lowell was a good man, but was jealous. Much of his affinity for the solitude of lighthouse keeping had to do with my appearance. I married him in rebellion, but came to love him so, I endured the isolation." She shifted in her chair, obviously not used to speaking on this subject. "When I came to know Mr. Junkins feelings for me, knowing what mine had become, I determined I would not lose him to a trick of fate which gave me beauty and him . . . deformity." There was silence for quite some time. Catherine looked to Edward, wondering what he would have to say to this confession.

Edward gazed in his empty cup. He was not sure what to say. It was not common for beautiful women to make themselves less in the eyes of a man. "What do you think he will have to say when the two of you meet? Do you not think it will be . . . disconcerting for him to realise you are not the woman he expected?" he said. While he was sympathetic to Mrs. Lowell's argument, he also remembered his friend, a man who had taken weeks of anguish just to allow him to see his marred face. What kind of turmoil could this bring to him?

"To be honest Reverend, I am hoping Mr. Junkins to be merciful. To see that I have left my country of birth, my family and endured a frightening voyage on the sea to come to him. All I can covet is his desire to be my husband, that that will override any insecurity." She spoke with warmth and emotion. Any doubt that Edward may have harboured about her feelings for his friend were waning quickly.

"Your appearance will be a shock to him. But perhaps more from gazing upon a picture of another woman, rather than fear of your personal charms." Edward laughed lightly, "I dare say that this will be the first time I must prepare a man to accept a woman prettier than he expected."

"Thank you Reverend Wentworth. I know you do not approve of the shame, but I am glad you are able to see my . . . dilemma," she said. Her countenance did not significantly lighten after this reassurance. She seemed to still be troubled. Opening her mouth once, as though she were going to speak, but then choosing not to, she sat quietly and appeared to be meditating with intensity. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she said, "Forgive me. I was attempting to decided whether or not I should be so presumptuous as to ask a particular question." Her words were halting and Mrs. Lowell was obviously hesitant to ask.

Edward felt that if there were questions which would affect the outcome of this entire scheme, he wanted them in the open where they could see the light of day and have reason applied, rather than remaining in the dark where private plaguing would torment. "Mrs. Lowell, allow me to assure you, any question you have will be answered to the best of my ability. If I cannot give assurance in the matter, I will endeavor to find one who may."

Mrs. Lowell rose from her seat. Turning, she went to the window and stood in the bright sunshine. The warmth of it seemed to give her the confidence to proceed. "Rector, I do not wish you to think me proud or conceited. You have pointed up the fact that my appearance is most likely going to cause my husband . . . a surprise, I find myself . . . beginning to be . . . concerned about his looks." Catherine saw her posture slacken. She had been so straight and tall, now her shoulders seemed to bear a great weight. It had taken much to admit that fear was beginning to creep to her thoughts. Coming back to her seat, Catherine could see the tears and fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief to give her. "Thank you," she said, drying her eyes. "I am not usually given to fits as this." Looking at Edward, she continued, "I wish to love Mr. Junkins and I do love the man in the letters, but . . . Is he very frightening?"

Edward watched her a moment. The question had taken him unprepared, but it was a question which showed she was not arrogant about her own feelings. Her doubt about his features and her willingness to bare her apprehension, elevated her in his mind. An honest woman. That would serve his friend well, an honest spouse is a great partner. "Mrs. Lowell, I shall not try and make him beautiful when he is not. The burns are rather extensive and pronounced--still, after all this time. But Joshua is a man who pays them little attention and hence, you most likely will not either." Pausing to remember his own worry about the subject, he sympathised with her anxiety. "At first things will be . . . awkward, but soon enough, you will find you do not notice them. You see the marring, but it becomes a natural part of him and is not alarming any longer." As he spoke, her relief was nearly palpable. The light came back to her eyes and her shoulders straightened.

"I am afraid I was under the influence of my cousin for too long. She was insistent that he must be a horrible beast and that I would do well to forget the entire business. I feel ashamed that I allowed her views to take me over." She looked at Edward and Catherine with a weak smile. She was a strong woman, but human none the less.

Glad to be done with the matter, she turned to Catherine and said, "Mrs. Wentworth, I was noticing your pin and scarf. They are lovely. It is a comfort to know that fashion here is not so different from that of Boston." Catherine smiled and thought, If she only knew.. As she had watched this lovely creature, she had grown somewhat intimidated. Feeling pieced together and bulgy, she determined to bring herself under control. After Mrs. Lowell's confession, she found much to admire in this woman who would be the wife of her husband's dear friend.

Mrs. Lowell continued with Catherine. "I must tell you Mrs. Wentworth, it gives me ease to have a woman to welcome me." Looking to Edward with an apologetic mein. "The circumstances and reason for my coming are unconventional enough without being stranded without female contact. I hope we shall get on very well." Her look and tone were genuine. Catherine felt a bit childish for her misconstruction. "Thank you, Mrs. Lowell. I too hope we can get on well as you say."

The interview continued another half an hour. The formal meeting between she and Joshua was set. In two days time, they would meet at the rectory and they would commence toward the wedding. Near the end of their meeting, Humility Lowell made an appearance, but only to bid her cousin adieu. After hugs and farewells, she was safely aboard the coach back to Bristol. Edward and Catherine took their leave and began the short walk back to the rectory.

Edward had taken Catherine's arm as they began to walk. He enjoyed walking with her. They were nearly the same height so there was no struggling to find a pace, their strides were fairly matched. A breeze played with some loose hair about her face and he liked to see it blown against the colour in her cheek. He remembered all the to-do earlier about dresses and scarves. What an odd day this has been, he thought. Catherine's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"What do you think of Mrs. Lowell? Mrs. Beatrice Lowell, I mean?" she said with a smile.

He returned the smile and said, "I think she is going to make Joshua a good wife. She is bright and articulate. I believe they will get on well."

What Catherine had truly wanted was his opinion on her look. He did not seem to be as aware of it as she thought he might be. She decided to ask straight out. "Do you think her beautiful?"

He could not lie, she would see that. He also could not insist on her beauty, it would be faint praise at this point. "Yes, I think she is beautiful," he said as matter-of-factly as he could.

This did not satisfy Catherine. "Do you think her very beautiful?"

I wish she would let this go, I shall slip and say the wrong thing most assuredly. "I think very is a term used when comparing things. So unless I know what I am comparing her to, I do not know." He saw she was taking her time in thinking his roundabout answer through, so before she could speak again, he took his opportunity. "It would be as if you asked whether I thought myself handsome. I would say, a feeble ' yes'. But if you ask if I am handsome in comparison to Frederick, I would have to say, 'not as much as he'." He glanced over to see how she was interpreting all this. She was smiling so he knew her to be catching his other meaning as well. "Now, if you were to ask me if I thought myself handsome in comparison to . . . the Admiral, I would say I have a chance to come out the winner in that. Though I am certain, my sister would not agree." He held her hand tighter. "I think Mrs. Lowell will make Joshua a beautiful wife, and that is about all the thought I have given the matter."

"I understand. I shall not pursue in this. I think she is beautiful. And, I think you are more handsome than your brother." She held his arm firmly to emphasise.

He laughed aloud. "Yes! Yes! And all these lines about my eyes and the graying hair certainly contributes to my attractiveness." Neither of them said anything for the rest of their walk. It was nice to listen to the crunching of the carriageway beneath their feet and feel the sway of one another as they walked.

