Winter Is Past (16 page)

 

The day of the wedding dawned bright and warm. Althea didn't have time to worry overmuch about which dress she wore, since Rebecca awoke early and was clamoring for her attention in helping her dress. Without bothering to analyze the right or wrong of her motives, Althea quickly washed and donned her sister-in-law's green gauze along with the pearls her father had given her.

“You look beautiful, Althea,” exclaimed Rebecca as soon as she saw her.

Althea remembered the girl had not seen her the night of the dinner party, and she hadn't worn the gown since then. “Let's get you dressed.” She went into her wardrobe and took out the dress
Simon had ordered especially for this day. It was a beautiful pink frock with lots of lace and frills. Althea helped Rebecca don petticoats and dress before tying her sash. “Let's get your shoes on and let your papa know we're ready.”

They drove past Mayfair and Soho toward Bloomsbury. The trees were fully green now, and lilacs were in blossom everywhere. Once at Simon's parents, there was an air of frenzy as the bride was readied for her short journey to the groom's residence. Althea clasped Rebecca's hand as they watched the bride come down the steps of her house accompanied by violinists and a drummer. All the company sang a song as she was helped into an open carriage. The musicians followed in a coach, with the rest of the party bringing up the rear. The groom's parents lived a few streets down. There the bride was met at the entrance by servants who served her and all those of her party with a cup of sorbet and rose water.

They were ushered into the spacious drawing room where the furniture had been cleared out with the exception of chairs arranged along the walls. In the center of the room stood a little platform with a canopy decorated with flowers.

Althea looked on in wonder during the ceremony, not understanding a word, since it was conducted in both Hebrew and Ladino. Bride and bridegroom stood under the canopy as they were joined in matrimony by the rabbi. Solomon, the young bridegroom, wore a white robe. She noticed the rabbi wore one as well, with the prayer shawl draped over his shoulders. All the men wore their skullcaps, and many prayer shawls were visible beneath their dark jackets. Toward the end, a glass was broken by the bridegroom's foot.

Immediately following the ceremony, creamy cakes were served to everyone. Between mouthfuls, Rebecca explained to her that seven blessings had been recited over the couple.

After the cake, the guests were invited to the dining room to partake of the wedding feast. Althea sat wedged between Rebecca and another guest as plate after plate of food was served.
Rebecca told her how the bridal couple had fasted until the ceremony.

Much of the food had a foreign quality to it, and much of the language was incomprehensible to Althea, but she didn't really mind. Rebecca kept her amused, and she was touched that on this occasion Rebecca seemed content to stick close to her.

Althea could barely see Simon, who was at the far end of the table, grouped with his male relatives. She noticed toast after toast being made to the newlyweds. As the afternoon waned, many of the guests drifted back to the drawing room where an orchestra was tuning up.

By this time Rebecca began to tire of sitting among the adults. “Will you mind if I leave you for a while, Miss Althea?”

Althea squeezed her hand. “Of course not. I'm enjoying watching everyone. Go on, have fun with your cousins.”

Althea remained in the dining room a bit longer, sipping the deliciously dark coffee set before her. When the silent waiter kept refilling her cup, she finally had to cover it with her hand. She suspected the sweet, rich drink would prove potent in large quantities. As the dining room emptied, she rose with a company of women and followed them out. They made their way back to the drawing room.

A large group of guests were singing around the bridal pair. Many of the elderly guests sat at the periphery of the room on the gilded, straight-backed chairs set out. Althea found a seat among them. Soon the dancing began. Althea watched the first sets of dancers fall into formation. Even the music was different, faster and livelier than most of the minuets and country dances she had learned as a girl. She tapped her slipper to the tempo, enjoying the gusto of the men and women as they formed a ring around the dance floor.

“I'm so glad you could come to my wedding.” Tirzah stood by her chair.

Althea smiled up at the dark-haired girl in greeting. “Thank you for having me. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

Simon's sister looked beautiful in her white silk dress and lacy veil, dark curls framing her delicate features. She took the empty chair at Althea's side.

“May I?”

Althea made a gesture of welcome. “Please do.”

She stretched out her legs, her satin slippers peeking out from her hem. “Ah, it feels good to sit a moment. Why is it they make the bride and groom stand so much at a wedding?” She laughed. After a moment, her eyes caught sight of Rebecca across the room. “It's so good to see my niece looking so well.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“
Nu,
how are you getting on with my brother?”

