The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (42 page)

“Good morning, Mr. Raleigh,” the vicar replied, not quite meeting his eyes. It was the first time he had spoken to Jonathan since his visit to the
Bow and Fiddle
, and it was painfully obvious that the man took no pleasure in being in his company. Jonathan moved several feet aside as the man strode to the front of the classroom. He was a commanding presence, and even the new students seemed to sit a little straighter. “And good morning to you, students.”

“Good morning, Vicar Phelps,” they replied with a fair degree of unison.

“Let us bow our heads for prayer.” The vicar prayed for the children, that they would learn much during the coming school year, but that they would also remember that knowledge without godly wisdom always led to folly.

He smiled then and relaxed his posture, causing the students to do the same. He gave an inspiring little sermon on how Daniel practiced his faith even knowing it would lead to the lions’ den. “He cared more about pleasing God than protecting his life, and God gave his life back to him.”

Even Jonathan found himself engrossed in the story. He had heard of Daniel and the lions as a boy, but the story had never meant anything to him until he came to faith himself. Now he was in awe of such courage. He doubted he would have the same fortitude if put to the same tests Daniel or any of the great biblical heroes had faced, and it made him ashamed. Perhaps Vicar Phelps was right about his lack of character after all.

He realized his thoughts were drifting and turned his attention back to the sermon.

“Was Daniel afraid of being put in the lions’ den?” the vicar was asking. There were almost unanimous negative shakes of heads save one of the brothers with straw-colored hair. That one nodded until noticing that he was alone in doing so, then switched to headshaking like the others.

“Then does having strong faith in God mean you’re
never
afraid?”

Now only half answered in the negative. The other half looked unsure, glancing at Jonathan for help. Jonathan couldn’t provide any, as he was caught up in wondering that same thing himself.

The vicar smiled at the students, as if he realized he was making them too anxious to risk an incorrect reply. Softening his voice, he said, “I’ll ask you one more question that may help us understand how Daniel might have felt. Some of you older students will know the answer. Was Jesus Christ afraid to go to the cross?”

Aleda Hollis, seated again in her desk, was the first to raise a hand. “Yes, sir,” she replied.

“How do you know that, Miss Hollis?”

“Because of how He prayed in the garden the night before.”

“Very good. So it’s possible that Daniel was afraid of the lions?”

The nods this question produced were finally confident and enthusiastic.

“Then why do we always speak of Daniel’s great courage?” the vicar asked.

A silence settled in the room as thirty-two students contemplatively screwed up their foreheads, chewed pencils, fingernails, or their bottom lips. Finally, one tall fair-haired young man in the back row raised a timid hand.

“Yes, Mr. Keegan?” the vicar said, smiling again.

In a strong Irish brogue, the boy replied, “Because he acted rightly in spite of his fearin’, sir?”

Now it was Vicar Phelps who nodded. “Very good, Mr. Keegan. So we see that true courage doesn’t mean the absence of fear. Perhaps Daniel even trembled as he was being led to the lions. But his willingness to please his Father was stronger than his fear.”

Absently Jonathan fingered a button on his coat. It had never occurred to him that the giants of the faith had possessed the same human frailties as himself. Even while reading of the failings of such as David and Moses, Abraham and Peter, he had still regarded them as almost superior beings who just happened to stumble occasionally. Vicar Phelps had put flesh and blood to someone whose presence Jonathan wouldn’t have considered himself worthy of being in had he appeared in front of him today.

Jonathan realized something that he had missed in seven months of intensive Bible study—that God didn’t expect His followers to be anything more than human here on earth. How could they be? But if they would be obedient and faithful, He would supply what was lacking when it was needed. That gave him great hope.

“Before I leave, I’ve a scripture verse for you to think upon,” the vicar went on. For the first time he looked directly at Jonathan. “Will you read it to them, Mr. Raleigh?”

“Yes, sir.” In an effort to be helpful, Jonathan almost leapt to his desk to scoop up his Bible.

“Thank you, Mr. Raleigh. It comes from the book of Saint Matthew, chapter seven and verse six.”

He quickly flipped through the fine pages and found the passage. Clearing his throat, he began to read, “Give not that which is holy unto the dogs. …”

Jonathan looked over at the vicar again, thinking there must be some mistake. He had expected something related to the sermon on courage. But the man merely nodded him on.

Again Jonathan cleared his throat. “ … neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Raleigh,” the vicar said. “There is something we can all learn from this verse.” He bade them farewell and moved to the door without a backward glance.

When the door clicked shut, Jonathan, who had been stunned into a near stupor, snapped back to his senses and realized he was clenching his teeth together so tightly that they ached. For two shillings he would leave this town, he told himself, even walk the twelve miles to Shrewsbury if he had to.
Let them find another schoolmaster!

Only he hoped the school board would have enough integrity to inform any new applicant, “Oh by the way, the vicar will pop in every Monday to spear covert insults at you, and one of the mothers will sit in the back to make sure you don’t teach the children how to smoke cigars and tell bawdy jokes, and some of the children will snicker at your introductory speech while others remind you that you aren’t Captain Powell.”

He became aware then that thirty-two sets of young eyes were trained upon him, as were Mrs. Hollis’s. She also had a little crease between her brows, as if she were wondering whether to send for medical assistance. Jonathan let out a sigh and then nodded lamely at her. He couldn’t really fault her for being here. If he had children, he supposed he would do the same thing. And of course her very presence gave him courage to face these children, no matter what her reason. As for the vicar … he started to grind his teeth again but then stopped.
He’ll change his mind about me one day. But there’s no use thinking about that now
.

