More Precious Than Gold Read online

  At the same time, her heart was heavy. Her childhood was certainly over. She would never have time to finish her badminton game with Andrew now. And she hoped and prayed that no one would find out why.

  Chapter 2

  Louisa left the June Nineteenth picnic with hope in her heart, buoyed by the love of her friends and the society. The next morning she awoke to a pile of work that had doubled after being ignored for a day. She thought of her friends, thought of all of the blessings in her life, and tried not to complain. Instead she sat in the back room of their little house, working diligently, and cheered herself with the thought that she was serving a very important use for her family.

  At least, she tried to. Within minutes, her hopes fell and her heart was heavy. She wasn’t sure which struck harder, the hours of sewing that left her eyes stinging and her head pounding or the endless dialog of frustration that swirled through her head.

  I didn’t study hard and excel in school all those years only to end up working in a shop or a factory, harried and lonely, her thoughts grumbled. My friends are still enjoying their last taste of childhood while I have to work to have a roof over my head and food on my table. I don’t even care about nice things, like Gayle, or big families, like Wren. I just want to be normal. Andrew would understand—

  The last thought took Louisa by surprise. She paused halfway through embroidering the hem of a christening gown.

  Why should Andrew McBride come straight to her thoughts?

  Then again, she considered as she returned to sewing, Andrew knew what it was like to have a job, to work hard. Still, his job was an entrepreneurial enterprise and his family was wealthy. Hers was not.

  By the time Saturday rolled around, Louisa was bursting with desperation to get out of the house and into the balmy summer sunlight. She hadn’t seen Wren or Gayle all week. As she mounted her bicycle and pedaled off along the main road leading up the coast to Cliff House, she wanted to spread her arms and embrace the morning, to feel free. Instead she settled for gripping the handlebar of her bicycle with a fondness that made her laugh and shake her head at herself.

  Her bright red bicycle was far and away her most prized possession. It had been a gift from the McBrides. They had presented it to her, along with bicycles for Wren and Gayle, when they finished grammar school years ago. Now both of her friends had newer, fancier bicycles. But Louisa still loved her old, clunky, red one.

  As she pedaled up the long drive to Cliff House, she rang the bell on her handlebars and waved at Wren’s youngest brothers and sisters. They played with their friends and the family dog where Cliff House’s lawn met the beach, running and squealing in the sun. The McBrides were a large family, eight children in all, and their house was always filled with noise and song. Louisa was never sure if she felt comfortable with them or overwhelmed. At home there had only been Father, Mother, Henry and her. Now it was just the three of them, and Henry was gone most of the time. She’d become used to quiet.

  She found herself praying for a large family of her own one day, lots of children to love and care for, as she skidded to a stop at the top of the drive beside the back door. As quickly as the thought came into her mind she brushed it aside. Marriage was the last thing she should be thinking about. Someday, yes, but at the moment it was the least of her problems.

  “Hello?” she called out as she leaned her bicycle against the side of the house and brushed her skirts straight.

  Gayle’s bicycle also rested against the house, so Louisa walked through the kitchen door as if she too were a McBride. Sure enough, inside the warm, fragrant kitchen, Gayle and Wren were hard at work. Gayle wore yet another new dress, light pink with the puffy sleeves that were becoming so popular. One sleeve already had a smudge on it. Wren was dressed in far more practical clothing, her long strawberry-blonde hair hanging in a braid down her back.

  “I knew I’d find you in here.” Louisa smiled as she greeted them. She could have laughed out loud with joy at seeing her friends. It was ridiculous that just a few days apart could make her miss them so much. “What’s all this?”

  “Provisions,” Gayle answered with a mischievous tweak of her dark eyebrows.

  The kitchen table was spread with cookies and miniature cakes and the raspberry tarts that Wren was famous for. Wren and Gayle were busy packing some of them into baskets and tins and even a large napkin or two as they ran out of containers. Louisa closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, sweet smells of baking.

  “I wish I’d gotten here sooner,” she sighed, mouth watering.

