Where Love Begins (Where There is Love Book 1) Read online

  One thing Catherine refused to give up on was her determination to help the Smithson family. So the very next Monday when school was dismissed, Catherine took her courage in hand, made sure she had adequate bribe money in her pocket, and hired a carriage to take her to the Fleet. She alighted on the walk outside the huge gray walls which concealed the horror, brutality, disease, and death she knew to be inside. The last time she had stormed these walls, Phillip was beside her. Now he was on his way to the north of England, and she was alone. No, she reminded herself, never truly alone. “For Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me…”

  Just as Sarah Peters had taught her to do, Catherine ignored the stares of sightseers who gathered daily outside the massive entrance gates to watch and wait and steep themselves in the malevolent atmosphere of the gaol. And she ignored as well the jeers of those who thought she was the wife or sister of a prisoner.

  “Got a file under your skirts, ’ave ye?” a watcher called.

  “Another Edgeworth Bess a’ goin’ out the window down bedsheets with yer Jack Sheppard, ’eh?” The rabble roared in delight at this reference to Newgate’s most notorious escapee who had made his way out to freedom on three daring occasions with the aid of female friends. The clanking of the heavy doors cut Catherine off from further taunts.

  The turnkey took her to Dick Smithson’s cell which seemed to Catherine to be even darker and more crowded than before. Smithson sat in almost exactly the same spot, undoubtedly on the same patch of filthy straw where she had seen him months before. He saw her and asked, “What’re the loikes of you doin’ ’ere?”

  “I’m Catherine Perronet. I was here with Elmira last summer. I used to be Isaiah’s teacher.” She forced herself to answer in as natural a voice as possible.

  Smithson nodded slowly and Catherine felt a surge of hope as she realized that at least he was not drunk this time. He had probably run out of money to purchase gin. “I ’member. You was wi’ the tall towheaded feller that kept comin’ back to sing ’ymns with those fellas they ’anged.”

  “Yes.” She sorely wished for Phillip’s company today.

  “Must be somethin’ to a religion that makes men sing the night afore they go to Tyburn. And that would bring a fella like that one ’ere just to sing with ’em. I ’eard tell ’e rode in the deathcart to the gallows with Lancaster and Doyle.”

  “News travels in here.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ else to do.” He shrugged.

  “And do you know that Elmira is sick? Her cough is worse every time I see her.”

  Smithson looked at her with hollow eyes that even in the gloom of the cell showed his fear at the hopelessness of his situation. “I don’t know what’ll become of the young’uns if she takes poorly.”

  “Mr. Smithson, would you reconsider my proposal to allow Isaiah to return to school?”

  “Might do.”

  “Would you like me to pray with you, like Mr. Ferrar did with Lancaster and the others?”

  But the curl of his lip and the set of his jaw told her she had gone too far. The turnkey returned to escort her out. “Mr. Smithson, think about Isaiah. If he could read and write, he could get a good job as a clerk. I’ll return in a few days for your answer.”

  Before leaving she arranged with the warden to rent a pillow and blanket for Dick Smithson and to have a loaf of bread delivered to him from the jail’s bakehouse. And she left an equal amount of garnish for the jailer as well to be certain her instructions were carried out.

  At first Catherine was pleased with her visit, and hopeful as to the outcome. But when, on her promised return a few days later, she found Dick Smithson far gone with gin, and unwilling to hear more of her proposal, her heart sank. The fact that Smithson sat on a blanket but that there was no sign of a pillow told her the source of the gin—the pillow had been traded for drink.

  And at home Durial’s news was no better. A letter from Ned told them that the men had arrived at Grace Murray’s orphan house and hostel in Newcastle, where Charles burst in at eleven o’clock in the morning, and cried, “Grace Murray, you have broken my heart!” The letter followed with a tangled account of Charles rushing Grace off to Leeds, where she was to meet both men she had promised to marry—John Wesley and John Bennett; then of their return to Newcastle where Bennett awaited without having seen Wesley.

  But the part of the account that worried Catherine most was Ned’s report that the coil had produced mass unrest and dissension among the Society in Newcastle. “All in the house were filled with anger and confusion; some threatened to leave the house and preach no more with Mr. Wesley.” Catherine foresaw dark days ahead for the Methodists who faced enough opposition from outside, without creating dissension in their own ranks.

  That night she went to her room in a cloud of despair. A quick glance at the books on her shelf told her what she wanted to read. Taking her well-worn copy of Pilgrim’s Progress to a lighted candle by her bed, she turned to the scene of Christian and Hopeful’s imprisonment in Doubting Castle, for certainly she felt as much a prisoner of the Giant Despair as Dick Smithson was of his jailer in the Fleet. She read through the scene where the giant Despair exhibited the bones of doubting pilgrims he had torn limb from limb and thrown into the courtyard and threatened to freshen up to his captives. And later, after Christian and Hopeful prayed, Christian said,

  “What a fool am I to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle….”

  Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at the dungeon door, whose bolt, as he turned the key, gave back, and the door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out.

  And Catherine knew that she too held the answer to the despair that threatened to imprison her—a key called Promise. She turned the pages of her Bible.

