The Magician's Sons

Chapter 38

"You're looking awfully poorly, my dear," Mrs. Pearson noted, touching Norman's shoulder. "I haven't seen you smile for days. And you never do go out in the evenings for your walks anymore."

Norman sighed and then looked up from his father's desk where he had been acquainting himself, once again, with his father's business records. He met the woman's caring gaze and felt himself taken back to his childhood. Through the years, he had shared everything with Mrs. Pearson. It had only been lately that he had distanced himself from everyone and had forced himself to show less warmth and open emotion. Couldn't he tell her everything now and have the burden lifted from his heart?

Once again, pride worked under the guise of self-defense. It had a way of cruelly tormenting him while it promised to protect him from that "ruthless" thing called humility.

"I assure you, I am quite well," he answered with a half-smile. "But thank you for your concern."

The woman dropped down into a chair beside him. It was a bold action for a servant, but Mrs. Pearson was one of those honored, beloved servants who was more like a mother than a housekeeper.

"I am not feeling convinced," she prodded. "Now, let's see if I can guess. I know you pretty well. You are disappointed about something, and you miss your father, and you keep trying to understand this drivel," she tapped on the paperwork in front of Norman, "but instead, you've ended up with a splitting headache." Her bright eyes searched his questioningly. "Am I right, just a little bit?" she asked.

Norman felt about ready to break. Perfectly right! he thought in agony, and he couldn't help but show it. He took the woman's hand and squeezed it gently. Mrs. Pearson smiled.

"My dearest boy, I wish you would tell me what is really troubling you. I know it goes deeper than what I can see on the outside, and it makes my heart sad. But don't think I am trying to pry. I have only two pieces of advice to give you. First and foremost, you must give your troubles to Jesus because he is the only one who can solve them. Second, you must put away this paperwork for a while and get some fresh air. Your health will suffer if you do not."

"Perhaps you are right," the youth replied.

He was sure she was right in one direction. He had to leave that house and feel the cold wind on his face. But the other advice she had given him brought questions and guilty feelings to his heart. How could he dare to take his problems to Jesus? Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, his sins had caused a schism between him and God. It almost felt audacious to approach Christ now. Besides that, if he brought his secret sins to Jesus, it stood to reason that he would face some kind of change. Imperfect parts of his nature would have to be dealt with, unrighteous pleasures would have to be denied, he would have to put out a great effort to be perfect. It sounded difficult, almost painful.

Fresh air. That's what I need chiefly! Norman decided, disregarding the hierarchy of Mrs. Pearson's advice. I'm sure I will feel quite myself again if I take a long walk.

A faint hope played with his mind. Perhaps on that walk he would find Jemma again. While he grabbed his hat and a stylish cane, he imagined the eloquent apology he owed her. It was all he could think about as he set out.

Norman travelled deep into the city, walking at a brisk pace. The fresh air revived him slightly, and the throbbing of his head eased. But he found no relief for his soul.

Where would Jemma have gone? he wondered. She is too young and unlearned to have found work in a very grand place. My father hired her more out of pity than necessity. But at the same time, I know her too well to imagine that she would have stooped to working for an inn or at some low task such as building matchboxes.