Page 88 of The Seaside Homecoming
As she stood there, gazing at the star, she grew increasingly aware of his presence beside her, his stillness. She glanced up and caught him studying her profile.
Pretending not to notice, she asked, “Is it true sailors navigate by the North Star?”
“I believe so. At least in the northern hemisphere. I’ve never been to the southern hemisphere, so no matter where I’ve traveled—Vienna, Constantinople, St. Petersburg—I could always find the North Star in the night sky. Even when everything else around me was different, it remained unchanged. Constant. Rather like God, I suppose.” He gave a self-conscious laugh.
Claire asked, “You believe in God?”
“Does that surprise you? You know I attend church.”
“Not everyone who attends believes.” She thought, then added, “I suppose I’m not questioning whether you believe in God’s existence so much as wondering if you still ... revere Him after your loss?”
“Ah. God may have allowed it, but He did not cause Vanita’s death. The plague did. I don’t blame God. I blame myself. Vanita did not want to go to Constantinople. But as I told you before, I put my ambition ahead of my wife’s wishes, as I did too often.”
For a long moment, he stared up at the starlit sky without aid of the telescope, and she guessed he was seeing more memories than stars.
Then he glanced at her. “And you, Miss Summers? What is your view of God?”
Her stomach fell. Why had she asked? She could not decline to answer when he’d simply reciprocated with the same question.
“I don’t have any trouble believing God exists. Yet when I think of Him, I cannot help picturing my own father and hearing his voice.”
“What does it sound like?”
“Disappointed and disapproving.”
“Your father was not a kind man?”
“He was. When I was young he doted on me, his firstborn. He would have welcomed a son, especially with the estate entailed down the male line, but he never treated me as less important. He praised me for being clever and laughed at my every joke, far more than the quip deserved. I had no doubt he loved me and approved of me. Then.”
“What happened to change that?”
Tread carefully, she warned herself. “I did, I suppose. I grew older and more interested in gowns and balls than spendingtime with my father. But the first real friction began when he decided I should marry the son of his oldest friend. He was not happy when I refused.”
“Were you well acquainted with the young man?”
“Yes. His family lived fairly close to us, and his father often brought him along when he visited. As a boy Harry was polite to adults but bullied anyone younger or weaker. As we all grew older, he visited less often, although we still saw him at the occasional party or village fête. He became more charming. Even chivalrous. Yet I still could not like him. Let alone marry him.”
“You did not believe he’d truly changed?”
Claire shook her head. “No. I saw glimpses of the same boy beneath the new polish. At all events, when I refused to marry him, Papa changed toward me. First, he expressed his disappointment, and when I continued to refuse, he grew angry.”
“Simply for refusing to marry a man you did not like?”
She nodded. “Though that was not the worst of my offenses.”Careful, Claire.What was it about the starlit darkness ... and this man ... that made her want to bare her soul?
He tipped his head to one side, clearly waiting for her to continue. When she remained silent, he said, “If you want to tell me more, you will find I am a good listener.”
Again she chastised herself for saying as much as she had. A part of her longed to confess. The other part feared the consequences. She was, after all, supposed to be a respectable woman.
“Forgive me,” she said instead. “I have been prattling on. What about your father? Did you get on together?”
“Yes, thankfully. He was gentle, honest, and caring. A clergyman.”
“Have you brothers or sisters?”
He shook his head. “Only child. At least, the only one to survive infancy, sadly. So my father doted on me as well.”
“Did he want you to follow him into the church?”
