A Distant Shore (23 page)

There were, Isobel had discovered, no other eligible gentlemen in all of Calcutta in want of a wife—especially not now Mr. Casey had so maligned her character. She no longer had the hope of marriage, if she’d ever had it at all, and the days stuck in the Marshmans’ spare room seemed long indeed.

“There you are.” Hannah swept into the sitting room, looking amazingly cool and lively. Isobel felt as if she might wilt from the damp heat, and her clothes stuck to her in awkward places. She gave Hannah a tired smile.

“I really don’t know how you manage this heat.”

“You shall grow accustomed to it, I’m sure,” Hannah said. “But in the meantime, I have a proposal.”

“Then it will be my only one,” Isobel joked dryly, and Hannah gave her a small smile.

“There is more to life than marriage, Isobel, and as it will be some weeks before the next sailing, I thought you might make yourself useful here.”

Isobel blushed at the implication that she was a drain on the Marshmans’ limited resources. “I’m sorry—” she began, and Hannah shook her head.

“You mistake my meaning. I mean for your own sake. It is not good for the soul to be idle and without any occupation.”

“I suppose not,” Isobel agreed cautiously.

Hannah smiled gently. “I remember you had spoken of teaching at a charity school back in Boston?”

“Yes…”

“We have started a small girls” school here in Serampore. And since you will be with us for a few weeks at least, I thought you might be able to help to teach the little ones. They are darling, and eager to learn.”

“Of—of course.” Isobel stammered in her surprise and uncomfortable realization that for nearly a month she had really not made herself useful at all. She had spent all of her time thinking about herself, wallowing in self-pity, and clearly that had been obvious to everyone except her. In that moment she felt her uselessness sorely.

“It will be good for you, I think,” Hannah said quietly, and Isobel murmured her agreement.

As she considered the matter later, she realized she was actually looking forward to teaching again. The long, lonely days of wallowing had been an indulgence she could not afford, and one she was more than ready to give up. She wanted to turn her mind to other matters, and teaching was one thing she knew how to do.

She started at the school the very next day. The girls’ school in Serampore was about as different from the First School as could be, with its floor of packed earth and mud brick walls, the airless room buzzing with flies, yet the moment Isobel stepped across that humble threshold she felt a welcome rush of familiarity. This was a schoolroom, no matter the walls or the floors, and despite all the strangeness, she felt at home for the first time in this country.

The main teacher, Elizabeth Benton, was another missionary’s wife, and was more than happy to have Isobel’s help. Within minutes of her arrival Isobel was settled on a rough wooden stool with a battered primer on her lap, and a cluster of rapt, dark-eyed and dark-haired little girls gathered around her. She began reading, and even though she knew she was only doing what she had done in Boston for many years and found so wearying, she felt her heart now lift with joy.

“You are good with the little ones,” Elizabeth told her after the first day, as they tidied up the primers and slates. “They were hanging on your every word.”

“They’re so very sweet,” Isobel answered with a little laugh. One little girl, no more than five years old, had laid her glossy head against Isobel’s knee as she’d read from the primer. It had been an unthinking gesture on the girl’s part, but one that had made Isobel’s heart swell with emotion.

“This school is the only chance they will ever have of an education,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is the only school of its kind in the entire country.”

“And what will they do with an education?” Isobel asked. It was a question that had troubled her back in Boston; to give immigrants a chance of hope and yet no real opportunity sometimes seemed almost cruel.

“They will do what they always do, the only recourse they have,” Elizabeth answered with a shrug. “Marry, bear children, work the land. But they shall be able to read books, and count their own animals, and be far more productive in their domestic sphere.” She smiled sympathetically, as if she guessed the nature of Isobel’s thoughts. “We cannot change all of society in a single season, Miss Moore, and in any case God intended for women to work in the home, to marry and bear children. But an education is a reward in and of itself.”

“I suppose,” Isobel agreed, although she wondered why God had not seen fit to provide her with a husband if all women were meant to marry. “I certainly find it a reward to provide some of the teaching,” she continued diplomatically. It was certainly the truth.

The days which had been so endless and empty began now to fly by. Isobel was busy in the school from right after breakfast until nearly dinnertime, when she came home to help Hannah with the evening meal and any chores around the house. She fell into bed every night tired but happier than she’d been since arriving in Calcutta, or even before that.

The deprivations that had tried her so sorely when she’d first arrived seemed minimal now, and nothing compared to the indignities her pupils endured, with so few material resources to hand. She wiped the mold from her looking glass each morning, and aired the pages of her books. She wore only two dresses, for the others she’d brought were too heavy for the heat, and she carried a fan with her wherever she went for both the heat and the flies. Amazingly, against all expectation and even sense, she adapted. What had once been strange now felt almost normal.

A month after Isobel had started teaching Joshua Marshman asked again if he should book passage on the next ship to Boston, sailing the following week, and Isobel was startled to realize just how much time had passed.

“I suppose I shall have to go,” she said slowly, surprised at how much she didn’t want to and not because she was reluctant to return to Boston; she was loath now to leave India. “I cannot remain here forever.”

Joshua said nothing, for he was too kind-hearted to agree with her and too pragmatic to suggest otherwise.

Hannah gave her a sympathetic smile. “I shall miss you, Isobel,” she said quietly. “I have enjoyed your company.”

