From Shadows to Light

By Catherine Diane Parker

In 1880, Philadelphia and Cape Island, New Jersey offer lucrative opportunities to bankers and industrialists, entrepreneurs whose lives seem to be enviable. Yet, these leaders of polite society are subject to the same adversities as all men. They cannot conceal themselves behind their marble walls. Lifes challenges do not respect position; trials come, threatening to consume, if trust in God is not the stronger force.

The three Whitman sisters belong to that polite society. They are blessed with physical allure: auburn hair, sapphire eyes, and satiny-white skin, but such attributes do not guarantee happiness. Faith, who lost her eyesight at age eleven after a prolonged illness, excels in musical performance. She elopes with Reed Collins, a fellow musician, and goes to England to concertize on the piano. Her future security is threatened when Reeds amorous past forces its way into the present. Hope and her husband, a surgeon at Pennsylvania Hospital, are anticipating the birth of their first child, but their joy is snatched away; the pain of such a loss separates them, and Hope wonders if she will ever find peace. Charity, opinionated and rebellious, is sent to Charleston by her parents, where her paternal grandmother intends to find her a husband, in fact a Baptist preacher who can tame her wildness. That plan quickly goes awry when Charity runs away.

Overwhelmed by heartbreaking situations, the sisters seek God. The heavenly Father draws each one to the Savior; they hear His call, for only belief in Him can heal, resolving the complications. He directs Faith, Hope, and Charity to the narrow path that leads to life and bathes them in His eternal light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490885247

Catherine Diane Parker

Catherine Diane Parker majored in American and British literature while attending college. She also studied classical piano with a graduate of Juilliard and taught beginning and intermediate piano for a number of years. She and her husband live in the Boston area.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

PHILADELPHIA, MAY OF 1865

"G od is without pity."

No, Elizabeth, He’s been merciful, Frederick Allen Whitman told his wife. Don’t weep so, he said, as he held her slender, trembling body. Our daughter wasn’t even expected to live. Remember that, and thank God for her life.

Thank God for her life? It would’ve been better had she died.

He grabbed his wife’s arms, gripping, his fingers biting into her flesh. His voice raspy with emotion, he said, Never utter such words again.

Faith is only eleven, and her eyes, her beautiful eyes!

Dr. Tate warned us, said Frederick. Faith languished with brain fever for a month, but our dear child lives. She lives!

I can’t go in there.

Stop thinking about yourself, Elizabeth. Consider our daughter. He attempted to direct her toward the chamber.

Pulling away, she turned and hurried along the corridor. After entering her own room, she slammed the door shut.

Frederick took long, deep breaths, then opened the door and stepped inside the bedchamber. Despite his distress, he smiled. His other two daughters, nine-year-old Hope and three-year-old Charity, had climbed into bed with Faith. He adored his girls, who were energetic and engaging. They had auburn hair, like their mother, with eyes the color of sapphires. Their lives, however, had been forever altered. Faith would never again see the busy streets of Philadelphia; nor would she see the people hurrying to work or going to market, the mothers out walking with their children, and the gold-trimmed carriages being pulled by proud, black stallions.

Going to the bedside, Frederick gazed at his firstborn, who sat propped against the pillows. His mind reverberated with agony. His darling Faith, an exceptional little lady, had been given a grievous cross to bear. Oh how he wished that he could take it upon himself!

Faith, Dr. Tate thinks you’re well enough to get out of bed for a few hours each day, he said in a cheerful tone. After you’ve regained your strength, perhaps in July, we’ll all go to Cape Island, to the beach. How does that sound?

I don’t care.

Of course you care, he contradicted, as he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

Faith shook her head. I’ll never leave this room.

What about your music? asked Frederick, hoping to see a spark of interest on her starkly white face. You know what Monsieur Burnier says. If you work hard and practice every day, you can be a great pianist.

I don’t care, she repeated, tears streaming down both cheeks.

Commiserating with her, Faith’s sisters began to cry.

