Chapter 11
One month later, Mr. Bennet dispatched Mrs. Hill to bring Mary and Kitty to his study.
They came at once, wondering whether they had done something to displease their father.
Were they to be reprimanded? Mary was especially curious.
Lately, her father had been unusually kind and seemed somewhat interested in her.
He had given her two books to read and then had asked her to sit and discuss them with him!
While she was unsure of his reason for taking the trouble, it was not unpleasant to be so singled out.
However, she was only partway through the latest text he had loaned her, so it could not be that.
She and Kitty stood patiently until he finally cleared his throat and spoke.
“Girls, I am in need of your assistance. It has now been three months since your mother died, and I believe the time has come for us to deal with some of her possessions. I have already given a couple of day dresses to Mrs. Hill as they were about the same size. If it would please either of you to take one or two of her fancier gowns and have them cut down or reworked for you, I shall gladly pay for the alterations.”
Mary protested. “But, Papa, we cannot wear anything but black until the New Year—or at least mid-December—and even though our deep mourning period ends then, we should still show respect by dressing somberly.”
Her sister rolled her eyes. “You may wish to dress in such a manner, but believe me: when our six months is up, I plan to be a veritable peacock!”
“But poor Papa must continue his mourning until nearly next June. Should we not show him support?”
Kitty opened her mouth to retort, but Mr. Bennet interrupted.
“Do not fret, Mary. It would cheer me considerably to see both of you in brighter colors in another three months, even as I continue on in black and grey. I was not suggesting you wear your mother’s reworked gowns yet.
Just…please go through her wardrobe and do what you think best with them. ”
“Lydia might like a few things,” Kitty said thoughtfully. “She wrote me just last week, complaining of not having any money to spend on new gowns for the upcoming assemblies.”
“That is a fine idea, Kitty. Choose one or two to send to her, and I shall include the funds to alter them.” He pulled open a side drawer of his desk and brought out a smallish, wooden jewelry case. Mary gasped, recognizing it as the one from her mother’s dressing room.
“Now,” Mr. Bennet continued, “your mother did not have much jewelry, but it does no one any good sitting in this box. I have already chosen two small pieces to send to Jane and Lizzy; they already have been gifted with far finer stuff from their husbands, so they will want your mother’s jewelry only for sentiment’s sake.
” He lifted the lid and pulled out a short necklace of small garnets spaced along a delicate gold chain.
“What of this? It is one of your mother’s finer pieces. Do either of you wish to have it?”
“I should like it, Papa,” Mary blurted before Kitty could respond. It would go perfectly with her new gown, now hidden upstairs in her closet, waiting for the six-month mourning period to end.
“Very well.” He handed it to her then chose a cross of four topaz stones dangling from a gold chain. “This was another one of her better pieces. You should have this then, Kitty.”
She took it, brushing a tear from her eye as she murmured her thanks.
“As for Lydia. I greatly fear anything of great value I send to her will soon be pawned by either her or her worthless husband. What do you say to this?” He held up a small but pretty cameo brooch.
“It is not a costly piece, which is why your mother seldom wore it. It was an engagement gift from me, actually.”
Kitty and Mary exchanged a glance, then nodded their approval.
The rest of the pieces were easily divided between the girls—three apiece—with little disagreement over them.
At last, one bracelet remained. Mr. Bennet caressed the thick, gold hoop with delicate engraved scrollwork, and a smile came over his face.
“I had nearly forgotten about this. I gave it to your mother after she gave birth to Jane. I don’t know why she stopped wearing it.”
“Likely it would not fit anymore, Papa,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “Her wrists and hands became plump as she aged.” The look on her father’s face made her realize the bluntness of her statement, but he did not chastise her.
“You may be right. Well, since you each have three pieces and this one is too nice to risk sending to Lydia, what shall I do with it?”
“Keep it in the jewelry case, Papa, until you decide what to do with it.” Mary said, “In the meantime, Kitty and I can share it if we like. I don’t care that much for bracelets anyway. They interfere with my playing the piano.”
“A sound idea. What say you, Kitty?”
“I agree.”
“And perhaps you will think of someone to gift it to later,” Mary added.
Later in her bedroom, Mary reflected that there was an odd expression on her father’s face when she said that—a queer little smile—as if he already had a prospect in mind.
***
Two weeks later, Mary proceeded with eager determination towards the parsonage, her Bible clutched firmly in her hands.
The late August sun beat down on her, and she felt a sheen of perspiration as she hurried to her destination.
Thank heavens for the short walk and for her bonnet!
She wanted to look her best; she was finally ready to begin a plan to improve her acquaintance with Mr. Yarby by discussing certain passages of scripture.
While she had persuaded her father to invite the parson and Amelia to dinner several times over the past few months, Mary never felt she garnered the rector’s attention.
She would try, but when he turned his intense, dark eyes on her, her color would rise, causing her to retreat in confusion.
Then she would be forced to watch her sister step in and act as hostess.
Kitty was so much more comfortable with easy banter.
How did she do it? Mary would spend most of the evening speaking with her father and Amelia, only to realize later that she had barely exchanged a half dozen sentences with the object of her desire—all the more reason to meet with him privately.
Certainly, she would be able to converse more readily with him when they were alone.
Today being Monday, she knew Mr. Yarby would be at home, and although she did not wish to monopolize his free day, she could not chance dropping in on another weekday when he might be making parish visits.