Frederick was finishing up his letter to Harville. Sealing it, he laid it upon the desk. He had asked direct questions about Miss Musgrove and had made it clear that he needed answers quickly. His trust in Harville was complete. They had been through too much together to doubt now. Leaning back in the chair, he wondered how long it would be until this dreadful waiting would be over. He was calculating the days for a post, to and back from Lyme, when he heard Edward and Catherine in the hallway, coming to the study. He picked up the letter and put it in his waistcoat.

" . . . I do not mean to be uncharitable, my dear. I am merely saying that the woman was low and I cannot imagine spending all those weeks at sea in her company. Mrs. Lowell has my admiration for her tenacity," Edward said as they came into the room. Catherine went to one of the chairs and Edward turned to go to the desk. He startled when he saw Frederick. "Good God! Frederick, you just took a year off my life!" He stood a moment, deciding not to say something to the effect that he did not have that many good ones left. These quips seemed to bother Catherine lately and she was in a queer mood as it was.

Frederick stood and vacated the chair for his brother. "I had no intention of frightening anyone, just sitting and thinking. By the way, how did the meeting with Mrs. Lowell turn out? From what I heard, she is tenacious?"

Edward quickly explained the muddle of identities when they first arrived at the Inn. He told about Humility Lowell and all her peculiarities. Several times Frederick laughed out loud, picturing not so much the lady, as the reactions of his brother and sister. When the subject of the second Mrs. Lowell came to the fore, Edward became quiet. He did not wish to stir Catherine's sensibilities about the woman's look.

Frederick had taken the chair next to Catherine. He rose, knelt before the hearth and stirred the fire, then sat back down and asked, "Well, Edward, you said you had seen a portrait of the woman, was the artist kind or true to Mrs. Lowell?"

He hesitated. "Neither. The portrait I saw was not her." He fiddled with some string he found in his desk drawer and absently began to untangle it.

"That does not bode well, if she will not send a true rendering of herself."

Catherine had kept her peace as she watched this exchange. It would be interesting to hear what Edward would say next.

As he continued with the string, Edward said, "She is actually a very . . . handsome looking woman." He knew his wife would be measuring each word.

"Handsome! Edward be honest!" Catherine cried. Turning to Frederick, she said, "She is the most striking woman I have ever seen. Without any powder or paint, she is beautiful. Not only that, she is very charming. Very warm and engaging. I liked her very much. Would you like some tea, dear?" Edward gave a distracted, 'yes' and kept at the string. "Would you like something Frederick?" she asked.

"Yes, I think I would. Thank you."

"I shall return shortly," she said, hoping they did not discuss anything too interesting in her absence.

Frederick watched Edward twiddle with the string for a moment, then he asked, "Well, which is it?"

His brother looked up from the sting and said, "Which is what? I do not understand."

"You say the woman is handsome and Catherine says she is striking. Those words do not evoke the same picture in my mind. So . . . which is it, handsome or striking?"

Edward put down the string and rising from the chair, closed the door. "You will not--in the presence of my wife--hear me say that Beatrice Lowell is undoubtedly, the most beautiful woman I have yet to see. In the presence of my wife she is well-looking, handsome, possibly even pretty. But not beautiful. I shall leave it to Catherine to praise her loveliness."

Frederick looked amused at this simultaneous admission and disavowal of the lady's beauty. He had begun to notice that marriage, for a man, involved much walking of a fine line. He also noticed that marriage, for a man, brought a good deal of contentment. At least it had for his brother. The thought came suddenly to him that one way or the other, he would most likely be married soon. Feeling the letter through his waistcoat, he knew this to be the beginning of his finding in which direction he would be pointed.

July__18__
. . .As you asked in a past letter, I observed the plants and flowers near my home and will endeavor to be a faithful word painter for you, Mrs. Lowell. The roses have begun to bloom. Some are left from my mother's time, others I have established. The bush types are mostly red and pink, though the climbers are white and very fragrant. They have extended themselves over the rear door, and I find myself-- just to catch the scent--exiting more in the rearward, particularly in the morning when the sun is full upon them. The smell and the sound of the bees are quieting to my heart and refreshing to my spirit. Such are the plants which surround my home. The perennial garden is mostly up. The lady's mantle is beautiful this year. The astilbe has suffered for the rain, but the geraniums have done well. The lavender hedge is spreading out of its bounds and must be divided next year. I trimmed the boxes and yews. All in all, I find my home is tres belle. My command of French has now been exhausted. From the upstairs window I have a prospect of wildflowers which I find wondrous. As the evening breezes blow, the waves undulate and bring to mind what surely must be the movement of the sea. Fortune's Mount is a knoll nearly four miles from home. The brilliant greens of spring have quieted to deep, but still are glorious. We experienced storms two nights ago which brought havoc to my hay. The heads were near bursting and I was preparing to cut, now I must let it to dry and pray it may be brought in before another storm. Such is the lot of the farmer . . . ~~

 

September__18__
. . . As I waved the Reverend away, I again experienced that queer feeling of loneliness. For one used to being alone this is new to me and I owe it to allowing him to come at all. I find that I am ever more craving his company. I hesitate to tell this, but there is another's company I find I crave. That is you. I find I love you, Beatrice. I have discovered myself imagining the sound of your voice and the look of your eyes when I read your letters. Our correspondence has never been quite proper from etiquette's view, but perhaps it could become so. I wish you to consider a question--could you be married to me? This is, no doubt, a surprise to you, as it is to myself. Since opening myself to the broader world through the Reverend, I am desirous of more than I have allowed in the past, and I believe that to include a wife. Consider carefully. I desire you to be my wife, but not at the expense of your peace of heart. If this is not at all possible, then I fear that I shall need to end the letters. You have become dear to me and I do not believe I could return us to the place of polite acquaintance. I hope, on further consideration, you find, as I, that we have become more to one another than amiable connexions. I shall be awaiting your answer.

 

~~

 

November __18__ . . . The first of you possessions have arrived. I was most surprised to open the kitchen crate and find Blue Willow. I chose it many years ago myself. It originated at a pottery works here in Shropshire and I felt I was being loyal to a fellow of the district, now I think I was only following a leading of Providence. Or do you think me fanciful? As I have counted, we now have settings for twenty-seven. Our circle of friends will need expansion to exhaust our tableware. I look forward to the end of January with an anticipation which the month itself does not deserve. This will be the last letter, I calculate, which will reach you before you set sail. Godspeed, my dearest. I will have all arranged for our meeting by your arrival. I pray the All Mighty's protection and care over you, my bride.

 

~~

 

Beatrice gazed from her window to the skeletal garden of the inn. There were only blackened remains of astilbe and lady's mantle as Mr. Junkins had described them in the letter from nearly a year ago. There were bright red hips on the roses, but without the scent and bees he told of, they were not appealing either. While she knew it to be ridiculous, she could not overcome the melancholy. Since being in England, first Bristol, there had been nothing but dark skies and rain. A few days of sun and dry since her arrival in Crown Hill had sunk under the weight of the leaden haze. Home in winter was cold but bright. White clouds or sun. Here dark and drear. There, snow and ice. Here, sodden leaves and brown. Could all this barren scape truly become green and alive in the spring? Her learned mind knew it would, her ardent self had seen her new home as vivid and lush. Her disappointment with the landscape only masked the true fear of her heart. Could she have done the same with the man she had come to marry? Could he be all she had vested him with? Of course she had overdone! No man can be all she had fancied him. Words on paper were not the measure, they were too easily manipulated. Her desire to leave this room, the inn, the entire country was mounting. The letters she had brought with her, in the past, had given comfort, now they taunted her into feeling foolish at her romantic absurdity. I am meeting him face to face--today. Her stomach churned and a flush passed through her. Perhaps she could plead sickness and avoid the farce this must surely be. Suddenly, the Reverend Wentworth's words regarding Mr. Jenkins possible dismay with her deception came back to her. There is nothing to be done about it now. The boats are smoldering upon the beach. In an hour's time, she would meet the man, who said he loved her and wanted her to be his wife. As she surveyed the prospect, she could see Mrs. Wentworth coming up the street. She is early. The turmoil deepened. Oh God, what have I done?

