Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty (16 page)

“Aye, Miss. I do not take that to be your meaning at all,” he said seriously, without
hiding  a
broad smile.

As Sarah removed her wrap in the hallway, she overhead Andrew saying, “I am sorry to hear Grannie Williams is so ill; but, perhaps now the Methodist class will be forced to get a male teacher, as would be proper. You would never see such a thing in our church as a woman having the presumption to teach men about the scriptures.”

“I daresay,” Mr. Darcy replied, “the Methodists have been most helpful to the poor in England. Perhaps we need to be a little more tolerant of them in this area.”

“I don’t think so father,” Andrew said. “This is one area I am sure our Anglican leaders have right.”

Sarah quickly sat down in the hall chair. “Indeed,” she thought, “they are probably right, women should not be religious teachers; but, is it better to have no teacher at all?” With a sigh she wandered toward her room, where she spent the next hour in prayer. “Lord,” she asked, “Is this your plan for me? You know I do not want to do it; but, I am not sure if my reluctance is because it truly is wrong or because I don’t want Andrew to think unkindly of me. Please help me to be open with you about my feelings and to listen to your voice as you direct me. When I visit Grannie Williams show me what is right.”

When she returned to the sick room, she immediately noticed a vase of lovely, multicolored roses. Andrew smiled at her, “Anna thought I might enjoy some of ‘my flowers’ as she calls them.”

“They are indeed beautiful, especially the white ones.”

“Indeed, I have many beautiful things to look at while I recover,” he said.

Sarah turned to find him gazing at her. To cover her surprise, she said, “Perhaps you could see
better
if we open the drapes. Do you think your eyes can tolerate a bit more light?”

“I hope so. More light would be cheery. Why don’t you open the drapes on the north side first and we’ll open the others after my eyes adjust?”

“You are a very wise patient,” she said as she went to move the room darkening material. “You’ll notice we positioned your bed so you could see into the garden.”

Andrew said something so quietly that Sarah could not hear, but she decided it might be best to not inquire about it.

Soon the room was full of light each day. The Staley children enjoyed hunting for interesting plant specimens to show Andrew. He would then spend time teaching them about different plants. They were amazed when they brought in a nondescript leaf that Andrew could tell them what the plant it was attached to
had
looked like. Edgar especially enjoyed learning about plants that were edible (should he ever be stranded while on some victorious quest).

Days passed quickly now as Andrew continued to heal. Sarah spent many hours reading aloud to him. She was surprised the first time he asked her to read something she had
written,
since she believed him to be opposed to women writers–perhaps he was more opposed to women being published than to women writing per se. She began with a few of her shorter poems and before she knew it she was reading her first novel to him.

“You have a wonderful way of describing things,” he said. “It almost seems as though I’m part of each story.”

Sarah hoped he didn’t notice her chagrin, for in a sense, it finally dawned on her that he was a part of all her stories. Every hero she wrote about incorporated some of Andrew’s fine qualities and every villain
was
given at least one trait that could not be found in Andrew (deceit, dishonesty, cruelty, etc.). Until Sarah began to read the stories aloud to him, she had not realized that he was the source of much of her ideal of manhood. “Oh, Lord,” she prayed silently, “
don’t
let him recognize himself in my stories. He must not know my foolish desires–he is intended for my sister, Laura.”

.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Three days later, Sarah and Lady Georgiana were sitting in the parlor of Staley Hall. Anna was sitting between them and trying to learn a new fill stitch as she was embroidering.

Maria was ushered into the room. Sarah noted the lack of usual gaiety on her visitor’s countenance as she entered the room. After the customary greetings, Sarah asked, “Is anything bothering you?”

Maria looked at the floor.

“We can talk in private if you wish.”

“No. . .
no
. . . I would like my aunt to hear this also.”

Georgiana turned to Anna, “Please go up to your room or outside to play so we can talk with
you
cousin.”

After Anna left, Maria began to explain. “I have been distressed since Mr. Paul Westbrook’s visit three days ago. As you know, he followed the usual custom of calling the day after the ball and we took a turn in the south garden.”

