Ruth Axtell Morren - A Bride Of Honor

She couldn’t help laughing at the image of the spare woman fighting a big bully. “How wonderful it must have been to have a big sister,” she said wistfully.

He looked at her as if he understood more than she was saying. “You have no brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “I always envied my friends at school who had several brothers and sisters. Tell me more of what you meant. You said your accident made you turn to God for help.”

“Yes. Having Florence defend me and my parents shower their love on me wasn’t enough. To be able to face every day with my head held high, I needed to know the Father’s unconditional love. I needed the Lord’s grace to make it through each day, knowing I was no longer a whole boy, but a—” his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed “—cripple.”

“Oh, no! You’re not a cripple. You are many things. A fine curate for one.” Yes, that was true. His disadvantage seemed so very small in light of the whole man before her.

He smiled, but it didn’t hide the bleakness in his expression. “But that’s what I was in the eyes of others. In order to overcome my limitations, I had to rely on God’s strength. I came to understand in a very personal way, the verse, ‘My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ God proved it to me time and again.”

They had walked the whole perimeter of the square. Lindsay, unwilling to have their walk end so soon, said abruptly, “You were so brave to take in a…fugitive.”

He blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Quinn?”

She nodded.

He shrugged. “At the time the choice seemed easy. A man came to our door on a rainy winter’s night, cold, feverish, hungry. In truth, it was my sister who brought him in. I only seconded her decision.”

She shivered, picturing it. “I don’t know if I would have dared do such a thing.”

He studied her steadily. “It sounds as if you have your own decision to make which requires bravery.”

Her eyelids fluttered downward and she kicked at the dirt in her path. “I don’t know if I am able to be as brave as you.”

“God doesn’t give us more than we are able to bear.”

How she wanted to believe that!

After a few minutes, the reverend said quietly, “It would seem to me that you have already decided which is the proper course to follow.”

She drew in her breath. Those were not the words she wanted to hear. Before she could respond, he continued. “I shall pray for you, that the Lord make His perfect will clearly known to you and give you perfect peace in your decision.”

A masculine voice hailed them from behind. “Good day, Damien.”

They both looked in surprise at the gentleman walking toward them. Lindsay immediately recognized her own pastor.

Reverend Hathaway halted and waited for the older gentleman to reach them. “Reverend Doyle.”

Lindsay bit her lip, wondering what the rector would think of seeing her alone with the curate. Doyle eyed them both without smiling. He nodded to Reverend Hathaway and then to her. “Miss Phillips. How lovely to see you. What are you doing all the way in Marylebone alone?”

“Good afternoon, Reverend Doyle. I was just leaving my music lesson.” She raised her chin, annoyed at how nervous she sounded, as if she had been doing something wrong.

“I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with my curate.” His glance strayed to the reverend.

Her companion replied in an easy tone before Lindsay could think what to say. “Miss Phillips and her cousin came one Sunday to the chapel and I had the privilege of meeting them, thanks to your recommendation.”

Instead of smiling, the rector merely nodded. “I had spoken highly of you at one time, that is true.” There was unmistakable censure in his tone.

“I’ve been attending the reverend’s Bible studies at the parsonage with my cousin Beatrice,” she added, hoping to dispel the tension she felt in the air.

The rector raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

A silence fell between them. Then he asked, “I trust your father and cousin are in health?”

“Yes, they are both quite well,” she answered, hoping news would not travel back to her father about this encounter.

“I am relieved. You may tell them I shall be over soon for a visit.”

“Yes.” Her worry grew. What would her father say? Would he forbid further Bible studies under Reverend Hathaway’s tutelage?

The rector turned his attention back to the reverend. “I shall call upon you in the coming days. There is much we need to discuss.”

“I am at your service,” Reverend Hathaway said quietly.

“Very well.” With a final glance between the two of them, the rector bowed his head and bade them farewell.

“I didn’t expect to see Reverend Doyle here,” she said when he had exited the square.

“He lives nearby on Cavendish Square.”

“I see. He seemed displeased about something,” she ventured.

“Yes, I fear so.” He sighed. “For many years, he was almost like a father—a spiritual father—to me. He advised me on my studies and procured this living for me at St. George’s.” He turned to her. “I am not a gentleman’s son, you see, but the son of a clockmaker.”

Her eyes widened. “But…but you are…” She laughed nervously. “You seem to be a gentleman.” Far more a gentleman than Jerome Stokes with all his privileges and assets, she added silently.

“If so, it is thanks to the rector. He is the one who made it possible for me to receive a gentleman’s education. He recommended me to Lord Marlborough of Portman Square who paid for my studies at Oxford.”

These new facts only served to increase her admiration for the man before her. “You must have been worthy of their belief in you.”

His gaze traveled over her face, almost in wonder, she would hazard. “You are remarkable, Miss Phillips.”

She smiled tentatively. “Why do you say that, Reverend Hathaway?”

He shook his head slightly. “Most young ladies would not see it in that light.”

“How would they see it?”

“They would see me rather as a fraud. A man dressed up like a gentleman, pretending to be something he is not.”

“Oh, no!” Such an accusation angered her. “You are a man of God, whose life reflects what he preaches from the pulpit.”

His cheeks deepened in color, and she hoped her words had brought pleasure and not embarrassment to him. She meant them with all her heart. A thin line appeared between his eyebrows. “Have you asked advice from the rector? He is, after all, your spiritual advisor.”

She shook her head, looking down. “I don’t feel I know him well enough. You see, I’ve been away at school some years, so I really have not seen him much.” She fell silent. There was no rational way to explain that in the short time she’d known him, Reverend Hathaway was the only person whose counsel she trusted in this matter.

“Reverend Doyle is a man of great wisdom. I would advise you to talk to him.”

“He must be very proud of you for helping Mr. Quinn when he was in so much trouble.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, and he hesitated. “He did not approve of what my sister and I did.” He hastened to add, “He was right to object. We were aiding and abetting a fugitive. We broke the law in doing so.”

She felt a tremor at the gravity of his tone. “Is that why he is displeased with you?”

The reverend nodded. “I don’t regret having taken Mr. Quinn into our keeping. However, I would not counsel anyone lightly to do what we did. One must be very sure what one is doing is absolutely right in God’s eyes before taking such a step.”

Did he think she was on the brink of making a wrong decision? Was he warning her?

She lifted her chin. “In that case, I think it was all the more brave of you to help Mr. Quinn.”