As Catherine had set out to fetch Mrs. Lowell from the inn, her mood had not been one to match the happy occasion she imagined was at hand. The rain had returned and that did little to enliven the day. She found her favorite umbrella, the one which always hung in the dressing room, had been eaten through by an insect of some sort. That meant she must use Edward's ugly black one. Hers had been blue with a lovely bamboo handle. The handle on Edward's was painted wood. As she walked, it amazed her how she allowed small things to distract her from the larger, more important things in life. I am grumbling about umbrellas and in a few minutes, two lives will be changed forever, she chided herself. She determined to take hold of her emotions and give the occasion all her care that it deserved. Reaching into her pocket, she felt of the note and a packet of papers she carried to Mrs. Lowell from Mr. Junkins. They were his welcome to his bride-to-be. Catherine thought this romantic and knew that all things would be well at the meeting. She looked forward to seeing these two people, so in love, catch sight of one another for the first time. Her tenderheartedness was heightened by this idea. To think, we shall be part of this, she mused.

She stood before Mrs. Lowell's door and knocked. Humming to herself as she waited, she could hear movement inside the room. The door opened and Mrs. Lowell gave a weak smile to Catherine. "Come in, please, Mrs. Wentworth." She showed her a seat and said, "You are a bit early. I find I am still ordering myself."

Catherine removed her bonnet and coat. Laying them across the chair, she took the opportunity to surreptitiously watch Mrs. Lowell. Sitting and removing her gloves, she watched as the lady made no moves at ordering her physical being, so the ordering must be of her interior self. "I find myself wondering as to spring. I am anxious for it." Mrs. Lowell said this as she continued to gaze out the window.

Catherine rose and came to stand near her. "I too look to spring. This is the worst of the winter. The sky is dark, though we had a sunny respite your first days." Remembering the landscape in spring as best she could, she pointed out some of the beds and plots in their sight which would yield colour and beauty. "I know that things are bleak now, but as you become more a part of this place, it will become home. Perhaps the time of year is not so much the difficulty?"

"Perhaps not," she said hesitantly. Whatever was said to Mrs. Wentworth would, no doubt, make its way back to the Reverend and possibly to Mr. Junkins. Though she longed to confide in this woman, propriety and a bit of apprehension took hold.

"I wish to apologise to you, it was thoughtless of me to leave you alone here these past days. I allowed other matters to consume my time. I hope you can forgive me," Catherine said.

Turning back to Mrs. Wentworth, Mrs. Lowell said, "I certainly do not hold anything against you, I am certain that your responsibilities to the parish and your husband take a great deal of your time."

"They do, but that does not mean that I am excused from basic courtesies. I should have visited. Time alone, in a strange place can bring all sorts of odd things to mind," she said. Catherine was hoping that if Mrs. Lowell wished to speak now, this would open a way.

"I believe it has done that to an extent. But in thinking, I find I have, possibly, repeated mistakes I made in the past. I think it is good to examine our actions in light of what we know of ourselves. Do you agree?"

"I suppose. I think it would depend how fearful we are about the outcome of our endeavor. There are times we make the circumstance and the possible outcome much worse than they ever could be."

Mrs. Lowell looked back to the window. "Yes . . . but what if I cannot love him?" She turned and faced Catherine.

"Because of his face?"

"Partly. There are things about a man that a letter cannot tell."

"And there are things that only correspondence can tell. You have a good beginning with Mr. Junkins. More than most who marry. I do not think you are doubting more than most ladies before they wed. " She came closer to the woman's side. "He gave me this for you," she said, handing Beatrice the letter and the packet. "I do not know what he has written and I do not know what is in the package, but I hope they will ease this fear you are having." As Catherine gathered her coat and things, she said, "I shall await you downstairs."

She held the letter for some time. Most likely this would contain sweet words of endearment, he telling her of his happiness and how forward he is looking to their life together. Though these were merely guesses on her part as to the contents of this letter, what other could they be? The other parcel was so light, she could not begin to know the contents. Opening the seal of the letter, she began to read;

My dearest Beatrice,

I covet your forgiveness of my forward manner of address. Though we are to marry, the thing has not taken place and perhaps I have not the right. I find myself in an untenable situation. I am installed with the Reverend Wentworth but a quarter mile from you. The time I have anticipated with more eagerness than any in my life, thus far, is near, but yet I am apprehensive. All preparations to this point have kept me employed and distracted. With our meeting now at hand, I realise that you have given up much to come to me. I have risked nothing in all this. You must come to me freely and with full faith that you have chosen rightly. The packet I have given Mrs. Wentworth to deliver should accommodate such liberty. If we do not meet, please know that I love you, no matter the outcome.

J. Junkins

Laying the letter upon a small, nearby table, Mrs. Lowell unwrapped the packet. In it, she found a fifty-pound note, a letter of credit drawn on a Bristol bank and a letter to Jonathan Mayhew-Jones, Esq. instructing him to give Mrs. Lowell any aid she may require in returning to America.

She sat in the chair Mrs. Wentworth had vacated, laid her head on her arms and cried.

The saga continues.

"Old man, please stand still. I realise that having this torture device wrapped and tied round the neck is disconcerting at best, but it must be done," Frederick said as he accomplished the task of gentlemen's gentleman. "There! I told you that the third time would get it." Never again would he take for granted the importance of stillness when it came to matters of dressing.

Why do men submit to this scourge? Joshua said, indicating the neckcloth.

Frederick chuckled. Believing that every man has posed the same question at one time or other, and that there has never been an answer given, he said, "Why does the Sphinx smile? No one knows. I submit only so I may sail." He bent to button the sides on the breeches. "Mothers hand us the first one, teach us to tie it and we are doomed from then on, my friend." Straightening, he looked from behind Joshua into the mirror. Catherine had cut his hair the evening before. Frederick was impressed with the cut, considering part of his scalp, behind his left ear was merely a scar and had nothing in the way of hair. She had finessed things to cover this and now he looked quite good.

"Do you think she will have me?" The look upon Joshua's face bespoke some doubt.

"I dare say she had decided to 'have you' when she boarded the ship." Frederick was rather proud of his ability to understand Joshua. They had spent much of the previous day together and the Captain thought that he detected an improvement in the man's articulation. Either Mr. Junkins had been drilling in anticipation of his meeting with Mrs. Lowell or Frederick's ear was becoming more attuned to his speech. Whichever it might be, the time they had spent together had been pleasurable.

Edward entered the room, smiling at what he saw. "You look wonderful, Joshua. I think Mrs. Lowell will be very impressed." He stood looking at his friend and smiled to his brother. "You missed your calling, Frederick, you should have gone into service as a valet."

"Thank you, sir," the Captain said with a generous sweep of the hand as he bowed from the waist. As he rose, he looked to Edward and smiled. They both knew that Joshua was nervous and that some levity may help to alleviate his anxiety. As Joshua adjusted his lapels, Edward and Frederick stood behind him to look at his reflection.

As they all looked into the mirror, each face represented a man in such a varied stage of his life. Edward, settled and enjoying his married life. Joshua awaiting the woman, who had consented to join with him in marriage. Frederick, a man waiting to know his destiny.

