Julia Whipple, also did the missionary society proud. I did not care for the dark brown clothing she wore, but I supposed it was necessary for the required physical labor of a missionary and as good a detriment to a lady’s vanity as anything. Miss Whipple spoke little but dispensed food and medicines and bandages with a shy, cheerful demeanor that greatly lifted the spirits of the destitute, I am certain. I longed to serve beside her in China.
Besides, surely Snowe and I would not have to work in close proximity.
Uncle sent word to him that very night, at my insistence, of course. I am happy to report that I did not resort to tears; indeed I was ashamed that they had manifested themselves earlier. I choose to believe that Uncle Toby thought them merely strong evidence of my sincere desire to serve the Lord in China.
I knew that no answer would be forthcoming from Snowe that evening, yet I waited with keen impatience. One of Uncle’s friends, a dean from another college at Oxford, called on us after dinner. With no family of his own, Erasmus Howe often warmed himself before our fire and exchanged intellectual conversation.
I tried in vain to work at an embroidery Flora had insisted I begin, but the threads refused to lie flat. My fingers, representatives of my inner being I am certain, trembled with eagerness for Snowe’s answer. Normally I enjoyed Mr. Howe’s visits, for he was too old to disapprove of my joining the discussion with Uncle Toby. Tonight, however, I found no pleasure in even their spirited argument about the philosophy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
“The development of the sciences and arts have contributed to society’s moral corruption,” Howe said, wagging his finger.
Uncle Toby shook his head. “Old friend, I am afraid you overlook the inherent evil of man himself. His academic and aesthetic reaches are only reflections of corruption, not the root cause.”
“Bah!” Howe crossed his arms. He turned to me. “What say you, Isabella? Will you not side with me?”
I set my embroidery in my lap, sighing. “I am afraid I have no worthwhile opinion tonight at all, Mr. Howe. If I were to choose sides, however, I would say that each of you possesses a modicum of truth in that your belief is so fervent.”
“So then belief is all that is wanted for truth?” Howe twisted further toward me, settling in for further discussion.
“Isabella, would you please ask Flora for some more tea?” Uncle Toby asked softly, gesturing toward the doorway with his eyes.
I gratefully laid the embroidery aside altogether and rose. I would have hurried off to find Flora right away, but something told me to tarry. I was not given to eavesdropping, but Uncle Toby’s dismissal had been extraordinarily abrupt.
“What is wrong with Isabella tonight?” Howe said. “She does not seem quite herself.”
Uncle Toby sighed. “She wants to go to China.”
“China! Whatever for?”
“She has a notion that God intends for her to become a missionary. Because of Phineas Snowe and his fellow servants of the Lord, she is convinced that is her calling, as well.”
“But perhaps it is!” Howe said. “Admit it, Fitzwater. You would welcome the chance to travel again.”
A long pause ensued. “I would,” Uncle finally said. “Even at my advanced age, I wish I could travel to the Continent. With the war on, it would not be safe to take Isabella. But, oh, to visit France again. Germany. Italy.” He sighed. “So many places of historical interest. So much literature to be read in their original languages.”
“Can you not let Isabella decide about the risk for herself?”
I shamelessly moved closer to the door.
“Even so, she would be a burden,” Uncle Toby said. “I would be obliged to look after her welfare to the point that my research would be impeded. No, Howe, I am afraid it is a dream that will remain unrealized.”
I shivered as though someone had pushed me outside into the cold. Poor Uncle Toby. I was
Besides, surely Snowe and I would not have to work in close proximity.
Uncle sent word to him that very night, at my insistence, of course. I am happy to report that I did not resort to tears; indeed I was ashamed that they had manifested themselves earlier. I choose to believe that Uncle Toby thought them merely strong evidence of my sincere desire to serve the Lord in China.
I knew that no answer would be forthcoming from Snowe that evening, yet I waited with keen impatience. One of Uncle’s friends, a dean from another college at Oxford, called on us after dinner. With no family of his own, Erasmus Howe often warmed himself before our fire and exchanged intellectual conversation.
I tried in vain to work at an embroidery Flora had insisted I begin, but the threads refused to lie flat. My fingers, representatives of my inner being I am certain, trembled with eagerness for Snowe’s answer. Normally I enjoyed Mr. Howe’s visits, for he was too old to disapprove of my joining the discussion with Uncle Toby. Tonight, however, I found no pleasure in even their spirited argument about the philosophy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
“The development of the sciences and arts have contributed to society’s moral corruption,” Howe said, wagging his finger.
Uncle Toby shook his head. “Old friend, I am afraid you overlook the inherent evil of man himself. His academic and aesthetic reaches are only reflections of corruption, not the root cause.”
“Bah!” Howe crossed his arms. He turned to me. “What say you, Isabella? Will you not side with me?”
I set my embroidery in my lap, sighing. “I am afraid I have no worthwhile opinion tonight at all, Mr. Howe. If I were to choose sides, however, I would say that each of you possesses a modicum of truth in that your belief is so fervent.”
“So then belief is all that is wanted for truth?” Howe twisted further toward me, settling in for further discussion.
“Isabella, would you please ask Flora for some more tea?” Uncle Toby asked softly, gesturing toward the doorway with his eyes.
I gratefully laid the embroidery aside altogether and rose. I would have hurried off to find Flora right away, but something told me to tarry. I was not given to eavesdropping, but Uncle Toby’s dismissal had been extraordinarily abrupt.
“What is wrong with Isabella tonight?” Howe said. “She does not seem quite herself.”
Uncle Toby sighed. “She wants to go to China.”
“China! Whatever for?”
“She has a notion that God intends for her to become a missionary. Because of Phineas Snowe and his fellow servants of the Lord, she is convinced that is her calling, as well.”
“But perhaps it is!” Howe said. “Admit it, Fitzwater. You would welcome the chance to travel again.”
A long pause ensued. “I would,” Uncle finally said. “Even at my advanced age, I wish I could travel to the Continent. With the war on, it would not be safe to take Isabella. But, oh, to visit France again. Germany. Italy.” He sighed. “So many places of historical interest. So much literature to be read in their original languages.”
“Can you not let Isabella decide about the risk for herself?”
I shamelessly moved closer to the door.
“Even so, she would be a burden,” Uncle Toby said. “I would be obliged to look after her welfare to the point that my research would be impeded. No, Howe, I am afraid it is a dream that will remain unrealized.”
I shivered as though someone had pushed me outside into the cold. Poor Uncle Toby. I was
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