The Soul of the Rose (11 page)

Mr. Lyons motioned to the waiter and after paying the bill, looked at his watch. “We should be nearing our destination. Are you ready to return to our seats?”

“Yes, this tea has been lovely, I will treasure the memory. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”

They both rose, and when she turned to the door and the car jerked on the rails, Mr. Lyons immediately took her arm. She glanced up gratefully. He smiled back and continued to hold her arm as they made their way back to their places. They were seated only a short while before the conductor announced their station.

Standing in line to climb down the steps to the station platform, Mr. Lyons insisted, “Let me precede you, Miss Thatcher.” On the platform he put down his case and her valise, then stepped up to take her arm, grasping her gloved hand to ease her down.

“Thank you, Mr. Lyons.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Celia!” Mrs. Chestley ran out the station door. She flung her arms around the girl.

Mr. Chestley soon followed and shook Mr. Lyons’s hand. “Did the framing go all right?” At Mr. Lyons’s assent, he added, “I’m surprised you ended on the same train as Celia. How fortunate.”

As they entered the station through the double doors, Celia saw a familiar face staring at them. “Hello, Miss Waul.”

“Hello. I take it you had a nice time home for Christmas. I’m here to collect a parcel for Mrs. Divers.”

Celia couldn’t help glancing at Mr. Lyons. He nodded courteously at his neighbor, but his lips pressed together.

11

M
rs. Divers looked up as Miss Waul rushed into the room. “My! I haven’t seen you hurry like this in a long time. Are you suddenly getting younger?”

“A spurt of energy.” Miss Waul huffed. She handed Mrs. Divers a package, then sat down in the armchair opposite. “You’ll never believe who I saw at the train station.”

“I’m all ears. It’s been so quiet around here with you gone, to say nothing of our neighbor’s absence.” Mrs. Divers sat back in her easy chair, but something in her companion’s expression made her ask, “It’s not about him, is it? Hasn’t gone off and died and brought us relief?”

“Oh no, he’s very much alive. I saw him step off the train just minutes ago.” Miss Waul’s eyes were unusually keen. “Can you guess who was with him?”

“Well now, how would I know that?” Mrs. Divers couldn’t help feeling exasperated. She didn’t like guessing games. “I don’t keep up with all his acquaintances, if he has that many. You know I don’t get around town like I used to. That’s why I sit looking out my window, to see what’s passing by.”

“If you won’t give us a little fun and guess, I’ll just have to come right out and tell you. It was,” Miss Waul paused for added drama, “Miss Thatcher.”

“Miss Thatcher!” Mrs. Divers sat up in her chair, frowning. “You mean they were
with
each other?”

“Well, he helped her off the train. Took her arm and hand all cozy-like. I can tell you, it was more than a friendly hand down. It seemed . . . well . . .
intimate.
”

“So, you think they had been sitting and talking with each other? They couldn’t have been
traveling
together.”

“I don’t know, all I’m telling is what I saw.”

“Let’s see now.” Mrs. Divers figured the possibilities. “Why was he on that train? It was Christmas. Where does that line go?”

“Boston, I think. Yes, that line goes to Boston. His mother lives there, don’t you remember?”

“Of course, I remember. I also remember how she looked me over the first time we met, and remember her so stiff-like at the wedding, all Boston Brahmin-like.” Mrs. Divers harrumphed. “But back to the train—does Miss Thatcher live on the line to Boston? Did she go away for Christmas?”

Miss Waul sniffed. “Well, she must, don’t you think? What else would she be doing?”

“Of course, she must have been visiting her family. Any other thought would be most unkind, and unlikely. But Miss Waul, we must find out more. How could Miss Thatcher be thrown in his way like that? All that man deserves is a greeting in the bookstore. That’s all!” Mrs. Divers’s index finger tapped hard on the stuffed arm of her chair. “If it’s more, we must do something.”

“But what?”

“Well, get us some tea, and we’ll talk about it.”

The nip in the air invigorated Celia. Mr. Chestley had encouraged her to take a short, brisk walk during lunchtime. All morning she’d worked hard to change the displays in the bookstore, freshening them up for the new year.

