His Lady in Hiding by Jen Geigle Johnson

Author:Jen Geigle Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2019-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

She wandered farther down the edge of the river, pondering the young lad. Could she teach him to read? Of course she could. But she didn’t know if she dared go find the ship without someone to accompany her. Perhaps Mr. Crowley would go with her.

The water was calm today, and she remembered what Mr. Crowley had told her about its reflective surface. She stopped to look across at the trees on the other side of the river. Some of their leaves had fallen, and the yellows had turned to brown. A new batch of orange leaves glowed in places, and green still remained on others. The beauty of it struck her, and she could not look away. Just like Mr. Crowley had predicted, the mirror image shone back in the water, and she knew she would never forget the sight. She longed for her paints and a canvas. Not that she had ever been any good, nor had she valued her time to improve.

But now, as she wished to capture the image to memory, she understood at last why she perhaps should have paid greater attention to her instructors. The ability to recreate a scene like this one, however insufficiently, was a treasured gift.

She sighed.

“Now, why this forlorn sigh? Is that not the most glorious scene God ever created, and you, a special witness to it?”

Surprise raced her heart, and she turned in happy expectation. The voice had expressed so well the thoughts of her heart.

A tall, thin man with gray filling in the black of his beard and skin as dark as night stood before her, his eyes twinkling.

In all her life she had never seen a colored person and now, here on this day, she had seen two in a matter of minutes. “I was thinking that very thing. My sigh comes from a longing to record it so I may see it again. I was regretting inattention to painting instructors.” She shrugged.

“Well now, it’ll paint itself again and be just as glorious.” He paused, studying her. “But never exactly the same. Every day’s a new joy, a blessing.”

“How poetic. Do you come here often to witness it? I feel I never want to miss another view such as this.”

“I walk by every day. Our congregation lies down this street here, up the hill. I often ponder my sermons here, along this stretch, when the crowds are thin or sleeping as they are today.”

“Is it often crowded here?”

“It is, which is why I came to join you. Most days it won’t be safe to return here or any farther north on this stretch. Too many taverns and other undesirable ways to use time.”

She looked around at the buildings to her left that sat back from the street along the water. They had become run down, their fronts chipped and peeling, their entries unkempt. Even the air smelled different, stale, of many humans. Becoming nervous, she wrung her hands. “I should go.”

“You are well now. Just don’t return without strong company.

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