Althea averted her eyes immediately, wondering at the directness of the question. “Very well, thank you. Mr. Aguilar is a very fair employer.”

“Employer? Oh, yes, of course. But really, Miss Breton, I hope he is not treating you as a mere employee. You've been a salvation to Rebecca. I can see she adores you. Believe me, she didn't warm to the other nurses. Not that they were there long enough. Simon is very protective of Rebecca. He didn't give any of them a second chance.” She shuddered. “Not that I blame him. You should have seen some of them. They would have given me nightmares had I been Rebecca's age.” She laughed. “But you're different. You've become special to Rebecca. I hope Simon has made you feel part of the family. I hope we have, too, here today.”

Althea was touched by the young woman's attention. “Thank you, Miss Aguilar. That's most kind of you.”

“Mrs. Cardoso, now,” she corrected with a smile.

“Of course, I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Cardoso.”

“Since I consider you part of the family, please call me Tirzah.”

Althea impulsively reached out her hand to the other girl. “Of course, Tirzah. And please call me Althea.”

“Althea. What a pretty name.” After a moment, Tirzah commented, “Simon says you are the sister of one of his closest friends.”

“Yes, they knew each other at Eton.”

“I'm glad they were friends. I don't think Simon had too many friends there. If you'll pardon my saying so, it's not easy being a Jew—or convert—” she added with a dry laugh “—in your world, Althea.”

“Nor a Methodist.”

Tirzah gave her a startled look, then grinned. “Yes, Simon has mentioned that you are of a different sect—”

She tipped her head to one side, reminding Althea of Simon.

“You are not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I couldn't fathom how a lady of quality could be accepting a post of nurse, until Simon explained that you were of a different religious persuasion. You feel that God has called you to serve in this capacity.”

Althea asked the Holy Spirit to give her the right words. Then she began speaking, formulating the words slowly. “When you realize what the Son of God did on this earth, offering Himself up as a living sacrifice for our sins, to make atonement for us for once and for all, then it becomes easy to turn around and obey Him when He calls us to do something for Him. It is no longer a matter of good works—that is, of trying to feel right before God, or trying to gain one's entry into heaven by the weight of one's good deeds.”

Althea looked at Tirzah, to see if she was understanding anything she was saying. The young woman was smiling politely. Althea continued. “It comes down to the realization that we have all sinned and come short of God's glory. Because of that, we are all in need of a Savior—one who stands in our place, receiving the condemnation and judgment we deserve—so that we might receive deliverance.”

Althea felt Tirzah was regarding her as if not quite sure what to make of her. When the groom came over to reclaim her, Tirzah turned to him with a big smile.

“There you are, Solomon!” She rose immediately to meet him,
her hands held out. Before leaving with him, she turned back to Althea. “Well, it has been a most illuminating conversation with you, Miss Breton—I mean, Althea. I hope we can chat again sometime.”

Althea prayed for the young bride as she watched her forging through the now crowded room with her new husband. A little while later a maid came up to Althea to ask her whether she would like to accompany Rebecca upstairs to help put her to bed. “Mr. Aguilar sent me to show you the way.”

Althea glanced around the room but didn't see any sign of Simon. She rose and followed the maid to where Rebecca held hands with her cousins, trying to imitate the chain the dancers had formed. Amidst much protest she finally agreed to go with them. As they ascended the stairs, the noise of the music became a distant hum. The maid showed them to a small room two flights up, prepared for an overnight guest.

“I was told to ask your excuses for the daybed set up for you here,” the maid told Althea. “We have so many guests staying, and Mr. Aguilar assured us it was all right—that Rebecca would want you close by.”

“Yes, it is quite all right.”

Rebecca chattered away all the while Althea helped her put on her nightgown and wash her face and clean her teeth. The two sat on the bed afterward, Althea brushing out Rebecca's thick dark curls.

Rebecca couldn't stop talking about the bride and groom. “Wasn't Aunt Tirzah beautiful? Her cheeks looked so rosy when she said her vows. And Solomon—he's now Uncle Solomon—he looked so dashing.” She twirled a curl around her finger. “Miss Althea?”

“Hmm?” Althea brushed in downward strokes.

“What kind of husband shall I have?”

Althea put down the brush and began separating the hair into three thick strands. “Ask God to pick him out for you, and you'll know your future husband will be just right.”

Rebecca craned her neck around to Althea. “Will He do that?”