Last night’s conversation with the Chestleys had gone past their usual bedtime. How hungry they’d been to hear news of her family. They laughed together as she told them they might not have recognized her, playing in the snow like a child. Midway through her visit, a storm had brought a big snowfall and she couldn’t resist getting out in it. That last afternoon she sledded down the hill at Grandma’s with her brothers and sister and felt the fun of being a young girl again—and she at twenty! Her two brothers ganged up on her, smothering her face with cold, loosely bound snowballs. When younger, she would have yelped at being bested. Now, her cry was pure joy at being teased by very dear brothers. She had missed them more than she realized.

As she walked along, she felt something sweet, yet melancholy, deep inside. Often on a Sunday afternoon, she had this same feeling when the week’s activities had stilled. Times like this, life seemed a mixture of the happy and the pensive. She would wonder about her place in life—was she doing what she was supposed to?

Sharing this with the Chestleys, she was quick to assure them she wouldn’t trade her present life for anything. But it had been delightful to be home. She glanced at Mrs. Chestley and noticed a questioning gleam in her eyes.

“What is it?” Celia asked.

“I was wondering about Jack.”

“I saw quite a bit of him. He helped my brothers in one of our dastardly snowball fights. And I went to his family party where I felt as welcome as ever. There, are you satisfied?”

“My dear,” Mrs. Chestley said, her face suffused with a merry smile, “you know I like to hear of any progress with him—or with any other young man, for that matter.”

Celia approached the jewelry store. Mrs. Chestley had a decidedly romantic turn of mind. What did Celia herself think of Jack? He’d insisted on seeing her to the train with her family and said he’d come visiting. She inwardly shrugged, not sure how she felt. Well, maybe when he came to visit, when she saw him in these new surroundings, she’d know more.

Glancing inside the store, she saw Mr. Ellis hanging his newly framed print. Mr. Lyons had probably brought it over that morning. He hadn’t delivered the picture for the bookstore yet. She turned and glanced back down the street at the store, making sure no one of his description was approaching. When he brought the print, she wanted to be present.

He had been the perfect gentleman on the train. Her heart warmed at the thought. She’d felt so cared for, and he looked so distinguished. As they walked down the aisle, she saw the respectful glances from other passengers. Curious that he should be sitting in coach; she would have thought he’d be in first class. In fact, it was strange she had seen him on that train at all. But then he said he’d visited his mother in Boston, and it was reasonable to return after New Year’s like she had. Well, the coincidence was all to her good. What an absolutely delightful tea he had treated her to. She had felt like a princess—no, that showed her girlishness. But she had felt like someone very much valued.

And what an opportune time to plumb his views on science and religion. After her discussions with Father, it seemed the perfect opportunity. But then, she’d done most of the talking. Had she foiled her own curiosity by waxing passionate? She thought back . . . he had said a number of things, asked questions in such a way as to give her a fair picture of where he stood. He had quoted Thomas Huxley’s first article of faith.
What faith
, she grimaced. Huxley’s faith in
himself
was more like it. And it was clear Huxley had no compunction in destroying others’ cherished doctrines and institutions. That kind of hubris reminded her of Emerson.

Oh! And then, Mr. Lyons’s crack about
blind
faith. How revealing
.
She stopped a moment, lost in thought.

She began walking again, careful of the snow on the sidewalk. Here, it hadn’t been cleared off quite so well. Mrs. Smith’s house was coming up and this would be the farthest she would walk. When she had talked with her father, he’d said Mr. Lyons was in the camp of those not only questioning their faith, but losing it as well. It looked as though her father was right. She wondered about Mr. Lyons’s experience with God, that he could so readily question Him.

Ah, here was Mrs. Smith’s house—she would turn back. She definitely felt loosened up after a long morning rearranging books. Not only did Mr. Chestley like to have the window display changed weekly, but various books placed full face on the shelves so that different titles caught a browser’s eye.

She entered the bookstore at the rear door to shed her coat and boots. Voices could be heard at the front so she walked through the stacks to the counter. Mr. Lyons’s large bulk and Mr. Chestley’s smaller frame bent over a large rectangular object. Mr. Chestley looked up. “Celia! Our picture has arrived. Tell me what you think.”

