Today's Embrace (14 page)

Evy sipped her tea to keep from answering.

“That will go a long way toward ensuring you of mutual consideration and respect. I always think of what the Scripture says about Sarah calling Abraham ‘lord.' Whose daughters we are.”

This was not want Evy wanted to hear.

“He loves you dearly. Anyone can see that. I should think he would do anything he thought was right to please you and make you contented.”

“He doesn't want children,” Evy blurted out.

“Oh, you don't mean it, my dear.”

“It's true.”

“Never?”

“Well, at least not
now
. Not for years and years.”

“I see.” She had stopped embroidering and turned slightly in her chair to look at Evy thoughtfully. “And you want a baby now. Is that the problem?”

“It wasn't that I
wanted
a baby
now
. It's just that—”

Evy's eyes welled with tears. In great gushing words she told Martha what had happened earlier on the ride in Grimston Woods when she had clumsily tried to prepare Rogan for the news that she was going to have a baby.

“And all he did was make light of what I was trying to say. It was obvious any baby now will make him unhappy. It comes at an inconvenient time, and he sees me and the baby as a dreadful burden.”

“If he really thought that, I would be most surprised. I'm sure, yes, quite sure that he is simply a normal young man who didn't have the foggiest notion of what you were hinting at. He is quite practical, I should think. And you're coming at him on a strictly emotional plane. You'll simply need to come out in plain everyday English and tell him, my dear. What I would advise is tell him as soon as possible. I'm sure you will see a complete change in him once he understands the situation.”

“Having a child now, this soon, was not on our itinerary. It … just happened.”

“Yes.”

“You see, if I tell him now, it will give him the excuse he needs to insist I stay at Rookswood while he leaves for Capetown. And I don't want to stay. I want to go. I've Cousin Jakob to meet at the new mission station at Bulawayo, and Arcilla has had her baby—a boy.”

Evy stood, setting down her empty cup. “There's something else, as well. Something awful.”

Evy told her the gossip first begun at the Brewster dinner ball. She concluded: “So you see, expecting so soon also allows the gossip to continue with renewed fervency.”

“I see. This can raise problems. I was reading just this morning about the birth of Jesus.”

Evy looked at her.
But it's not even near Christmas
, she wanted to say but caught herself.

“Birth of Jesus? What has His birth to do with this, Mrs. Osgood?”

“With your situation? Oh, none, considering he was virgin born. But Nazareth, where He grew up in the home of Mary and Joseph, was not always a pretty place, Evy. Those who rejected his virgin birth could have whispered all sorts of evil, including his own half-brothers. I suspect Nazareth was even worse than Grimston Way about gossip. Remember what Nathaniel said, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?' If you ever want to read about Jesus's boyhood, read Psalm sixty-nine. Jesus said He was the song of the drunkards.”

“What!” she gasped, growing indignant.

“Indeed. Imagine, singing ditties about Him and His mother. I suppose, dear, what I'm trying to say is this. That if the holy birth of the Son of God was the object of vicious tongues in his hometown, then we, who
do
have some manner of sin in our lives, should not be shocked to discover we are not immune to scorn, whatever the cause.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine what Mary must have gone through in the small village of Nazareth?”

Evy stood looking down at her, feeling her heart enlarge with compassion. Yes, to some small degree she could. How bitter it could have been at times when Mary saw glances cast her way, or when the whispering suddenly stopped as she walked up to the well for water, or took the child Jesus into the village to barter for the family. For many, Jesus was believed to be illegitimate, when all the time He was the legitimate Son of the living God.

They had both lapsed into silence for some time, then came aware together as a drop of rain splattered on the brick garden walk.

“Oh dear, looks like a storm is blowing in, doesn't it? Do help me gather my things indoors, will you?”

Evy hurried to put Martha's sewing things back inside her big knitting bag and, holding her arm, aided her across the garden path toward the rectory.

“There is one thing you and Rogan must agree upon.”

Evy glanced at her, feeling wary. She wanted the truth, but at the same time she wanted the truth not to interrupt the fulfillment of her wishes.

“Yes?”

“You both must agree that your expecting a child much sooner than anticipated did not come as a surprise to your heavenly Father. God controls life. He is in control of your life, and Rogan's, is He not?”

“Yes, I believe that with all my heart, Mrs. Osgood.”

“Then, as I see Scripture, dear, it is God's will that He guide you in all things and that both of you, as individuals, and as partners in marriage, yield yourselves to His gracious hand of providence. He's created this child for a special purpose.”

Evy nodded. She had been so upset recently that she had almost forgotten the providence of her gracious God.
All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose
.

But would Rogan agree that God wanted them to have this particular baby at this time in their marriage, their lives? And that she was meant to accompany him to Bulawayo?

Or was she meant not to go there? The idea that it might not be God's purpose for her to journey there at this time met her with difficulty.
But I want to go now. I can think of many good reasons to go. I can even help Dr. Jakob at his mission station while Rogan treks north to check up on the gold mine
. She could serve Jesus there, so why would the Lord not wish her to go now?

“And if Rogan and I don't agree on the trip to South Africa because of this unexpected blessing?”

Mrs. Osgood was quiet a moment too long, and Evy looked at her, then swallowed uneasily at the sadness in the older woman's eyes. Evy thought she already knew the answer. Perhaps she had known all along. All of her racing about in an agitated state of what to do was merely a front. She
knew
. She was no stranger to the Scriptures, to God. She was to yield to Rogan.

Evy tensed and resisted again what felt to her like a smothering pillow thrust over her face.

