Chapter Twelve

Admiral Stowe woke up Sunday morning with a heart full of trepidation, a common occurrence for him on the Sabbath. He went to church as an obligation to his wife and the expectations of respectable society but not by choice. He was very much, in this aspect, like Laurence. The trappings of religion held no attractions for either man, yet both believed in the Creator. The admiral sensed God’s presence more when he was at sea, than in a service. He felt such thoughts were pagan, but he was too truthful to deny them. He had such a dislike for all the regulations and rules that he was amazed at his growing friendship with Rev. Bertram. Here was a man of the cloth he deeply respected, whose unconventional manner drew him like a magnet.

By the time the admiral joined the group for breakfast, laughter was the first course on the menu--and the vicar was dishing it up. He thought ministers would be in their religious mode on Sunday, but nothing could be further from the truth when applied to Rev. Bertram.

“I hope you will not be disappointed,” the vicar said to Admiral Stowe, “but my family and I will be attending the Methodist Chapel on the Vineyards. I often preach there when I am in Bath. I have met the new minister, a fine young man, who has given me liberty to speak to his flock today.”

The admiral could not have been happier with the news. He attended the Abby Church only last Sunday and had fallen asleep. He recalled but two things from the service: his wife’s not too gentle nudge and the snickers he heard around him. He knew he would not have the same trouble nodding off if Rev. Bertram preached. He was curious to see him in action.

The two storied gothic styled chapel, just a few steps from Broad Street, was close to the city’s center. In comparison to the Abby it was humble indeed. Commission by the Countess of Huntingdon in 1765, it was one of many chapels that owed its existence to that good lady.

The new pastor, Rev. Hill, greeted the Bertram family warmly. He was very solicitous and would have moved on to fawning, but Rev. Bertram’s sincerity shamed him. In his desire to make an impression, he only contrasted himself with the vicar’s humility, widening the gulf between them. The young pastor felt every bit of his inexperience in their company and tried to swallow his pride.

Rev. Bertram sensed his unease and suggested they go into his study for a chat. They did not re-emerge until the beginning of service; whereupon, the vicar whispered to his wife and she immediately went to the organ. He gave his eldest daughter a sheet of music and she smiled in response.

Admiral Stowe admired the flexibility and support the whole family displayed. Laurence, who was sitting next to him, bent his head and whispered. “You are in for an experience you’ll never forget.”

Admiral Stowe did not forget it. From the beginning of the opening song played by Mrs. Bertram, to Jasmine singing Amazing Grace, he was enraptured. He had never felt God’s presence in church before. The peace was so strong it produced calm within him. Glancing around, he noticed the little church filled with people: a crowd had gathered on the street, and a few even peered though windows.

He was not the only one who noticed; Rev. Hill saw his church filled to capacity. News traveled fast in the neighborhood--Rev. Bertram was preaching. In the next hour, he discovered more about addressing a congregation than anything he had learned in seminary.

The admiral had never experienced a service other than Anglican before and found the Methodist style liberating. He thought he was ready for the sermon but nothing prepared him for its impact.

Rev. Bertram stood and smiled lovingly at the people. “You look like you’ve just come in from battle.”

His comment was greeted by laughter.

Admiral Stowe’s intuition was correct; he would not be bored. He gave Laurence an approving glance.

“Don’t be mistaken, for this world is a battleground. You have an unseen enemy who is always seeking your life,” he said soberly.

Rev. Bertram taught on God’s purposes, Satan’s schemes and the choices people made between them. He read from the sixth chapter of Ephesians expounding on the armor of God and weapons used for spiritual warfare. Everyone was spellbound. Rev. Hill did not see any notes. Rev. Bertram spoke with passion from a love and concern to alert everyone to the true nature of Christianity.

Admiral Stowe and Laurence leaned forward; nothing stirred them more than the analogy of battle. Mrs. Stowe looked at her husband with amazement. She had never seen him so alive in church before. This could not be the same man whose light snores in last week’s service had embarrassed her greatly.

“One of the names for the Messiah in the Old Testament is in Isaiah chapter nine, verse six, Mighty God. We sing hymns such as A Mighty Fortress Is Our God but we do not understand His true power. The name in Hebrew is Gibor El, which translated means: ‘Chief, Warrior, Champion, the Victor, and the Hero.’ That is His essential nature…He can never lose.

