Wesley climbed the rising street toward his family cottage, the disruption in his plans with Maggie making a chance for greater trust in God, as the old gardener had said. But the peace that he felt from his conversation on the train was challenged by having seen his uncle coming back from Petoskey. He knew his uncle was well intended, but couldn’t shake the notion that he’d been the reason for Maggie’s refusal.
Wesley was late to dinner. Aunt Maud and Uncle Bernard had already been seated, their servant busy taking trays away from the table when Wesley pulled his chair out to seat himself.
“You’re late.” Uncle Bernard wiped his mouth with his linen napkin.
“My apologies, Aunt Maud. I know tardiness bothers you.” He didn’t want to upset his aunt more to bring up what was on his mind, but it couldn’t be helped. “Uncle, was that you I saw getting off the train from Petoskey this afternoon?”
Uncle Bernard popped the last of a dinner roll into his mouth and nodded.
“What took you there?”
“Had some business.”
“How was your tea with Miss Abbott?” Aunt Maud’s voice was cheery and eager.
“She broke the plans. I didn’t go.”
Uncle Bernard looked up.
“Oh dear, she’s not come down with illness now, has she?” His aunt’s tone ever of concern.
“No.” Not unless heartache was contagious. But he could tell from her letter that Maggie clearly wasn’t suffering as he’d been since receiving it. Wesley pushed his plate back, his appetite lost.
“Are you sick, too? Eat your food, Wesley.”
“No, I’m not sick. I’m not hungry.”
Uncle Bernard stood from the table. “Follow me to the porch, Wesley.”
Wesley, sensing the seriousness in his uncle’s voice, picked up his water glass and followed.
The sun was setting over the bay, a ball of scarlet over the water. Three tired young boys carried buckets of beach stones as they trailed behind their mother to the cottage next door. He could hear a barbershop quartet singing, their song lilting through the trees between the campus and his uncle’s cottage.
“Wesley, I know you think you know this Miss Abbott, but—”
“I do.” Wesley braced himself for the challenge about to come.
“Every young man is tempted to believe the first girl he has eyes for is the one.”
“She’s refused me, Uncle. Even if I want to pursue her, I doubt she’ll see me even if I beg Miss Eloise for her address.” But as he said it, he was ready to be at the library the next morning. “If you’ve brought me out here to convince me to drop her and court Mary Reed, the answer is no.”
“That’s not my plan.”
“Good.” Wesley shoved his hands into his pockets and walked along the porch railing. Reaching out, he plucked a rose petal from one of Aunt Maud’s bushes. It didn’t smell the same as the one the gardener had given him. “You didn’t bring me out here to dissuade me then?”
“Your Aunt Maud and I only want what’s best for you.”
“You’ll consent to my courting Miss Abbott, if she’ll have me, even if she’s not a cottager? I thought membership was the biggest issue you’ve spent your life defending for Bay View. She’s of Christian persuasion. Or is it more than that you require of my wife?”
“One of my priorities is to maintain the one tenet—that members of Bay View be of Christian persuasion. Perhaps you’re confusing this priority with my hesitancy for Miss Abbott. They aren’t the same.”
“Perhaps not. Christian persuasion as a criteria for membership is a noble tenet, Uncle, but doesn’t drawing lines get messy? How is it different for Miss Abbott? She’s of Christian faith, but what good does it serve her if she doesn’t also meet your criteria in all other areas?”
“I only care that, if you love this girl, you should really know her. Her family, who she loves, where she comes from.”
This time, Uncle Bernard’s tone had changed. He sounded less like a board member and more like a father than ever before.
“Be careful, it almost sounds like you’re telling me to go after her.”
Uncle Bernard’s eyes twinkled. “There was once a girl I met at summer camp when I was twelve. I hadn’t thought of her for years until your Miss Abbott stood finishing her monologue reading in the parlor last week. She had the same charisma with words. Words that could make you believe anything. It was that simple farm girl, who’d come to camp meeting with her pa, who first explained the love of Christ our Savior to me in a way that made sense. That girl would tell the Gospel to the little Indian boys who came to meeting, too—back in those days it was just a simple tent meeting for everyone. Perhaps we’ve let—perhaps I’ve let it get too complicated. Those Indian boys were different, but she didn’t see that. She saw souls and witnessed to them despite what others said or saw. One night she found me eavesdropping and we became fast friends. Then she was gone and I never saw her again that summer.”
Wesley had never known his uncle to reveal much of his boyhood. The token of peace, the man’s confession of sorts—Wesley was grateful for the rare exchange.
“Don’t get me wrong, I fell head over heels for your Aunt Maud. But I never forgot Miss Smith or the way she could move a man’s heart to deeper faith. Be discerning, Wesley. Be sure you know her well. Yet be wise to remember it’s actually simpler than it seems. Perhaps I’d forgotten that until now.” Uncle Bernard clapped Wesley on the back, clearly relieved that he’d accomplished his fatherly duty, and left the porch.
Wesley had wanted to take his uncle to task and ask if he’d had anything to do with Maggie’s refusal. Instead his uncle had left the door open. Was he actually suggesting that he should pursue Maggie further?
