“No. You did nothing wrong. You followed procedure and—”
“What if I didn’t?” Charlie’s eyes went wild. “Not on purpose, but what if—”
“Don’t.” Gerrit thumped his palm on the table in front of the boy. “We can’t control everything. We can only do our best, which you did.”
On the table, Gerrit’s fingers splayed wider and wider. Just as shining his lamp under the glass illuminated maps so he could trace them, shining light on the opposite side of a problem illuminated the truth.
His gaze swam up to Charlie, strengthened, cleared. “Only God knows everything. We don’t. We can’t control everything, nor should we try. Do your best, yes. Always do your best. But the results...”
“Trust in God’s good plans.” Charlie’s face relaxed. “My mum always told me that. She says his plans are ultimately good. Temporarily they may not seem good, but ultimately they are.”
“He’s faithful.” Gerrit ground out the words, ground them into his mind. It was true, but his brain fumbled to fully grasp it. “We have to trust him for the results, and in the meantime keep doing what is good and right.”
Charlie gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Even if that means doing nothing?”
A strange peace smoothed out his soul. “Even if.”
“Arthur!” Opal Jouny called from out in the drawing room. “Arthur! We have visitors.”
Gerrit sat up stiff and straight. The signal to hide, to stash his drawing supplies and slip into the wardrobe. An agricultural inspector must have come.
But where could he hide in the kitchen?
Charlie’s gaze darted around in the same quest.
And yet ... Charlie had reason to be at the farm, and Gerrit wasn’t drawing maps, just talking with a known friend over lukewarm blackberry leaf tea.
Gerrit raised one hand to soothe his young friend and lifted his teacup to him.
“Ivy,” Opal called. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Charlie burst out in a grin, but Gerrit tensed. He did not want to explain his presence—his invasion of her aunt and uncle’s home.
“Stay there, Ivy,” Opal said. “I’ll bring out the tea.”
“I’ll help.”
“No, no. It’s already made. I’m afraid it’s cold though, since I turned off the fire.” Opal opened the kitchen door, shut it, and glared at Gerrit, her finger to her lips. Apparently she didn’t want to explain his presence either. She grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote something to Charlie, then assembled her tea tray and returned to the drawing room.
Charlie turned the paper to Gerrit. It read“Silence! You told her you were hiking.”
Gerrit nodded.
Charlie scribbled on the paper.“I hope she doesn’t stay long. We can’t move.”
Indeed not. Even slipping out the back door would make noise from scraping chair legs and creaking hinges. They were trapped—and trapped in the rudeness of eavesdropping.
Yet his ears strained toward Ivy’s lilting voice.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Opal said. “Your uncle hasn’t hurt himself in weeks.”
Ivy’s laugh stirred something in Gerrit’s chest—yet tightness restrained her laugh.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m fine myself,” Ivy said, “but I need to talk to someone. I feel quite alone.”
Gerrit frowned and resisted the urge to look at Charlie. He thought they were close.
