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Spence rubbed the ache in his forehead and dropped the newspaper onto his desk. “There will be no new stores.”
His father sat in the chair across from Spence’s desk, one leg over the other, his calm expression a contrast to Spence’s inner turmoil. “Whether or not Mrs. Crain actually saw Malone, the police know he opened the bank account in Peru. They’ll track him down, along with his partner.”
“That means an arrest, a trial, and more notoriety. It was bad enough to read of the embezzlement this morning.”
“You’re making too much of this.”
“Father, I haven’t given up on Clifton Lark, but if the Chicago papers pick up this story, what chance do we have at a partnership with him or anyone else?”
“Spence—”
“Between Gil and Phoebe, I’ve made mistakes and endangered the reputation of Newland’s. How can you trust me not to lose everything you and Grandfather worked so hard to attain?” He muttered, “All this does is prove Grandfather right.”
His father’s graying eyebrows punctuated his bewilderment. “Prove him right about what?”
Spence had gone a dozen years keeping the frustration to himself and shouldn’t have said anything. Then again, it might be time to get it out in the open. “Years ago, I overheard him talking to you about my future. He said you should find someone else to run our businesses. He doubted I’d be strong enough.”
What if his sister married Pittman? Spence liked Wallace but couldn’t see the young man in charge of Newland’s interests.
His father sat deep in thought before his shoulders surged with a drawn-out sigh. “It’s true that the long-term future of our assets concerned my father, but the danger to you worried him more. He was afraid the responsibility would put an additional strain on your health as an adult.
“What you overheard was a suggestion that we prepare for the possibility of a day when someone outside the family would have control. Later, he regretted reacting on emotion, and the idea that you might never be at the helm broke his heart.”
Spence couldn’t count how often, as a lonely child lying in bed with a fever, headache, or other malady, his family had prayed over his health. He shut his eyes and conjured scene after scene. One man occupied those images more than anyone else—the man who entertained him, prayed with him and for him, laughed with him.
“Son, he often talked about your intelligence, your intuitiveness, and your compassion for the suffering of others. He found those to be gifts far more commendable than your ability to run a business. I wish he had lived to see the strong and dependable man you’ve become.”
It was though his grandfather’s voice broke through a wad of cotton stuffing Spence’s ears. Had he overreacted all these years? Had his young mind blown up the little bit he’d heard and let it govern his present thoughts and actions?
Spence leaned back in his chair, seeing his grandfather sitting in his room, joking and praying, cheering up a miserable little boy. Why had he allowed his mind to take one memory as truth and distort the rest? How had he come to resent the man as much as he loved him? “I should have known better. I spent years believing we’d let each other down on the basis of one overheard fragment of conversation.”
“You have never been a disappointment to any of us.”
A slight smile brightened Spence’s dreary deliberations...for a few seconds. “None of what’s been said changes the fact that I’ve made mistakes that could cost us dearly.”
His father frowned. “Is this still about Gil Malone, or does it have more to do with Mrs. Crain?”
“Both, I suppose. Do you think Lark will want to have his name associated with two scandals?”
“You told me Mrs. Crain wasn’t at fault. That she’d been duped into thinking her marriage was real. I thought you accepted her story.”
“I did. For what that man did to Phoebe and Maura, if he weren’t dead already, Father, I’d be tempted to pummel him until he wished he were.”
“It sounds as if there’s more to your feelings in the matter than anxiety over the store. For what it’s worth, our receipts are up by eight percent on the days she’s here. I’d like to see her continue to play on a regular basis.”
“That was before Mary Alice slashed her reputation. Aren’t you afraid of the impact of Phoebe’s story on our customers?”
His father leaned forward in his seat. “What’s really bothering you?”
Spence ran the palm of his hand down his mustache. The bristly stubble under his fingertips reminded him he hadn’t shaved this morning and of how little sleep he’d gotten after what happened with Phoebe. “She should have told me.”