  “Me too,” Gayle said with a giggle.

  “Where were you?” Wren asked without looking up from her task.

  “I—”

  “We’re going to take refreshments to the men working at the lighthouse,” Gayle interrupted, sparing Louisa the embarrassment of yet another excuse.

  Wren sent a wary glance in Gayle’s direction before adding, “Mama thought it would be a good idea to take the workers a snack. They’ve been out there since sunrise.”

  “We’ve got all this and some jugs of lemonade,” Gayle added, nodding to the counter by the sink. Two large brown jugs with corks stood waiting for attention. “Of course we don’t really have room for glasses,” Gayle shrugged, “but my guess is the boys will be so thirsty they won’t mind drinking straight from the jug.”

  “You’ve come just in time,” Wren continued with a wide smile, wiping her hands on her apron before untying it and pulling it off over her head. “We’ll put the lemonade in the basket of one of our bicycles and split the goodies between the other two, as many as will fit.”

  Louisa jumped into action as soon as the suggestion was made. Action made everything feel better. “I’ll take the jugs,” she said, crossing to the counter to retrieve them.

  Gayle set about hanging baskets of treats from her arm while Wren hung her apron on a peg beside the back door and returned to gather an armful of treats. With a grin, Louisa found herself considering that if Wren ever found herself in the same predicament that Louisa was in now, she would probably open a bakery and become wealthy and famous all over again. Money stuck to some people like burrs on a cat.

  “You’ve made an awful lot,” Louisa said as they fixed their hats on their heads and carried their loads out to their bicycles. “Do we really need this much?”

  “Everyone is over there, everyone.” Gayle smiled, eyes glittering with mirth. “Even C.J. Wick.”

  It was all Louisa could do not to roll her eyes. She didn’t know what she would do if her friend tried to play matchmaker.

  “Before he left this morning Rowan told me that they were expecting at least a dozen men,” Wren explained with far more sense. “He and Andrew went over just after sunrise. I told them they were crazy for getting up so early.”

  “Andrew is there?” Louisa settled the jugs of lemonade in the basket at the front of her bicycle with an awkward thunk. “Doesn’t he have to, I don’t know, go out and catch fish or something?”

  Wren shook her head. “His boat doesn’t set out again until Monday morning. Besides, he says he’s working on a surprise for all of us.”

  Louisa bit her lip and glanced off across the driveway and the lawn to the long, curving beach and the outcropping of rocks where the lighthouse stood in the distance. Why should it make any difference to her whether Andrew was home or at sea? After catching the way he had watched her at the June Nineteenth picnic, it did somehow. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. The memory of his smile and the way he’d winked at her to break her concentration as they played badminton haunted her.

  “Are you alright?”

  Gayle’s cheery question snapped her out of her thoughts before they could really form. Gayle sat on her bicycle, ready to set off. Wren was ready too. Louisa was the only one standing there, staring at the horizon like a ninny.

  “I’m just tired, I guess,” she muttered the half-truth and mounted her bike.

  Whatever anxiety had gnawed at her was forg
otten as they set off down the driveway to the paved road that ran parallel to the curving beach. The late morning sunlight was bright, and the breeze blowing off the sea kept trying to lift their hats clean off their heads as they rode. They had to stop several times to retie their ribbons and reposition their hatpins, prompting peals of laughter. It didn’t matter one bit to Louisa that they were acting like girls half their age. She spent most of her time behaving very grown up indeed. And maybe there would come a time soon when she couldn’t laugh and play at all. She would enjoy a little silliness with her friends at every chance she got.

  They made enough noise, laughing, ringing their bells, and waving to passersby as they approached the lighthouse, that by the time they stopped at the perimeter of the construction site, a few of the men were already dropping what they were doing to greet them. Louisa’s eyebrows shot up as her brother put down the sledgehammer he had been wielding and jogged to greet her.

  “Henry? What are you doing here? I thought you had work today.”

  “Mr. Harper said he could do without me for one day,” he answered, taking the lemonade jugs from her basket. “Be careful where you step,” he cautioned her. “There’s a lot of broken glass and sharp rocks from the demolition. You shouldn’t come too close.”

