Anthea: New Love, New Hope Follow the Dark Storms of a Young Woman's Life
316
Anthea: New Love, New Hope Follow the Dark Storms of a Young Woman's Life
316Overview
For Anthea Gordon, life went along in a tranquil, unhurried manner as she devotedly worked with her father at his plan nursery in the rural English countryside. Everyone expected that she and her childhood sweetheart, Mark Latham, would someday marry. After all, they had always been together.
But suddenly Anthea’s world was shattered, and absolutely nothing turned out as expected. Faced with the prospect of establishing a new life for herself, Anthea wondered where she would find work and where she would live. And especially, she wondered if calm could ever be found in the midst of the chaos surrounding her.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780802491541 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Moody Publishers |
| Publication date: | 08/26/1981 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 316 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Anthea
By Christine Hunter
Moody Press
Copyright © 1981 The Moody Bible Institute of ChicagoAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8024-9154-1
CHAPTER 1
Rookery Nurseries was situated almost halfway between the villages of Bewdley and Melworth. As it was higher than either of them, on a clear day one could look down on the cluster of houses built in the days when there was no idea of town planning. Some stood sideways facing the one main street, some ran in rows like a line of little girls all pressed close together, but others of varying sizes, and with differently sloping roofs, seemed to gather their skirts closely around them as if wanting to keep a respectable distance from their neighbors.
Along that important street in each village were a butcher's shop, which also sold vegetables, a general store—which contained the post office—a cottage bakery, and the village pub. At one end there was the church and small school and at the other the chapel and the village hall.
In the distance in the daytime one could see the haze of smoke that denoted the market town of Newbridge, and at night there was the glow of the lights and the bright gleam from one or two tall buildings with floodlights.
For the most part the villagers went about their own business, but there was a deadly rivalry between the two villages, although they often joined together for functions like the Women's Institute and the church fete. They played cricket and football against each other, but secretly Bewdley looked down on Melworth, and Melworth folks had little use for the poor specimens who grew up in Bewdley. Sometimes a girl from Melworth married a boy from Bewdley, but that was almost a disgrace to the families involved. Far better choose a lass from their own village or get fresh blood from Newbridge or further afield.
One Saturday morning Anthea Gordon looked up from the rock plants she was putting into small plastic pots to watch her father walk up the path with a well-dressed middle-aged man, followed by a fair-haired girl and her tall, dark companion.
"Nice place you've got here," she heard the older man say patronizingly. "I intended ordering the shrubs and plants we need from Newbridge, but my gardener suggested that I call here first as you have some rather unusual specimens."
Mr. Gordon smiled. "I suppose this is more like our own garden than a nursery business. Sometimes I find it hard to part with plants we have collected and nurtured. Do you live near?"
"Just moved into the district. Towers is the name. I have bought Tall Timbers and am anxious to get the place in order. The last owner let it go, but at least that brought the price down. Do you know the house I mean?"
"Yes, I knew the former owners, but since her husband died Mrs. Hewson lost interest, and her old gardener was too crippled to do much."
Mr. Towers nodded, "We fortunately have been able to get a young man who evidently knows his business, and with the help of a couple of boys we should be able to get the grounds knocked into shape. This is my daughter, Geraldine."
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Towers. May I also introduce my daughter, Anthea, who is a great deal more businesslike than I am."
Mr. Towers nodded, while his daughter's eyes swept over her so casually that Anthea was suddenly conscious of her slightly grubby pants and well-washed blouse. Her hair was naturally curly and she kept it short, but beyond creaming her face at night and wearing rubber gloves most of the time, she never worried about her appearance.
Now she realized how she must appear to Geraldine Towers, who was dressed in a beautifully cut suit and expensive, high-heeled sandals. Her hair was very fair and glinted in the sunlight, her eyes dark brown with long lashes, and her face skillfully made up.
Their companion had wandered into one of the greenhouses, obviously bored with the whole business.
"We need some good roses, various flowering shrubs, and some fruit trees for the walled garden. We'll look around, then send Benson, the gardener, to get as many as he thinks necessary. We hope to get the hothouses repaired and then produce some of our own stock. In the meantime we need quick-growing plants to make the place look less like a wilderness."
Mr. Gordon led the way to the various sections, while Mr. Towers scribbled in a notebook, and Geraldine pointed out the colors she preferred. Anthea went on with her work but turned suddenly when a voice said, "Those are good specimens. They make me wish I had a rock garden myself. I always feel that they look like the most naturally growing plants—far more attractive than beds of roses, geraniums, or shrubs that look like regiments."
Anthea smiled. She too loved the variety of these small, hardy specimens.
"Must be an interesting business," the other went on.
"Plenty of hard work and not a lot of profit, but I'd rather do this than anything else," Anthea replied coolly.
