The Widow of Larkspur Inn (42 page)

Obviously this young woman was searching for a sympathetic ear—whether or not she was even aware of it herself. Judging from the tenderness and worry on Vicar Phelps’s face when he spoke about his oldest daughter yesterday, Julia imagined that he was only too willing to listen to her. But there were some times when a woman felt the need to pour out her heart to another woman.

Fiona is better at such things than you are,
Julia told herself, wondering if she should excuse herself long enough to ask the housekeeper to join them. What experience did she have with counseling young women? But Miss Phelps had had a perfect opportunity to speak with Fiona as they walked from
Trumbles
together. For some reason, probably because she had expressed sympathy to the girl in the vicarage garden yesterday, she was being sought out. She had to show the girl, without frightening her away, that she was willing to listen.

Julia glanced back at the doorway the lodgers would come through any second now. “Miss Phelps?” she said, and the girl turned to her.

“Yes?”

Give me the right words, Father.
“I find it terribly difficult to sit and chat surrounded by so much space. There is a sitting room upstairs that’s not quite so intimidating. Why don’t we continue our visit up there?”

The brown eyes became hopeful, even as the corners of the girl’s mouth quirked downward a bit. “It’s selfish of me, keeping you from your duties.”

“Nonsense.” Rising, Julia motioned for the girl to do the same. “I’ll send for some tea. Have you had breakfast?”

“Well no, I didn’t have much of an appetite earlier …”

Julia linked arms with Miss Phelps and ushered her toward the corridor door. “You’ll have one once you’ve caught sight of Mrs. Herrick’s egg-in-a-nest.”

“Egg-in-a-nest?”

“That’s what we call them. She hollows out a slice of bread and fries an egg in the center—in butter of course.”

Miss Phelps smiled sheepishly. “Perhaps I am feeling a little hungry now.”

After Georgette was dispatched for a tray, Julia kept Miss Phelps occupied with small talk at opposite ends of the sofa while waiting. Whether she could be of any help to the girl was questionable, but at least she would have breakfast. She asked safe questions about the city of Cambridge and the girl’s schooling, and answered questions about London. When the food arrived, the girl ate with considerable relish—she dabbed her mouth with a napkin afterward and gave Julia an embarrassed smile.

“I just haven’t been able to eat anything since lunch yesterday.” Her eyes widened at this slip of the tongue. “I didn’t intend to deceive you about the torte, Mrs. Hollis. When I said ‘we’ enjoyed it, I was referring to my father and sister and the servants. But there is at least half left, and I certainly intend to have some later today. It looked delicious.”

Julia took a sip of her tea to cover her smile at this outpouring of youthful insecurity, then said, “That’s quite all right, Miss Phelps. One can enjoy the sight of a pastry as well as the taste.”

The girl looked relieved. “Thank you for saying that.”

During the brief silence that ensued, Julia wondered how she should go about asking if Miss Phelps were in need of a sympathetic ear. She certainly couldn’t admit knowing about the young man who’d broken the girl’s heart without possibly causing some friction between father and daughter.

Just when Julia was again considering asking Fiona to join them, the girl spoke.

“Mrs. Hollis,” she began in a soft, distant voice, staring down at the creamery pitcher on the tea table in front of them. “I didn’t come here just because of the basket. Father planned to return it himself until I asked him to allow me instead.”

“Yes?”

“Yesterday … when you spoke to me in the garden. You seemed so kind and understanding.”

With utmost calm, lest she cause the girl’s boldness to crumble, Julia said, “Would it help to talk about what is troubling you, Miss Phelps?”

“I need to talk about it or I’ll go mad, but … it has to do with losing someone I loved. Mrs. Paget told me that your husband passed away less than a year ago. Will it cause you pain to talk of such things, Mrs. Hollis?”

Julia smiled reassuringly. “I appreciate your consideration, but no. I’m sure it will cause me no pain.”

“Thank you.” The girl took in a deep breath. “My father tries to comfort me, but his opinion is greatly prejudiced against the young man involved, and so he doesn’t care to hear anything about him.” Turning sad eyes to Julia, she said, “But I can’t talk about what’s troubling me without talking about him. You see, I was practically engaged to a man in Cambridge—Jonathan Raleigh. He stopped seeing me after my father confronted him one night.”

“Why did your father do such a thing?” Julia asked. She could probably venture an accurate guess from Vicar Phelps’s previous label of rogue, but she was careful to keep her expression blank.

With flushed cheeks, Miss Phelps told how her beaux had been spotted with a married woman of notorious reputation. “I was devastated when Father told me about it.”

“Do you blame your father?”

“Blame Father?” She shook her head. “He had no choice. That much I understand.”

“And what is it that you don’t understand, Miss Phelps?” Julia probed gently.

“How he can expect me to pick myself up and carry on as if I had never been in love. Father feels that since Jonathan wronged me, I should be happy to banish him from my mind. But he was …” A sob broke her words, and she swallowed before continuing. “He was my whole life, Mrs. Hollis.”

Julia nodded sadly and thought back to the days when she was sixteen and being courted by Philip. He was her first thought when she woke in the mornings and her last as she drifted into sleep at night. She only wore gowns in the colors he was fond of, and when he mentioned that she would look more sophisticated without fringe, she began having her hair fastened away from her forehead with combs. She even neglected her friends from childhood, choosing instead to stay at home in case Philip should pay a call. “So now you feel empty inside? And yet there is actual pain in your chest that won’t go away.”