As she turned the corner to the parsonage, she spied a figure in black coming towards her. It was Kitty! What could she be doing there? When Mary called out and waved, she saw a somewhat startled expression on her sister’s face. Kitty then tucked something under her arm.
“Where have you been all morning?” Mary asked when the two reached each other.
Kitty tossed her head. “What do you care? Just because you manage the menus and a few other things Mama did, that does not make you mistress over me!” She pushed past and hurried away, much to Mary’s puzzlement.
How very odd. And what was she hiding under her arm?
She shrugged and, concluding it was likely new ribbons or such her sister had bought as a treat for herself in Meryton, continued to the parsonage where she knocked on the door, nearly trembling in anticipation of spending time with Mr. Yarby.
The maid, Ellen, showed Mary to the small study. Better and better, Mary thought—less chance of being disturbed by anyone there than if they were in the parlor.
“Miss Bennet, what a surprise,” the clergyman said, rising from behind his desk. “I was just—that is, what can I do for you?”
“I have a question about something in the Bible that I cannot quite decipher. I was hoping you might help me understand.” Mary was suddenly nervous and heard her voice quaver a bit.
Heavens, this would never do. He must see her as a strong, intelligent woman and prospective partner, not a blithering ninny.
She cleared her throat. “I do not wish to disturb your work, however. If this an inconvenient time, I can come back later…”
Mr. Yarby smiled. “It is no imposition. It is certainly nice to know that the Bennets are interested in the holy book. Please, sit.” He gestured to the uncomfortable-looking chair across from his desk.
Disappointed that they could not sit next to each other on the small cushioned window seat, Mary took the chair and scooted it as close as she could to the desk.
“Now. What has you so perplexed, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Yarby asked as he settled back into his own chair.
“It is this line from the book of John,” she said as she fumbled with her Bible, opening it to the page she had marked with an old ribbon. “Chapter fifteen, verse seven: If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.”
“And what confuses you about that?”
“Well…it is just that it makes it seem as if anything we desire can be ours for the having. Our Heavenly Father is not just going around granting wishes, is he?”
Mr. Yarby smiled and picked up his own Bible, quickly finding the book of John.
“We must first remember, Miss Bennet, the context in which our Lord is speaking. Recall that earlier, Jesus calls himself the true vine, but warns that our Father is keeper of that vine. And any branch that does not bear fruit is cut away, that the other branches may produce more fruit. And then he says just as a vine cannot bear fruit of itself, neither can we, except we abide in Him. We must keep God’s commandments, and also the new commandment Jesus gives us in verse twelve, which is to love one another as he loves us. ”
“But if we do so, we are guaranteed to get whatever we want? Riches or a fine house?”
“Jesus has told us He will intercede on our behalf to God Almighty, so yes, everything we wish for could be ours.”
Mary frowned, pondering this. “Could be? Since everyone does not have a fine carriage or home and great wealth, does that mean they are not devout enough? Or that they are sinners?”
“You may have hit upon the very thing there. Again, that passage you quote says Jesus exhorts us to have His words abide in us. But that is so much more than simply being able to quote them. Sadly, many of us are sinners—and I don’t mean in a great way.
We are not all thieves, deceitful liars, or murderers.
But most of us are sinners in small ways—not turning the other cheek, holding resentments, or gossiping perhaps.
We might fail to offer comfort to those that need it most or be too concerned for material rather than spiritual matters.
In these small ways, perhaps, we hurt our God and then do not receive the things we ask for. ”
“Forgive me for sounding rude, but sometimes wealthy people are dreadful, are they not? Of course, I do not know that many, but one hears tales of how greedy and cruel the rich can be, always wanting their own way. And yet they have everything while most people have very little. Why should God reward them and not a poor beggar?”
Mr. Yarby laughed gently. “That is a question scholars have been trying to answer for many, many centuries, Miss Bennet. I can only tell you this: a true believer of Christ, full of passion for him and his words, shall have no will that is not in harmony with the Divine will. Then, faith is possible in the fulfillment of his own desire, and prayer becomes a pledge of that answer. Do you see?”
“Hebrews chapter eleven, verse one.” Mary quoted from memory, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
She saw a broad smile spread across Mr. Yarby’s face. “Exactly. We cannot go around expecting God to grant our every wish like some magical being in a fairy tale. But it is faith, Miss Bennet; faith is what brings us to accord with God’s will for us.”
“You make it sound so logical and understandable, Mr. Yarby,” Mary said. “Thank you so much. May I…may I call again if I have other questions?”
“Of course, Miss Bennet. You are one of my spiritual flock here, and I must tend to you as I would to any of my parish.”
Wishing she could somehow continue the conversation, but realizing she had no more questions, Mary nodded and rose. He stood as well and smiled. Was there anything in particular in that smile for her? She could only hope. Mary curtseyed and left.
***
As she walked home, Mary reflected on her first private encounter with Mr. Yarby.
She was slightly disappointed to be referred to as just one more of his “flock.” And she was equally dismayed that no offer of tea was issued; that would have been a good opportunity for more informal conversation.
Still, she decided it was a good start. Surely, more time discussing the holy book would bring them closer.
And one day, she had no doubt that he would begin to realize Mary would be the perfect wife for him. It was only a matter of time.