"Some of those remind me of Switzerland and other remote European areas. Do you order from abroad?"
Anthea shook her head. "Sometimes Dad and I manage to get away for a few days and hunt up some of the less common ones. We have been to Switzerland, but Scotland and Ireland are good hunting grounds too. It is always interesting to see if we can grow plants that have been transplanted from their natural habitat."
"Max," came a voice from the other side of the wall, "come and help me choose these roses."
"Duty calls," Max said with a wry smile and sauntered in the direction the others had taken.
Anthea's thoughts were busy. Who were these people? Max did not look like either of the other two. He was tall, with dark hair and alert blue eyes. He wore casual clothes, but there was nothing sloppy about him. Was he a relation or a fiancé?
Several other customers wandered in, and Anthea went to serve them. Ron, their helper, gave her a list of orders that had been phoned in, and Anthea got out the old van while he collected them and gave her the addresses. Saturday morning was often like this if the weather was fine. Evidently people got a sudden urge to spend the afternoon gardening and wanted some plants or shrubs sent immediately while the mood was on them. Ron did not drive, preferring his old bicycle to anything more dangerous, so it usually fell to Anthea to deliver orders, and she enjoyed the break and the glimpses she got of other people's gardens.
Often she amused herself by guessing from the orders what sort of people she was going to visit. She usually guessed that old-fashioned plants like lobelia, delphiniums, marigolds, and dahlias would be for an elderly couple or spinster ladies. Expensive roses, azaleas, magnolias, and more exotic shrubs probably would be for the newly rich who wanted to be able to walk their visitors around a well-kept lawn and admire the display of color.
Many of her customers were men or women living alone, whose garden was their dearest hobby. Often they were anxious to show Anthea some prize plant they had reared from a small cutting, or they wanted her advice on some plant that was not as healthy as it ought to be. Anthea knew she often spent far longer with those lonely people than she ought, and the visits brought in very little profit, but it was good to know that those people were friends, not merely customers.
She drove in as her mother was ringing the bell that called them to meals, and she washed her hands quickly in the small outside kitchen.
Ron already had eaten the sandwiches he brought with him, as many people came in during their lunch break.
Her father was seated at the kitchen table when she arrived. The dining room was used only when they had guests, because Mrs. Gordon objected to Anthea and her father's using it when dressed in their everyday clothes. She was a tall, slim woman who never looked untidy, no matter what she was doing. She took no interest in the nursery and never had plants or cut flowers in the house.
Anthea often wondered why her mother and father had married each other; they were so different in temperament and interests.
Her father was gentle, dreamy, affectionate, and a great reader, but her mother was withdrawn, had very little to say to her husband or daughter, and seemed to live a life of her own. She never accompanied them on their brief vacations, never asked Anthea to go shopping with her, but made it obvious that she preferred to go alone.
She kept the house in an immaculate condition, always dressed smartly, saw that meals were on time, and did not expect Anthea to help in the house, but she was cold and kept her family at arm's length. Anthea loved her father dearly, but her mother always stood outside their little world; it was impossible to break through the barrier she had erected.
She knew that her parents had met during the war, and that her father had been a teacher in biology for several years until trouble with his voice and throat had made him give up teaching. He had moved from the town, and, with the money left to him by his grandmother, had bought an old house with several acres of land and started a nursery business. She knew too that she had been born twelve years after her parents' marriage, and as her father had often told her, she had come like a miracle when he had given up all hope of having children. Therefore, she was extraspecial to him.
Even as a small child Anthea had felt that her father loved her more than her mother did. It was her father she turned to if she was hurt or upset. Her mother saw that she was well-dressed, well-fed, and well-mannered, but she never remembered her showing her any affection; Anthea was conscious that even her father loved her more openly when her mother was absent. As she grew older she realized that her mother resented their way of life; the quiet, rather humdrum sort of existence she and her father loved did not satisfy her. To them, living in the country, working among growing things, and being able to read during the long, dark evenings was utterly satisfying. Her mother only really came alive when they had visitors or when she was going to some sort of entertainment in Newbridge with her sister or her friends.
As she slid into her seat, Anthea noticed that her mother was wearing a new dress she had not seen before, with a lace apron tied around her waist.
"How smart you look, Mother," Anthea said.
Her father looked up and blinked.
"She never looks anything else to me. Are you going into town, dear?"
"I arranged to go shopping with Kathleen, then have dinner with her and some of her friends. I have left your evening meal ready, so I hope that you will manage if I am not back until fairly late. There is a good show on, and Kathleen wants me to go with them."
"One of the car's taillights needs attention," Anthea said quietly. "Better have it checked if you are going to drive in the dark."
"That old car is hopeless. There is always something wrong. I am ashamed to be seen driving it."
