Free The Soul of the Rose by Ruth Trippy Page B

On Mr. Lyons’s nod, she continued, “Charles said it’s been completed, but won’t be consecrated until next February. He said it’s quite the marvel.” She looked over at her son. “Didn’t you say no pillars obstruct the congregation’s view of the preacher?”
    “Yes, Mother. It’s all quite beautiful. I especially like John LaFarge’s painted murals and decorations. They will be completed by the Consecration. I believe people from all over will come to visit. The preacher, of course, is very popular.”
    “Isn’t that Phillips Brooks?” Celia asked. When Charles smiled his assent, she added, “I understand he’s written the words to that new Christmas carol, ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’ ”
    “I think you’re right.”
    Edward noted the warmth in Charles’s tone as he answered Celia. Edward watched her quiet animation. She was lovely. He would offer to walk her home.
    Celia held her soupspoon in midair. “I believe he visited Bethlehem a number of years ago during the Christmas season, and later wrote the poem for the children of his church to sing during their annual program.”
    Charles offered, “He exchanges pulpits with Boston ministers of other denominations. Is ecumenical in that regard.”
    “I heard him speak at the Chautauqua Institute,” Mr. Darrow said. “He certainly has a way with words, a most able speaker.”
    “Ah, Chautauqua, that new summer institute for vacationers who want to improve their minds by studying history, art, and literature,” Charles quipped. “I heard one of the topics was ‘The Importance of Science to the Religious Thinker.’ What do you think of that, Mr. Lyons? You keep up on that sort of thing, don’t you?”
    “I try. I subscribe to Popular Science Monthly. ”
    “Oh, do you?” Charles laughed. “Quite the radical publication, isn’t it?”
    “It is an active advocate of the scientific method.”
    “Yes, but I also understand the editor denigrates manifestations of popular religious belief. Calls anyone who attends a camp meeting an ‘ignorant blockhead.’ ” Charles’s mouth crooked a grin.
    Edward glanced at Miss Thatcher. She sat up straighter. Was she perturbed? He answered, “At times Youmans can be rather extremist in his views. But the intent of the magazine is to obtain the most accurate knowledge of our known universe.”
    “And that includes expostulating on Darwinian theory?” Charles asked. “Some consider that a dangerous idea.”
    Edward hesitated. “Possibly. Yet I believe one needs some knowledge of it.” Edward sat back in his chair, feeling the slightest bit of annoyance. It was the host or host’s son’s prerogative to steer the conversation. Still, he felt an edge had been introduced and wasn’t sure he liked it. He had come with the intention of smoothing away any controversy regarding himself. And here he was, exposed in a touchy subject.
    Mrs. Harrod put down her soupspoon. “I wonder what the Reverend Brooks would say about this new thinking in science?”
    “Well, Mother, he’s a learned man, so I believe he keeps abreast of it. But I’ve heard he’s decided not to enter the debate. He emphasizes the love of Christ, asking his congregation, instead, to devote themselves to improving the lives of the poor.”
    “Which is as it should be,” Mrs. Harrod said. “And in view of the Christmas season, I think we can honor him later on by singing his Christmas carol. Now Celia, how did you come by that interesting tidbit about his writing the words?”
    Edward was grateful his hostess directed conversation to less controversial matters.
    At the end of the meal, he rose with the rest of the company. Mrs. Harrod had been right. He needed to venture more into society. The meal was delicious and the company first-rate. Except for that one conversational snag, the dinner had gone well. He felt his soul taking wing.
    This was a good home. Charles and his brother were fortunate to have this with such parents.