Jeremy Piper from a river swollen and flowing fast and furious after several days of torrential rain.
The general opinion in the days of bitter shock and grief that had followed the tragedy was that Jeremy was a bad, useless boy who had defied strict orders to stay away from the water and would surely come to no good for the rest of his miserable life. Meanwhile, he had caused the death of a man who was goodness through and through but had now been cut off from doing the work the Lord had appointed him to do. No one had thought to suggest that perhaps the Lord had appointed him to save the child’s life, even at the sacrifice of his own.
Lydia’s own shock and grief had been absolute. She had not collapsed or taken to her bed, but she had turned totally . . . blank, for days afterward, moving about as though in a dream. Or nightmare, rather. For her whole life had revolved about Isaiah’s. He had always called her his helpmeet—almost never his wife—and that was exactly what she had been. His work had been her work. His beliefs and opinions had been hers. She had not known for days on end how she could continue without him.
Yet here she was now, continuing on. She was invited almost everywhere now that her official year of mourning was at an end. Most of the time, she supposed, she was invited for Isaiah’s sake rather than for her own, as she could not be described as the life and soul of any gathering, and never had been. She far preferred to listen than to talk. Every conversation needed listeners, did it not? And in her experience, far too many people preferred to talk, pausing only long enough during a conversation to be polite while someone else spoke before launching back into speech.
Not that Lydia was overcritical of talkers, especially those who just needed a sympathetic ear into which to pour their concerns, their aches and pains, or their loneliness. She was particularly kind toward, and patient with, those people others habitually avoided if they could do so without being too obvious about it—the long-winded bores and those, usually the elderly, who liked to tell the same stories they had been telling to the same audience for many years past. Lydia could always be relied upon to listen attentively and to respond as though she were hearing the story for the first time.
No one was talking specifically to her at present. She was at leisure to listen to everyone and to look about and conclude that contentment was actually more desirable than active happiness. For where there was happiness, there was almost invariably unhappiness awaiting its turn. Extremes tended to be like that. They had a way of attracting their opposites, as though some cosmic balance needed to be restored. It was better and safer to settle for some position in the middle. Not that one could always choose, of course. Life was never that neat, nor its ups and downs that much within one’s control. But . . . Well, tonight she felt as though her life had turned out well for her.
She had chosen to remain in this place after her husband’s death because she liked the village of Fairfield and had grown fond of the people who lived here. She could have gone back home to her father’s house. He and her brothers had certainly assumed that she would. When Papa and James, her eldest brother, had come for Isaiah’s funeral and then accompanied her to his brother’s home for his burial in the family plot, they had expected to take her directly home with them afterward. It was their very assertiveness, perhaps, that had pulled her out of her dreadful lethargy. It would have been so easy to allow them to take charge—of her situation, of her life, of her. They had been astonished—not to mention alarmed—when she had announced her intention of returning to the village and staying there.
“Alone?” Papa had said. “Lydie! It is out of the question. You are not thinking straight—as how could you be? I cannot think of anything worse that could have happened to my dearest girl. Go get the bag you brought with you and come immediately, while you have James and me to give you our company and support and to protect you on the journey. The rest of your things can be sent for. James will