"Well, my friend," Edward said, "It is time to go down."

Edward paced in the entryway. Catherine was overdue in bringing Mrs. Lowell from the inn. Frederick and Joshua were in the sitting room. Joshua stood looking out the window which was no better than watching a pot hoping to see it boil. His brother was reading and rather oblivious to all round him. He checked his watch again and wondered what could be keeping the ladies. Mrs. Graham came and wanted to know whether to bring more tea. He told her yes and continued his pacing.

"I see them," Joshua said. His voice was unusually high, which betrayed his nerves.

"At last," Edward said to himself. To Joshua he said, "I told you they would come soon. There were no doubt last minute things to care for." Going to the door, he opened it and saw them coming up the carriageway. Catherine's countenance was smiling, but that of Mrs. Lowell was difficult for him to judge.

Making way for the ladies to enter and closing the door behind them, he said to Catherine in a low voice, "You are late. Joshua has been as a cat."

She looked to her husband. Pursing her lips and answering in an equally low voice, "It could not be helped. She was . . . hesitating. Her doubt was very strong and it was necessary to talk a bit. But the true change came after I left her to read his letter. She is somewhat short, but I nearly had to run to keep up!" Before she could say more, Edward moved to help Mrs. Lowell with her coat.

He came back to her and said, "I am sorry. I forgot that she may be as he is. Nerves are working hard today--everyone's." He said to her as he helped with Catherine's coat.

Moving to Mrs. Lowell, he offered his arm. "Mr. Junkins is in the sitting room. He is very anxious to meet." Edward noticed that her eyes were red, she had been crying at some time this morning. This was becoming confusing to him.

She smiled weakly, "I hope he is not disappointed."

Looking her directly in the eyes, he said, "There is not much chance of that." He hoped to instill some reassurance.

They proceeded to the room with Catherine following. Joshua was standing, facing the door. Frederick had set aside the book and stood close to the mantle. Tension was the chief feel of the air. Some speculated that it was from excitement, others knew it to be apprehension. Edward began the introductions, "Mrs. Beatrice Lowell, may I present Mr. Joshua Junkins. Mr. Junkins, Mrs. Lowell." He next introduced Frederick and with the formalities being done, some polite conversation on safe topics was had. Mrs. Lowell's voyage, (with no mention of Humility) the irregular weather and other benign subjects were covered. Eventually, Joshua motioned Mrs. Lowell to a settee near the fireplace. Frederick moved to stand by Edward and Catherine.

"What are we to do now? I feel quite redundant. It is certain that the two of you can watch over this well enough," he said quietly.

"I am sure you are right, but Joshua asked that you come, so here you stay," said Edward as he poured himself tea.

Catherine had been silent to this point. She was watching the couple, attempting to detect how they were progressing. To her, things did not look well. Mrs. Lowell was stiff as a poker and Mr. Junkins was subdued. "I believe that we should be seated. Standing about makes them look to be specimens in a display," she said in a hushed tone.

The couple went to the sofa near the windows and Catherine picked up a piece of embroidery she had begun, especially for this purpose, the evening before. Edward turned away from them as best he could, without looking obvious.

As Frederick stood, deciding which chair to sit himself in and pondering how long to an answer from Harville. He felt a touch on his sleeve. Turning to see Mrs. Graham, he bent to take a message. "I need the Reverend. There's a problem in the kitchen tha' requires his--tendin'."

He could not imagine what would need Edward's tendin' in the kitchen. "May I assist, my brother is somewhat--engaged."

Mrs. Graham knit her brows, looked to be making a decision and said to the Captain, "I suppose you will do. This requires a man."

This aroused his curiosity. Mrs. Graham having a problem in the kitchen needing a man's attention. This should be diverting. "I shall come," he said, placing his cup on a table and following her out. When away from the sitting room, and out of hearing, he asked, "May I ask what would require the Reverend's attention in the kitchen?"

"Yu'll sees," came the terse answer.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen, Frederick heard, before he saw the figure near the table. The song was indistinguishable, but the voice was familiar. While the Doctor's speaking voice did not sound as though he would sing a baritone, he did. The closer the Captain came to the room, he recognised the song as a rather risquÈ French ditty. He smirked knowing Mrs. Graham had no comprehension of its meaning. This was to the Doctor's advantage. As it was, the housekeeper had caught sight of him and began to move faster, saying, "I told you to stop touchin' things and leave tha' tart be!" Standing in the doorway, he observed that the Doctor seemed intent on the refreshments waiting to be served. What Frederick reckoned to be a large apple tart was the chief recipient of his proddings.

Entering the room and coming nearer to Abernathy, a whiff of brandy caught his attention and he said, "Well, Doctor. I see you have been visiting the lion's den again."

Frederick's voice distracted the man from the pastry, it also distracted both of them from Mrs. Graham. Using a large wooden spoon in her possession, she whacked Abernathy's hand. "Tha'll learn ya ta keep from my kitchen!" she said with feeling.

Dropping the fork he had been using, he turned to her and said, "Ow! Madam! There is no need to set upon me in such a fashion." Then, as though he was just sensible to Frederick's presence, he greeted his friend. "Captain! It is good to meet you again. It is nearly a month, is it not?" he said. Realising he had been rapped on the hand, grimacing he said, "Did you see what she did? I am certain that it shall be painful."

Frederick snickered to himself. Surveying his options, the one looking to be the best at this time, the rain having let up, was to remove the Doctor to the rear of the house, and walk him about to attempt sobering. "Love and courtships are not strong suits for me, but dealing with this toper, that I have experience doing." He stepped closer to Abernathy, putting an arm around his shoulders, he began to guide the man to the back door. Looking back to Mrs. Graham, he said, "Do not bother my brother, I will manage this myself."

"All I can say is, keep tha' sot from my table," she called to Frederick. To herself she began to mutter, "I canna tell what the man had hands upon and wha' is clean, this household is. . . .," and the grumbling lowered to nothing.

Meanwhile, the Doctor and Frederick were beginning their stroll about the grounds. "I am glad to find you a cheerful drunk, if you were a fighter, we would all be the worse off," he said with resignation. The rain having stopped for a bit allowed for the walking, but it had of course left the grass soaked. While the man walked rather well for being under, he had a tendency to trip over his own feet or slip on the grass and that threatened to take them both down. I do not intend to soil this suit with another fall by your muddled doings, Doctor, he thought. If it were not for the drunkenness, Frederick could nearly be grateful for this respite. He was certain that Joshua and Mrs. Lowell were quite capable of meeting and falling headlong in love, sans him. He did not need to be reminded of tender feelings and how they manifest themselves. Word of his fate was, no doubt, on a coach somewhere between Crown Hill and Lyme this very instant.

"This is not going as well as I had hoped, my dear," said Edward in a low voice to Catherine. He was endeavoring to feign inattention. His back was to the couple as they sat together by the fire. His wife was embroidering at a furious rate. She had not had an opportunity to relate all the things which she and Mrs. Lowell had conversed on before coming to the rectory. The Reverend had no idea the lady's emotions were a shambles and her heart was riddled with doubt. He could not know that Joshua was finding it difficult to reconcile the woman in the painting with the woman he saw before him. While the one was plain and the other beautiful, his feelings had been entangled by the woman in the portrait. The soft brown eyes had been those he saw when he would meditate upon their future, the woman before him had green eyes, lovely, but green. Such a small thing, but one which could distract him.

"Leave them be for the time. They must find their way in this," Catherine said as she changed the colour of her threads. "This will be awkward for a bit, but they will be well--eventually." Though, in her heart, she felt that her optimism may be a little premature.