“Permit me to read to you concerning the kingdom Christ reigns from. Daniel, a Jewish prophet and statesman, said this, ‘His dominion is an everlasting dominion which shall not pass away and His kingdom is one which shall not be destroyed.’ You are living as citizens of a kingdom that cannot be threatened by Bonaparte, nor crumble like the Roman Empire.”

Laurence’s heart was beating to the drum of Rev. Bertram’s war cry.

“What do you think of an enemy who is defeated before he begins? Christ has already conquered Satan! He cried from the cross, ‘It is finished!’ Teleo, in Greek, means ‘to fulfill completely, to finish something to the point of perfection, paid in full.’ Our belief breaks down when Jesus tells us we have authority over our enemy. Listen to what He says about it, ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to trample on serpents and scorpions and overcome all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

“Do you know who you are? Do you understand the power you possess? You are not ‘victims’ of society but victors in Christ! You do not have to be educated to follow Him. Jesus chose men who had no formal learning because they were simple and true. Wealth, titles and fame are not qualifiers in His kingdom. Follow, love, and obey Him as you are, and you will live with an authority and power Napoleon can only dream of.”

The church was silent. One heard sobbing throughout the room as Rev. Bertram ended with prayer.

“I will not ask you to come to Christ to be a religious person. Religion has set too many unattainable standards. I simply ask you to follow Jesus, essentially what being a disciple of Christ really means. It is so easy a child can do it. ‘Be imitators of God, as dear children,’ St. John wrote long ago. You should focus on a relationship with Him, not a list of rules. He desires you to seek Him every day, not merely on the Sabbath. He wants you to talk to Him as a friend and not some angry God you must appease. If you agree simply to follow Him…I ask you to stand.”

Everyone stood, including the young pastor. Rev. Bertram began to weep. Jasmine was at her father’s side in a moment. She whispered to her mother, who sat at the organ, and led the congregation in singing A Mighty Fortress Is Our God. Rev. Bertram put his arm around his daughter and joined in. It was a picture imbedded in their minds.

Admiral Stowe was a changed man; his center of gravity had shifted from a self-made man, to one God could shape. He was embarking on the greatest adventure of his life and it had nothing to do with the sea. After dinner, Rev. Bertram took him aside into his study.

“I can see you are a man of action. So am I. I do not want to talk about the needy; I would rather help them. I think inactivity would douse any spark of God in you, so let me offer you an opportunity to make a difference,” Rev. Bertram said.

“I would be honored to join you in any endeavor. I want to live real Christianity. I did not understand what that meant until today,” he said with admiration.

An hour later, the men had formed a partnership. Rev. Bertram shared his concern about the lack of Bibles and the inability for many of the poor to read. If they pooled their resources that need could easily be fulfilled.

The next morning, Rev. Bertram and Admiral Stowe left early to meet with Rev. Hill. Laurence and his friends decided on another course of action. He had discovered from Mrs. Bertram that she had land on the edge of town well stocked with fowl. He wanted to bag a few pheasants and hoped for some fencing practice with Bennett--he had a lot of energy to expend.

Only the women gathered for breakfast, and since they were alone without any male hindrances, their conversation flowed to food and shopping.

“Mama, may we go to Sally Lunn’s after shopping today?” asked Daisy sweetly.

“I think that’s a fine suggestion,” Mrs. Bertram replied.

“You know that is the only way we can bribe Jasmine to come with us. The spa alone will not tempt her,” said Rose to her mother.

Jasmine looked at her sister archly and remarked, “You may all eat your buns by the bow window downstairs. I shall partake in the great outdoors.”

“But you shall not partake of my half of the bun like you did last time,” said Daisy still injured by the incident.

“Do you honestly mean to deprive me of refreshments after a tortuous day on the racks?” Jasmine asked her.

Mrs. Stowe looked at Jasmine quizzically and Rose, who was sitting next to her, whispered, “shopping.”

“I see,” whispered Mrs. Stowe back to her. But it was only after a full day’s worth of shopping that she began to see its effects on poor Miss Bertram.