“Our conversation was pleasant. I do not recall our words exactly, but he seemed to make an encouraging remark, something like, ‘I enjoy our times together.’ and then I replied, ‘Why, Mr. Westbrook, I enjoy being with you. Indeed, you may court me, if you like.”

“He became very quiet for a long time whilst we were walking back. At the end of the walk, he made a few observations about the beautiful garden and then begged to leave. I watched with an uncomfortable feeling as he walked away.”

Sarah noticed tears began to form in Maria’s eyes, as her cousin continued, “This morning I received a note from him. Since you have been my counselor, Sarah, please read it.”

Sarah took the note and read:

Maria,

I am sensible of the honor of your interest. Your friendship is valuable to me, so I must speak the truth in kindness.

My objections to beginning a courtship are several-fold. First, the roles are somehow reversed and I should be the one who is seeking a greater intimacy. This may be old-fashioned and traditional, yet I cannot avoid it. Second, your disdain of the social level of Mr. Johnson is troublesome. Even though I am adopted by worthy parents, my birth is of much lower origin than even Mr. Johnson’s. I should think that irksome to you.

Finally, my call to the ministry involves the sense of
servanthood
. Love demands service. As our Lord hath said, ‘If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of
all,
and servant of all. . . .
Even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
Any woman who would be my wife would need to understand the gentle humility of service to others. Growing up in your exalted position, I am uncertain as to whether you can wait on yourself, let alone attend others.

Please forgive me for my bluntness. However, as one of my acquaintances has said, ‘Honesty is the best policy where there is no hope.’

No one has a greater desire for your lifelong happiness than this correspondent.

Your devoted friend,

Paul Westbrook

After reading the note, Sarah handed it to Georgiana. Maria then sat down and asked, “What shall I do?”

“What do you wish to do?”

“I wish he would change his mind about me and begin the courtship.”

With gentle tenderness, Sarah asked, “What about his objection about initiating the courtship?”

Maria waved her hand, “Oh, that. . . I think he will get used to the idea. Probably after a few months he will think it was his idea all along.”

“What of his low birth? How do you feel about it?”

“I had no fondness at all for Mr. Johnson. His social position was a convenient excuse for the refusal. Mr. Westbrook, on the other hand, was adopted by quality parents. . . I think he could be reassured on his qualifications along that line.”

Sarah felt compassion for her visitor as she softly asked, “Have you ever fixed your own hair?”

“Why should the ‘pampered princess of Pemberley’ fix her own hair?”

“Have you ever prepared a meal?”

“No. Why should that matter? Ladies are not required to do those things. What does he mean by
servanthood
? Does he actually expect me to become a servant to please him? I know I need to yield to my husband, but is this carrying it too far?”

“It might not be a bad idea,” Georgiana spoke her thoughts aloud after she finished reading the letter. “I mean, the part about
your
becoming a servant for
awhile
.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Maria asked incredulously.

“Certainly you should take a good look at what it would mean to be a clergyman’s wife before you spend time pining over such a position.” Georgiana continued gently, “If you are to become a rector’s wife, it means a life of service to those who need help. You may not always have a maid to help fix your hair or prepare the meal.”

Maria replied thoughtfully, “I begin to comprehend your meaning.”

Her aunt continued, “Those activities represent practical examples of a deeper theological mystery involved in the ministry.”

“I have struggled over the past few days with the vanity of my life,” Maria replied. “What do I have to show for my life?
Nothing.”

The trio was quiet for a minute.

Maria spoke slowly as she pulled at a button on her dress, “If I become a servant for
awhile
, I must do it without reference to Mr. Westbrook. I doubt he will ever seriously consider me again. I must do it for my own soul.”

Sarah asked, “Where can you be a servant?”

Maria appeared perplexed.

Georgiana said, “Obviously, you must not do it at Pemberley or its near environs, because if you are known as Miss Maria Darcy, you would not be treated the same as any other servant. Indeed, you would probably not be allowed to serve others.”

“What do you suggest?” Maria asked.

Sarah replied tentatively, “I know a wonderful old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Busby, who run a roadside inn in Yorkshire. Mrs. Busby used to be the assistant housekeeper for my parent’s house.”

“What is she like?” Maria asked eagerly.