"Where did my brother steal away to?" Edward said with an annoyed tone. If I must suffer through this, so shall he, he thought. "I shall go and hunt him up."

Having to be calm, owing to the situation, Catherine was forced to be silent as Edward rose and left her to the discomfit of the meeting. First he throws me in the way of Humility Lowell when he knows not how to proceed, and now I am to stay here and watch as these poor people muddle through this heartrending assignation. Men! She continued to embroider as she kept a watch on the couple's progress.

Edward went to the kitchen. Not having seen Frederick leave with Mrs. Graham, it was merely a guess on his part that this was the direction in which his brother had gone. Entering the room, he saw Mrs. Graham furiously chopping apples. Her intent was to bake another tart. The one which the Doctor had 'operated' upon was not presentable.

"Mrs. Graham," Edward said. She looked up from her chopping with a look that told him things were no better in the kitchen than the sitting room. He ventured forth, "Have you seen the Captain?" The only answer he received was a point--with the knife--to the rear door. "Thank you, Mrs. Graham." He went to the door, thinking, What has Frederick done to upset her, I wonder. Exiting the door, he wondered no longer. There he saw Dr. Abernathy , with Frederick half carrying him. Stopping on the back step, Edward watched long enough to know that the good doctor was in his cups and that this was a day he would be glad to see end.

Frederick saw his brother and was greatly relieved. The Doctor was falling asleep as he had done the last time the Captain had seen him in this condition. "Edward, we must lay him down somewhere. He does not look it, but he is . . . weighty."

Edward came to the other side of Abernathy, "We can put him in the stable, prop him on the stool or something such as that."

Taking a better grasp of the Doctor, Frederick looked at Edward, "We cannot . . . there is a cat in the stable."

Edward looked at him in a puzzled manner, "So what? I do not think a cat will be much disturbed by him."

Frederick rolled his eyes, "You have been out of drinking society for some time! I mean, he . . . "

Edward suddenly realized what his brother was attempting to say, "Oh! A cat. Sorry. Generally, the only cat in our stable is a genuine cat, not . . . "

"I took him in there a moment ago with the intent of doing the propping up and he let fly. I was fortunate that he was facing the other way at the time," he said. Since he had given up excessive drink, Frederick found that all the ancillary activities which accompanied it were abhorrent at best and disgusting at their worst. Most particularly . . .

"Perhaps we could put him in his rig, you could take him home and then ride back." It seemed a good plan until as they moved to the stable to saddle Frederick's horse, it began one of the downpours it had been wont to loose all day. "We shall have to take him to the house." The brothers amended course and went to the rear door. As they entered, hoisting the now drowsing doctor, they collided with Catherine, who determining she would not allow anyone else freedom from the tense situation, had come to find Edward.

"Good heavens! What has happened to the Doctor?" she cried, backing into the kitchen. Not knowing his propensity for drink, she assumed an accident of sorts.

All four were now back in Mrs. Graham's kitchen. The woman had a strong sense of duty to Mrs. Wentworth, having been with her family for years. But, lately, between the liberties the Reverend took with his wife and this farce of a tea party today, she was wondering if another situation might better suit.

Paying no heed to their locale, the rather delicate situation was explained to Catherine and the three discussed what should be done with Abernathy. It was decided he would ultimately be taken upstairs to the room Joshua would vacate upon going home. In the meantime, they would install the Doctor in the study until the couple could be distracted and the doors to the sitting room closed. This chore would, by necessity, fall to Catherine. Making their way through the narrow corridor, Edward and Frederick came to the study. Propping the Doctor in a chair, they looked to one another with the satisfaction that, at least, one part of the plan was playing out. "Now, when Catherine returns, we shall take him upstairs and deposit him in bed." He heaved a sigh and turned as he heard his wife enter the room. "Well, is the door closed and all?"

"No, there was no need." The look upon her face was enigmatical. Edward and Frederick both knew her answer was not going to be one which they wanted to hear. "What do you mean, 'No need.' We certainly cannot drag him up the stairs with them in full view of the stairway," Edward said with agitation. The day was beginning to wear.

"I mean there is no need-- they are gone."

Edward frowned and going out the door of the study, headed to the sitting room. As he crossed the entryway, he began saying, "Where could they have gone? They must be in the house somewhere." Catherine was walking quickly behind him, endeavoring to tell her view of things. "I went in and they had vanished. Their coats and your umbrella are gone."

Both came to a stop in the midst of the sitting room. Mrs. Lowell and Mr. Junkins were indeed gone. Edward looked to his wife and she, in turn, looked to him. Resigned to the fact that there was not more he could do, he turned to her and said, "Catherine, do you think this day will come to an end soon?"

"Of course it will, my dear. Unless we find ourselves in one of those tragic Greek myths where just as you think your tribulation is through, it begins--all over again." While saying this, she had taken his arm and was leaning her head upon his shoulder. As they stood there quietly, weighing whether or not to look for the misplaced couple, a rich baritone voice floated in from the direction of the study and it seemed to be singing a song in French.

The meeting continues;

Edward had done his best to explain Mrs. Lowell's dissimulation, endeavoring to put it in the best possible light. Her not wishing to intimidate him and all. While he had thought this duplicity unnecessary, he could understand how she might think him to be sensitive to his own . . . imperfections. He had long ago accepted the fact he would never be tolerable, much less handsome and had stopped wishing it could be different. A mirror to him, while certainly not a friend, was not a mortal enemy either. It was not so much that she had thought what she had, it was that she had sent that particular picture.

From the time the portrait had arrived, he had looked at it and studied it nearly every night. There were days he forced himself not to look, wanting to keep from giving it excessive devotion. He knew that no human painter could capture the God-given beauty of a woman's soul, but in his mind, this picture came very close. Now to find this face was not Mrs. Lowell. He could accept that the true face was, by anyone's reckoning, lovelier. Though, he found that the eyes of Mrs. Lowell's sister were difficult to forget . . . soft hazel brown, a few flecks of gold and almond in shape. These were the eyes he imagined looking into when they met. What he saw were green eyes, no golden flecks and the shape was more round than almond. Indeed, a small thing.

For Mrs. Lowell's part, she too thinking about eyes. While her gaze was naturally drawn to Mr. Junkins scars, they were soon put aside in favor of his eyes. They were perfectly round pools of blue with darker blue splashes floating throughout. Quite different and attracting. He had never spent much time nor paper in description of himself. He did not wish it and she had not pressed. While his disfigurement was prominent, his overall aspect was mild and had a gentleness which years of solitude had worked. The face began to conform to the man in the letters. The man who had told her of flowers and Blue Willow dishes, about a horse named after King Arthur and a home that he loved and wanted to share with her. This was the face of the man who offered her freedom from this entire state of affairs. When she had seen the money and the letters to the bank and the lawyer, she knew that he loved her more than himself and that her peace was his highest concern. The doubts had quickly faded, just as the fog on a warm, sunny morn.

The proper introductions and proper conversation had been engaged and when exhausted, she and Mr. Junkins had retired to a settee by the fireplace and began to make their way to some sort of understanding. It was awkward on both parts. Both being nervous and unsure of themselves and the other. They fumbled and struggled through halting discourse. While there had been much occurring around them, they had not taken any notice. It was fortunate since there was agitation enough for the couple.

Mr. Junkins was the first to notice they had been left to themselves.

He wrote, We are alone. They must feel we are trustworthy. He smiled, indicating a jest on his part.

She returned the smile and said, "We have been rather quiet, perhaps we have been forgotten."