Althea gently straightened the girl's head around again. “Yes. ‘Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.'” Althea tugged on the half-finished braid. “So, if God knows every one of these beautiful locks, He can certainly pick out a husband for you.”

Rebecca giggled. “Althea? If God can do that for me, why hasn't He picked out a husband for you? Haven't you asked Him?”

Althea's fingers stopped their braiding. “Perhaps I haven't.”

“Why not?”

Althea resumed braiding, then tied a ribbon at its end. She sighed, letting the braid go. “I don't know precisely. Perhaps I've been too busy to think about a husband. And when I was young enough, I didn't know God the way I do now.”

She rose to clean out the hairbrush. When she returned to the bed, she smiled. “Besides, I already have a husband.”

Rebecca stared at her wide-eyed. “You do?”

“The Bible says, ‘For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of hosts is His name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; The God of the whole earth shall he be called.'”

Rebecca listened rapt at the words. “How do you know so much of the Bible? Have you memorized it all?”

Althea laughed, drawing down the covers. “No. But I have spent years reading and studying it. And I've had some good teachers.

“Come on, in you go.” When Rebecca crawled under the covers, Althea continued. “You know what that verse is talking about?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“It's talking about the nation of Israel, the Jewish people,” she added.

“Oh. You mean
Abba
and Grandpapa and Grandmama, me…our family?”

“Yes. God is like a husband to his people. It says He shall be called the God of the whole earth. That means He's my husband, too.”

Rebecca's face broke into a smile. “So you don't need to get married?”

“When you enter into that place with God, He fills you up, so He's everything to you—father, friend, brother, husband.”

Rebecca sat gazing up at the ceiling, pondering this. “I should like to enter that place.” She turned her head to glance at Althea. “And I should like to see God pick out a husband for you here on earth, too, since you haven't had time to ask Him for one for yourself.”

S
imon stood outside the door that had been left ajar. He had been lifting his hand to knock when he overheard Rebecca's questions to Althea about marriage, and stopped, curious to hear her answers.

As the conversation took on a religious turn, he wondered whether it was right for Althea to instill her theology in his daughter, but just as quickly he admitted he had nothing better to offer her. He ran his uplifted hand through his hair in frustration. All he had were empty platitudes, nothing that could really help her in the face of death, if indeed she would have to face it.

He cleared his throat and gave a light knock.

“Come in!” came his daughter's voice.

He pushed open the door. Both females turned to him, his daughter bright-eyed and smiling, as he usually found her when she was talking with Althea. Althea half turned toward him, attractive in her pale green gown, her upswept hair golden in the lamplight.

“I came up to bid you good-night.”

“Are you going to dance with Miss Althea?”

“I don't know.” He considered the idea, distracted momentarily from his earlier, more sobering thoughts. “I suspect Miss Breton is more accustomed to grand ballrooms where dancing is very formal and elegant.”

He turned to Althea, noticing she did not participate in the conversation. He watched her hang up his daughter's clothes.

“Were you not trained in the minuet and waltz?”

She replied with her back to him. “I haven't danced in years. Besides, I have probably danced more simple country dances, which are not nearly so formal as the minuet.”

“You don't find the dances downstairs excessively primitive?”

She set Rebecca's slippers beside her bed. “I enjoyed watching the dancers. It put me in mind of the marriage of Cana.”

“I'm afraid you may be disappointed by our poor example here, then. You will find no miracles at this one.” He didn't know why he was always trying to provoke a response from her. Was it because he resented that he seemed to need these dialogues with her more than she did?

“Oh, I think our Lord was enjoying Himself just fine before He was ever asked to turn the water into wine.”

Althea lowered Rebecca's lamp, and Simon held the door open for her, forcing her to accompany him out. He could smell her sweet fragrance as she passed by him. Soft, wispy tendrils curled around the nape of her neck. Simon caught himself thinking what it would feel like to kiss that part of her skin. The notion astounded him and he stopped momentarily, gripping the door handle.

He had to quicken his stride to catch up with her. Halfway down the hallway, he asked, “Doesn't your God allow dancing?”

She seemed to consider his question. “I think God enjoys seeing his children enjoying themselves.”

“Then, why is it you haven't danced in so many years?”

“Perhaps I never enjoyed it much the few occasions I did dance.”

“Perhaps you never had the right partner.” Why did he continue this ridiculous topic of conversation? Was it because she was being so annoyingly serene in her replies to him tonight?