“Put yourself in her place, son. Why would she tell you her deepest and darkest secret? You’re not courting. You’re not engaged.”
“I’ve tried to be her friend, but she sees me as another spoiled son of a wealthy man. As far she’s concerned, I’m not someone to be trusted with her emotions.” He sank back in the chair and mumbled, “Lately, nothing has gone as I’ve planned it.”
“Listen to yourself. Your plans. Your efforts. Your failure. If you were to ask me, Spence, there’s been a greater miscommunication in your life than getting the wrong impression from your grandfather’s words.” The Second rose from his seat and paused at the door. “The First wasn’t any more perfect than you or the rest of us, but do you remember what he said kept him humble, kept him going? Whenever he felt as though everything good in his life had resulted from his own efforts, he would read Second Corinthians twelve.”
How well Spence remembered hearing that chapter from his grandfather.
“When was the last time you read those verses?”
The Second walked out of the office, leaving Spence alone with his shame. First, not entrusting his efforts to the Lord’s will for his life and his family’s future.
Then there was Phoebe.
Why would she tell you her deepest and darkest secret?
He saw himself marching away from her at the river. When she did tell him her secret, his feelings had been all that mattered. Where was the sympathy and compassion his grandfather had seen in him? The understanding?
I’ll never let you fall.
What a liar he turned out to be.
The pounding in his head grew stronger and steadier. Not only had he let her fall, he had tossed her aside. He had broken her trust.
He’d acted in as spoiled and untrustworthy a manner as she’d expected to receive from him, thinking only of his hurt feelings and his family’s reputation.
Douglas Alder had nothing on Spencer Fanning Newland the Third.
He locked his office door, then reached into the drawer of his desk, pulled out the Bible he kept there, and turned to the chapter his grandfather had referenced over and over. He paid special attention to the words that spoke loudest to him.
“And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.”
Lest Spence should exalt himself.
For years he had let an emotional wound fester until he relied on his own efforts and his own ideas to prove his grandfather wrong. Rather than relying on God, he had put his trust in exercise, diet, and determination. Yes, he’d gained physical strength, but he still suffered from headaches. His thorn in the flesh?
“Therefore, I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”
He had never considered his infirmities in a positive light or used them to glorify Christ. How could he call himself healthy—strong—when his faith in his Lord and others proved weaker than his body when at its frailest moment?
“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
Spence read the entire chapter three times and confessed his foolish actions, his lack of faith and compassion, and his self-centeredness and vanity in thinking he knew best. He truly was a weak man.
Be my strength, Lord, and never let me exalt myself over You.
Perhaps he couldn’t admit to taking “pleasure in infirmities,” but discovering the truth about himself might make them more bearable.
***
PHOEBE STOOD AT THE back door of S. F. Newland’s and Company, paying little heed to the tiny flakes of snow that drifted onto her head and shoulders. Every inch of her wanted to spin around and run back home.
She had hoped to hear that Spence forgave her and could overlook her past to preserve what had become a growing friendship between them. The silence in the last two days disconcerted her.
The longer she’d lingered at the river after he’d left, the harder she had cried out to be delivered of the bitterness she’d harbored in her heart since learning of Douglas’s hoax.
Over the years, she had transferred that bitterness to other men she deemed in a position to do something similar to her or another woman. In getting to know Spence, God had shown her the error in her thinking. She had no right to permit her fear and prejudice to cause her to crush the innocent as she once was crushed.
Instead of God turning a deaf ear to her pleas, she had turned a deaf ear to Him and His desire that she see how she’d shriveled into a sour and cynical harpy when in the company of certain people.
Phoebe turned the knob and entered the building. For the past two days, she had waited for word of her dismissal. Without an official notification of termination, staying home would only add fuel to the rumors. However, stepping into the building opened her up to ridicule and speculation from the other employees and, no doubt, customers. It was the type of humiliation she had tried to avoid for five years.
