“Headstrong and rebellious, just like my Julie,” Doctor Lewis said. “Am I right, Richard?”
“I wouldn’t contradict you, sir.”
Julia’s grandfather chuckled. “I blame it on the Rushes.”
Tennant said to Julia, “Your middle initial . . . R for Rush?”
“We keep it quiet on this side of the Atlantic. Tell me, Mrs. Davies, was your husband also in the missions?”
“Gareth was an officer in the Royal Navy.”
“And a sore disappointment he was,” her brother said, smiling.
“Now Owen, just because he bested you regularly in chess . . .”
“I let him win so he’d keep coming back to see you.”
“What nonsense.”
“As a young lieutenant, my brother-in-law cut a fine figure. But as a Welshman . . .” Lloyd shook his head mournfully. “Gareth was sadly wanting. A tone-deaf Cardiff man—whoever heard of such a thing?”
Mrs. Davies laughed. “He would try. Do you remember him singing ‘Bread of Heaven’ in that tiny church in full voice and off-key?”
“And Father’s pained expression,” Lloyd said. “He forgave him. For that and for taking you away. My brother-in-law was a thoroughly good chap, and I miss him sorely.”
Mrs. Davies looked at Julia. “The last thing I expected was to marry a navy man. Life with a husband in the missions is what I’d planned.”
“That’s natural,” Julia said. “Common interests surely strengthen a matrimonial bond.”
She nodded. “Especially for women who want to do more than—”
“Stay at home as wives and mothers?”
“Yes. I saw myself wedded to some good man like my father, working side by side, toiling together in God’s vineyard.” Mrs. Davies shook her head and smiled. “Having fixed ideas about one’s straight path can be fatal. Life so often presents a corner to turn.”
“Yes . . . I suppose that’s true,” Julia said slowly.
“Sometimes, we complicate things,” Mrs. Davies said. “Things that are simple, especially in matters of the heart.”
Lady Aldridge looked at Tennant, smiled faintly, and sipped her sherry.
Dr. Lewis trilled the piano’s keys. “Do you play, Mrs. Davies?” When she nodded, he said, “Will you indulge us?”
“Delighted, if my brother accompanies me.” She stood and offered Lloyd her hand. “Unlike my late husband, Owen is a fine baritone.”
He led his sister to the instrument and pulled back a piano bench of gleaming, golden nutwood.
“What a handsome Bösendorfer.” Mrs. Davies sat and ran her fingers over the keys. “It has a lovely tone.”
Lloyd asked, “Have you made your choice, Sister?”
“‘Simple Gifts,’ I think.” Mrs. Davies looked at Julia. “An American at our mission in Hong Kong taught it to us. It’s become one of my favorites.”
She began with a five-note, descending phrase that she played twice. Then Mr. Lloyd joined in.
“’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free, ’tis the gift to come down where we ought to be.
And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight.