Hope, please take Charity to the schoolroom, directed Frederick. I’d like to talk to Faith alone. He waited until the younger ones, reluctant to obey, finally left, and then said, Faith Marie, no more indulging in self-pity. You’ve lost your eyesight, but you still have many gifts, intelligence, wit, beauty, and a rare musical ability. Putting his arms around her, he continued, As a musician, your senses of sound and touch are highly developed. Trust God, and let those senses guide you. I’ll always be here to encourage you, but never will I pity you. He placed his handkerchief in her hand. So, are you ready to get out of this bed?

Taking the cloth, she wiped her cheeks, and then blew her nose. I’m ready now, Papa. Would you carry me down to the pianoforte? I’d like to play.

With pleasure, my darling girl, with pleasure.

PART ONE

SISTERS

CHAPTER 1

CAPE ISLAND, NEW JERSEY

JUNE, 1880

"E very summer is so dull, Charity said, and I don’t foresee anything new happening this year. Mama will forbid us to sit in the sun. She didn’t even want us to go walking today. We’ll be forced to sit on the porch and sip sour lemonade. Bah!"

That word is unladylike, Faith reprimanded.

Although her eyesight had been darkened for fifteen years, Faith could still imagine the shapes and colors of the seashore. With her sisters, Hope and Charity, she stood on the beach, and spray from the pounding waves tickled her nose. The breeze blew off the surf, cool, briny and pungent. She loved the sea and its varying moods, expressing fury one moment, and then with a sigh, caressing and gentle. Today, she reveled in the constant crashing, the impatient stirring, and her heart beat in chorus.

Charity’s frown suddenly turned into a smile and her sapphire eyes sparkled with amusement. At least we can count on our neighbor, Mrs. Herndon, to entertain us with her luscious, scandalous gossip. She mimicked the woman’s incredulous tone, ‘Miss Reynolds wore bright pink pantaloons, and her ankles were showing. How shocking! Miss Taylor’s nose turned red and peeled, an absolute disgrace, and that odious Michael Corrigan was caught gawking at the ladies who bathed. What a blight he is on mankind!’ Charity squeezed Hope’s hand. I believe Mrs. Herndon wanted you for a daughter-in-law. Her precious son, Kenneth, courted you, and you shattered his heart.

I walked with him along the beach, Hope told her sister, and that does not constitute a romance. You may laugh, Charity, but Kenneth wasn’t as horrible as you think. He was only slightly overweight.

Slightly? He had triple chins, and I’ll wager he never saw his feet.

That’s quite enough, Charity, said Faith. It’s indecent to speak unkindly of friends.

Sorry. Well, anyway, you’ve done quite nicely for yourself, Hope. Joseph is an esteemed surgeon at Pennsylvania Hospital. And not so bad looking either, Charity added, returning to her teasing tone.

Hope Whitman Riley smiled, blushed, and then, after taking a tremulous breath, revealed, I’m going to have a baby.

Charity threw her arms around her sister, hugging and kissing her with vigor. I’m so happy for you and Joseph.

In a calmer manner, Faith embraced her sister. Joseph must be very proud.

I haven’t told him yet. He’s visiting the Cape this weekend.

How romantic! said Charity. You can walk along the beach together and tell him in the moonlight.

Hope, you should take a nap before dinner, Faith said. The heat of the sun felt less intense, signaling that the afternoon drew to a close.

With her sisters, Faith turned back toward the house, which stood just beyond the dunes. Four things brought her joy: her daily devotions in prayer, playing the piano, teaching at Monsieur Burnier’s conservatory in Philadelphia, and spending summers at the beach. She could envision every detail about the white-washed villa with green shutters. The family spent many an evening on the octagonal porch that surrounded the house, bur her favorite feature was a tower above the third floor, where the view of the sea was spectacular. In June, pink-and-white flowers bloomed along the brick walkways. A garden, meticulously planned by her mother, featured a vine-covered trellis and wooden gazebo, the perfect place for reflection.

As they approached the porch, Charity said, We have company, Faith. It’s only Wednesday. Papa wasn’t supposed to arrive till Saturday. Others have come, Joseph and Monsieur Burnier. She whispered directly in her ear, And someone I’ve never seen before. He’s gorgeous.