  “And you shouldn’t be working for free when your tuition needs to be paid,” she scolded in a tight whisper, eyes darting around to make sure she wasn’t overheard.

  Henry’s face dropped from its good-natured smile. He was only a year and a half older than Louisa and not more than a few inches taller. They had been through so much together, but ever since Henry went away to school, something had changed between them. For a moment he looked like he might argue with her, but he thought better of it and puffed out a breath.

  “You’ll wear yourself out worrying, Lou. I hate to see you so troubled. Everything will work out somehow. And there’s no harm taking time off to give back to the Church.” He ended his comment with a pointed eyebrow.

  Louisa couldn’t decide if she should be furious or embarrassed or grateful to her brother, so instead she sighed and felt helpless. Henry kissed her cheek, then walked back toward the half-demolished lighthouse to hand one of the jugs to a fellow worker.

  She glanced up at the tall lighthouse. According to Rev. McBride, the main tower would be preserved, while the small house at its base would be demolished and the chapel built in its place. At the moment, the structure in front of her looked like an old tower, worn by the sea, and a crumbling house that had been smashed in a storm. The men must have spent all morning clobbering the house with sledgehammers, leaving an eerie, hollow hulk. The sight sent a shiver down Louisa’s spine.

  She turned away, pulling her bicycle closer and walking it to lean against a large boulder. Rowan wheeled Gayle’s bicycle to a safe spot away from the construction. As far as Louisa could tell, Gayle hadn’t even noticed the kind gesture.

  “What is he doing here?” Wren muttered as she stepped to Louisa’s side. Her expression vacillated between joy and frustration.

  Louisa pushed her glasses up her nose and turned to see whom Wren was talking about. She spotted Andrew climbing out of the demolished house, his shirtsleeves rolled up to show tanned muscles. The morning sunlight made his sandy hair seem golden. He headed toward them.

  “You said Rowan and Andrew came here to work early in the morning,” Louisa said.

  “Not Andrew.” Wren’s brows sank lower. “Him.”

  “Oh look, Andrew’s friend came to help,” Gayle observed brightly as she joined them.

  Louisa couldn’t believe that she had noticed Andrew instantly but Jamie, who they had all liked so much on June Nineteenth.

  “And look,” Gayle went on, dropping her voice to a breathless giggle. “C.J. Wick is here too.”

  Louisa hid her cringe by adjusting her wide-brimmed hat. She fought the tickle of embarrassment Gayle’s mischief caused by turning and smiling at Andrew and Jamie.

  “Mr. Darling, what are you doing here?” she asked to avoid whatever pickle Gayle would throw her into next.

  “Mr. Darling is my uncle,” Jamie laughed. “I insist you call me Jamie.” For a moment Jamie looked like he would hold out his hand to greet the girls, but covered in dirt and dust as he was, he opted to nod to them with a sunny grin instead.

  “Come to finish me off in badminton?” Andrew asked Louisa, and planted his hands on his hips.

  Louisa couldn’t figure out, for the life of her, why that gesture made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

  “We brought snacks.” She internally scolded herself for being unable to come up with a wittier reply.

  “Even better. Did you help make them?”

  “No, I—”

  The rest of her explanation dwindled away as her eyes travelled past Andrew and Jamie to catch sight of Gayle as she offered C.J. one of the larger raspberry tarts. She had managed to position herself at just the right angle to catch the breeze in her skirt, and to artfully dislodge a tendril of her dark hair to trail over her face. Whatever she was saying to C.J., he was eating it up as surely as the tart, and she was beaming back as if the sun rose and set in C.J.’s eyes.

  Louisa searched for Rowan. He had wandered off to share the jug of lemonade that Henry had commandeered and deliberately faced away from Gayle’s display. He was far kinder about Gayle’s slight than Louisa would have been in his place.

  As soon as she realized she had stopped speaking mid-sentence, Louisa shut her mouth and turned back to Andrew with a blush. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Hey, are you planning on sharing that with the rest of us, Academian?”