“Perhaps not. In recent years there's been so much else to do that I haven't even thought about dancing.”

The woman beside him had done wonders for his daughter—shouldn't that be enough? Why was he trying so desperately to get her to betray her beliefs? Disgusted with himself, he excused himself when they reached the drawing room.

“Well, I shall leave you to enjoy the festivities as your Savior did. I don't believe He partook in any dancing either, did He?” He could have kicked himself when he saw that brief look of reproach in her eyes. Their conversations always seemed to end this way lately—when he managed to track her down, he thought sourly—in some sort of draw. “Can I get you some refreshment or anything?” he added lamely.

“No, thank you. I'm fine.” She was the first to move away.

He watched her wend her way across the crowded room, looking for an empty seat. The least he could have done was find her one.

Thoroughly vexed with himself, he went over to where his younger brother stood with some other gentlemen.

“So, Nathan,” he asked, slapping his brother on the back, “how is the apprenticeship?”

“Fine. I'll be glad when it's over, though.” He smiled sheepishly. “I won't feel like quite such a slave.
Abba
has promised me a real position at the bank.”

“Banking it will be, then? Not commerce?”

“Well, I did my best to convince him I was more a banker than a businessman. If I find—or if David finds,” he added with a grin, “that I'm not suitable, they'll stick me in the factory under Daniel.”

Simon returned the smile, knowing that of the two brothers, they would both prefer working under David, the banker. The industry giant, the eldest, ruled like his father, with an absolute authority.

“Sorry you didn't go into politics, as I did?” asked Simon.

“Would you take me under your wing?”

Simon fingered the knot of his cravat. “I never considered it. I didn't think you'd be interested. Would you be?”

“Well, I've been doing a lot of reading in history, on my own.” He hesitated, reddening. “It seems rather interesting, being able to shape the course of nations and all.”

Simon smiled at him. “That's it in a nutshell. Let me give it some thought. It wouldn't be easy, you know.” Neither spoke the obvious word—
conversion
—but he knew they were both thinking it.

Nathan gave another grin. “No.”

“So, you'd have to think about it very carefully. Perhaps you should try the route Father suggests for the first year or so, and if you find you can't stand either finance or commerce, come talk to me again.”

Nathan nodded and turned his attention back to the dance floor. Simon followed his gaze across the dancers.

“I feel sorry for your Miss Breton. She's not dancing, and yet she looks as if she'd like to,” his brother observed.

Simon spied Althea. She had managed to find a chair and now sat primly, wedged among the elderly matrons who enjoyed watching the younger people dancing. He observed her, wondering how his young brother knew so much. Althea's attention was on the dancers, her gaze following their rapid movements, her lips slightly parted, her chin moving up and down in time to the music.

“She's not
my
Miss Breton” was all he said as he continued watching her.

Something seized him, a bit of mischief—he didn't know. He gave Nathan a sidelong glance. “Why don't you ask her to dance?”

He could see his younger brother's cheeks turn pink. “Me?”

“Yes, why not?”

“She—she wouldn't dance with me!”

Simon shrugged. “You don't know until you try.” He moved toward a group of men and gave his attention to them, leaving his brother to take up the challenge or not.

Simon soon became involved in the conversation. When he next turned around, his brother was gone. He glanced around and found him standing in front of Althea's chair. Simon watched as Nathan just stood in front of her, not saying anything until she
looked up at him. He watched his brother speak, noticed her puzzlement and request for him to repeat what he'd said. Nathan bent forward and tried again.

This time Simon saw comprehension dawn in her eyes, quickly followed by confusion as she put a hand to her breast, mouthing the word
Me?
He felt sorry for his brother, just standing there, probably thinking himself a fool. Just as Simon was beginning to regret having teased him, he watched Althea smile, shake her head, then stop as she studied his brother's face. Simon found himself holding his breath just as he imagined Nathan must have been doing as the seconds ticked by. Then he saw the decisive squaring of the shoulders he was beginning to recognize in Althea when she resolved on a course of action she considered a challenge. She gave a brief nod and stood, smoothing her skirts and giving a quick pat to her hair before allowing his brother to escort her onto the dance floor.

Simon continued watching as his brother taught Miss Breton the steps, saw rather than heard her laughter as she made mistakes. Their lighthearted laughter reminded him of that of two children. He felt something queer inside him. Before he could examine it, he found himself walking toward the two dancers.