Her husband laughed. "I know, dear, and maybe at the end of the season we'll manage to get a more up-to-date model for you. Why not stay with Kathleen overnight and come back in the daylight?"
"I might do that. I'll take a small case with me, so don't wait up. I have my key if I decide to come home."
"I'll do the dishes, Mother. You get off in good time and have that rear light checked just in case you need it."
"Very well. I'll probably see you tomorrow sometime."
She walked out of the room, and Anthea collected the plates and took them to the sink, her eyes moist. Why was her mother so distant and so polite? She might have been talking to boarders or strangers instead of her family.
She heard the car driving away as she hung out the dish towel and watched her father walk back to the office, his shoulders bent and his steps slow. Her mother was never discussed between them. All her life her father had been absolutely loyal and had never criticized her mother, no matter what his private thoughts might have been.
She had noticed that lately his movements had become slower, and that sometimes his face looked drawn and gray, but he would never admit to any actual pain. She wished that her mother would insist that he have a medical checkup, but he laughed off any remark Anthea made, saying it was only old age coming on.
"Can't expect to have the energy I had forty years ago," he would say lightly.
"But, Dad, you aren't old."
"Over sixty, girl. I'm nearly ten years older than your mother. I was past forty when you were born."
"Then you have got to do less and leave the harder work to Ron and me. Or we can hire another man."
"You know we can't afford another wage."
"Why not think about selling this as a going concern, moving to a smaller house, and me taking a job?" Anthea had suggested several times.
"What would I do with myself all day?" her father returned. "I'm not ready for the chimney corner yet."
"You could have a smaller garden to keep you occupied but without pressure of customers."
"Well, maybe I'll have to come to that. Your mother would like to move back to town, but I like it here, though often I think I am not being fair to you. You are too young to be stuck in an isolated spot."
"Rubbish! You know I'd hate being in a busy, noisy town. I love this place, and if we could afford another man, you could be head adviser and let us do the heavier work."
There was a rush of customers all afternoon, and it was almost dark when Anthea had time to think about preparing a meal.
Her father came in, kicking off his boots at the back door and pushing his feet into his slippers. He sat down heavily in the old armchair at the side of the stove.
"A few more days like this, and maybe we'll get that car for your mother," he said, but Anthea noticed how exhausted he looked. She poured out some coffee and took it to him saying, "Drink this, Dad. You can listen to the news while the vegetables cook. I ought to have come in before. Good thing Mother left everything prepared."
"She is a marvelous organizer," her father replied between sips of coffee. "You and I would get into very slipshod habits if she did not keep us up to scratch."
"I'll go up and change my clothes before we eat, but don't you bother."
When Anthea returned, her father had his head back and was fast asleep. She tiptoed around, looking at him lovingly. What a wonderful father he had been, but she could see him aging almost before her eyes these last few months. Somehow he must be persuaded to take things more easily. She determined that at the first opportunity she would talk to her mother.
She turned down the heat under the pans and waited until her father awakened.
"Bless me, why didn't you wake me up?" he said, rubbing his eyes.
"You've only had a catnap," Anthea said. "You'll feel more rested and able to enjoy your meal, and I guess you could do with an early night after such a busy day."
"Mark calling in tonight?" he asked as they began to eat.
"I'm not sure."
"Seems a long time since he was here. Not long ago he was always under our feet."
Anthea colored, then laughed. "He's very busy these days. Now that he has passed his exams he is hunting up clients and learning the practical side of the business, I imagine."
"Must be a queer job, an attorney," her father said thoughtfully, "Have to get mixed up in all sorts of messy situations. I prefer flowers and plants to people who are all mixed up and claiming what isn't theirs."
"You and I were never cut out for big business and lots of social activities, Dad."
"If you marry Mark, you'll have plenty of that."
"Who said I was going to marry him? You know we have been like brother and sister for years. We aren't engaged—just good friends who enjoy the same sort of activities."
"If Mark married someone else you wouldn't be heartbroken?"
Anthea hesitated. "If Mark finds the right girl for him, I'll wish him happiness," she said slowly, and not even her father, who knew her so well, guessed at the effort that it took to say that calmly and unemotionally.
Mark and she had never been what might be termed passionately involved. They had been close friends over the years, had gone hiking, cycling, swimming, played tennis and golf together ever since they had been in the same class at school, and always sat together on the school bus. It had been taken for granted that Anthea was Mark's girl, and it was a foregone conclusion that someday they would marry.
They had lived near each other until Mark had moved with his mother to Newbridge and had started his training as an attorney. Anthea had studied horticulture, taken a commercial course, and settled down to help her father, believing in her heart that when Mark had finished his training and could afford a wife, they would be married.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Anthea by Christine Hunter. Copyright © 1981 The Moody Bible Institute of Chicago. Excerpted by permission of Moody Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.