The Secret of Pembrooke Park(36)

“I have no idea how to teach . . .”

“Just listen to her read aloud, and when she struggles, help her sound out the words troubling her.”

“Very well,” Abigail agreed.

She sat with the little girl for half an hour and did as Leah suggested. She soon found herself transported back to her younger days, sitting with Louisa when she was four or five, helping her read a children’s book.

The time passed quickly and pleasantly, and soon Mr. Chapman announced it was time to clear away for the day. Around her, books closed and children rose and began stacking slates.

“All right, time for a closing hymn,” Leah said.

The children gathered, and Leah named the hymn, “‘Lord, Accept Our Feeble Song.’ Ready?”

The children nodded and opened their little robin mouths and began to sing.

“Lord, accept our feeble song!

Power and praise to Thee belong;

We would all Thy grace record,

Holy, holy, holy Lord!”

As they warbled out the melody, Abigail tried not to wince, thinking, Feeble song, indeed!

When they finished, Leah suggested, “Shall we sing another?”

This time Leah named a hymn Abigail was familiar with, and she joined in.

“Glory, glory everlasting

Be to Him who bore the cross,

Who redeemed our souls by tasting

Death, the death deserved by us!

Spread His glory

Who redeemed His people thus. . . .”

William turned to stare at her. “My goodness, Miss Foster. You have a lovely singing voice.”

She felt her cheeks heat. She hadn’t meant to sing above the others or to show off. “Thank you. Sorry. Go on.”

Leah chuckled. “Don’t apologize, Miss Foster. You have a gift. Perhaps you might lead the children in singing from now on?”

Abigail hesitated. “I don’t wish to usurp anybody’s role.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Leah said. “The two of us have more than enough roles as it is, I assure you. You would be doing me a favor.”

“You would be doing all of us a favor,” William added. The approval shining in his eyes did strange things to Abigail’s heart.

She smiled self-consciously. “Then it shall be my pleasure.”

Recalling their mother’s dinner invitation, William and Leah asked Abigail to walk home with them, and Abigail happily agreed. She enjoyed the simple Sabbath meal of cold meat, pie, and salads, and a lovely sponge for dessert. She also enjoyed talking with Leah, the camaraderie and sparring between siblings, Mac’s grumpy sense of humor, and Mrs. Chapman’s infectious laugh. She did not mind the admiration in William Chapman’s eyes either.

After the meal, Leah played a few hymns on their old harpsichord, and the family all sang together. Abigail tried to imagine her own family doing something so simple and reverent, but she could not.

Before she left, Abigail invited Kitty to come home with her and amuse herself with the dolls’ house again, assuming her parents didn’t mind. The girl eagerly accepted. Her parents less so.

“I’m sure Miss Foster doesn’t want you loitering about, messing up her room and disturbing her things,” Mac said.

“I don’t mind,” Abigail assured him. “Besides, they aren’t my things really. Seems a pity that no one should enjoy them. I would be happy for Kitty’s company, if you can spare her.”

“Very well, if you are certain,” Kate said. “But don’t overstay your welcome, Kitty. And be sure to return everything to its proper place before you leave.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

William remained behind to discuss some church matter with Mac, and Abigail was oddly disappointed not to have his escort home. But she smiled and thanked everyone for their hospitality, glad to have his younger sister’s company at least.

When Abigail and Kitty reached the house, the two went upstairs together. There, Kitty pulled a small basket from her pocket and handed it to her.

She said sheepishly, “I borrowed this the last time I was here, to show Leah. I shouldn’t have done so without asking, and I apologize.”

Abigail pressed her hand warmly. “I forgive you. Thank you for telling me.” She nodded toward the dolls’ house with a smile. “Now, go on.”

Kitty said, “You needn’t stay with me, if there is something else you need to do.”

“Not at all. As I told your mother, I will enjoy your company. This house is far too empty and far too quiet.” Except at night, she thought.

“I think I shall write to my mother right here at my dressing table. Oh,” Abigail recalled, “I found another doll in the back of my own wardrobe. I’ve added her to the drawer.”

The girl went eagerly to the cabinet and knelt before it and was all but lost from view, save for flashes of movement through the dolls’ house windows.

“I adore these miniature furnishings,” Kitty said. “The tiny balls of knitting wool. These tiny plates and pots and baskets.”

“I do too,” Abigail agreed, sitting at the dressing table and uncorking her inkpot. “Especially the miniature books with real pages.”

“Where? Oh, I see. Here in the drawing room. This fat black one is supposed to be a Bible, I think. But its pages are blank. . . . Look! Someone has written in it.”