Chapter Twelve: The Maturing Young Woman

 It had been a long week in Oxford. Isabelle and Felicity Barton were most grateful for the presence of their aunt, who now had the opportunity to attend church with them. Having remained the week at Lady Anne's, Margaret Weathers had never been to a Baptist service. Though Anglican, she also had the unfortunate pleasure of visiting their local congregation.  

The service started out with plenty of singing. One young girl, a notable large redhead, cried throughout the singing. Margaret was not used to this sentiment in church service; for Mrs. Weathers, the liturgy of Anglicanism pointed one toward God, yet she observed the Baptists clinging to their emotional reaction----the emotions were always more definitive to the service than any attention to Koine Greek or New Testament theology.  

The sermon was even more shocking. Reverend James was as short as he was round. Sweating throughout the course of his preaching, he exhausted himself and all else by his insistence that no sin on earth could separate the faithful from God. His firmness was expressed by saying, ''Eternal security, it can neither be gained nor lost but flows from God's predestination.'' 

Margaret noticed little attention to the whole of Scripture. One Bible verse after another was always isolated from the rest of the text. The minister then had the audacity to condemn the church fathers, expressing why the Baptists had superseded the ''ignorant'' theology of those in ancient times. 

When the minister was done preaching, everyone rushed out of the sanctuary and into the basement to share a meal together. Mrs. Weathers and the Bartons, however, skipped the Baptist potluck. 

As she exited the building, Margaret began, ''Tell me Felicity---'' though waiting for her niece to interject. 

''Yes?'' Felicity asked. 

''Is this how your services are normally conducted?''

''What do you mean?''

''I mean---lots of emotional singing and preaching, with the latter having no substance of theology but relying upon various statements of condemnation to those who don't espouse the viewpoints of the Baptists?''

Felicity considered the question. ''Yes, I suppose,'' she answered. ''Every sermon on every Sunday is always the same. It has little to do with Biblical theology itself. Although all the Baptists I know profess to hold to Scripture more than anyone, the sermon is truly more about the minister's performance than it is instructing the faithful about the Scriptures.'' 

Margaret nodded. ''Felicity, dear,'' she began, as if pitying her. ''I do hope you continue to study Scripture. Read the New Testament. No church in the first century practiced service like this. In fact, the Eucharist was the central focus of the service, not the minister's sermon. But by emphasizing the latter, the Baptists attribute more credit to man than to God.''

Felicity pondered her aunt's statement, having never considered it before. 

''Ada has always loved the study of Early Christianity,'' Margaret added. ''She has read the New Testament in its original languages and knows more Koine Greek than most men.'' 

''Yes, I do recall Ada being fond of this subject.''

Margaret turned as a fat man passed them while stuffing a cake in his mouth. Then, turning back to her niece, she pitied the lack of cultural influence surrounding her niece. ''Felicity, dear,'' she began again, ''continue to studying English language and literature. It does far more for the mind than any Baptist potluck.''

Felicity nodded in agreement. 

''Come dear,'' Margaret insisted. ''Let us return to your home. It looks like an early rain is on the way.'' 

*      *      *

Mrs. Weathers and the Bartons had enjoyed a long day at Lady Anne's before all played cards with one another. Seeing her aunt, Ms. Barton contrasted her aunt's character with those of Seven Oaks Baptist Church. 

To Felicity Barton, Margaret Weathers was the icon of beauty and warmth. She had never seen anyone so dignified at Seven Oaks Baptist Church, her local parish, as her aunt. Was it because her aunt was Anglican? Was that what made the difference between class and barbarity? Indeed, Felicity had witnessed many over-indulgent redheads on Sunday mornings wherever Baptist preachers were present. Whatever grace the Church of England was known for, the Baptists had been born without. 

But Isabelle was a redhead and did not behave as those in their congregation. Was it because both Barton sisters had been culturally impacted by their aunt whenever they saw her? Or was it that God had predestined them out of the Baptist fold? After all, Felicity only attended the Baptist congregation because Thomas insisted that his daughters do so. On her own, the young Barton daughter would strongly prefer a Medieval mass at a Gothic cathedral. 

Thomas, however, rubbed his stomach. It was his way of hinting to his wife and maid to gather a soon meal for his person. 

Felicity, meanwhile, faced her glass window. Beholding roses in her hands, she considered her person and how she felt herself still in the stage between girlhood and womanhood. It was a strange place to be. Many of the benefits of the former were gone, as were those of the latter. Some call this the worst era of life when the heart must be broken many times before the eventual adult understands the meaning of love in greater depth. She was not certain why these thoughts had been occurring in her mind lately, but upon glancing toward her aunt, she continued to think more of balls, womanhood, and handsome gentleman. 

Facing the earth outside her window, she wondered as to the mind of her beloved aunt. Margaret was calm and beautiful, intelligent and caring. Somehow, however, she sensed that her aunt had long been admired by others in the past---perhaps because Margaret had always been the standard of womanhood to young Felicity. 

A new dream occurred in the young woman's mind. It considered midsummer romances on evenings much different than this one.