The Soul of the Rose by Ruth Trippy

dinner. I wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure of my ground. There seemed to be those at the dinner so much more knowledgeable than myself. Mr. Lyons, for instance. He’s the man who frequents the bookstore, and he seemed to espouse the new scientific thinking to a degree.”
    Her father was silent before saying, “If Mr. Lyons goes along with that, his religious beliefs are on shaky ground, or at least, I’d question them.”
    “Mother and I talked this morning about Mr. Lyons, about his possible lack of faith.”
    “You said he is from Boston? If he is as educated and wealthy as you say, he is probably one of their elite society known as Boston Brahmins. Unitarianism has so taken over their churches it wouldn’t surprise me he would side with the new science. This view in religion supports a rationalistic, rather cold view of God. In it, Christ figures as a good man and teacher, but not the personal God who gave Himself for us unto death. Little wonder people like him have left the concept of God for the new science. And considering the fact Mr. Lyons is probably a Boston Brahmin, he will not easily change his thinking. Their heritage and way of thinking are a source of great pride.”
    Her father placed his fingertips together, his lips resting on his index fingers. Finally he said, “So, forewarned is forearmed.” He gave her an affectionate smile. “This is just the sort of talk I’ve been missing.”
    “Me as well, Father.”
    His smile widened and he rose from his chair. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow and during the remainder of your visit. But now let’s stretch our legs and invite your brothers and sister for a walk. Your mother could use a little peace and quiet.” He looked at her. “It’s so good to have you home.”

    Edward Lyons pushed open the bookstore door with something akin to impatience. He had waited a suitable time after the dinner at the Harrods. True, it wasn’t quite time for his fortnightly visit to the store, but he had to come.
    His eyes scanned the empty counter, the quiet bookcases. She didn’t seem to be around. But he’d wait. He might peruse the history section, choose a volume and sit awhile in his favorite chair.
    Someone exited the office at the back with a shuffling gait. Mr. Chestley appeared around the corner of one of the bookcases. “Ah, Mr. Lyons. I didn’t expect to see you. But, of course, this is nice, very nice. I hope you’re having a good holiday. A cheery season of the year, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is. I thought I’d browse your history section.”
    “You’re more than welcome. If you need help of any kind, just call for me.”
    “Thank you.”
    An hour later Edward looked up from his book. Where was she? The door had opened and closed a number of times with different customers. His head jerked up at each jangle of the bell. Now, it had been quiet for some time. He rose from his chair and walked to the back of the store, his finger holding the place in his book. “Mr. Chestley, I was wondering about your assistant, Miss Thatcher. I want to show her something of interest in this book. Will she be here at some point in the afternoon?”
    “Oh, Mr. Lyons, I’m sorry. Celia is gone for the holidays. She couldn’t very well miss seeing her family during Christmas, you know.”
    Edward felt a distinct drop in the region of his stomach. She hadn’t said anything about it at the dinner. Of course, he hadn’t talked with her much—which is what he had counted on today, here and now. “That’s as it should be, of course. She’d want to spend the holiday with family.” He paused, at a loss how to continue. He had to know more. This confounded reticence of his. He began slowly, “I had wanted to talk with her. Will she be gone long?”
    “She’ll return after the New Year. I might even close the store for a few days after Christmas. Take a holiday myself. I need to get those prints back up to Boston. You’re originally from there,