Here are my daughters, said Frederick, hurrying down the steps to embrace them. I thought I’d surprise everyone with a party.

Also descending the steps, Dr. Joseph Riley hugged his wife.

Returning the hug, Hope said, I’m glad to see you, but I thought you had a meeting with Dr. Campbell tomorrow.

I canceled it.

But why? Dr. Campbell wants you to take over his position someday as head of the surgical department.

We won’t talk about that now.

Hearing the tension in her brother-in-law’s voice, Faith reached out and touched his arm. What’s wrong?

Ignoring the question, he said, Your father has brought someone to the Cape whom you’ve longed to meet.

Frederick took his eldest daughter’s hand and led her up the porch steps.

Taking over the introduction, Monsieur Pierre Burnier grasped her hand. The brilliant music teacher then placed her fingers in someone else’s hand. Who was a mere boy when he began his studies at the Conservatoire National de Musique?

Reed Collins, answered Faith, her voice breathy with excitement. She held his tapered fingers, strong, masterful. These hands had dazzled kings and queens, as well as princes and noblemen across Europe. The English virtuoso was considered to be Franz Liszt’s successor.

Monsieur Burnier has told me about your talent, but he failed to mention your personal exquisiteness. Reed Collins looked at her wavy, auburn hair, somewhat disarrayed by the wind. He gazed at her oval face and smooth skin, presently shaded a deep-pink from the sun. Most incredible, however, were her sapphire eyes; though sightless, they had a piercing quality, as if she did in fact see him.

Before arriving in Philadelphia and starting my own conservatoire, I taught Reed in Paris, said Pierre, in case anyone present did not know, but everyone did. He had talked often and profusely about the virtuoso. At age ten, he was brilliant in technique and performance. Twenty three years have passed since then. His tall, spindle-legged body trembled with emotion. Now, he is here to meet you, my dear Faith. He has been in this country since April, performing in Boston, New York City, and Philadelphia. I told your family to say nothing, so we could come and astonish you. Tell me, what do you think?

Faith was not given an opportunity to answer, as her mother quickly interjected, I think it’s time for the ladies to retire for a few hours. We’ll look like wilted flowers if we don’t rest before dinner.

After being escorted inside and guided up the stairs, Faith entered her bedchamber, a room decorated in shades of blue. She had not seen the décor in many a season, but her father had insisted on keeping the colors and designs the same; in fact, nothing had been changed in the townhouse in Philadelphia or the summer villa, only freshening of the paint and wallpaper. The shadings and textures were exactly the same as when she had last seen them. Such was her father’s kind regard for her.

Charity hurried into the room. Oh, Faith, he’s a Greek god! Raven- black hair, and his eyes! They’re green gems.

Charity, said her mother, let your sister take a nap, and you, go to your own room.

I’m not a bit tired.

Nevertheless, you will observe the custom.

A stupid custom in my opinion. Men don’t have to take naps.

Elizabeth frowned at Charity, and then said, Men have stronger constitutions.

That’s nonsense.

After placing a crocheted blanket over her eldest daughter, Elizabeth took the youngest by the wrist and pulled her out of the room.

Smiling, Faith knew she would not be alone for long. Her sister would only pretend to acquiesce. A few minutes later, someone opened the door and tiptoed over to the bed.

Isn’t it stupendous, Faith? exclaimed Charity, lying down beside her sister. Reed Collins is staying in our house! You should’ve seen the way he looked at you. He didn’t even notice Hope or me. What a handsome couple you would make.

You shouldn’t say such wild things.

Don’t you ever think about love and romance?

Faith would not allow herself to think about romance, for she would never be certain whether love or pity had led a man to court her. She loathed pity.

I hope Mr. Collins sweeps you right off your feet. Despite her earlier protests, Charity yawned. Sighing, she took her sister’s hand and promptly fell asleep.

Faith did not entertain fanciful thoughts or impossible dreams, but today she wished God would grant her five minutes of sight, so that she could see the virtuoso. She would have to be content with hearing him. No doubt he would play the piano after dinner, and then she would know him. His fingers would reveal the inner workings of his mind. Through his music, his interpretation, she would indeed see him.