  As for God, His way is perfect… He is a buckler to all those that trust in him…. It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. Commit thy way unto the Lord: Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass…. Wait on the Lord, and keep His way, and He shall exalt thee to inherit the land.

  Catherine snuffed her candle and slept the best she had for weeks.

  The next Monday when she drew up before the Foundry and found a freshly combed and scrubbed Isaiah Smithson awaiting her, she knew just how Christian felt when he was back again on the King’s Highway.

  “Isaiah! Your father said you could come to school again?”

  “Yup. Da’ said you cared enough to sit on the dirty straw with ’im, and then rent ’im a blanket, so ’e figured you was a right’un.”

  Catherine shuddered at the degeneration in her pupil’s speech. “Isaiah, the class is now several months ahead of you. You shall have to work very hard.”

  “I brung m’ book.” He held out the primer she had given him. It was dog-eared and dirty, but it would serve.

  Twenty-four

  A FORTNIGHT LATER WHEN Ned and Phillip returned, however, Catherine found that the key of Promise had not yet unlocked the door to solving the Society’s problems. The marriage that Charles Wesley felt would be so disastrous for his brother had been averted, but at what cost?

  Ned, Durial, Catherine, and Phillip sat before the parlor fire on an early October evening as Ned recounted the events of their trip. He spoke slowly enough that his listeners could grasp the tension and drama of the scenes that had resulted in the marriage of Grace Murray to John Bennett. The incident had caused a grievous rift between the Wesley brothers and a tidal wave of dissension throughout the Society.

  “We pushed straight through to Yorkshire. Charles found George Whitefield preaching to the Societies there and enlisted his help. Whitefield at first counseled that Grace’s betrothal to Wesley superseded her promise to Bennett. But in the end Charles’ arguments prevailed, and Whitefield acted as Charles’ assistant at the wedding of Grace to Bennett.


  “Oh, no,” Catherine said. “That is sure to drive the wedge between Whitefield and John Wesley deeper yet.”

  “No.” Ned shook his head. “That is the one bright note to this affair. John Wesley joined them in Yorkshire two days after the wedding. He had ridden under great strain for almost forty-eight hours and was too exhausted even to take a room of his own. He lay down beside Whitefield on his bed. It was Whitefield’s lot to inform John Wesley of the marriage of his intended.

  “In Whitefield’s anxiety to console his old friend, he wept copiously. Wesley remained dry-eyed, but was so touched with Whitefield’s concern for him that he reestablished fellowship with Whitefield. The rift between them was caused by misunderstandings, resulting from their vast geographical separation. When they were together again, the bond reformed.”

  “So even though John Wesley lost a wife, he regained a friend,” Catherine mused. “And how does Charles view his handiwork in preventing his brother’s marriage?”

  “Charles is certain he had saved his brother from a great wrong, and their lifework from shipwreck.”

  “And John?”

  “Reportedly he has not spoken to Charles since the incident.”

  “O Ned, what will happen to the Societies if there is a rift between the brothers? I continue to hear whispers at the Foundry about disagreements over standards for preachers, and of fomenting movements to separate—as our brother Charl told us. It frightens me—where will it end?”

  Ned made no reply, so Phillip spoke. “It is impossible to predict. I have always stood firm against separation, and yet, it is a possibility I have considered lately. If I were to sign the Acts of Toleration, I could fill a pulpit in a dissenting chapel.”

  “But, Phillip, to leave the Church of England—” Memories of her visit to Canterbury Cathedral and all it meant to her rose in Catherine’s mind. To leave the Church of England seemed as unthinkable as to leave England itself.

  Phillip nodded. “I know. I feel the same way. And any time I consider it, I think of William Law. Even though forced into the position, he refuses to live like a nonjuror; though not allowed to minister in his parish church, he never misses a service. Miss Gibbon told me the rector has been known to preach against Law, in his presence; and yet Law continues to sit in the midst of the congregation, saying his prayers and listening to the Bible readings. With his example before me, could I voluntarily take up dissension?”

  The question hung in the air, unanswered. But a few days later an unexpected aspect of the matter presented itself. First, Ned received a letter from Charles Wesley with unanticipated good news.

  I snatch a few moments before the people come, to tell you what you will rejoice to know—that the Lord is reviving His Church; and that George Whitefield and my brother and I are one, a threefold cord which shall no more be broken. My dear friends, you shall have the full account not many days hence, if the Lord bless my coming in, as He has blessed my going out.

  The news that the crisis had passed brought great rejoicing at the Foundry and the following week George Whitefield came to London to give a firsthand account. After the Wednesday preaching service, Whitefield, Ned, Catherine, and Phillip gathered in the apartments the Society maintained for visiting evangelists.

  “Now, tell us of the reconciliation you effected between the brothers Wesley,” Ned said as soon as additional chairs had been brought into the sparsely furnished room.

  “I did nothing; the Spirit of our Lord and the love the brothers hold for each other did all. John was with me when Charles arrived at the inn outside Newcastle. At first, he refused to see one he considered to be a Judas. Charles, on his side, declared he would renounce all conversations with his brother except what he would have with a heathen or publican. I simply ignored such inflated stubbornness and constrained the brothers to meet each other.”