She rode the elevator to the fourth floor, deposited her coat and hat in the salon, then rode in the cage back to the first floor. During both trips, the elevator operator, always courteous in the past, avoided conversation and eye contact with her. She considered it an overture to the rest of her day.
As Phoebe crossed the floor, Claire and Roslyn met her halfway to the piano. Most of her Widow’s Might friends had visited her home to express their concern and encouragement. Though they never asked for details, she couldn’t bear to have them think poorly of her and had provided her side of the story. Without those friendships and their prayers, she might still be lying in bed feeling sorry for herself.
Claire wrapped her in a hug right in the middle of the store. “I’m glad you haven’t let Miss Davidson scare you away.”
The show of support settled Phoebe’s nerves like nothing else. “Not yet.”
Roslyn’s firm grip added additional comfort. “If anyone gives you trouble, let me know.” She winked. “We outcasts need to stick together.”
“You’re no outcast, Roslyn. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. More than you know. I can say I didn’t steal the store’s money. I can’t say I didn’t drive Gil to it.” Roslyn sighed. “We never belonged together.”
With the revelation by Mary Alice, Phoebe hadn’t told Spence about possibly seeing Gil Malone. Instead, she’d told Claire, who’d passed the information on. The police had searched, but they had found no clues to the man’s whereabouts.
“Thank you. Both of you.” She swiped at the moisture that leaked from her eyes.
Roslyn pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “I owe you one.”
Phoebe glanced toward the front of the store where the piano waited for her...if Spence hadn’t moved it back to his house.
“It’s still there, and we’ll be listening.” Claire patted Phoebe’s shoulder, then climbed the stairs to her station on the third floor.
Like ants crawling up the back of her neck, the stares of various clerks and a few customers followed her to the piano.
She sat on the small bench, her heart pinching a little at not seeing Spence along the way.
God, I know you are listening. I believe this is what you want of me. Give me the courage to do it.
Deliberately chosen, cheerful melodies lifted her mood. Once in a while, a store customer stopped to listen to her play. Some walked by with their noses in the air. Others seemed oblivious to her presence.
Near the end of her two hours, Laurie Newland approached the piano and stood in the curve, as her brother had done so often. “Good morning, Phoebe. I’m glad to see you here. We weren’t sure you would come.”
“I have a responsibility.” Phoebe continued to play “Silent Night.”
Leaning forward and in a voice that commanded attention, Laurie said, “Please stop playing. I have something important to tell you. Spence’s office is empty. We can talk in private.”
Phoebe rested her hands in her lap. Why would the Newland’s send the youngest member of the family to fire her? Was Spence still so incensed he couldn’t bring himself to be near her? What about his father?
Once they reached the office, Laurie closed the door and gestured for Phoebe to sit in one of the chairs near the desk. She angled a second chair to face Phoebe. “I don’t know the details of what happened between you and Spence, but he’s had a rough few days, spending most of the time in his room with a migraine.”
Phoebe’s shoulders sank. Had she caused his suffering? “I’m sorry. I never meant—”
“Don’t be sorry. He said it’s given him time to think and pray. Actually, I think it was good for him.”
Phoebe marveled at the girl’s impassioned viewpoint. “You told him that?”
Laurie waved a hand through the air. “Yes, but don’t think me heartless. He agreed, and he feels much better.”
Not wanting to be caught in his office should he return, Phoebe said, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Spence received a telegram from Mr. Lark, requesting a visit.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it? I know how hard Spence has tried to gain his support.”
“There were no promises, but my brother told me he believes God opened this door and expects him to walk through it. Before he left, he arranged for Maura’s gift to be delivered to your house.”
At least she had accomplished one thing. Maura would have a good Christmas. But even that was Spence’s doing.
Laurie placed her hand over Phoebe’s. “Don’t be angry with him.”
“I’m not.”
Phoebe was angry at herself for her treatment of him.
