“Have no fear. We will bring her to you, young man. May we convey your letter to your sister?” Mary offered her most charming smile, which was rewarded by an unaffected, open grin from the young midshipman.
Chapter Sixteen
Fanny lay on a wicker chaise under the trees, watching the children play nearby with the nursery maids. She was able to read and talk to them a little, and wanted to do more rather than less, for her conscience smote her that a se'nnight had elapsed since her recovery, yet she was still too weak to take up her duties. But she was still very tired and pale. At least she had summoned the energy to wash herself thoroughly, over Anna’s shocked protests, and even wash her hair, so that her natural soft curls now covered her head. Her eyes looked large in her face and her cheekbones were more pronounced than they had been before her sickness. She was in nervous anticipation of the visit from Mr. Gibson—the blanket was drawn up to her chin—and she hoped he would not be too dismayed at her altered appearance.
He arrived, and he was alarmed by her thin frame and her pale countenance, but he hid it well, with his usual warm smile, and he sat down, cross-legged, on the grass beside her with no ceremony.
At his request, she gave him a short description of her illness and recovery, and they sat silent again for a while, and a footman brought them lemonade to drink, and a cushion for him to sit on, then he asked— “What is it like, to almost die? Did you see heaven? What were your thoughts?”
“I have reflected on that, Mr. Gibson, and I believe that I profited more while caring for Caroline and Edward than when I was ill myself. Then, I was rational, and I had time to think about a great many things, such as how childish I have been in the past—I mean, as regards my own little difficulties. Oh, and I thought of you, as well.”
“Really?” he sat upright, pleased and attentive.
“You will recall that you asked me if I had read the Old Testament. When I was younger I read the book of Job. And I will acknowledge to you, it appeared unfair and unjust to me at the time that the children of Job should have perished, to test the faith of their father. Why was Job’s soul of more consequence than the souls of his children, and his servants? They were spoken of little differently than his camels and all the other animals he lost. He suffered, yes—but did they not suffer more, by losing their lives? Both Caroline and Edward could have died, and they have already lost a younger brother—but still, am I to believe the common cant that losing a child is truly a test, sent by God, of the parents?”
Mr. Gibson decided to say nothing, partly because he did not wish to attack Miss Price’s faith, especially not at such a time, and also because he was a little disappointed to understand, after her having made so promising a beginning, she had not thought on him much at all, except as someone who had posed a question. But he could have said much about how frequently and how earnestly he had been threatened with the terrors of hell for the most minor transgressions when a young child, and as an unlooked-for consequence, he had very early come to doubt the justice of the God of Abraham. The overweening interest which the Almighty Jehovah took in the misdeeds of a small lad who daydreamed in church, the apparent eagerness of the Lord of Hosts to consign Master William Gibson to a lake of fire for all eternity, did not lead the rebellious boy to draw those conclusions which his uncle intended that he should.
After a moment of silence, Fanny continued. “However, I have learned from witnessing the sufferings of others. That is, I have been brought to comprehend that my own solicitude for myself, my own self-pity, was for concerns that were mere trifles, in comparison to the burdens other people must sometimes bear. I have been so….. so all consumed with my own problems, so selfish, silly and…. weak.”
“No,” he said gently. ‘You have been young, that’s all. And you are still young. Do not berate yourself for the faults of youth. I am sure that whatever you have done, or did not do, was nothing to my faults, for example. My good uncle brought me up, and paid for me to go to Cambridge, and what did I do? I left school early, and refused to enter the law or the ministry, and brought his grey hair with sorrow down to the grave.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How kind you are, not to preach to me, but simply to listen! And as for you being weak, what nonsense. What strength you must have, Miss Price, to be still alive today, despite the best efforts of the finest physician in the county! You must be stronger than you know, stronger than you ever imagined.”
It warmed his heart to see that his encouraging words brought a faint blush to those pale cheeks.
“And I will accuse you of being unselfish, Miss Price, extraordinarily unselfish, for after being so very ill yourself, your thoughts are all for the sufferings of others—for these children, for their mother and father.”
“Oh! Who would not be moved, who sees a child suffer?” Fanny dismissed the compliment, so Mr. Gibson diverted her with some amusing tales of his own childhood—he had evidently been a very naughty boy, indeed—and her ready laughter gave him the best assurance that she was in the way of recovering, both in body