CHAPTER 2

A ccording to Charity, Faith looked sensational in her sky-blue gown. An overskirt was attached to the bodice and the lace-frilled sleeves were short and puffed.

Mr. Collins won’t be able to resist your charms, said Charity, while directing her sister downstairs and to the parlor.

Let’s just say, I shall resist him. And you, my little imp, what are you wearing?

I chose a cream-colored gown, and with my auburn hair and sapphire eyes, I’m quite captivating, Charity answered, laughing.

Mr. Collins is in danger of losing his heart to you.

Charity did not have time to respond, as they had reached the threshold of the parlor, where the rest of the family and guests waited.

As usual, my fair daughters kept us all waiting, but in their defense, the wait was worth every minute. You both look enchanting, said Frederick, whose blond hair had turned silver. Shall we proceed to the dining room? He clasped his wife’s hand and led the way.

Reed Collins immediately presented himself, taking Faith’s arm to escort her. She nodded and smiled, feeling such excitement. This great musician, whom she had admired from afar, would actually sit beside her at dinner!

What a pleasant room, he observed, as they walked toward the table.

Her mother had overseen the preparation of a multi-course meal; an expansive table, with a crystal chandelier hanging above, had been set. She well remembered this room, designed to resemble a seaside habitat. The walls actually served as a canvas. Among the reeds and dune grass, egrets, sandpipers, and various types of gulls searched for their fishy prey.

Madame Whitman, you have always known how to feed a man, said Pierre, who enjoyed a variety of delicacies, and in prodigious amounts. Yet, he never gained an ounce of weight. As soon as the first course, clam chowder, was served by an array of servants, he took up his spoon and began to slurp.

Chuckling at the sound, Faith picked up her spoon. She liked soup in the autumn and winter, but not on an evening in June. Her mother, however, believed in following tradition; a formal dinner began with soup, even if perspiration ran down from forehead to chin, and then splashed into the soup. Next, the servants brought in three kinds of seafood, lobster salad, steamed shrimp with an herbed butter sauce, and poached flounder.

A congenial host, Frederick kept the conversation flowing. I understand this is your first visit to America, Mr. Collins.

The virtuoso swallowed a bite of fish, and then said, Yes, but not my last. He glanced at the blind beauty, his gaze pausing on the glory of her hair.

How long do you plan to stay? asked Elizabeth.

My schedule is wide open. Looking at his host, Reed said, You’re a successful man. Monsieur Burnier tells me you’re very innovative. You were involved with the transcontinental railway, I believe.

One of the financiers, Frederick acknowledged. Progress on the railway almost halted during the war between the North and South. That was a bitter, bloody conflict.

We had our civil war several centuries ago, said Reed. The Commonwealth lasted eleven years, and then royalty returned. We’re blessed with a grand monarch at present. I can’t imagine England without Queen Victoria.

And I can’t imagine this country with a monarch, said Frederick, and yet there has to be some sort of power, a central force that holds everything together.

Elizabeth glared at her husband. We don’t talk about war or politics at my table.

Thank you, my dear, but I intend to finish my thought.

Elizabeth dropped her fork, clanking it on her plate.

Your protest is duly noted, Frederick told his wife. He continued, Some people believe our war was over a single issue, slavery. It was indeed a grave issue. The real struggle was between states’ rights and the Federal government, and which had the most power. Rebellion cost this country many lives and left entire sections of it in ruination. The South is still rebuilding. I’m finished now, my dear, he said, smiling.

The hostess, whose creamy skin beamed scarlet, ignored him.

Actually, I don’t think slavery is a bad thing.

All heads turned toward Reed Collins. His statement sent ripples of shock and disbelief around the table.

Faith was the first one to voice that shock, Slavery is an abomination.

Men who called themselves Christians ran the slave trade, Miss Whitman. Such hypocrisy is the true abomination.

We will change the subject, said Elizabeth.

Faith, however, wanted the verbal confrontation. Slave traders were not Christians, no matter what they proclaimed with their lips. Their actions were evil.

