Winter Is Past

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Are you a queen?”

Althea laughed. “No, though sometimes I feel like a princess. My riches are invisible most of the time. But even though you cannot see them, they are more precious than all the gold in the world. And so, like Esther who knew God had sent her to help her people, I, too, want to share my riches with those who need them.”

“What are your riches like?”

Althea pursed her lips. “They bring life, for one thing. They bring freedom from fear. They bring joy.”

“How did you get these riches?”

“By believing in God’s goodness.” Althea hesitated. “By believing God looked down from Heaven and saw all the poor people—even some people who seem to be rich, even people who live in palaces—and felt compassion on them because they didn’t have any of these true riches. So, He decided to give them of these riches. He decided to send the very best of Himself to them, and if they received Him, they would receive these true riches.”

Rebecca pulled her coverlet up, excited by the story. “Did it work? Did the people believe?”

“Some did, but others didn’t. Some became so angry they killed the gift God sent.”

“Oh,” breathed Rebecca. “Then what happened?”

“Well, that was many hundreds of years ago. Since then, God has asked those who believe to share the riches with others who haven’t heard. It’s gone on from there. God sent me to that part of London, for example, to show these children and the grownup folks around them how much He loves them and wants them to have these riches.”

“Why did you come here, then? Do people here need these riches, too?”

Althea smiled, touching Rebecca’s cheek. “People everywhere need them. I know God sent me here to meet you and let you know He loves you.”

Rebecca’s thin hand came up to Althea’s. “I’m glad He sent you.” She lay quietly for a little while. “Do you think Papa knows about these riches?”

“I don’t know, dear. Perhaps he doesn’t think he needs them.” She added after a moment, “Sometimes people are afraid to believe in God.”

“Why would they be?”

“I think they believe God might ask them for something, and they are afraid to give it.”

“My grandmama is afraid of God.”

“Is she?”

Rebecca nodded then smiled. “She’s always saying, ‘God forbid’ and ‘The evil eye spare me.’ She puts things around the house and on the doors to ward off the evil eye. I always imagine God’s big eyeball staring at me from the ceiling, looking to see who might be doing something wrong.”

“God’s Word tells us to ‘fear God,’ but I think the meaning is a little different from the one your grandmama has taken.”

“How do you mean?”

Althea pondered how best to explain it. “Think of how you feel about your papa. You love him?”

Rebecca nodded.

“And you know he loves you?”

A more vigorous nod.

“You respect him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You respect him because you love him, isn’t that so, and not the other way around? You don’t love him because you respect him.”

Rebecca thought about it. “You mean, I respect him because of my love for him, and not that my love comes because I respect him?”

“Exactly. Now, do you fear your papa?”

Rebecca giggled. “No, I’m not afraid of him!”

“Have you ever seen him angry?”

Rebecca screwed up her face. “I don’t remember. Oh, yes, once. I was little and I went down to the library and heard him talking to the footman. I had opened the door and could hear him. He was angry at the footman, but I don’t know about what.”

“Was he shouting at him?”

“No, he wasn’t shouting, but I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t being very nice to him.”

Althea could imagine the cutting remarks. “Were you afraid of your father then?”

“I wasn’t afraid of him for my sake but for the footman’s. I remember thinking I would never want him to talk to me like that.”

“So, in that sense you fear your father. You know he is capable of being angry, but you wouldn’t want that anger turned toward you.”

Rebecca nodded. “That’s right. Is that how it is with God?”

“Yes. He is our Heavenly Father. Because we love Him, we don’t want to anger Him. But it’s not because we are afraid of Him. It is because we love Him so much.”

“Oh,” Rebecca breathed in wonder.

Althea plumped the girl’s pillow and smoothed her coverlet. “Why don’t you take a little nap? We can continue with our puppets later.” At the girl’s nod, Althea stepped away, picking up the scraps. She stood a moment, watching her charge. Oh, Lord, she prayed, heal her, let her laugh and run and jump like those children at the mission.

The following week passed quickly with puppets in the mornings and dinner party preparations in the afternoons. Althea dug up a puppet theater in the nursery and had it brought down to Rebecca’s bedroom. One afternoon after luncheon, they put on a performance for Simon.

Mrs. Coates began to thaw towards Althea as she perceived Althea’s knowledge in matters of etiquette. She yielded more and more of the preparations to Althea’s management. Under Althea’s gentle persuasion a thorough housecleaning was begun. Curtains and carpets that hadn’t been moved in years were taken out and shaken, floors mopped and waxed, dust covers removed from unused rooms. With Mrs. Coates as an intermediary between herself and Cook, Althea made sure orders for food were placed in time for the event.

Althea knew a dinner party could make or break a host, and the quality of the table was crucial. She surmised from the talk of the servants that this was Simon’s first foray into the world of entertaining. She imagined that with his star rising in Parliament it was important for him to mingle in society. Althea threw herself into the preparations, vowing to do her best to make the party a success.

She didn’t know what to do about her own attendance, and the day was drawing near. She had no evening clothes, and decided finally to use her brown merino. She made sure it was clean and reserved for that evening. She had mentioned the dinner party to her brother on one of his quick visits during a trip to London. He didn’t share her misgivings about attending, but rather applauded Simon for insisting upon it.

On the afternoon of the dinner party, Althea finally escaped for a walk in Hyde Park. It had been several afternoons since she had been able to spare the time. The raw March wind felt refreshing against her face. She walked briskly along the Serpentine for an hour, then made her way back home. The house was still when she entered. She noted with satisfaction the gleaming entrance and the smell of beeswax. A vase of fresh orchids had been placed on a side table. She removed her cloak and prepared to ascend the staircase. Then she hesitated, her cloak over her arm.

Bracing herself, telling herself she had nothing to fear, she decided to go down to the servants’ quarters and check for herself that preparations were fully under way in the kitchen. Mrs. Coates had assured her that Cook had everything under control, but Althea hadn’t yet seen for herself.

She pushed open the door, and a group of servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. They were all grouped around the long table where they usually dined. Something didn’t seem right. The only one sitting was Mrs. Bentwood, who wasn’t so much sitting as slumped over the table.

“What is the matter?” Althea ventured farther into the servants’ domain. “Is anything wrong with Cook?”