“I awoke early thinking of them too, Papa.”

“They are not here by coincidence. Even though I wrote to invite them, all God’s ways are purposeful. I am always seeking to fall in with those purposes, though I am slow to comprehend them sometimes.”

“You always seem to know God’s purposes, Papa.”

“Wait until you are my age, my child. Then you will see, as I do, how little you know, how feeble is your trust, and how great is your selfishness.”

He sighed. “I may look to you as a man of some faith because I have been walking along this pathway with God for many years. And perhaps I know enough of his truths to pass them on to you. Ah, but my daughter, there are moments I feel so frail and weak, as if I am yet such an infant.”

“I can hardly believe I am hearing you talk so, Papa,” said Sabina, almost alarmed.

“You will understand one day, my child. One day you shall understand.”

They parted. Sabina continued on down the hill into a deeper part of the garden. The baron sat where he was.

Forty minutes later, father and daughter, together again, his arm around her shoulder, silently emerged from the garden through the stone arch and walked up the steps onto the courtyard. The baron held the long stem of a single red rose in his hand. They walked across the trim lawn and into the house, where by now the kitchen was abuzz with the morning’s activity.

Greeting the servants with the enthusiasm for which German farm communities are renowned, the baron walked across the kitchen to his wife, kissed her, handed her the rose, then bent and whispered a few words in her ear.

In sole response, her lips parted in a simple smile.

The baron then left the room to see if his guests were yet ready to be given morning’s greetings.

“What did Papa say to you, Mama?” asked Sabina, approaching her mother.

“The same thing he tells me every morning,” replied her mother.

“But what is it, Mama?”

“He was telling me the secret of the rose.”

13 Woods and Countryside

13

Woods and Countryside

About ten-thirty that same morning, Sabina led Matthew through the courtyard at the back of the house, down the hill toward the stables.

They had agreed upon a ride of an hour or two before luncheon, and now as they walked, suitably attired—she in a maroon riding habit, he with riding breeches and boots which his host had provided for him—she explained the differences in personality between the two horses he would have to choose between. Schmidt, the groom, was standing by to saddle the selection of their guest. He already had Sabina’s favorite ready for the morning’s romp.