Pardon me, Miss Whitman, but we seem to differ in our definitions of evil. The slave traders took the black man out of a primitive, superstitious society and brought him to a new land. Here, in America, the black man learned the value of hard work. Teaching men their place in society, that’s not evil, Miss Whitman. Slave traders pretended to be Christians, while they participated in a backbreaking, sweaty, bloodthirsty business venture. As I already stated, hypocrisy is the true evil.

Come, ladies, said Elizabeth, even though more courses were yet to be served. We’re going to the parlor. When the men can behave decently, they may join us. Rising from the table she came to Faith and took her hand. Hope, Charity, please follow me.

As Faith entered the parlor, where the windows were open and a sea breeze scented the air, she breathed deeply. She needed to clear her mind of Reed Collin’s ungodly opinions.

Come on, Charity said, turning Faith toward the piano. Start playing. Show that Englishman how it’s done.

I dare not. He’s the superior musician.

Yes, and he’s a man. You’re just a feeble-minded woman.

The taunting remarks had the desired effect and Faith sat down on the piano bench. She recalled this room perfectly, the rug, the walls, the furniture and drapes, all done in white. Such décor created an atmosphere of lightness and transparency. The grand piano stood in contrast, black and shiny. When played, a resonant sound surrounded the listeners. She chose her favorite piece and her fingers sounded forth the notes of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Opus 14. The first movement, an Adagio sustenuto, reminded her of moonlight on a pond, gently rippling. Yet, intense emotions smoldered beneath the surface. The second section, an Allegretto, caused a sudden change in feeling, bright and happy. Then, the finale, a Presto agitato, burst forth like a volcanic eruption, as if the undercurrents of the opening were suddenly unleashed. Only when the last note echoed through the parlor did she become aware of someone standing beside the piano.

I’ve never heard that sonata played with such conviction and ardent longing.

Thank you, Mr. Collins, but I find that hard to believe.

I told you, did I not? said Pierre Burnier. Would she not be a sensation in Europe?

Without question.

"I have been unable to convince her, but perhaps she will listen to you, Reed.

Please, asked Faith, as she stood, won’t you honor us with a selection?

Shall I play some excerpts from Beethoven’s fifth concerto?

Nodding her approval, she took Monsieur Burnier’s arm and he guided her to a settee near an open window.

Reed sat before the keys in silence for a few moments, and then his fingers began to render his interpretation of the princely concerto.

When he played the Adagio, a sublime and tender section, Faith’s entire being was transported, raised to unearthly heights. She felt as if she stood at the throne of God, the seat of power and beauty, the place from which all creation received inspiration. The final note sounded and she crashed back down to earth.

Shortly thereafter, everyone moved outside to the porch. Elizabeth served her bitter-sweet lemonade, a recipe handed down from her grandmother, and crisp sugar cookies.

While the others were occupied with conversing, sharing stories and laughing, Reed seized the opportunity to escort Faith down the porch steps. He quickly guided her away from the villa, going along the walkway that led to the garden gazebo. He had expertly maneuvered the escape, and he said, Since the moment we met, I’ve wanted to be alone with you.

For several minutes, they sat in the gazebo without speaking and listened to the rushing waves. Then, Faith said, Tell me about your family in England.

My family, that story is short. My mother died two weeks after my birth. Six months later my father took his own life. My paternal grandfather, who is still alive, raised me. When I showed great musical ability, Grandfather arranged an audition. At the age of ten, I began my studies at the Paris Conservatory, and the rest, as they say, is history.

He had spoken of the tragic deaths of his parents in a monotone, without apparent feeling.

Faith, however, speculated that the pain of never knowing them surely directed every performance. The emotions ran down his fingers onto the keys, demanding expression. She began to understand this man’s internal workings. He had suffered a huge void in his childhood; such inner sadness, including an unresolved longing for family, had fashioned a cynical man. Yet, he was a man with impeccable musical taste. He had sought consolation by losing himself among the high—and low—notes.

Her thoughts abruptly changed, when Mr. Collins took her hand. You presume much, Sir, she said, reclaiming her hand, away from his warm clasp.

"I would presume more, if permitted. I’ve searched all over Europe to find someone who played with the