The girl closed her eyes and nodded. “I just knew you would understand.”

It was time to be brutally honest, Julia thought, no matter how much discomfort it would bring—for what good was experience if it couldn’t be used to steer someone else around the pitfalls of life?
If only someone had warned me about my obsession with Philip before we married,
she thought. Oh, her parents had voiced misgivings about the age difference and the short length of their courtship, but no one had seemed concerned that she’d practically worshiped him.

The only thing she would not allow herself to discuss was how her husband had failed his family. She would honor his memory as much as possible for the children’s sake. Propriety was the other reason—and the only one. Not too long ago she had discovered that the only feelings she had left for her late husband were of pity.

“Miss Phelps,” she began tentatively, “I don’t pretend to be the wisest woman in the world, but I have learned some things of late. You said that the young man … Mr. Raleigh?”

“Yes. Jonathan Raleigh.”

Julia nodded. “You said that Mr. Raleigh had been your whole life while you were courting. I understand how you could have allowed yourself to feel that way—but it disturbs me to hear it.”

“I know.” The girl gave a resigned shrug. “He wasn’t worthy of those feelings.”

“It’s not his worthiness I’m concerned with at present, though I’m glad you found him out before marrying him.” She frowned, certain that she wasn’t making herself clear. “Don’t misunderstand. Worthiness is important too, of course.”

“Of course,” the girl nodded in agreement, though there seemed to be some incomprehension in her brown eyes.

How can I possibly explain this?
Julia thought. Her mind possessed a clear picture of what she wanted to say, but in the process of forming just the right words, she felt like an insect slogging his way through treacle.
Help me, Father,
she prayed again silently. When the words became available, she began again. “I have learned through painful experience, Miss Phelps, that we should never allow another person to become our whole life.”

Miss Phelps’s eyes widened. “Surely you believe in love, Mrs. Hollis. You were married.”

“Of course I do. A wife should love her husband completely, and a betrothed woman her fiancé. But I know now that there is a difference between loving someone and making an idol of him.”

With faint umbrage in her voice, the girl said, “I don’t quite think I made an idol of Jonathan.”

“And yet you said he was your whole life at one time.” Julia raised a questioning eyebrow. “Isn’t idolatry when we put something or someone else ahead of God?”

While her visitor seemed to search for a reply, Julia went on. “Please don’t think I’m judging you, Miss Phelps. I was the same way—in fact, you remind me very much of myself. But when we place someone up on a pedestal, it is impossible to see the flaws. And the flaws can turn out to be devastating, as you’ve found out yourself.”

The girl gave her a curious look. “Did you make an idol of your husband?”

“I did,” Julia admitted.

“And was he unfaithful to you?”

“No, Miss Phelps, not in the way Mr. Raleigh was unfaithful to you. But because of my children, I would rather not discuss the specifics of my marriage. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The girl withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped her eyes. “But I have clearly seen the flaws in Jonathan for weeks now. Why is it still so hard to forget him?”

“Because when we lose someone we’ve allowed to be our whole life, we find that we have very little left to sustain us. Not only have we distanced ourselves from God, but we’ve lost something of ourselves in the process. When my husband passed away, I discovered that my relationship with God had been a shallow one at best, and that I had no reservoir of inner strength to draw from.”

Miss Phelps’s face had assumed the splotches of yesterday, but aside from occasional dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, she appeared fairly well composed. “Then how did you manage?”

“There was my children’s welfare to consider, so I could ill afford to live in the past. And I began building a long neglected relationship with God.” Julia reached out to touch the girl’s hand. “It has been an interesting journey, Miss Phelps. And it can be so with you as well.”

“I don’t know if I can stop myself from thinking about the past.”

“Then perhaps you should stop trying so hard. The past can eventually fade away on its own if you’ll replace it with something else.”

“I haven’t children to care for, Mrs. Hollis, or a business to manage.” She raised both hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t even know what I want to do with my life.”

“But God will show you, if you’ll allow Him.”

“And in the meantime?”

Julia’s thoughts carried her back to her first day in the
Larkspur
and the sense of accomplishment that had come over her when she discovered that her hands were indeed capable of worthy labor. “Why not immerse yourself in something else? Find something with which to occupy your time. You’ll discover things about yourself you never knew. Then when another young man comes into your life, you can approach the relationship as a whole person.”

“You sound like my father now,” the girl sighed.

Julia had to smile. “I suppose all parents say the same things. But it must pain him terribly to see you hurting so.”

“It does,” she nodded. “And I’m afraid I’ve been rather a martyr lately.”

“It isn’t a crime to be young, Miss Phelps.”

That seemed to comfort the girl, for a corner of her mouth lifted just a bit. Turning her face to Julia again, she said, “I appreciate your spending this time with me, Mrs. Hollis.”

“Any time you’d like to talk.”

“Would you mind calling me Elizabeth?”

Touched, Julia answered, “I would be honored, Elizabeth.”

Friday afternoon, Captain Powell announced that Philip scored a near perfect mark on an open-text mathematics test—neglecting to show his computation on the last problem had cost him two points. Ben came in second, having miscalculated a boggling word problem, and Laurel Phelps third because, although she made the same word problem error as Ben, she also misplaced a decimal.