Jane Orcutt: All the Tea in China

“But Uncle, did you not hear me? Perhaps God has another plan for me. If it includes you, that is good and well, but sadly, I worry that it may not.”

“Then I shall look forward to your telling me of its nature,” he said, reopening his book, then winking. “Once you find it. Good day, Isabella.”

“Good day,” I replied, rising, knowing when I was dismissed.

“Isabella?”

I turned. “Yes?”

“I do not mean to belittle your worry for your future. You are my dearest niece and a great comfort to me. I hope you know that.”

I smiled fondly. “Indeed I do, Uncle.”

He returned to his book, his mind already wandering from me. “If your presence will not intrude on Signor Antonio’s meal in our kitchen, please inform Cook that we will expect one more for dinner tonight,” he said.

“Oh?”

Uncle licked his finger and turned a page. “I invited Phineas Snowe to dine with us. I should like to hear more about his charitable work. You two seemed to enjoy each other’s company last night. I also thought it would be a good chance for you to further your conversation.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “I’ll make sure Cook knows,” I finally said, turning to leave.

My head began to ache as I headed for the kitchen. Must I endure another night of Phineas Snowe and his condescension? Because I had already acted a role at the Ransoms’, I would be forced to repeat it tonight as well. The thought of smiling endlessly and nodding gamely at his every pronouncement… It would take a great deal of not only physical strength but mental agility to continue the missish role.

I came to a full stop in the hallway. “But why should I? I owe nothing to Snowe.”

Last night had only been a chance to hold my own with Catherine Ransom and the others. Uncle Toby would not expect me to be anyone other than who I truly was, and in the safety of our own home, that is exactly who I would be!

Phineas Snowe arrived at our doorstep at the precise hour for which Uncle Toby had issued the invitation. Flora ushered him into Uncle Toby’s study, raising her eyebrows at me behind his back. She knew from my description of Snowe last night that he wore the same threadbare attire tonight. Either he was more destitute than I believed or he truly had no sense of fashion. I was quite sure that if I had mentioned the name of the dandy Beau Brummel, he would have stared at me like a sapscull.

“Ah, Mr. Snowe,” Uncle Toby said, rising from his wing chair. “It is so good of you to join us.”

He gestured Uncle back down. “Pray do not stand on my account, Mr. Fitzwater,” he said, then bowed in my direction. “Miss Goodrich, you look well this evening. Is your health compatible with your appearance?”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that, Mr. Snowe.”

“Indeed?”

I nodded. “If I answer yes, I might stand accused of conceit.”

He frowned. “How so?”

“To answer yes might be construed that I took your comment to mean that my appearance, while ‘well,’ was equivalent with ‘pleasing.’ However, if I answer no, then you would, of course, inquire as to the nature of my negative response. Then I should be forced into prevarication by inventing some imaginary ailment to appease any further questions.”

Snowe glanced at Uncle Toby. “Is it always this difficult to exchange pleasantries with your niece?”

Uncle smiled blithely. “Sometimes it is more so.” He rose. “If you two will excuse me, I will see about procuring a bit of wine before dinner.”

Snowe bowed, and I curtsied at Uncle’s departure. I thought Snowe would continue the subject, but he affected a solemn sort of smile. “Miss Goodrich, I owe you an apology.”

I blinked. This was most unexpected. “Whatever for?”

“I fear that I nattered on at far too great a length last night about my work. You must think me the most dreadful of bores.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Snowe, it is I who should apologize to you. I am sure that any number of guests could have held up their end of the conversation better than my feeble attempts.” I paused. “I was not quite myself last night.”

He smiled. “You were kind to allow me to discuss my life’s mission. It must seem a simple life, compared to what you are accustomed here with your uncle in a thriving town like Oxford.”

“You must be mistaking our location with London, sir, for one could hardly accuse our humble town of much notoriety or excitement.”

“Notoriety can well lay claim here if only for the university and its history. To think of Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer losing their lives here as martyrs for the church…” He shook his head in contemplation. Uncle Toby entered with a tray of wine, and Snowe gestured in his direction. “Perhaps your uncle would do me the honor of showing me the locations of their martyrdom at Oxford. It would be a privilege to stand on such ground where three holy men were burned at the stake for their beliefs.”

Uncle presented us each with a glass of wine. “If you speak of Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, I am certain that Isabella would be honored to show you the locations. She is most familiar with that history.”

“Are you indeed, Miss Goodrich?” Snowe turned his bespectacled eyes on me.

I cast a glance at Uncle Toby. I was beginning to believe that he was trying to bring Snowe and me together. Inviting him to dinner was one thing, but sending us on a historical tour was quite another. “History is of great interest to me, Mr. Snowe. Particularly church history.”

Snowe sipped his wine. “What was it Latimer said as encouragement when the flames consumed him? ‘Be of good comfort, Master Ridley and… and…’ Oh, the words escape me.”

“‘Be of good comfort, Master Ridley and play the man! We shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out,’” I finished.

“Yes. That’s it, Miss Goodrich. Well done. You are rather conversant in church history.”

Was he jesting? Any churchgoing child could recite the words!

“She is an historian indeed.” Uncle Toby beamed. “Izzy, tell Mr. Snowe about the paper you wrote on the Reformation.”

“I am sure Mr. Snowe would not care to hear of it, Uncle,” I said.

Snowe took a long sip of his wine. “Thank you, I would not. While I admire theory and history, I find that quiet lives of useful service are more in keeping with Christ’s commandment to go ye therefore and teach all nations.”

“Why, that is Izzy herself.” Uncle Toby beamed. “Lately Isabella has been much taken with the Methodists.”

“Have you done much charitable work, Miss Goodrich?” Snowe asked, his accusing gaze turned on me.

“Flora and I made some simple frocks and knitted mufflers for the poor,” I said. “Perhaps you would care to discuss your work in China?”

Snowe smiled smugly. “Your own work is a trifling effort, but an effort nonetheless. I wonder that you have not been challenged with more personal work.”

“And what, exactly, is your personal work in China?” I persisted.

He put a finger to his lips, thought a moment, then smiled. “Mr. Fitzwater, I have a unique suggestion.”

Uncle Toby leaned forward in his chair. “Yes?”

“Would you and your niece be interested in joining me tomorrow with another from my group as we endeavor to bring some comfort to the poor? Along with my friends, another young lady desires to serve in China.”

“Oh, will your friends join us?” I must admit I was curious to meet the Tippetts. I had never heard of a married couple desiring to serve the Lord together.

“Sadly, no. But we all desire to repay the town of Oxford for its generous hospitality. Tomorrow we will deliver baskets of food and blankets to some of the less fortunate, and I would like you and your uncle to join me.”