Most likely.

Mrs. Lowell rose and walked to the windows. The rain had ceased and only that dripping from the roof was in sight. The sky was still leaden and dark. The fallen leaves were still brown and dull. The scene was no different at the rectory than from the window of the Dove and Quail. As she mused over the weather, she felt Mr. Junkins standing behind her. Handing her the pad he used to write upon, she read, Let us walk. The weather is not as oppressive when you are a part of it. She turned and looked at him, wondering how he could have known the directions of her thoughts.

"That would be nice, I think," she said hopefully.

Helping Mrs. Lowell with her coat and then putting on his own, he took Edward's black umbrella from the stand. Holding it under his arm, he wrote, Surely the Reverend will not mind if we borrow this?

"The loan of an umbrella, I would think, is an act of Christian charity, is it not?" she said with a bit of mischief in her voice.

Mr. Junkins smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Opening the door for her, they went out and closed it quietly behind them.

The pace was slow in deference to Mr. Junkins gait. After walking for a few minutes in silence, Mrs. Lowell could keep the question to herself no longer. "Why did you send the letter with the money and all? I am a woman who is not without means. If I wanted to leave here, it was within my power." She desired to hear the explanation from him, not to assume on her own.

Mr. Junkins handed her the umbrella and took out the notebook to write. She gently placed her hand on the pad and said, "Please, speak to me. I must learn to understand you sometime. We may as well begin now."

He stood a moment, looking at her. He closed the book and put it back in his coat pocket. Taking the umbrella, he offered her his arm. For the first time they touched. The evening before had been the first woman's touch in decades which Joshua had experienced. Mrs. Wentworth's touch had been genial and one of necessity for the haircut. This touch was quite different. Knowing that this woman had chosen to come to him and would be his wife. Knowing that they would be one in the future . . . The feeling of her touch reached through his coat and suit and jarred him clear through.

"Mr. Junkins? Are you well? Should I fetch the Reverend?" Mrs. Lowell said with concern and worry in her voice.

He roused himself, seeing her face he realized that he must look rather startling. Shaking his head, he said, No, you needn't fetch Edward. I am well. I just realized something and was a bit surprised by it. Nothing to worry over.

Mrs. Lowell bit her lip. She had only understood a few words of what he said. This would be more difficult than she had anticipated. "I understood 'Edward', is that the Reverend?" He nodded. "And I think you said not to worry, is that right?"

Yes

She smiled, "I understood that."

The rain suddenly began again in earnest. He opened the umbrella and held it over them. Handing it to her, he brought out the notebook. Perhaps, if I were to speak and write it would aid in learning my . . . patois.

"What is a patois?"

A dialect He smiled, hoping she understood his jest.

"Oh." She nodded with a half smile. "I suppose that now is not the time to frustrate ourselves. Write away." As he wrote, she pondered what an odd picture they must make, he busily writing on a pad as she held an umbrella, while they stood in a field, in a pouring rain.

When he had finished, they stood side by side as he recited what he had written. I did not know how you had arranged your finances and wished you to have, in hand, the means to leave if that were your wish.

She kept the umbrella and turned to walk some, he followed. "This morning, I was so full of doubt. I looked from the window and was nearly paralyzed with fear. Since coming here, nothing has been as I had imagined." She looked to his face. He was listening intently as they stepped over the wet hassocks in this field.

"The sky has been dark almost continually. The food is not as it is at home. And some people hearing my accent have enlightened me to the fact I am a traitor. I did wish to leave."

They came to a stile. Mr. Junkins wiped the stone step as best he could and beckoned for her to sit. Taking the umbrella, he leaned against the fence and motioned her to continue.

"Could you come a bit closer?" she asked. He looked at her with a questioning expression. Mrs. Lowell smiled, "I am not trying to be unseemly, I am merely trying to remain dry." Pointing up, he looked and saw that she was only half covered by the umbrella.

He blushed a bit and moved closer. The Reverend Wentworth did not have an inordinately large umbrella. So in order that they both remain dry, nearness to the point of touching was necessary. He stood and she sat quietly for a moment. Both very aware of the other.

Mrs. Lowell spoke what they were both thinking, "Perhaps we should walk on. Evening will be falling soon and we shall have to go in again." Mr. Junkins nodded and smiled as they began the rest of their ramble.

Mrs. Lowell went on to tell more of her apprehension and how her conversation with Mrs. Wentworth had begun to ease her mind. "But when I read your letter and saw the care you had taken to ensure me a true choice, I knew that you must be a man I could trust. A man I wished to know face to face." They walked on quietly for some time. The tattoo of the rain on the umbrella being the only sound. "You know, we are a bit strange. We know things about one another it takes many married people months or years to know. But in essence, we are strangers."

Yes, we are. He thought about the stranger's eyes he had looked into when they met. He stopped walking and turned to her. Looking intently into hers, he determined that green eyes were rather nice after all.

Looking back as intently, she asked, "May I help you find something Mr. Junkins?" She hoped that her tone of voice told him that she was not alarmed, that she, in fact, found this rather nice. There was nothing to be alarmed about with him . . . nothing at all. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself closing her eyes and allowing him a kiss.

When it was concluded, which was more shocked would be difficult to know. Mrs. Lowell had never been a woman given over to great passions and certainly not those which placed her in public making such a spectacle of herself. Mr. Junkins was not sure why he had done such a thing. For a man who had had no contact with women, the kiss had seemed to come quite naturally. Without discussion, she took his arm and they continued to walk.

I am sorry

Mrs. Lowell understood the word 'sorry'. "You needn't be sorry. We both indulged ourselves. I think, Mr. Junkins, we are not as much strangers as we might believe." Holding his arm more closely, she smiled. She thought to herself about how the morning had begun in such turmoil and doubts. Now, here she was, walking with the very man who had brought it all about and who had also been the resolution of it. Looking at the countryside now, it seemed that a little rain was rather nice after all.

Meanwhile, back at the rectory,

While Mr. Junkins and Mrs. Lowell became better acquainted, the trio back at the rectory was able to persuade the Doctor that his song was not quite appropriate for singing in mixed company or near a church. After having his only entertainment put away from him, he consented to being put to bed. After this was accomplished, Edward and Frederick joined Catherine in the sitting room to await the return of the errant pair. It was becoming dark and Catherine had begun to worry.

"Perhaps they are not together at all. What if they felt it best they not continue the meeting and left separately? Mrs. Lowell, this very moment may be at the Dove and Quail while Mr. Junkins is out only God knows where." Indicating the window, she continued, "It is darkening quickly and suppose Mr. Junkins is heartbroken and alone out there?"

Edward looked at Frederick as his wife dramatised. It touched him she was this thoughtful about a man that up until yesterday, she had only known through his conversations. But, he felt that her romantic sensibilities were too high and needed a bit of leveling.

His brother on the other hand was not giving the situation much thought at all. After putting the Doctor to bed, he had begun seriously considering why he had not had an answer from Harville. Frederick had come to the conclusion that his friend had not understood the vital nature of the correspondence and was not treating it with proper gravity. Perhaps a strongly worded express would shake Harville . . .

"Catherine, I am certain that they are together. Anywise, Joshua is not the sort of man who would go wondering the countryside in despair. I dare say, if he and Mrs. Lowell decided to part company, he would have insisted on escorting her to the inn and would have come back here to be taken home. Am I right, Frederick?" Edward said to his brother.

Since he had paid no attention to the conversation, Frederick made no answer.

"Frederick!"

"What? Sorry, I seemed to have been elsewhere. What were you saying, Edward?"