Isobel just nodded, her throat too tight then for words. She would miss Hannah as well, and Elizabeth, and the school, and even India itself. She had become used to life here, against all possibility and belief. She didn’t want to go, yet she knew, in her current position, she could not stay. How cruel was Providence, she thought bitterly, to force her to leave India when she had finally become used to it, and found some happiness! And yet she could not rail at God, for she knew that even if she had to leave, she was glad she’d come to Calcutta.

Even so the day the ship sailed into Calcutta’s harbor Isobel felt her joy-lightened heart turn heavy; it was another step towards her return to Boston and the life she’d once known. Would she return to the First School, and finish out all her days as she’d begun them? Even though she’d enjoyed teaching in Serampore, she still dreaded a return to the stifling familiarity of Boston and the strictures of society there. She wondered if she could carve a new life for herself; perhaps she could ask her parents if she might set up her own home. It was not as shocking a thing to do as it had been a generation or even a decade ago, and plenty of people in Boston were embracing more liberal norms—although Isobel wasn’t sure if she wanted to be one of them.

That evening Joshua returned from the harborside, where he’d inquired about booking passage for Isobel, with a couple in tow, a man and wife.

“You will never guess who I found on the quayside, having docked in Calcutta on their way to Burma!”

Startled, Isobel realized she recognized the man. It was Adoniram Judson, America’s first foreign missionary, whom she’d heard speaking in Boston over a year ago now, and who had inspired her to consider the mission field for herself. He looked older and more frail now, his hair wispy but his eyes still bright, and as he intended to return to Burma with his wife Emily.

Joshua made the introductions, and Isobel murmured her own greetings. She felt strangely shy in front of this great man, and self-conscious about her predicament, which took some explaining over supper.

“How tragic for Mr. Jamison to die so suddenly,” Adoniram said with a sad smile. He spoke in a hoarse whisper, for a long-standing pulmonary infection had robbed him of his voice. “He was a kind, if rather serious, man. We labored together for several years. But Providence wills.” Mr. Judson, Isobel knew, had experienced his own share of grief. Emily, the woman who sat beside him now, was his second wife, as his first one, Ann, who had accompanied him to Burma back in 1812, had died over ten years ago. “Tell me, Miss Moore,” he asked, “how do you find India?”

“I found it quite difficult when I first arrived,” Isobel confessed, compelled to be honest by the grave attentiveness of the experienced missionary. “The weather is so hot and damp, and everything felt so unfamiliar. And yet the days I’ve spent at the school here have been some of the happiest of my life.” As she said the words, she realized with a pang of shock just how true they were—and how much she didn’t want to leave.

Adoniram smiled. “Your honesty is refreshing.”

Isobel let out a little, self-conscious laugh. “I must confess, I came to India with some vague notion of adventure which was quite wrong of me. I have been suitably chastened in my chasing of such vain things, I fear.”

“And what will you do now?” Adoniram’s wife Emily asked. “It seems such a pity to return all the way to America after such a long and arduous journey.”

Isobel lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I fear I have no choice. India holds little opportunity for a woman alone.”

“True, although I hope to welcome unmarried women to the mission field in time.” Adoniram cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her. “But if you were married, there could be opportunities in abundance,” he continued thoughtfully, and Isobel felt herself blush.

“I am afraid, sir, such opportunities have not arisen here.” She hoped Mr. Judson had not heard of her unfortunate interview with James Casey.

Adorniam nodded, unfazed. “Not in Calcutta, perhaps, but what of Burma?”

“Burma…” A wary excitement leapt within her. “Are you saying there is another gentleman in Burma who wishes to wed?”

“John Braeburn has been laboring with Mr. Jamison at our mission in Burma. He is, I am grieved to report, without a wife.”

“No—” Hannah exclaimed, and then fell silent.

Isobel shook her head in confusion. “But I thought all missionaries were required to marry. George Jamison was an exception.”

“Mr. Braeburn was married,” Adoniram said quietly. “His wife was taken of the dysentery at the same time as Mr. Jamison. I received the letter telling me the sad news upon my arrival here.”

“Oh no,” Hannah said softly. “Poor Jack.”

Isobel glanced at Hannah. She must have met this John—Jack—Braeburn when he’d come through Calcutta. She would have to ask about him later. That is, if she was actually considering Mr. Judson’s proposition. Did she really want to travel to an even stranger and more dangerous place, to marry a man she’d never met, a man still grieving for another woman? What if Jack Braeburn turned out to be cast in the same mold as James Casey?

“You must think on it, my dear,” Adoniram said, patting her hand. “It is, of course, an important decision. But I can attest to Mr. Braeburn’s character. He is a kind man, full of humor and vigor, and will remain so, I trust, despite his recent loss.”

“I shall think on it,” Isobel promised, even as her mind whirled with the suddenness of this new possibility.

Later that night, after the Judsons had retired to bed, Hannah came up to her bedroom. “To think you have another opportunity!” she exclaimed with a smile as Isobel sat in front of the speckled looking glass, brushing out her hair.

“You know this Mr. Braeburn, do you not?” she asked.

Hannah perched on the edge of the bed, her brow furrowed. “Yes, he has come through Calcutta several times and stayed with us. He’s a lovely man, Isobel, full of life and fun just as Mr. Judson said.”