Jasmine was as weary at the end of the day as a soldier was on a long march with a full pack. Her step did not pick up until they made for the spa. She felt uncomfortable with the situation at the Queen’s Bath. She did not like bathing with women who were complete strangers. Her modesty caused some consternation for Mrs. Stowe, who had no such delicacy. Mrs. Bertram and her daughters, agreeing with Jasmine, decided upon the New Private Baths instead. As the women were soaking in the mineral water, they heard gossip from an adjoining room.

“She is causing quite a sensation among the men. My fiancé cannot take his eyes off her. I wish she would leave Bath.”

“Women like her are always causing trouble. If men are ready to fight duels over her, what do you expect?”

“Did you see what she wore at the masquerade the other night? Had she counted on anonymity? Could innocence wear such provocative apparel?”

The women heard every word. Mrs. Bertram saw her daughter struggling with tears and decided to leave as soon as possible.

Jasmine had never seen herself through the eyes of another woman before. Gossip was an odious thing to her. The fact that women gossiped was something she put out of her mind, until now. She was mixing with society on a larger scale than she had ever known before. She felt like a nun cloistered from the world who was receiving her first real education.

She would never steal a man from any woman. If only other women knew how troublesome she thought them! She had known respect all her life; to be falsely accused was a new sensation. She saw her costume in a different light. Priding herself on perception, she now saw only her blindness. Cleverness had been her forte; now her naïveté loomed large. The whole experience hurt to the core.

She rode back to the house in silence and had so much tension over her thoughts that she got a headache. Upon arrival, she ran up to her room. Mrs. Bertram wisely pulled Rose from going in; Jasmine needed time alone for a while.

Laurence arrived for supper in high spirits. He had bagged two pheasants and put in a great practice with Bennett; hunting and fencing were two of his favorite activities. Now all he needed to make the day perfect was to be with Jasmine. He soon noticed, however, that she was not her usual self. She seemed quiet, subdued--he tried to lift her mood.

“Daniel nearly shot my head off. He was never a good aim.”

Miles grimaced while Laurence turned to him, grinning.

“I believe we were supposed to be hunting birds, not each other. You owe me a new hat!”

“I missed you by quite a bit. Can I help it if you ducked and your hat was trampled on?” Miles replied red faced.

Everyone laughed but Jasmine. Laurence flashed a look of concern at her mother. His expression made the question he did not ask with his mouth.

After the evening meal, they gathered in the music room. As Violet and Daisy played a duet, Laurence inquired of Mrs. Bertram; whereupon, she told him what had happened at the spa. Sitting down next to Jasmine, he whispered about going for a walk and taking her by the arm, guided her outside.

The gardens were magnificent: a long arbor of trailing wisteria marked a path to a white rotunda. The Greek dome had columns full of clinging vines--a small fountain in the center crowned its beauty. In between each pillar was a marble bench. The base of the outdoor room was large enough for ten people to move about comfortably. Laurence and Jasmine sat serenity as they listened to a nightingale singing.

“Your mother told me what happened during your outing. Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitated at first but his gentleness and patience won her over. “I never understood, until today, why it was so hard to make friends with other women. I had a few close friends when I was a girl, but they drifted away as I grew older. I tried my best to repair any damage but never knew what went wrong. No one would tell me. After I turned sixteen, and my last friend ended our relationship, I only clung to my sisters more. I do not know why any woman would be jealous over me. I dislike most men; I never flirt with them.”

She struggled with tears. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to be left alone?” She spoke so softly he barely heard her.

“I understand perfectly how you feel. I remember the first time I went to a tavern with a few fellow classmates. On the way there, I noticed women were looking at me. I did not mind in the beginning, since my friends treated me with greater respect. It felt good. After a while, however, it became irritating, so I cooked up a plan for the next time we went out. I went to an apothecary who made a concoction similar to tar. He filled in my two front teeth before we set out for the evening.” His eyes twinkled with mischief at the memory.

“We went to our usual table. While the serving maid bent down to get our orders, her wares available for all the men to see, I gave her a wink. I had never shown any interest before and she sparkled, asking me in a seductive voice if she had ‘anything else she could offer.’ I ordered a pint of ale without showing my teeth. When she came back with a full tray of drinks, I smiled at her. The shock on her face was priceless. She showered libations on a group of men sitting at the next table, which triggered my laughter. My friends added to the crescendo. The proprietor kicked us out--it was my best night in Oxford.”