"I was talking of Joshua, and how he . . . "

As Edward began to elaborate on the topic, they both came into the entryway. They, chiefly Mrs. Lowell, were speaking in low voices. There was even a discernable laugh. Edward and Catherine and Frederick went to the door watched as the two divested themselves of hats, coats, gloves and one black umbrella. As the pair turned to go to the sitting room, they realized they had an audience.

Joshua took Mrs. Lowell's arm and said, "Good evening Edward. I am sorry we were gone so long. There was much to talk of." And walking into the sitting room, they took their former positions on the settee. The three looked rather puzzled since the last look that any of them had was one of a couple struggling to become acquainted. All could see that had been well accomplished.

As though there had been a predetermined signal, the three broke ranks, each finding an occupation. Catherine went to see about tea, Edward took a seat, opened a book on . . . infant development and child rearing (obviously Catherine's), and began studiously ignoring the couple. Frederick still felt himself redundant, but took the book he had been reading earlier and dove in. Though 'An Exegetic Treatise on Leviticus' held little promise of an exciting read.

Mr. Junkins began to write. Mrs. Lowell knew it to be something amusing as she could see the smile on his face as he scribbled.

They all are trying so hard to give us privacy, but still be proper. I feel as though we are an elephant, in the midst of the room, which everyone is trying to ignore.

Edward was truly ignoring them now, for he had gotten caught up in the book on babies and was learning quite a lot. The one observing was Frederick. Exegetics and Leviticus were indeed difficult to be absorbed by, but did provide an excellent cover to watch the exchange between this blooming couple. While he could not see what Joshua and she had written, he could guess that these phrases would become, as time went on, words which would bring back this evening and this obviously enchanting time in their courtship. In his mind, he was drawn back to a warm July night, which, but for the temperature, was much like this. Edward, in the far corner of the room, studiously ignoring him and Anne while they talked in low voices and laughed at things that were only humourous to those falling in love.

Sir Walter and Miss Elliot had been away for a fortnight to visit friends in Crewkerne. Anne had been asked by the Lady Russell to stay at the Lodge with her, but had chosen, instead to remain home, at Kellynch Hall. This had facilitated an invitation for dinner to the curate of Monksford, Mr. Edward Wentworth and his brother, the recently promoted Captain Frederick Wentworth.

Frederick had badgered his brother mercilessly concerning the evening. Only upon learning that an older lady from Anne's parish had also been invited did Edward consent. They had arrived promptly at seven. All that Edward had said the entire ride over was that he had hopes for an early evening. He was to start out for Sudcliffe Parish early in the morning and wished to get most of the ride out of the way before the heat of the day came. It was times as this which Frederick had determined that Edward possessed very little heart or soul. It amused him to think how wrong he had been. Looking back on the evening itself, Edward had shown a great deal of both.

The dinner was excellent and had gone so well. After adjourning to the sitting room, it had become clear that Anne's choice of a fourth was an excellent one. The lady had engaged in polite conversation for a short time and then had fallen soundly to sleep. Frederick was not sure whether this had indeed been Anne's plan all along, (for that would have been terribly out of her character), or if it had just been happenstance.

Whichever it was, the lady's sleeping left only Edward with which to contend. Frederick and Anne had been seated in two chairs separated by a somewhat large, hideous table that someone fancied decorative. This had been too great a distance for them, so first Anne, then Frederick had moved to a small settee near the fireplace. Again he was amused, for it seemed that all settees were positioned by fireplaces. This was the first time Anne had allowed him to hold her hand for any length of time. He remembered how small and soft her hand was in his. Though he held the rank of Commander, there was still a fair amount of manual labour which he performed and thereby his hands were calloused and hard. This had not put her off, she sat quietly as he had taken her hand and pretended to read her fortune. Some outlandish predictions about being the wife of a sailor which had made her blush and that he saw long life and happiness for her. She had then read his palm and made fun that she could not read for the callouses, but said she was sure that the owner of the hand would have great success in all his pursuits. The evening had gone on for he and Anne in that light, but somewhat intimate way. At nearly midnight, Frederick had looked up to see Edward struggling to stay awake. Remembering his journey to Sudcliffe the next morning, he had told Anne that they must be on their way. The lady had been awakened and was told what a wonderful addition to the evening she had been. As Edward had been leaving to go to the rig, he had taken Frederick aside and said, "I can give you a quarter of an hour, but no more. I must be away early in the morning." He had gone out the door leaving Frederick and Anne alone. As he thought about it now, that quarter of an hour had been an amusing time for him, to Edward, it had been less sleep and a longer day. He mused that there had always been clues as to Edward's true nature, had he only been a better detective.

Watching Joshua and Mrs. Lowell for a while longer, he thought more about the early times in his romance with Anne. These thoughts brought him naturally back to Harville's letter and how anxious he was to have it arrive. Catherine came into the room, bearing a tray with Mrs. Graham in tow bearing another. Frederick noticed that another tart had taken the place of that which the Doctor had ruined. With the bringing of tea, it was appropriate to notice the couple now and to begin conversing on various topics again.

While no one directly commented upon the obvious change in demeanor toward one another, it was apparent to all that they had come to some understandings. They stood as close together as their engagement and surroundings would allow. Already, they were speaking as couples do, yielding to one another as the conversation demands. Joshua would write and she would speak, always looking to him for correction in thought if necessary. There was generally no need. As with all parties, the food was served and the original large knot of guests formed other, smaller groups.

Edward had gone upstairs to check on the Doctor. Catherine and Mrs. Lowell were installed upon the sofa near the windows and Frederick found himself back in his usual chair with Joshua in its mate, next to him.

"Things seem to be . . . progressing." Frederick said as a statement rather than a question. That way there was no need for more than a polite nod if Joshua did not wish to elaborate. He watched as colour came to his friend's face and he knew that there would most likely be little enlargement of his assertion. Since Mr. Junkins had proven, in the past, to be rather good at probing and extracting previously unspoken things, Frederick chose to employ some of the same tactics in the direction of his friend. Removing a piece of paper from his breast pocket, he handed it to Joshua. As he took it, Frederick said, "Do you remember the conversation you and I had the day after our first meeting?" Joshua nodded as he read the paper. Recognising his own hand, he smiled. It was not difficult to guess where the Captain was going with all this. The note was one which he had written to Frederick when he had come alone to visit;

Do not be embarrassed. Because of circumstances, I shall never know intimately of what you speak. I do know as my family began to leave me, I felt scattered and undone. Pieces all over. I wanted to die. I tried to die. God would not allow it. I began to see I had reasons to live. Not the love of another human, but God. He has kept me these long years. Then, He brought Edward to be my friend, now you. Frederick, remember, love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Even when we are in a tangle.

"It would seem, that in light of our present company, this was a sham, Mr. Junkins. You had all this at a full boil and yet you made me believe that you would always be alone." Smiling at Joshua's look of resignation, he continued, "Well, have you a defense? Especially for using the Scriptures to deceive me?"

Joshua folded the paper and handed it back to Frederick. He seemed to hesitate and then took out his notebook and began to write. Finishing, he handed the pad to the Captain. He scanned it and said, "Fair enough."

The note had read;

I had no guaranty that she would come to me until this very afternoon. I thought it best to keep to myself. I am sorry I deceived you, my friend.

Handing the pad back, he said, "No matter. I am happy for you. The two of you seem to be enjoying one another's company and becoming better acquainted. That will go far in making a good marriage." He sat quietly, taking pleasure in the good fortune of his friend. He mused that the joy of a friend could, for a awhile, obscure one's own concerns. He was brought out of his thoughts by Joshua handing him his pad.

