“There is a change in the wind,” Miss Whitney said. “I feel it in my bones.”
Stephen winced in confusion. “I don’t understand, Winnie. But I’m afraid I have to go now.”
She inhaled deeply and blew out a long breath. “It isn’t right.”
“What isn’t?”
“That Wesley should be heir when you do all the work.”
He had heard the same lament before. “Don’t trouble yourself. And don’t forget I’ll have that trust from Grandfather when I’m thirty.” He chuckled and teased, “If I live that long.”
“No. I don’t believe you will,” she replied, expression somber. “You won’t live to see your inheritance. I know things I wish I didn’t. The world’s turned topsy-turvy.”
Stephen frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes took on a faraway, distracted look. “He shall reward every man according to his works.”
“My reward in heaven, do you mean? Don’t rush me.” Again he tried to brush off the woman’s strange words with a joke, but the eerie light in her eyes made him uneasy.
She grasped his arm. “Be ready, my boy. Your time is coming.”
His sister wheeled into the hall at that moment, waving emphatically. “Stephen! Everyone is looking for you. Roberts says you must leave now or you’ll miss your coach.”
Stephen dragged his gaze from Miss Whitney’s and called back, “Coming!”
For a moment longer, his old nurse kept her hold on his arm.
Stephen patted her hand. “I’ll be back soon, Winnie. And everything will be fine—as it always is.”
“No, my dear Stephen. I don’t think things will ever be the same again. Are you prepared to meet your fate?”
His throat constricted. Was she saying what he thought she was?
“Yes, I am,” he whispered, and gently extracted himself from her grip.
As he sat in the unfamiliar church, Miss Whitney’s words echoed once again through Stephen’s mind,“You won’t liveto see your inheritance.... Are you prepared to meet yourfate?”
His former nurse had never claimed to have second sight or any special revelation from God. But he would be lying if he said her words didn’t give him pause. He recalled countless instances over the years when she had known things she logically should not. Or predicted outcomes that had later come to pass. He trusted her—and had never known her to be wrong about anything. Even so, as a man of faith Stephen knew his fate was in God’s hands. He told himself not to give credence to her words. But hewasa man about to return to active duty, where life was always at risk.
Unbidden, a verse went through his mind:“Greater love hath no man than this, that aman lay down his life for his friends.”
He did not take it as a good sign.
A few minutes before eight, Stephen walked up the hill to the cottage. He arrived before Miss Dupont and waited outside. Near the door lay a large crate. The door, however, was locked. He checked his pocket watch, then reminded himself Miss Dupont was not one of his privates who deserved a tongue-lashing for keeping him waiting.
Five minutes later, she came hurrying up the steep path, looking weary. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite the thing this morning. I’m not usually late.”
She unlocked the door, entered, and began opening the shutters. But somehow the cheery morning light only served to make the abandoned belongings and wrinkled bedclothes look more forlorn.
He carried the crate inside and said, “I’ll begin with the larger canvases if you’d like to sort through the supplies. Keep anything that belongs to your father, or any paints or oils that will spoil in the interim. I’m guessing your father or his assistant might have some use for them?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“No sense letting them go to waste.”
Stephen gathered Wesley’s coat and a few personal items left behind, then turned toward the paintings.
“I am surprised he didn’t take this easel with him,” he commented.