“Students in the sixth standard,” he announced, drawing up his notes from memory. “Take out pencil and paper and supply the answers to the grammar exercise on the third page of your text. Remember to use complete sentences.” He raised an eyebrow. “Can anyone—from any standard—give me the definition of a complete sentence?”

“Please, don’t get up,” Julia told the young man as he turned to look up over his shoulder from his place on the steps. He held half of a sandwich in one hand, and the other half rested upon the brown paper wrapping upon his lap. “I’ll join you.”

He sent her a grateful look and moved over to give her room. “Would you care for half of a roast beef sandwich? It’s very good.”

“No, thank you.” She sat and unwrapped her own lunch, which also contained a roast beef sandwich, this one prepared by Mrs. Herrick and likely far superior to the one produced by the
Bow and Fiddle
. But of course she didn’t point this out to Mr. Raleigh. There were only twenty children in the school yard—Mrs. Hillock’s students ate in their classroom and would come outside later, and a dozen students walked to their cottages nearby for lunch. The boys who remained found patches of grass upon which to plop themselves down, and the girls had discovered the temporarily idle merry-go-round a convenient place to sit with lunch pails at their sides and their feet dangling over the edge.

“Mrs. Herrick—she’s our cook at the
Larkspur
—packed an extra fig pastry.” Julia held out a smaller paper-wrapped bundle to the young man. “Would you care for it?”

Now surprise crossed his well-sculptured face as she put the wrapped pastry in his hand. “I thought you disliked me, Mrs. Hollis.”

Julia could hear the dejection in his voice.
That was wrong of Andrew to do that
. She certainly intended to speak to him about it. In the first few seconds after Mr. Raleigh had read the verse aloud, she had seen signs of a struggle within him and had almost expected him to leave the classroom. He certainly deserved some credit for tenacity, if nothing else.

“I don’t dislike you, Mr. Raleigh.” Julia thought for a minute. “Surely you’ve read Shakespeare during your years of schooling?”

“Why, yes.” He blinked uncertainly at her change of subject. “In fact, I enjoy reading him even now.”

Wouldn’t Andrew be thrilled to hear that?
she thought. It appeared the two had something in common, besides a mutual dislike for each other after all. “I am not so well acquainted with his works, although in boarding school we were required to read
Julius Caesar, King Lear
, and
Macbeth
.” She smiled. “We would have much preferred
Romeo and Juliet
, but the founders assumed it would put romantic notions in our young heads. And
Hamlet
was considered totally unsuitable—for what reason I’ve yet to understand.”

“Yes?” he said while unwrapping his pastry, leaving his sandwich half eaten.

“There is a scene where Brutus speaks at Caesar’s funeral. Do you recall it?”

“Very well.” A third of the fig pastry was now a bulge in his cheek. “This is very tasty, Mrs. Hollis.”

“I’ll relay that compliment to Mrs. Herrick. But be forewarned, she’ll consider that as permission to send more.”

“How nice to hear,” he said, finally smiling back. “I’m sorry … you were saying something about Brutus?”

“Yes.” For a second Julia tried to recall where her train of thought had derailed. When clarity returned to her, she continued, “Brutus says something to the effect that if any demanded to know why he rose against his friend, it was not because he loved Caesar less, but that he loved Rome more.”

“I remember.”

“Well, Mr. Raleigh, that’s why I’m here. I wouldn’t purposely offend you. But my love for my daughters is greater than my reluctance to offend anyone. Can you understand that?”

He nodded and gave her a sad smile. “Well said, Mrs. Hollis. And please allow me to say, in spite of the reason for your being here, your presence has helped calm my nerves tremendously.”

They sat in silence then, watching the children who had set their pails on the side of the steps and now played. Miss Hillock’s class came outside, and Julia and Mr. Raleigh moved farther apart to allow them to pass on the steps, and then for Mrs. Hillock to sit between them. The merry-go-round was put to use again. Mr. Raleigh squinted toward the elms at the edge of the school yard.

“Is that a child I see?”

Julia and Miss Hillock looked in that direction. “I don’t—” Julia began but then caught a flash of motion. A boy, she realized, wearing an oversized cap. “It is, Mr. Raleigh.”

He was off and away at once. He caught up with the lad as he was midway across Church Lane. Both of them stood there—Mr. Raleigh looking down and the boy looking up. Presently Mr. Raleigh took him by the hand and they both walked back toward the steps. Now that she could see his face, Julia recognized the boy as Thomas, son of the reticent and somewhat mysterious Mr. Langford. His cheeks were splotched and the rims of his waifish blue eyes red.

“There, there … what’s wrong with the little fellow?” Miss Hillock clucked as soon as they were near enough.

“Oh, just a matter of someone saying something he shouldn’t have,” Mr. Raleigh replied.

Julia was grateful that he didn’t go into detail, for the boy had flushed even deeper at being referred to as a “little fellow.”

“Have you had a ride on the merry-go-round yet?” he asked Thomas.

The boy sent a somewhat longing glance past him and shook his head. “No, sir,” he replied in a voice that matched his slight build.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” When the merry-go-round paused to discharge its present load of squealing children, Mr. Raleigh, still holding the boy’s hand, stepped up to Rory Keegan, the first student waiting to board. He was a quiet child, the same age as Thomas, though a little taller. “Mr. Keegan, is it?” the schoolmaster inquired.