in your room. He came here from Morristown when his health forced him to seek a milder climate. Oh, Sister, he has the strongest reservations about slavery!
Last summer, he enlisted me to teach the children in Sabbath School, a job I happily do each week. I once remarked on the evil of slavery during class and received a cautionary visit from Dr. McIntire, the Superintendent, and you should’ve seen the way William came to my defense. Afterward, he advised me that when it comes to slavery, we must pray and wait. I’m no good at either.
He calls on me weekly, during which we have discussions about theology and church and the state of the world. He never departs without taking my hand and praying. I open my eyes and watch as he creases his brow and makes his eloquent pleas. If God has the slightest notion of how it feels to be enamored, he’ll forgive me.
I don’t yet know William’s intentions toward me, but I believe he reciprocates my own. Be happy for me.
Yours,
Nina
When Nina’s letter arrived, I carried it to the bench beneath a red elm in the Motts’ tiny backyard. It was a warm day for March. The crocuses were breaking through the winter crust and the grasshoppers and birds were out making a rapturous commotion.
After tucking a small quilt over my knees, I arranged my new spectacles onto the end of my nose. Lately, words had begun to transform themselves into blurred squiggles. I thought I’d ruined my eyes from excessive reading—I’d been unrelenting in my studies for the ministry over the past year—but the physician I’d consulted ascribed the problem to middle age. I slit the letter, thinking, Nina, if you could see me now with my old-lady lap throw and my spectacles, you would think me seventy instead of half that.
I read about her Reverend McDowell with what I imagined to be a mother’s satisfaction and worries. I wondered if he was worthy of her. I wondered what Mother thought of him, and if I would return to Charleston for the wedding. I wondered what kind of clergy wife Nina would make and if the Reverend had any idea what sort of Pandora’s box he was about to open.
It will always be a quirk of fate that Israel arrived at this particular moment. I was folding the letter into my pocket when I looked up and saw him coming toward me without his coat or hat. It was the middle of the afternoon.
He’d never mentioned the episode with Jane Bettleman. He undoubtedly knew of it. Everyone at Arch Street knew of it. It had divided the members into those who thought I was haughty and brazen and those who thought I merely impassioned and precipitate. I assumed he was among the latter.
As he took a seat beside me, his knee pressed against my leg and a tiny heat moved across my chest. He still had his beard. It was well-clipped, but longer with more silver. I hadn’t seen him in weeks except at Meeting. There’d been no explanation for his absence. I’d told myself it was the inevitable way of things.
I removed my glasses. “. . . Israel . . . this is unexpected.”
There was an exigency about him. I felt it like a disturbance in the air.
“I’ve wanted to speak to you for some time, but I’ve resisted. I worried how you might receive what I have to say.”
Surely this wasn’t about the hubbub with Mrs. Bettleman. That had been months ago.
“. . . Is there some difficult news?” I asked.
“I imagine this will seem abrupt, Sarah, but I’ve come determined to speak and let things fall or stand as they will. For five years now, I’ve struggled with my feelings concerning you.”
I felt my breath suddenly leave me. He looked off toward the bare-bone trees at the perimeter of the yard. “I’ve grieved Rebecca, perhaps too long. It became a habit, grieving her. I’ve been enthralled to her memory to the exclusion of too many things.”
He bowed his head. I wanted to reassure him it was all right, but it had never been all right, and I remained quiet.
“I’ve come to say I’m sorry,” he said. “It seemed unfair to ask you to be my wife when I felt so tied to her.”
It was an apology then, not a proposal. “. . . You don’t need to apologize.”
He went on as if I’d said nothing. “Some weeks ago, I dreamed of her. She