  Whitefield’s narrative was interrupted by a servant bringing in dishes of tea. Catherine poured for the company, then urged Whitefield to continue.

  “Both brothers were wound up to the highest pitch of emotion and were almost beyond speech; but when they faced each other the tension snapped and they fell on each other’s neck.”

  “And so the Society is safe?” Catherine asked.

  “I pray it will be. But the hardest task still remains—to prove to the Methodists that the work of God is not to be interrupted by any private dissension. And also, that though the companionship and love of Grace Murray has been transferred from leader to disciple, the bereavement has left no lasting bitterness behind.”

  “Can that be done, do you think?”

  Whitefield took a deep drink of tea before answering, “In time, pray God.” After another pause, made to seem longer by the flickering of candle flame caught in a draught, Whitefield spoke again. “There is much concern of a ‘general deadness’ in the Society. I have felt it in London, from a few persons who are eager to make mischief. Charles says the same is true in Bristol where he feels almost universal coldness, heaviness, and deadness among the people—they have lost near to a hundred members there alone.”

  “What the people need,” Ned suggested, “is something to shake them up.”

  The company in that tranquil room found Whitefield’s next words shaking. “I am concerned about the work here, but my heart is most truly with my work in America. I must return there soon. I dare to believe that my preaching might help create one nation from those thirteen scattered colonies—unite them under God with each other and with the Mother Country. I envision the mighty Atlantic Ocean becoming a highway of exchange for Gospel preachers.

  “Phillip,” he turned to their silent companion, “will you go with me to help in this work?”

  Twenty-five

  AS WINTER CLOSED IN, bringing with it shorter, darker days and cold winds blowing off the frozen Thames, Phillip wrestled with Whitefield’s offer. Could he go on without a parish, without his country, without his new-made friends? Must he forever be alone?

  He spent Christmas Eve alone in his room, in spite of repeated invitations to come to supper at the Perronets after service at the Foundry. He must reach a decision soon. If he was to go, he must make preparations; and if not, Whitefield must be told so he could seek another companion. And whatever he decided, Catherine must be told….

  The thought seemed so counter to the new determination he had brought back from King’s Cliffe. First there was the turmoil over Grace Murray; then Whitefield’s ground-shaking offer. In all that Phillip had made no move to embark on his brave resolve to open himself to Catherine. Indeed, she had of late seemed more withdrawn than before. For a moment he gave into longing for the days of easy companionship they had shared on their circuit ride.

  Before he could decide anything about Catherine, though, he must know what God desired of him. He picked up his Bible and turned to the Psalms, his heart praying, as David had, for God’s guidance: “Show me Thy ways, O Lord; teach me Thy paths… lead me in Thy truth, and teach me; for Thou art the God of my salvation, on Thee do I wait all the day… teach me Thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path… Thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for Thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me.”

  And then he turned to the New Testament, where Saint Paul assured the believers in Colosse: “For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding.”

  Phillip bowed his head. He desired with all his heart to be filled with the knowledge of God’s will. But as he meditated, a fear gripped him. Had he somehow, somewhere, missed that divine will for his life? Could that be the source of his conflict now? “My God, please don’t let me be out of Thy will.” Desperation accompanied his cry and his body tensed.

  As he continued sitting in silence, however, he gradually had a sense of his prayer being heard. A sense of peace replaced the tension and he slowly relaxed.

  With relaxation came a clearing
of the mind and he recalled the admonition that the Christian’s first responsibility in knowing God’s will is being willing to do it. With that thought came the confidence that because he was willing, he could also be confident that God would not allow him to miss His will. When William Law had told him this, he had not realized the immense impact. If he believed God capable of guiding, he must also believe Him capable of making His will known. The key was seeking God in prayer. And then waiting for the answer to be revealed in his perfect time.

  Phillip raised his head. He had no answers but the weight was gone. He could breathe freely.

  A heavy snowfall fell on London, choking the streets and making travel from Greenwich to Moorfields slow and hazardous, so Phillip did not see any of the Perronets for several days. But on New Year’s Eve, when the Society held its traditional watchnight service at the Foundry, the entire Greenwich household attended. And Phillip made no attempt to deny his joy in seeing Catherine, standing tall and serene and lovely.

  Perhaps because so many had been isolated by the recent storms, there seemed to be a special unity among those who filled the chapel to sing, pray, and worship God as the year 1750 began. At midnight, John Wesley served them Communion. Kneeling at the altar with the others, Phillip felt a special awareness of God’s presence. It was certain to be a momentous year for the Societies, and perhaps for himself also. Knowing that he must soon make a watershed decision, he found great comfort in the words of the closing prayer:

  Almighty God, who hast promised to hear the petitions of them that ask in Thy Son’s Name; We beseech Thee mercifully to incline Thine ears to us that have made now our prayers and supplications unto Thee; And grant that those things which we have faithfully asked according to Thy will, may effectually be obtained… to the setting forth of Thy glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.