“You are incorrigible!” Who would have thought of doing such a thing? He was a man of mischief just like her father. His reminiscence sparked hers and she sighed as she looked up at the ceiling.

“This was my favorite place of retreat, when I was a little girl, visiting my grandparents. I christened it, Mount Olympus. After learning about mythology, I always called grandpapa Zeus, teasing him mercilessly, begging him not to strike me with his lightning bolts. After playing, he would hold me on his lap and tell me stories about ancient times, like Troy’s wooden horse. I remembered how shocked I was, when at nine, I picked up Homer’s Iliad wondering how he got the story from my grandfather.”

Thoughts of gossip vanished like a mist; she had better things to remember. Laurence received his boon for the night…it had been his perfect kind of day.

Tuesday brought new outings and pleasures. They visited the Art Museum and paused at Pulteney Bridge and watched the white swans gliding down the Avon River. They walked past Laura Place and strolled around Sydney Gardens. It was heavenly; the beauty of art and nature filled Jasmine with delights.

She was almost having a perfect day when her father reminded her of her great-aunt’s visit. Her optimism deflated and she came back down to earth. Along with the Bertram’s yearly migration to Bath, the annual visitation from her great-aunt was unavoidable.

Lady Ditter’s temperament brought misery to those around her. Julia Bertram was just able to tolerate her aunt and the vicar, who was affable to all, could hardly bear to be in her presence. The Annual Punishment, he always thought of her. The one blessing--she would only stay for tea.

A note from Lady Ditter, earlier that morning, informed them of her arrival and pointedly requested punctuality on their part. The acidity of her words burned through the paper.

“Dearest, you cannot respond in such a way and be honest at the same time,” said Rev. Bertram looking over his wife’s shoulder as she wrote a reply.

“I will certainly not address her as you would,” she told him lightly.

“’We are looking forward to the pleasure of your company?’” he quoted.

“Should I write, ‘We are bracing up for the irritation your presence always induces?’”

Her husband chuckled affectionately.

“Ah, I suppose not. But one such sentence could relieve us of many years of torment.”

“This is the most ungracious thing I’ve heard from you. She is a strain to us all, surely, but we must endure it.”

“I shall not pretend and put my best minister’s face on,” he said firmly.

“You are always genuine, that is one of your many attractions,” she said tenderly, turning toward him.

His face softened immediately. “I have endured her presence because she is your aunt. I will continue to do so but I will never call it a pleasure.”

“Then I’ll spare you the burden of being insincere. Let the distasteful task fall on my shoulders…I’ve had more practice than you,” she said like a martyr.

His only reply was a kiss on top of her head.

The vicar dismissed his guests from the necessity of her company, but no one accepted the offered retreat. Waiting for her a fashionable ten minutes, they finally sat down to a lavish tea. Lady Ditter entered the room with great ceremony as a servant announced her. Punctuality only applied to others, she was exempt from her own demands. Though the gentlemen stood and politely bowed upon introduction, she made no outward sign of their existence. A few moments later, her husband entered the room.

Sir Benjamin was a short, stooped man who seemed older than his sixty years marked him. His eyes reflected pools of sadness. His wife had a shrunken, faded type of beauty--as if a smile would crack her face. It revealed the truth of her life: she was a bitter, exacting woman.

No one sat down until she did and she took her time looking for the best chair.

She studied a strawberry tart before allowing a servant to put it on her plate. “I suppose this is safe to eat,” she said, eyeing it suspiciously.

There were no fond words of greeting; she had set the pace for an hour of indigestion.

“No one is forcing you to eat anything, aunt,” said Rev. Bertram good-naturedly. He was trying his best to stay in a jovial mood. No one put that to the test more than this woman did.

Sir Ditter sat further from her than anyone else. He nodded to a servant with the tarts; he would eat one in defiance of her.

“Dear, you cannot mean to touch such a thing! It is bad for your digestion.”

