“Dick thinks his love for Faith Foster the great fact of his life. He will never give her up. Her ways are his ways. He thinks as she thinks. He would do anything she asked him to do. Dear mammy, try and make the best of it. You cannot alter it. It is Destiny, and I heard Mr. Foster say, that no person, nor yet any nation, could fight Destiny unless God was on their side. I think it is Dick’s destiny to marry Faith.”
“Think as you like, Katherine, but be so kind as to omit quoting Mr. Foster’s opinions in my presence.”
“Very well, mother.”
“And I do wish you would make up your quarrel with Harry Bradley; it is very unpleasant to have you go mourning about the house and darkening the only bit of good fortune that has ever come to your father. Indeed, I think it is very selfish and cruel. I do that!”
“I am sorry. I try to forget, but—” and she wearily lifted her cape and left the room. And her mother listened to her slow, lifeless steps on the stairway, and sorrowfully wondered what she ought to do. Suddenly she remembered that her husband had asked her not to trouble him about foolish love affairs and Dick was sure to take Katherine’s view of the matter, whatever the trouble was; and, indeed, she was quite aware that the squire himself leaned to the side of the lovers, and there was no one else she could speak to. It was all a mixed up anxiety, holding apparently no hope of relief from outside help.
Yes, there was Aunt Josepha, and as soon as she stepped into the difficulty, Katherine’s mother felt there would be some explanation or help. It was only waiting a week, and Madam Temple would be in Annis, and with this reflection she tried to dismiss the subject.
Indeed, everyone in Annis Hall was now looking forward to the visit of Josepha. But more than a fortnight elapsed before she arrived, bringing with her experts and advisers of various kinds. The latter were pleasantly located in the village inn, and Josepha was delighted with the beautiful and comfortable arrangements her sister-in-law had made for her. She came into their life with overflowing good humor and spirits, and was soon as busily interested in the great building work as her happy brother.
She had to ride all through the village to reach the mill site, and she did not think herself a day too old to come down to breakfast in her riding habit and accompany her brother. It was not long, however, before the pair separated. Soon after her arrival, the village women, one by one, renewed their acquaintance with her, and every woman looked to Miss Josepha for relief, or advice about their special tribulations. Many of them were women of her own age. They remembered her as Miss Josepha, and prided themselves on the superiority of their claim. To the younger women she was Madam, just Madam, and indeed it was a queer little incident that quite naturally, and without any word of explanation, made all, both old and young, avoid any other name than Miss Josepha. “Yorkshire is for its awn folk, we doan’t take to strange people and strange names,” said Israel Naylor, when questioned by some of the business experts Josepha had brought down with her; “and,” he explained, “Temple is a Beverley name, or I mistake, and Annis folk know nothing about Beverley names.” So Madam Temple was almost universally Miss Josepha, to the villagers, and she liked the name, and people who used it won her favor.
In a few weeks she had to hire a room in Naylor’s house, and go there at a fixed hour to see any of the people who wanted her. All classes came to this room, from the Episcopal curate and the Methodist preacher, to the poor widow of a weaver, who had gone to Bradford for work, and died of cholera there. “Oh, Miss Josepha!” she cried, “Jonathan Hartley told me to come to thee, and he said, he did say, that thou hed both wisdom and money in plenty, and that thou would help me.”
“What is thy trouble, Nancy?”