At her name Mr. Lyons turned around, a smile warmed his face. “How do you do, Miss Thatcher?” He stepped aside.

“Very well, thank you.” She looked at the picture. “But this isn’t the frame you chose, Mr. Chestley.” Wood carved in graceful, elongated curves framed the peaceful scene of pastured sheep and rolling hills. A feeling of loveliness washed over her. “This frame complements the print so much better than the simple wood one I thought you ordered.” She looked up at her employer.

He was smiling, but his look directed her to Mr. Lyons. “We have a benefactor.”

Celia’s gaze shifted to Mr. Lyons. He had a twinkle in his eye. “It’s beautiful, sir, much more than I could have thought possible. The carving is exquisite.”

Mr. Lyons’s smile widened.

Her eyes began to mist. Celia pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “Now, look what you’ve done.” She laughed through the tears. “I never expected a picture to do this.”

“Then my instinct was right,” Mr. Lyons said. “The simple wood frame would have served well, but the shopkeeper showed me this, done by a woodcarver from Germany. It had been ordered for another picture, but the matron decided she didn’t like it for hers after all. The frame was priced lower than I would have thought. I couldn’t
not
buy it.”

“Celia, he made up the difference and won’t tell me what it is.”

“It’s too good of you, Mr. Lyons. We shall all enjoy it so much.”

“Well, I will also benefit, coming here on a regular basis as I do.”

“It will hang where we have our book discussions, so it will be enjoyed by many. But still,” Mr. Chestley shook his head, “I can’t imagine such a frame being inexpensive, even under the circumstances you described. We owe you a debt.”

“Just a debt of thanks.”

“My wife will be thrilled as well.”

“Speaking of that good lady, I’d like to celebrate our good fortune and invite the two of you to dinner.” He turned to Celia. “And you, too, Miss Thatcher.”

Celia smiled her acceptance. Her inclusion seemed almost an afterthought, but that was as it should be. The Chestleys and Mr. Lyons were old friends.

“I’ll convey the invitation to my wife,” Mr. Chestley said. “She’ll be delighted. What day were you thinking?”

“Would a week from Saturday suit? Say seven o’clock? That would give you time to close the bookstore.”

“I think that will work.”

“Good. I’ll send the carriage round for you.”

“Now I know we’re celebrating. I don’t believe I’ve seen you use a carriage since I’ve known you.”

“It was sitting in the stable when I bought the place. Ned, who tends my horse, will take care of the arrangements. Expect him shortly before seven, if that’s all right.”

“That will be fine.” Mr. Chestley held out his hand. “We should be having you over for dinner. I don’t know what Mrs. Chestley will say.”

Mr. Lyons shook the offered hand with decision. “Just have her say yes. And I have something to show you, too.” Celia looked up at him, but he didn’t elucidate. “Now, I must be on my way. After the trip to Boston, affairs at home need to be attended to. If you’ll excuse me.”

He bowed to Celia. As his head lifted, his eyes rested on her.

She felt his kind regard and it warmed her heart. “Thank you, sir; we will all look forward to the dinner.”

After Mr. Lyons exited the shop, Mr. Chestley turned to her. “Better put your coat and boots back on. My wife would be upset if I didn’t let her know about this invitation the minute I heard.” He looked at Celia more closely. “My dear, no one, and I mean no one is ever invited to Mr. Lyons’s. I hardly think anyone knows what the inside of his house looks like. This is most unusual. I wonder what prompted it.”

“Well, to celebrate the pictures, dear Mr. Chestley. As I passed the jewelry store, I noticed Mr. Ellis hanging his.”

“I wonder if he’s invited to dinner as well.”

“I wouldn’t know!” She laughed. “You sound like a typical woman, all in a tizzy.”

“Forgive me, my dear. It’s just—this is so unusual. You cannot know.” He looked down at the picture. “The carving is skillfully done, very refined, isn’t it? We’ll hang this after you get back from Mrs. Chestley.” He shooed her along with both hands. “Now, get along. News like this can’t wait.”