“What did you think of Gideon Boyle’s sermon this morning?” I asked.
“Anne will have her bake oven by autumn or my father’s the king of Norway,” she said. Her gaze wandered to Nathan, who had stood and was speaking to Edgar Sweeney. “It’s unusual for Nathan to lack inspiration during meeting. He doesn’t seem to be in good spirits today. You should inquire if anything ails him.”
I blanched at the suggestion. As the primary cause of his flagging spirits, I had absolutely no intention of approaching the man of my own free will. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a poor night’s sleep,” I said.
Nora leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Selah Kilbrid, how can you be so unfeeling, especially toward a man who holds you in the highest esteem.”
“His esteem disappeared the moment I refused to marry him,” I whispered back.
“I think his heart is just broken, like my brother’s, but that’s no reason to be so mean and refuse to help him. Really, it’s the least you could do.”
Startled by Nora’s reproach, I considered telling her in no uncertain terms just how much I despised the man when she linked her arm through mine and began leading the way toward the raised benches. I began to protest and pull away, but Nora held tight, determined to inquire about his health and if I could be of service.
An encounter seemed inevitable when Nathan looked up at the last moment. Our eyes met in that instant, flashing our true sentiments before Nathan turned and abruptly stormed from the room.
Nora stopped in her tracks. “My goodness,” she said shortly, recovering somewhat from the surprise. “He doesn’t seem to want your services...or your company for that matter.”
Being suddenly without a companion, Edgar moved his attention to us. “My girls,” he said warmly. “What a pleasure to see you in meeting.” He leaned a little closer and patted my shoulder in a consoling manner. “Don’t mind Nathan. He’s still smarting from your refusal, but he’ll come around in time.”
Not likely, I thought, but appreciated his kind words all the same.
“For me,” Edgar continued, keeping his hand on my shoulder, “it is difficult to feel the meeting complete without your father here among us. You have my deepest sympathies.” His fingers tightened to an affectionate squeeze. “Mary Finney explained how he ordered you to meet your cousin in Philadelphia, and the Elders are of one mind that you should suffer no guilt of conscience for missing his funeral. It’s a daughter’s duty to obey her father and his last wish was for you to be properly looked after when he quit this world.”
I blinked to ward off the threat of tears. “You are very kind. My father always considered you a very dear friend.”
“Jonathan Kilbrid was more kin than friend. Now he’s gone, I think of you as my family. And being so related through the blood of goodwill,” he smiled, “would you mind introducing me to your husband? He looks an amiable fellow and if we can persuade him to accept our simple ways and have his name read into meeting, it would put an end to this talk of your disownment.”
Edgar seemed to forget that I wasn’t a Quaker myself. Not yet, anyway. “That would be nice,” I said politely. “Henry seemed quite interested in your sermon this morning.”
“As he well should be. The truth is the way, and the way is the truth. He would be a fool to ignore it.”
From my experience the whole truth was highly uncomfortable and most people avoided it at all cost. “If only it were so simple,” I said, without really thinking.
Edgar looked at me queerly. “Take heart, my girl, one day you’ll be free.”
His wording was a bit curious, but I knew what he meant all the same.
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. Quakers loved to quote this scripture, written nearly two thousand years ago by the Apostle John.”Oh, to be so lucky,” I laughed. This sentiment might offer hope to those who hadn’t been forbidden from telling the truth. For my kind, such freedom was unknown in this lifetime.
Chapter Eight
Differences Too Great
The meetinghouse began to clear as people bid their friends good day and set off for home and an early supper. Henry and I were engaged to dine with the Boyles later that afternoon and decided to spend the surplus time on a country drive rather than returning home to Brighmor. While Henry went to fetch the horse and shay, I waited on the front steps of the meetinghouse, and soon found Matthew Appleton standing at my side.
He politely inquired how the crops fared at Brighmor this summer, and whether we had lost any wheat due to the rain. With his wife expecting a baby the beginning of August, I suspected he didn’t really want to talk to me about wheat. “The fields are wet, but we haven’t lost anything yet,” I said before changing the subject. “How’s Susanna doing today?”
“Oh, she’s doing fine,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “Just a bit under the weather.”