“A
more jolly
woman you will never know. However, her kindness is not weakness, as she knows how to keep order in her household. I have seen her chase a few servants with her spatula to make her point.”

Maria looked at Georgiana, “Will you help me explain this decision to my parents? Your influence on my father is second only to my mother’s.”

“Certainly; however, first we must canvass Mrs. Busby’s opinion and then think about how long you are to be in service.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sarah stood in front of Granny Williams’ humble cottage with mixed feelings. Would the elderly woman beg her to take the class? Would she be dogmatic and authoritative? Or, would she be weak, ill and confused? She almost walked away. Finally, she timidly knocked as though fearful of being answered.

A woman about ten years older than Sarah opened the door and said, “Are you Sarah Bingley?”

“Yes.”

“My mother has been waiting for you. Please come in. I must leave now to return to my own family.”

Sarah entered to see Granny Williams in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace. As the door closed behind the retreating woman, Sarah remained motionless as she grew accustomed to the atmosphere of the cottage. The strange stillness was broken only by an occasional crackle from the fire. Sarah continued to stand for a minute and felt the “thickness” of the cottage air; not the physical air but the emotional feeling present; or, was it a spiritual sensation which caressed her soul? The sensation was not unpleasant, but, nonetheless it produced a serious response. The only time Sarah could recall a similar feeling was a few instances in the parish church.

“Come and sit, my child,” her hostess said as she pointed to a chair across from her and in front of the fender.

Sarah did as requested and expected further conversation; the old woman looked into the fireplace and said nothing for a long time. At first Sarah was impatient and thought to volunteer a statement; but, to do so felt impertinent or even rude.

Granny Williams finally spoke, “How do you feel about teaching the class?”

Surprised by the direct question, Sarah was freed to confess her misgivings. “Ma’am, I am so young to lead those who are older than me.”

Her hostess did not respond except by beginning to rock her chair slowly. Sarah felt her excuse weak, so she added, “Is it right to offend men by teaching them?”

Granny Williams tweaked a weak smile and helped Sarah, “Do you think it is wrong?”

“I am not sure. I have not devoted any time to consider it. My friend, Mr. Andrew Darcy, clearly believes it to be wrong.”

“Why?”

“I am uncertain–perhaps, because it has been traditional in the church,” her voice trailed off. Sarah then asked, “What do you think?”

“I thought as much, or should I say, as little about it as you have before being asked to lead the class.” Granny Williams paused for a few seconds and then said, “The principle founder of the Methodist church, John Wesley, who I would remind you remained an Anglican priest until his death, struggled with this issue; however, when he saw the Lord using women as wonderfully or even better in the Lord’s work than men, he asked, ‘Who am I to stand against the Lord Almighty?’”

             
With this she lapsed into silence and Sarah realized her hostess could only speak in short spurts and the last statement had taken much effort.

“Come here, my daughter; let me see you better.”

Sarah moved and knelt before Granny Williams.

“Do you feel a prompting to lead this class?” Sarah gazed at her and observed that the old woman suddenly appeared younger (or was it a glow?), as she returned Sarah’s look. “Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be
here.
. . however, I see fear. I hope to recover from this illness; but, if not, eternal glory awaits. . . Lord willing, your involvement would be temporary. . . .”

They sat in silence another minute before her hostess asked, “What are you afraid of, my dear?”

Sarah put her head into the woman’s lap and tears began welling up. “I am anxious about what others think. Nay, I fear that one person in particular will disapprove. I am afraid I am putting others before . . . .”

“You mean before God.”

“Yes, yes.”

“My child.
The Lord
understands.
. .  if it is meant to be, the people in your life will respond. Deeper help and understanding will only come after obedience to your calling.” The old woman began praying and Sarah now recognized the feeling in the cabin. What could it be other than “holiness”? She wept and then felt a burden lift. Peace and joy filled her heart.

Sarah came to the cottage unconsciously seeking help and had found it. The path she should follow was now clear. She felt like dancing. The room seemed filled with sunshine. Her reverie was interrupted.

“Daughter, will you help me into bed?”

Sarah did so and kissed Granny on the cheek as she pulled the bed covering up over her hostess who seemed to have fallen instantly asleep.