All the Tea in China by Jane Orcutt Page A

apparently an impediment to his resumption of the life he had lost so many years ago when Frederica and I were thrust upon him. Oh, how the reality of my spinsterhood these recent days must have rankled.
    “Isabella!”
    I started. “Flora. You gave me a fright.”
    “Whatever are you doing away from the fire?” She wrapped her shawl closer about her shoulders. “It is a chill night.”
    To be certain.
    “I . . . I was looking for you, Flora. Uncle Toby has requested more tea.”
    “I was on my way into the study to see if more was needed. I am sorry you were indisposed.”
    Hearing Uncle and Howe’s chatter in the room beyond, I drew Flora away, whispering, “It is well that I was, for I have learned an unsettling truth.”
    Flora clapped a hand over her mouth. “Phineas Snowe will not take you.”
    “No!” I glanced over my shoulder to make certain we had not been overheard. I lowered my voice. “At least, I do not yet know his answer.”
    “Then what?” Flora took my hands in hers and rubbed them. “Lord love you, child, you are chilled. Tell me about this dreadful truth you have learned.”
    I repeated Uncle Toby’s exact words. Flora ceased rubbing my hands yet still held them. “You know that he did not mean for you to hear that, Isabella.”
    “Of course he did not. Uncle Toby would not hurt my feelings for the world. But I cannot ignore his own desires and dreams.”
    “His desires and dreams are your well-being. They have been such since the day you and your sister arrived in this home.”
    “I heard his words, Flora,” I insisted. “If he would not hurt my feelings, I would not hurt his.”
    Flora gave my hands a final pat and released them. “It will all be well, dear one.”
    I repeated her words to myself as I lay in bed that night. Just before sleep overtook me, I reminded myself that God had called me to be a missionary in the Far East. Phineas Snowe would send an affirmative answer that I could join his group, and both Uncle Toby and I would have our lives laid out for us. Why did I worry when both our problems would soon be solved?
    The letter arrived the next morning. Flora showed it to me, and we examined it together. Addressed to Uncle Toby in florid handwriting and sealed with the wax impression of a cross, it could only be from Phineas Snowe.
    I clutched the letter between my hands. “Oh, Flora, this is my future life. Where is Uncle Toby?”
    “I believe he’s in the study with one of the students—” I hurried down the hallway.
    “Though I do not think he would care to be disturbed!” Flora called after me.
    Outside the closed study door, I drew up short. I raised my hand to knock, then took a moment to straighten my skirt, pat my hair, and compose myself. Then I knocked. When Uncle Toby gave me entrance, despite my best efforts, I fairly flew through the door. I am not sure who looked more startled—Uncle Toby or his student, James Beatty. Beatty was an overly anxious young student who often turned red in the face, particularly in my presence. My impression of him was as a large puppy with feet still too big for its bearing.
    Uncle Toby adjusted his spectacles and closed the book he and Mr. Beatty studied. “Here,” I said without preamble. “It must be my answer.”
    Uncle Toby accepted the paper. “Mr. Beatty, we have studied enough for the day.”
    “Yes, sir,” Beatty said. “Thank you, sir.”
    Uncle Toby waited until the young man had presented us with a fumbling bow, then stumbled his way from the room. I took the chair he had vacated and leaned toward Uncle while he used an opener to unseal the wax. His expression never betrayed his emotion as he read. How long could the missive be?
    “Well?” I finally asked.
    Uncle Toby removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes with one hand, then put the spectacles back in place. “He says no.”
    Hope dashed, stomach churning, I reached for the letter. “He said no ?”
    Uncle handed the paper to me, and I scanned