What of his bet with Sam? He couldn’t bear to share tea times with anyone Sam might find now.
Summer wasn’t over, and there was still the music festival.
He picked one more rose petal, deciding that Maggie Abbott would be by his side if he had to check out all the books in the library to convince her. Returning the stacks of student books was just the idea he needed to get her attention.
“You didn’t go to the tea?” Miss Eloise’s face crumpled.
“I couldn’t.” Maggie set the boxed dress on the matron’s desk.
“Your eyes look terrible. Did you cry yourself to sleep? You know you can never hide that from me, dear.”
Maggie bit her lip and nodded no, then yes.
“That man loves you, Miss Magdalena Abbott.”
“He loves who he thinks I am, Miss Eloise. When he sees the rest of my life, where I live, where I come from—he’ll know he was mistaken. I’m saving him the bother.”
“You’ve lost your mind. That is not the Maggie Mae I know.”
“But it is.” Maggie shuddered a breath to stifle the return of tears.
“What are you afraid of, sweet girl?”
“That he won’t be able to get past our differences—that I won’t be able to be everything my mother was—bigger than all that separates …” A little sob caught in her chest as she let the last hidden truth go and looked up at Miss Eloise.
“Oh dear girl, do you love him?”
Maggie bit her lip and nodded, still afraid of what it might cost her.
“Then let him love you. If you really believe that where you live, your father’s work, or how you live matter to him, then you are the one who’s mistaken. You’ve had your head in the books on these shelves your whole life, but they can’t tell you what common sense and love are when you’re staring them in the face. Did you see what came in today?”
“No.”
“Look behind you. A full cart of returned student books. Think and pray on some common sense while you do your regular duties. Then you’ll check in and shelve that cart before you leave. Maybe that will prove something.”
Maggie sighed and trudged through her day, numbly attempting to reason and pray. By late afternoon she rolled the cart of books toward her desk to check them in. She picked up the first book, noted the number on the spine, and searched through the cards in the file box. When she found the right card she opened the back cover of the book—and found that there was already something inside the pocket. A folded paper, with the words To Maggie Abbott written on it. Inside was a short verse and poem. The salutation read “Yours Forever, Wesley.”
She grabbed the next book—it contained another poem. The next, and the next—they were all full of notes—all the books on the cart. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he’d done to get her attention. He hadn’t given up.
How could her heart soar with each word while her mind agreed with the logic of her refusal?
Weary from the emotions of the day, Maggie bid Miss Eloise good night and made her way toward the train station. Along the way a young man was putting up posters to announce the annual summer music festival. She couldn’t help wondering if Wesley would attend.
She clutched an envelope to her heart. She’d filled it with Wesley’s poems.
Standing at the train station, Maggie recalled Wesley’s sweet words to her, the way he’d said her name, and held her hand the night of the lecture. “Mag, everything about you matters to me.”
Had she truly made the right decision?
Hoping to ride the train home with Maggie after she’d shelved all the books he’d sent back, Wesley followed her toward the train station, ready to surprise her. He watched from a distance as she stopped to read the details of the summer music festival, wanting only to rush ahead and ask her to go with him. To sit once more, no, many more evenings, listening to her voice as she twilled a story.
But as he watched her, something seemed to hold him back.
He remained at a distance, waiting until she got on the train, and then climbed into the car behind hers. He waited until the train began to move, then made his way from his car to hers, thinking of how he would surprise her and declare himself.
He spotted her near the window, the seat beside her empty. Heart surging, he was ready to open his heart right there in the train where she couldn’t run away. She’d finally have to hear him out. He took a step forward, and was three seats away from her when a man in front of him to the right stood up, moved toward her seat, and sat next to her. Leaning close to her, the man planted a kiss on her cheek, and Wesley’s heart sank.
He reached to steady himself as the train lurched. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He’d been a fool. That was what she’d needed forgiveness for? He forced his eyes open to see once more that she belonged to someone else.
He was one step closer when a familiar voice mixed with hers and the man handed her a kerchief. Wesley’s heart surged as he watched her open it and dip her nose to inhale what he knew to be rose petals.
Her father was the old gardener? She was his daughter?
He staggered back, the truth hitting him full on. All the times she’d held back, tried to explain to him that she wasn’t like him. True, she’d told him she wasn’t a member of Bay View, nor was she an academy student. He knew her life was different than his. But he’d never thought just how different. He hadn’t listened, hadn’t given her the chance to be fully honest. In fact, had he somehow given her the idea her life wasn’t acceptable to him? His thoughts jetted back to her reaction at his uncle’s home, their prestige.
The train braked and halted.
The people rushed and pressed past him, between him and Maggie as she moved away from him and off the train, her arm linked in her father’s. Wesley recalled the old gardener’s admonition to trust in the Lord.
The words her father had spoken to him that day—the man had to realize the letter of refusal was from his own daughter. And still he’d said those kind words. “A rose worth choosing is worth the thorn that may prick when you first reach for it.”
A plan formed in his mind as he watched them walk away.
One he was certain he could entrust to the Lord.