Ruth Morren - Winter Is Past

He’d liked her eyes. They were that indeterminate shade between gray, pale blue and sea green. But there was something very forthright in her gaze, giving him a sense that her yea would be yea and her nay, nay.

Not like the last nurse, who’d tried to make him feel better by lying about Rebecca’s condition. Simon rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling the fury of discovering Rebecca with a fever he had not been told about.

He jotted down honesty under the Assets column, then blotted it carefully. After a few seconds, he added a question mark. He must still verify this quality. He would not be fooled a second time.

Yes, Miss Breton’s countenance had been fair—good patrician features, which he’d expected of the sister of Tertius Pembroke, the fourth Earl of Skylar. His mind cataloged them: a straight, well-shaped nose, nice rosy lips, a firm chin and a high, pale forehead. She didn’t look anything like Sky, however. She reminded him more of a country lass, the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the clear gaze evidence of sunshine and fresh air. It was ironic considering she lived in one of the dirtiest parts of London.

He frowned again over the irregularity of her name. Breton? She had explained she was Sky’s half sister. What did she mean by that? The old marquess had remarried? Simon wrote Breton? under Liabilities. He would question Sky about it the next time his friend was in town.

The main drawback to Miss Breton, he concluded, was her religion. A Methodist, she had called herself. He was familiar with the origins of Methodism in the last century under the Wesleys and Whitefield at Oxford. His lip curled in disdain; such a phenomenon would not have occurred at the Newtonian Cambridge, his own alma mater, the home of rationalism and mathematics.

The only trouble with religion, as Simon saw it, was that it was a way for the State to get its hands on hardworking people’s money and place it in the hands of a few of its own class. One of the greatest fights he anticipated taking on someday in Parliament was attacking the entire body of law giving the Church the right to confiscate a tenth of every landowner’s crop and cattle, in an ancient system of tithing.

The far more insidious evil of religion was the havoc it wreaked by the few who actually took it seriously. With them it was all or nothing, the result of which could be seen in the bloody wars and massacres over the continent in the last millennium, the brunt of which so often was felt by his own people.

Miss Breton, Simon could see clearly, fell into this latter category. He added to the Liabilities column: religious fervor. He underscored the word.

Lastly was the question of her nursing skills. They remained to be seen. He had only the word of Skylar—one of the few men he trusted—but still, Simon remained skeptical. He wrote nursing skills at the end of the columns, between the two, and added a question mark.

Althea awoke. She had been dreaming. She had been in the presence of Jesus! She knew it, recalled it vividly, still felt His presence all about her. She had no idea what time it was. Glancing toward the dormer window of her attic room, she saw no sign of light, but sensed it was earlier than her usual predawn time of rising.

She lay back against her pillow, trying to recapture the dream. Jesus had been talking to her; she remembered she’d been un-burdening her heart to Him. He’d been revealing Scriptures to her. Her eyes had been opened, just as had those of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. The Scriptures became so clear and simple when Jesus showed her. What else had He said? She closed her eyes, burying herself deeper in the pillow, not wanting to leave that place where she’d been, wanting to hear more from her Lord.

He’d told her to go to Mayfair, not to be afraid to leave her present life and enter the Aguilar household. He’d said very clearly that it would be her wilderness, but that in obedience she would yield much fruit, for that family belonged to Him.

The last thing she remembered was awaking with a Scripture verse impressed upon her mind. She felt wrapped in the Lord’s love, confident that she could do all things in His strength.

Althea reached toward her bedside table and turned up the lamp. She saw it was just half-past three. In another hour, she would arise at her normal time. There was no sense in trying to get back to sleep. She had been waiting to hear from the Lord ever since she’d left Mr. Aguilar’s residence. She’d spent the intervening days in fasting and prayer, seeking the Lord’s direction. And now He had answered her. She had a keen sense of anticipation as she reached for her Bible. She wrapped herself in her shawl and sat against the pillow and bolster, the Bible against her knees.

She opened to the Book of Ephesians and rustled the pages to get to the second chapter. Her finger traveled down the page until it reached the fourteenth verse. That was the verse the Lord had given her.

“…who hath made us both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us.”

Althea continued reading until she completed the chapter, then went back to the beginning and read the entire chapter through. Finally she sat back, her head lying against the pillow. There could be no doubt. The Lord was showing her that Jew and Gentile were considered one in His eyes, and that by His death and resurrection, He had created one new man out of both. She looked back down at the Scriptures, tracing the words with her fingertip as she reread them, feeling as if she were discovering them for the first time—and in a sense, she was:

“…to make in himself of twain one new man…that he might reconcile both unto God in one body by the cross, having slain the enmity thereby…through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father…ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints…built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone…unto an holy temple in the Lord….”

Paul was describing Jew and Gentile as a building fitly framed together as a temple of the Lord, as a habitation of His spirit. Althea sat still, stunned by the revelation. Her thoughts went to Simon Aguilar, a man cynical, impatient, arrogant, who clearly didn’t listen to anyone he considered inferior, and whom, quite frankly, she didn’t like.

Jesus loved this man and had died for him.

“Miss Althea, look at this!”

Althea laid aside her needlework and moved to the side of Rebecca’s bed. The dark-haired, eight-year-old girl proudly held up a fan-like row of paper dolls she had cut out. “That’s perfect, sweetie. Now you can draw their faces.”

Rebecca got back to work happily, laying the dolls on the drawing board at her lap and taking up her pencil. Althea picked up the scraps of paper from the bed, thinking over the past fortnight. Simon Aguilar had agreed to hire her on the trial basis she had proposed. As soon as she had arranged her absence from the East End mission, she’d begun her residence in the four-story Mayfair mansion.

On the day she had arrived at the Green Street address, she had spoken only briefly to Mr. Aguilar. She had been too overwhelmed by her recent revelation to do more than nod at his brief instructions. She had had to fight the urge to look at him too closely. All she could think of were the verses she had read in the intervening days and the things the Lord had shown her. Had Joseph, Jacob’s son, perhaps looked like this man? Or David, the young shepherd boy chosen by God to build a kingdom?

He no longer had a mocking air, but one of hurry and distraction. He was on the verge of departure for a few days, he had told her. Anything she might need she could consult with Mrs. Coates, the housekeeper.