She frowned at him and he put it back on his plate. She was the one who gave him indigestion, not the tart. He learned early on in their marriage that he could not win verbally: her tongue was far too sharp and quick, yet he still had his own form of autonomy. In the kingdom of his thoughts, he reigned supreme. From this untroubled region came his sanity and endurance.

“I knew it would not be long before the men waited upon your daughters,” she said to her niece as if the gentlemen had no feelings. Her glance in their direction revealed her disdain. Her grandnieces blushed in shame: only Jasmine looked at her unflinchingly. Lady Ditter noticed her cool stare.

“You seem more brazen of late, Jasmine! I deem no one can break your willful spirit.”

A slight smile registered on her face. Her great-aunt had meant to insult her, but she took it as a compliment.

Lady Ditter became incensed when her arrow had not found its mark. “You do not look to best advantage, you have too much color. You do not have the superiority of complexion found in women at court--ivory skin is highly prized. But you know I have never fancied your style myself…too wild, too pagan.”

Laurence was almost blind with rage. Grabbing the arms of his chair, he took deep measured breaths to calm down. He bit down hard on his teeth to stop from saying anything. It was not his place. If she did not find another target, he would have to leave the room. He could hardly tolerate her presence any longer.

Something helped him endure the woman’s presence for the unexpected happened. Of course, it could only come from the one who had surprised him from the beginning of their association. Jasmine’s laughter refreshed him like raindrops falling in the desert. Laurence felt he was waking up from a nightmare into the sweet light of a new morning.

“Dear aunt, I am highly amused at your descriptions of me! I am glad you do not find me to the best advantage. I have hope now! If only some of my suitors saw me as you do, it would give me great comfort.”

Lady Ditter lifted her head in hauteur, but to no effect. Her expression did not intimidate Jasmine.

“As far as your approval of me, I’ve stopped trying to please people a long time ago. I tried a few times but only became miserable with myself. I decided I was going to be whom God intended, regardless of what anyone thought. So now you see the results! I am a happy person in spite of what you may think of me.”

Laurence wanted to jump to his feet and yell Bravo! at the top of his lungs. He had never been prouder of her, however, Lady Ditter looked at her grandniece with shock. It was the strongest emotion that registered on her face in quite some time. Jasmine had hit her bulls-eye. Before she could think of something else to say, Laurence spoke up.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I disagree with your assessment of Miss Bertram. I think everyone in this room, apart from you, beholds a vision of loveliness.”

Two people gazed at him with utter surprise: Jasmine and Lady Ditter. She was not having a good day, but then she rarely had a pleasant one. How dare anyone contradict her! Now Jasmine and this upstart captain had given her a double dosage. Only a country bumpkin would have addressed her as “ma’am.” Her perceived insult smoldered and was more than her patience could endure. She stood up and everyone followed her suit.

“I loathe cutting this visit short, but I must,” she said imperiously.

They tried to conceal their joy.

“Come along,” she said to her husband without looking at him.

She addressed him as if he was her dog. Her poor, blighted husband stayed only a moment behind. He winked, blew Jasmine a kiss, and shook Laurence’s hand before leaving the room.

Everyone took a deep breath upon her exit and sat down to a proper tea. No one wanted to talk about the horror of the woman anymore than conversing about the devastation of a storm, but Laurence itched to have his curiosity scratched, so he ventured out.

“May I inquire why she targeted Jasmine for her wrath?”

Rev. Bertram laughed unexpectedly and Laurence looked at him puzzled. “When Jasmine was only six years old she had the affront to call her auntie, Lady Bitter. It was a slip of the tongue, mind you, but my wife’s aunt never forgave her.”

“When I got older I called her Lady Hitter instead, because she always seemed to be lashing out at her poor husband,” said Jasmine grinning.

Everyone laughed. Jasmine’s names were more apropos. The foul wind turned fair; they could now dine without fear of indigestion.

Selections from Shakespeare crowned the evening; Rev. Bertram and his eldest chose comedic renditions, while his wife and other daughters read the more dramatic. Everyone listened enraptured, for this was something the family did well and often.

The informality of the Bertram family affected Admiral Stowe and his wife from their first meeting. They would be departing in a few days and hoped to make the gathering in Bath an annual event as well.