Unable to stop himself, he cut in, pressing his brother's shoulder and saying, “Do you mind, Nathan?” Without giving him a chance to agree or disagree, Simon stepped into his brother's place among the dancers.

He watched Althea's confusion, then acceptance at the change of partners. “I haven't danced in years, either,” he told her above the noise. His hands gripped hers; his arm went over and around her head several times as he twirled her around, their bodies coming together and separating in time to the music.

When the tune ended he was loath to let her hands go, so he took one and tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her off to the side. He freed her hand but continued holding it loosely in his own. It felt small. Her face was flushed, the tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead damply.

“Let me get you some refreshment. Stay here.”

When he returned, he was more relieved than he could say to see she had obeyed his command. He handed her a cup of punch.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. Their gloved fingertips touched. “It tastes wonderful.”

He watched her, thinking how soft her skin looked, wondering what it would feel like to rain kisses down her throat. His glance dipped lower to that shadowy valley between her breasts, just visible above the silky green material. Feeling his blood begin to stir, he shifted his gaze.

She was not looking at him, but holding the cup near her lips, her attention upon the dancers.

“I was watching you when Nathan approached you,” he told her. “You didn't expect to be asked to dance, did you.”

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She took another sip of punch.

“Why did you accept his invitation?”

She looked down at her glass. “I don't know. Perhaps I remembered all those times I had sat out dances during my coming out, wishing to be asked but feeling terrified lest I be discovered if some gentleman should ask me.” She shrugged, meeting his eyes at last. “I saw that same fear in your brother's face, and suddenly he seemed so young. He had no reason to ask me to dance. He was just being polite. I'm not anything to anyone here tonight.”

You are to me,
thought Simon, and suddenly he felt very protective of her. She seemed infinitely precious. He caught himself the next second, amazed at this sentiment. A physical reaction he could explain away. But an emotional one? This woman was merely his daughter's nurse. She was someone who goaded him. He had been brought up to regard a woman as one charged with making a home for her husband, bearing his children and satisfying his physical needs. When had he begun to lean toward Miss Breton to fill his emotional needs? It was a terrifying thought, a situation that left him more vulnerable than he'd allowed himself to be since his school days.

“Come, let's continue dancing.” Not permitting her a chance to refuse, or himself a chance to question his actions, he removed the glass from her hands and took her hand once more, to lead her back to the dance floor, just in time to join a forming set.

 

Althea no longer knew what time it was nor how many feet she had stepped on. She and Simon joined hands and skipped around the dance floor. His grasp was firm and sure. Patiently he taught her the steps, laughing with her when she stumbled, telling her she could tread on his feet all she wanted—he would invent a reason for his disability when he hobbled around the House tomorrow. Every time she tripped, his arms went round her, and for an instant, her body was flush with his, his arms enfolding her, so close to him she could breathe the scent of his starched cravat, feel the textures of his clothes against her bare arms, his chin resting on her hair.

After the surprise at finding herself in his arms, she had abandoned herself to the music, keeping her mind focused on the intricate dance steps, and refusing to think beyond that.

She had never seen this side of Simon—carefree, boyish, his laugh deep and rich.

When the music stopped, she said, “Enough. I don't think I can stand up for another one.”

“You did very well, Miss Breton, for not having any Sephardic blood in your veins,” he said with a smile, once again tucking her hand in his arm in a protective and possessive way and leading her off to the side. “Here, sit down.” He indicated an empty chair. “Let me get you some more refreshment.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathless, “would you?”

She dared not examine too closely the feeling of well-being that had invaded her entire body. She felt warm and alive. She began to ask the Lord what it was all about. Was she wrong to be enjoying this moment with her employer? She watched the dancers; everyone seemed exuberant.

Before she knew it, Simon had returned and held out a glass
for her. She turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I'm glad to see you got some for yourself this time.”

“How did you enjoy your first Jewish nuptials?”

“Very much.”

“You must be tired.”

She felt herself blushing, conscious of the way he was looking at her. She had never seen that look on his face. It was tender and humorous and like a silent communication.

“Yes, a little.”

“I'll escort you up to your room as soon as you've finished your punch.”

“Yes, all right.” Was it disappointment she experienced? Nonsense. She must know when a carefree moment had ended and it was time to return to normal. She drained the last of her punch and looked at him.

“All ready?”

“Yes, quite.” She stood.