But the pair of dark eyes watched her every move, and a huge black spider was weaving its web especially for her in the corner of the ballroom. Were the mysterious eyes dark, or steel-gray? And who was that child crying? That woman screaming? She could discern long black hair billowing out like a shroud...
She sat bolt upright in the bed, and nearly cried with relief when she saw that it was daylight, she was safe in her four-poster bed with pretty frilly pink hangings, and it had all been just a nightmare.
All the same, Pamela shivered. Even cowering under the covers and rubbing her arms, it took her some time before she at last felt warm.
Chapter Eight
The church bells chiming at six-thirty reminded Pamela that it was Sunday. She would have liked nothing better than claim a chill and stay in bed after the dreadful nightmares she had experienced. But duty called, and she was curious to hear Jonathan's sermon against recruiting officers.
She swung her leg over the edge of the bed and began to get ready, dressing in numerous layers to combat the cold. Over them all she put on a black frock with narrow wine piping, and took special pains with her hair. She was still wearing light mourning for her father, but had succumbed to the temptations of mild vanities in the form of trim and some jewels.
Not to mention her social calls and events, she thought ruefully, as she yanked her brush through her hair crossly. No wonder everyone thought her flighty.
Even now, she was worrying about what others would think of her hair. Ringlets would be too obvious, but plaiting was special and demure, as well as eye-catching, she was sure.
After the two readings and the theme, 'They also serve who only stand and wait,' Jonathan commenced the sermon proper. Pamela found herself almost sitting at the edge of her seat in church for the first time in her life. He was a powerful orator, filled with zeal. A passion which she was sure could match her own...
His words vibrated through her, leaving her helplessly enthralled by his voice. It was almost as if he was speaking directly to her, putting a spell upon her. Laying claim to her. His deep thrilling tones caressed her ears, her neck, her spine. She felt her skin flush as she looked at his handsome features bathed in the early morning sunlight.
In his crisp white vestments, his handsome face glowing with fiery fervor, he looked every inch a god. She found herself more than willing to worship him in whatever way he wished.
She shoved that blasphemous thought to one side, and tried to concentrate on his words, not his magnificent physique.
"Do not let them talk to you of honor when they try to persuade you to go fight. As the poor simple countryman asks in the play The Recruiting Officer by George Farquhar, 'Pray now, what may be that same bed of honor?', the Recruiting Officer called Kite responds, 'Oh, a mighty large bed! Bigger by half than the great bed at Ware: ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another.'
"That, my brethren, is no more than a death bed. It is up to every man's conscience if he chooses to join the Army or Navy. But to press you into service with liquor and false promises is unconscionable. I urge everyone here, if you see these men in the taverns, do not allow their actions to go unchallenged. Remember, blessed are the meek. Do not be violent, but speak your mind."
His sermon was rousing, and he had more to say, as she soon discovered. She listened to Psalm 39, and once again she felt as though Jonathan intended a special message only for her.
I said, I will take heed to my ways,
That I sin not with my tongue:
I will keep my mouth with a bridle,
While the wicked is before me.
I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good;
And my sorrow was stirred.
My heart was hot within me;
While I was musing the fire burned;
Then spake I with my tongue:
Jehovah, make me to know mine end,
And the measure of my days, what it is;
Let me know how frail I am.
Behold, thou hast made my days as handbreadths;
And my lifetime is as nothing before thee:
Surely every man at his best estate is altogether vanity.
Surely every man walketh in a vain show;
Surely they are disquieted in vain:
He heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.
And now, Lord, what wait I for?
My hope is in thee.
Deliver me from all my transgressions:
Make me not the reproach of the foolish.
I was dumb, I opened not my mouth;
Because thou didst it.
Remove thy stroke away from me:
I am consumed by the blow of thy hand.
When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity,
Thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth:
Surely every man is vanity.