Ruth Axtell Morren - A Bride Of Honor

The reverend’s blue eyes seemed to lighten. “Thank you, Miss Phillips. Your good opinion means a lot to me.”

Before she had a chance to feel the pleasure his words gave her, he continued. “Sometimes it is not easy to make the right decision. Sometimes what seems the right choice—that determined by the rules laid out—is, in fact, not the right way.”

Did his words spell hope or doom for her? Was there a way to disobey her father without losing his love and esteem? “How does one know in such a case?” she asked in a whisper, her eyes intent on his.

“By much prayer. In the end, the answer must come from here.” He tapped his chest. “A person must follow his—or her—conscience, whatever the risks involved.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze lifting from his slim hand back up to his face.

When the time came, would she have the courage to follow the dictates of her conscience?

Damien held up the slate toward the group of boys sitting on the floor at his feet in the cell given them to use for the lesson. “Let us review what we learned yesterday. Who can tell me what this says?”

Several arms shot up like arrows.

Damien smiled at one eager face, pale skin shining through the smudges. “Yes, Sam?”

“The Lord is my sh-shepherd!” He finished with a triumphant smile.

“Very good. Let us try another sentence.” He wiped off the slate with his rag and wrote again.

As he held it up, his glance went to a dim corner of the prison cell. A group of older boys was whispering and sniggering among themselves. In a second, Jonah squatted beside them. “You’d rather end up on the gallows or the transport ship than learn yer letters, is that it?”

“Tell us about the gallows,” a black-haired youth with a chipped tooth replied.

With a quick wink Damien’s way, Jonah sat down cross-legged among them. Damien continued with his lesson. He knew it was impossible to reach them all, so he appreciated Jonah’s help in keeping the unruly ones occupied while he taught those who wanted to learn.

He turned back to the young pupil. “Sam?”

The underfed lad screwed up his face in preparation to read. “Th-the t-t-time of—”

Damien prompted him gently until he managed the whole sentence. When they finished the lesson, he and Jonah parceled out the food and provisions they had brought with them. Before they left, he told them a Bible story.

On their way out of Newgate, Jonah shuddered as they passed through the arched entrance. “Always glad to leave that hole.”

Damien glanced at him. “I do appreciate your accompanying me. I know it’s not easy to go back each time.”

“It’s truly a dark pit in there.”

“All the more reason we must bring the light.”

Jonah nodded as they made their way past the Old Bailey. “I’ll never forget the day I was sentenced to be hanged.” He shook his head. “To think Florence was sitting there, praying for me even then.” At the corner, he asked, “You want me to hail a cab?”

“No. Let’s walk.”

“You certain? Florence wanted me to get her some things at Covent Garden Market.”

“That’s fine.” Damien shook off the slight irritation he felt whenever Jonah seemed overly protective of him. He knew it was only thoughtfulness on the man’s part. But by now, he’d hoped Jonah would realize Damien was capable of walking the distance of any normal man.

They sauntered down Ludgate Hill and headed west on Fleet Street, jostled by the thick throng of pedestrians. It only worsened as they approached the Strand, where they veered off at Drury Lane toward the market.

“How’s the pretty Miss Phillips?”

Damien glanced sharply at Jonah. He’d told no one of his meeting with Miss Phillips the day before. “You should know as well as I, since you see her at the house as often as I do.”

Jonah shrugged. “She’s a fair young lady, who seems to admire you quite a bit.”

Damien made his way around a large woman who stood shouting to a hansom cab driver from the curb. “If she seems to admire me, it is only because I am a clergyman.”

“Is that all you think it is?”

Damien gave him a sharp look at the sly tone. The street noises grew louder as they approached the stalls and sheds occupying Covent Garden. Damien followed Jonah to a vendor’s table filled with a colorful display of fruits and vegetables. Jonah poked at a pile of green cabbages. “What do you want for these sorry-looking things?”

The woman behind the table glared at him, her hefty arms akimbo. “Those be as crispy as anything you could grow yourself. A shillin’ for the pound.”

He grabbed up one from the top of the pyramid. “Here, weigh that one for me, be a good lass.”

When he’d paid for the cabbage, they walked on.

“Oranges from Valencia!” the rough voice of a hawker called out.

“I’ll take a half-dozen o’ those.”

“Here, let me carry them,” Damien offered as they started on again.

“That’s all right, I’ve got ’em.”

Damien clamped his lips down and said no more.

“So, you’re not interested in Miss Phillips as a young lady of marriageable age?”

Damien refused to be drawn. “I repeat, Miss Phillips only sees me as a clergyman.”

Jonah stopped before a fish vendor’s cart, and Damien stood silent while Jonah haggled over a piece of cod. As they waited for it to be cleaned and cut, he turned back to Damien, a twinkle in his dark green eyes. “Is that so?”

“She has seemed…troubled to me of late. If she can receive any counsel from the scriptures, then it is my duty to aid her in that way and no more. I am not even her proper pastor—that is Reverend Doyle’s purview. I must respect his office.”

Jonah mulled on that a moment, then dug in his pocket for some coins. “I beg your pardon, then. I didn’t quite see it in that light. I just see you as a good-looking young gent. Don’t you ever fancy yourself in need of a wife o’ your own?”

Damien was momentarily saved from replying when the vendor handed Jonah his change and packet of fish. But as they resumed walking, Jonah quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

Damien jabbed his walking stick into the cobbled stones. “I realized long ago my calling was to serve God, and it is a full-time occupation as you have come to observe in the time you’ve been residing with us.” He tried not to sound as testy as he was now feeling.

Jonah remained silent, seeming to examine the other stalls they passed. Damien felt compelled to add, “The Apostle Paul put it very well. When a person is married, he becomes concerned with the needs of his spouse to the detriment of the business of the Lord.”

Jonah grunted. “How is it then that most vicars and curates I see are married? Their wives seem to be their helpmates in the parish. Didn’t the good book also say something about it not being good for a man to be alone?”

Damien pretended to study the display of flowers at one stall. For the first time, he regretted having taught Jonah any scripture.

Jonah fished out a coin and indicated a posy of primroses. “These blooms have nothing over the bloom in your cheeks,” he told the vendor.

The pretty girl’s cheeks dimpled. “Thankee, sir.”

“Can you wrap them in a bit o’ paper for me?” As the girl complied, Jonah murmured, “That’s a good lass.” He took them from her and handed her the money.

“And who’s the lucky lady these are for?”

He inspected the colorful bouquet, turning it around in his large hand. “They’re for a very special lady, the one who’s promised to marry me.”

“Ooh!”

When the girl tried to hand him the change, he said, “Keep it and buy yourself your own posy.”