  For the second time, Louisa was interrupted—only this time the interruption sent a spike of tension through everyone. Several yards away, one of the other young men, Warren Harrison, approached Henry with a challenging swagger. Louisa instinctively stepped forward to defend her brother, but Andrew reached out an arm and held her back.

  “Excuse me?” Henry’s back went straight.

  “Should we assume that the refreshments are only for your own people?” Warren sneered.

  “We made them for everyone.” Wren raised her voice, clearly battling to keep her temper in check.

  Warren glanced in the girls’ direction, his smug scowl faltering for a moment. “That’s what you Academians want us to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Academians? What are you talking about?” Gayle stepped away from C.J., a rare wrinkle of worry clouding her otherwise cheery expression.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Andrew told the girls in a quiet, calm voice.

  “There are ladies present, Warren,” Rowan said at almost the same time, his voice steady as the rocks around them.

  “Very well then.” Warren put on a false smile. “Keep everything to yourself and call it something other than what it is. That’s what you Academians like to do, isn’t it?”

  Warren marched over to Henry, glowering at him. Henry stared back, eyes narrowed, then handed the lemonade over. He arched an eyebrow as though he had made the grander gesture, then stomped off to retrieve his sledgehammer.

  Rowan, face set, walked closer to Warren. “A word?” he asked, then led Warren aside to speak to him privately.

  “What has him so worked up?” Jamie asked, glancing from Andrew to the girls to C.J. as he joined their circle. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

  They all hesitated. Louisa bit her lip and stared at the jagged rocks under her feet.

  “There’s a serious disagreement in our Church right now,” Andrew began the explanation slowly. “It’s sort of a doctrinal dispute and sort of an organizational dispute and—”

  “And mostly a colossal waste of time,” Wren finished, throwing up her hands and setting to work arranging the treats on the rough worktable nearby.

  “Here I thought you all looked so happy and caring,” Jamie replied with a light-hearted laugh. “Like a family.”

  “We’r
e like a family, all right.” C.J. rolled his eyes. “And every family has its quarrels.”

  “Warren’s always had a chip on his shoulder.” Andrew frowned and watched the cranky young man as he returned to work after speaking to Rowan, casting a challenging glance over his shoulder at their group. “Unfortunately, the disagreements give him ample opportunity to exercise that chip.”

  Louisa bristled with anxiety at the course the conversation had taken. She knew full well how major the disagreement in the Church was. She hated it.

  “So which side of the family are you on?” Jamie asked, his voice telling them that he thought he was being funny.

  The rest of them exchanged knowing looks. “My family is in favor of the General Convention,” C.J. shrugged.

  “Mine too,” Gayle turned a beaming smile to him.

  “But there is another group of people, led by Bishop William Benade, who have a very different idea of what our Church should be,” Andrew said.

  “Do they have the right idea?” Jamie asked.

  “It depends on who you ask,” C.J. answered.

  “What’s the difference between the two sides?” Jamie glanced between C.J. and Andrew.

  “Nothing,” Wren called from the table, frowning.

  “Lots of little things,” Louisa answered, eyes downcast.

  “Has Andrew told you about Emanuel Swedenborg and his theological writings?” C.J. asked.

  “He has.” Jamie nodded.

  “Well, some people think those works should be interpreted one way. The other side thinks they should be interpreted another.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Lots of religions interpret the Bible differently. This sounds like that.”

  “Maybe,” Louisa said.

  Jamie turned to Andrew. “Which side are you on?”

  “We aren’t taking sides,” Andrew answered firmly. “Not when Papa is the pastor of the society.”

  “What does ‘Academian’ mean?” Jamie asked.

  “Well,” Andrew explained, “there are a large number of people, many of them down in Philadelphia, where the theological school—the seminary, you might call it—is, who believe that the best way to make the church grow is to focus all of our energies into creating a New Church school, the Academy of the New Church. It already exists, they just believe it should be the heart of the church, so they’ve been given the nickname ‘Academians.’”