Of course. He didn’t blame her, even as the pain shot through him. He stepped back.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, she said more softly, “I mean…I’d rather it not be at my house.”
He considered. She wasn’t his parishioner and even if she were, it would be unseemly to meet her alone anywhere. “Is there somewhere we could—ahem—meet, then?”
“I have a music lesson tomorrow afternoon in Marylebone—that’s not so far from here.” The words came out in a rush.
He blinked, not expecting that. At a loss, he blurted out, “Do you sing?”
“A bit, and play the pianoforte.”
How little he knew of her. “How nice.”
“I finish at three o’clock. Could…could you perhaps meet me there afterward? It’s at number four, Portman Square.”
He thought for a second, but her look of appeal made him forget all other considerations. “Very well.”
“Oh, thank you!” Her heartfelt look of gratitude erased any lingering doubts.
As he bade both ladies good-night, his mind was troubled. What could be on Miss Phillips’s mind to ask him such a thing? Why wouldn’t she go to her cousin, or to her father…or to her own pastor, Reverend Doyle? Was she in some kind of trouble?
He resolved to increase his prayers for her—and for himself—that God would grant him the wisdom to give Miss Phillips whatever she needed.
Chapter Four
L indsay sighed in relief at the sight of Reverend Hathaway leaning against the wrought-iron fence that surrounded Portman Square. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how worried she’d been that he wouldn’t be waiting for her when she left her music lesson.
He saw her immediately and straightened. But he didn’t approach her, discreetly waiting across the street. She bade her teacher goodbye and tucked her drawing pad under her arm. “My maid will return the key in a little bit when I’ve finished my sketch.” It had been the only pretext she’d been able to think of to borrow the key to the square.
As she turned from the house, she said to her maid, “Clara, please wait for me in the carriage.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, miss.”
Lindsay waited until the girl had climbed into the coach and the door was shut behind her. Then she quickly crossed the street.
“Hello, Reverend Hathaway,” she said breathlessly. “Thank you for coming.”
He lifted his hat in greeting and smiled. “How was your lesson?”
She was reassured by the warmth of his tone. Suddenly, the day truly felt like spring—she began to hear the birdsong and feel the fresh breeze upon her cheeks. “My lesson? Oh, it was fine.” She shook her head. “I must practice more. That’s what I’m always told.” And suddenly, she laughed out loud for the sheer pleasure she felt. The weight of the past few weeks fell from her shoulders. Reverend Hathaway would know what she should do.
She gestured toward the large square. “Would you care to take a stroll in the park?”
“That would be very pleasant.” He took the large iron key from her, unlocked the gate and held it open.
They began to walk along the hard-packed dirt path under the elm trees in the neatly laid-out square. The reason for her being there returned and her spirits fell. She said nothing for a few minutes, unsure how to begin. She had never done such a thing in all her life. But she was so confused….
She swung around to him, bringing him to abrupt stop. “I would like to ask you something. It’s only a theoretical question, mind you.”
He nodded, his blue eyes regarding her steadily. Why did they look even bluer out-of-doors? “Ask away. Clergymen are always having theoretical questions pitched at them.”
She felt her face grow warm. Was she that transparent?
As if sensing her chagrin, his expression sobered. “What is it, Miss Phillips? What is troubling you so?”
She bit her lower lip. “If one is required to do something, to obey, but one finds the choice…distasteful, but one wants so very much to obey…”
He nodded. “Obedience can be very difficult at times.”
“Oh, yes!” He did understand. “Have you ever felt like that? As if the Lord were asking something impossible of you, and it would cost you everything to obey?”
He was looking at her keenly now, all traces of humor erased from his features. “I think we all come to that place in our walk with Him, where He requires us to surrender all to Him.”
Her spirits sank. It couldn’t be. How could she bear it? “But if the choice is so…so disagreeable?”
“His grace is sufficient for thee,” he answered gently.
Her shoulders slumped and she turned back to the path, resuming their walk. “I never thought my coming out would be filled with that kind of decision, as if having my own will would cause others so much displeasure, but obedience will cause me—” She wrung her hands together, unable to express her horror. “I do so want to be obedient. These last few weeks at your Bible study, I’ve learned so much about the Lord’s word. There’s so much I feel I need to learn. I don’t want to be a self-willed person. You speak of the cross and dying to the old nature. But what if that old nature refuses to die?”
He walked alongside her, his hands clasped behind his back. His wooden leg didn’t seem to impede him. She discerned no limp, although the wood made a different sound than that of their shoes upon the ground.
“I’ve found, in the years I’ve been counseling the flock the Lord has brought me, that many times a person’s spiritual growth is impeded by one thing alone—a thorn in the flesh, as it were, and not by a host of earthly pleasures.”
“Oh, yes, that’s it exactly. One thing alone!”
He glanced at her. “At least in your case, you are honest enough to admit it. Most people hide from the knowledge, and the Lord has to work on them for years before they are willing to put the item on the altar.” He sighed. “In the meantime, however, they don’t realize how many years have gone by, years in which they could have been growing in the knowledge of the Lord and reaching new heights.”
Her spirits sank further. She didn’t want that to happen to her. But the alternative! Jerome Stokes’s face rose in her mind. To be betrothed to him. She shuddered.
“Come, Miss Phillips, can it be so very bad? You are a young lady born with every privilege, your whole life before you.”
She turned to him, stricken. If only he knew what Papa was asking of her. “Yes,” was all she could whisper. She could never speak anything ill of Papa.
They were both silent some moments, and she focused on the soft sound of their footsteps on the ground. The bark of a dog on the other side of the square and the chirp