“Then,” Martha said quietly, “if God and His will and purpose have no seat of authority in your lives as a married couple, Evy, you and Rogan are in for a very difficult marriage. And a very unhappy life.”

Evy's eyes filled with tears. She believed this too. It was one of the reasons for her agitation. Obedience, yieldedness, was of great value to God. She had believed this long before she ever permitted herself to fall in love with Rogan Chantry. There were years gone by when she had deliberately avoided any emotional entanglement with him because she had not been sure of his commitment to Christ. And now to be confronted with the shocking possibility that she herself was not fully yielded to the will and purpose of the Lord Jesus, whom she claimed to love and honor!

Yes, what of her decision to obey His Word? Tested and tried—would she come through?

“You are right, Mrs. Osgood,” she murmured after what seemed a very long silence. “I see.”

Without Jesus Christ, they had no foundation on which to build their life, their “house,” as it were, and without Jesus Christ, their future family, goals, and ambitions were naught but ashes blown about by every conceivable wind.

Evy helped Martha into her favorite chair, one that Evy recalled Uncle Edmund sitting in years ago.

“My dear, I fear I've not been much help to you. This has all been quite difficult for you, I can see.”

“On the contrary, you have helped me immensely, Mrs. Osgood.”

“I should like to pray for you and Rogan before you go, if you'd allow me.”

“Please.”

As Evy bade her good afternoon and left the rectory, she was still not at peace with herself.
I simply don't want to yield my plans
, she admitted firmly.
It's that simple, that difficult, and that painful
.

Evy mounted her mare and rode away sorrowfully.
What has happened to me that I think I cannot completely trust my Lover, Provider, and Protector?

And yet it was so. At least in this matter.

The rain was just beginning to fall when Evy dismounted at the front door of Rookswood. She gave the reins to Hank the groom, who led her horse to the stables. Once indoors Evy walked tiredly across the Great Hall and began climbing the wide staircase to the second floor. Her head was aching, and she wondered if Arcilla had felt this badly when she became pregnant. Perhaps it was just her own worries that weighed her down so heavily?

Bring your burdens to the mercy seat and leave them there, Evy. He has never yet forsaken you, has He? Has He brought you this far on the path of faith? Yes. Then why do you think He's looking in another direction now? That everything will fall apart into a thousand pieces?

Her sense of hopelessness must be physical, she told herself.

Was Rogan back? She braced herself for a difficult meeting. He must not notice that she felt ill. He might suspect something. He had already made an agreement with her that her trip to Capetown should be contingent upon Dr. Jackson's assessment of her health. Dr. Jackson! She must keep him from discovering that she was going to have a baby.

She had climbed more than halfway up the stairs, when she noticed Rosie and Midge huddled together in the upper hallway. Rosie, holding a mop, was as short and round as Midge was tall and slender. Rosie was recently hired by Lady Elosia from her house in London. Midge, who had just turned sixteen, was related to the housekeeper, Mrs. Wetherly.
Rosie was speaking in a whisper that reverberated through the hall as audibly as if she'd conversed in a normal tone.

Evy paused, her hand gripping the banister.

“Such a pretty girl, she is. That thick, tawny hair. All wavy natural like, too. An' amber eyes with green in 'em, too. I should be so lucky. An' raised sweetlike in the vicarage, too. Oooh, but that limp. D'ye see that shoe? Black, it is. And thick soled.”

“Oh, twaddle, I seen her awaltzin' with the master, that's a fact. Ha, and what's a wee limp when she's a diamond heiress, eh, Rosie?”

“Ducky, eh? The limp matters, though, it does, to Master Rogan. Bet he's already regretting he didn't marry Lord Bancroft's daughter.”

“Why'd ye be sayin' that?”

“ 'Tis as plain as the nose on your face, ain't it?”

“Not to me—”

“I heard talk.”

“What kin'?”

“Oh, you know. That Master
had
to marry her.”

“Pah! Not Miss Evy! I knowed her all my days. Why, she'd ne'r be bad! Vicar's niece? Pah! No one like her in all the village when growin' up. Can't be.”

“Heard it from Lady Patricia Bancroft!”

“Hoity-toity!” interrupted a twangy voice from behind them.

The maids jerked away as though stung. Rosie's mop was instantly moving across the floor, while Midge's feather duster flew up to the painting of a scowling Chantry hanging over a gilded hall table.

“So!” came Lizzie's voice. Mrs. Croft's niece marched up, hands on hips, jutting out her chin.

“So!” she repeated. “Slothing on the job again, both of you. And nasty toothed you are too! For shame, Rosie, talkin' like that. An' you, Midge, for listening to such cackle. You best get on with your work and never mind the young mistress. If the master hears your talk, you'll both be turned out on your ears.”

“Oh, Lizzie,” Rosie whined, clutching the mop to her heart. “We didn't mean nothing. We surely didn't—”

“Don't you ‘oh, Lizzie' me. An' after Lady E just got you the job here, too. Should have left you in London, that's a fact.” Lizzie wagged a finger under her nose. “I'll quote the good Vicar Osgood.” She drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders, looking off into space. “ ‘The north wind brings forth rain, and a backbiting tongue an angry countenance.' From Proverbs, it is,” she spoke, as though having memorized the verse.

Lizzie leaned her face toward Rosie until the girl backed against the hall table. “D'ye see my angry countenance, eh? You'd better! An' if I hear such gibberish again about the mistress, you'll both be out of a job. I'll talk to the master himself, I will! Then you'll see how ducky it'll be.”

They gaped foolishly and took off their separate ways, Midge dusting furiously, and Rosie moving the cleaning pail and slopping water.