Have you heard anything of Anne?

"Not directly of her. Though I am waiting to hear from a friend about a situation which, if freed from, could allow me to . . . attempt making amends with her."

Frederick handed back the pad and Joshua said, Miracles do occur. He pointed to himself and to Mrs. Lowell across the room.

The Captain smiled and nodded. "They certainly do."

Edward returned from upstairs and motioned for Frederick. "The doctor is still asleep and the rain is not easing. I think it best that Joshua stays the night again. In the morning, the doctor should be rested and we shall at least have light to take Joshua home by. I am certain that he will not object to escorting Mrs. Lowell to the inn. That leaves us one difficulty."

"And what might that be?"

"If the doctor stays in Joshua's room, where do we put him? Unless, of course, you would not mind sleeping in here on the sofa and he could have your room?" Edward's look was hopeful. His only objective for the rest of the evening was to make things settled and go to the quiet of his own bed.

"As I recall, you made it clear that this sofa is very uncomfortable." The temptation to sport with his brother was more than he could overcome. "I am not sure that my back could take the strain." Keeping his countenance grave was difficult.

Edward was too tired for play. He was not even sensible to the jest of his brother. He took Frederick's comments as just one more, of a long line of impediments which had been visited upon them that day. "All I can tell you, my boy, is good luck. I shall leave you to seek out your own accommodations, my mind is close to a full stop."

Jest is no fun without someone to play along. Frederick smiled and said, "I was fooling with you, Edward. I would sleep in the stable . . . well perhaps not the stable, but anywhere else you deem fit. Go and eat, that should help your brain to begin moving again."

"So you are having a bit of fun at my expense? Being nearly done in, I am not very perceptive. Perhaps having something to eat would help energise this sluggish grey matter of mine. I think breakfast was the last meal I had." Turning into the sitting room, Edward moved to the trays and began to fill a plate. "Thank you, Frederick, for helping Joshua this morning and dealing with the Doctor and all. Your being here has lightened the load considerably." Joshua had moved a chair near the ladies and that left the brothers to themselves. After taking a few bites, Edward felt more as himself and said, "Have you heard from Harville yet?"

Frederick was puzzled. He had told no one of the letter or of its content. "How did you know of a letter to Harville?"

Edward smiled, "You wrote at my desk and left three sheets of writing paper with partial letters scribbled upon them. I read them to see if I was tossing out my sermon or something else I may have worked long and hard upon. Anywise, have you gotten word?"

"No. I am nearly convinced that he is not aware of the urgency in this matter. I am contemplating an express with a bit stronger language."

Edward looked at him and shook his head. "Before you go off half cocked and say things that will need to be amended later, wait a bit. You know how the post can be this time of year. Washed out roads, hard rains, not to mention the usual thefts and misdirections which naturally occur. Harville is not ignorant. He knows this is important. Give him the benefit of the doubt, after all, he is your good friend." He began eating again, hoping to gain a bit more strength for the rest of the evening.

"You are right, Edward. Harville would not purposely put me off. Most likely, something as you said has come to pass which is not in his control. I am allowing my sensibilities overrule my better judgement." He took a drink of tea just for something to do. Merely speaking of the letter made him restless.

The rest of the evening progressed well. Joshua most definitely did not mind escorting Bea home. It gave him an opportunity to be near her again, minus all the chaperones.

The Doctor did not awaken until morning, showing no signs of his drinking bout other than an aching hand and a dry mouth. He was exceedingly embarrassed to find himself in another's bed and home. Edward hoped that this would begin an understanding on Dr. Abernathy's part and make guidance from him more desirable. The Doctor took himself home, promising to leave the drink alone. Perhaps the mortification of his visit would make that a promise he would keep.

Frederick took Joshua home in the gig. The Captain allowed his friend to drive since it was mentioned a rig of some sort would need to be bought so the Mr. and Mrs. Junkins would be able to ride out together. He did well enough. Frederick had seen worse driving in his own family. Practice would help.

The next few days were quiet. A coach was hired to take them all to Joshua's for dinner one evening. Mrs. Lowell was happy to find a husband-to-be who was adept in the kitchen. She was given a tour of the house and grounds, such as they were. Plans were spoken about and suggestions made for improvements. Catherine and Edward had been separated from the other two, coming around a corner of the house, they came upon the couple kneeling by a flower bed, digging in the leaf litter. Mrs. Lowell, straightening and brushing her hands on an apron she had snagged in the house, explained that Joshua had found their relationship had been much like the plants in the bed. She stood, and said, "We looked much like this bed, not much here and without beauty. Eventually though, the colour has come to the surface."

Edward smiled at his friend, "You are a poet, Joshua. I hope you enjoy that active mind of his, Mrs. Lowell. I do not believe it ever stops."

Turning and looking to Joshua, she said, "I think an active mind will suit me quite well."

The day of the wedding dawned dark and rainy. It had no influence on the participants. The lady and gentleman desired a quiet affair and were not willing that Edward and Catherine should mark the event in any way. No breakfast, no tea, nothing. They wished merely to be joined and to go home. Go to their home. Seeing as how social custom had not been paramount in the whole of the courtship, Edward reasoned that it would be out of place now. He had performed the vows, Catherine and Frederick had witnessed, and it was finished.

After Mr. and Mrs. Junkins had left the church for home, Edward went to his study and closed the door. Sitting in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. It was over. The deed was done and both parties seemed very pleased. Perhaps there would be some peace now.

He heard the door open, without opening his eyes, he knew it to be Catherine. She came up behind him and kissed the top of his head. "The post has come." He heard it being placed on the desk. Opening his eyes a very little, he could see that his wife was in a fair way to be surprised. Catherine was leaning over his legs to place the post and in one movement, Edward put his legs down and pulled her into his lap.

"Well, look what has fallen into my lap," he said with mock surprise. He looked at her and smiled contentedly. Closing his eyes, he just held her and listened to her heart. If only moments such as this lasted.

"Fell, indeed. If the parish only knew how . . . romantic you are, they would be shocked. Speaking of shocked, did you think that the Junkins' kiss was a bit long?" she said with a small frown.

Edward laughed. "I think they are married now and may kiss as long as they choose. I was glad to see it. Not being sure at their first meeting if the entire thing would come off at all, a long bride's kiss is a small price to pay." He held her closer.

They sat like that for a while. The events of the past few days draining away and being replaced with the quiet of themselves. No one and nothing needing their attention. No demands on time or mind.

"You know, as lovely as this is, dinner must still be planned and I must do my accounts and there are things which require attention about the house," she said, not making a move to go.

"That is true. Life goes on. Perhaps we could retire early this evening. How would that be?"

She smiled, "I think that will do nicely." He helped her from his lap. "Now to find Mrs. Graham and plan dinner. Do not forget to sort the post," she said as she left the room.

"Sort the post," he murmured to himself. He began looking through the packets. He found nothing which required his attention directly. All could wait to another time. There was one for Frederick. It looked as though it had ridden outside the entire way. He saw several cancellation marks and thought it must be from a naval friend without a good address. It had finally caught up to him. Edward began to lean back in his chair, when, hearing someone in the hallway, he rose to see if it might be his brother. Seeing that it was, he called, "Frederick! You have a post."

"From whom?" he asked anxiously.

"You are quite able to read for yourself! Actually, I cannot tell--catch!" Edward tossed the letter to his brother. It made a slow arc and landed, face down at his feet.

Frederick's heart began to race and he felt his hand shake from apprehension. He bent and picking up the letter, he turned it face up. The return address was marked---Uppercross.

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