Alfred looked at the soup in his
bowl and stirred it half-heartedly with his spoon. “What on earth is this?”
“That sir,” said Agnes Findlay, the
Scottish Housekeeper, “Is Queen Victoria’s Brown Windsor Soup. This very soup built the British Empire and
was very fashionable during her reign.
She used to have it served at Windsor Castle.”
“Oh really,” said Alfred, lifting a
spoonful to his nose and sniffing it, then tentatively taking a taste. “Now that’s not half-bad. What’s in it?”
“Well, sir,” said Agnes, “it’s beef
and mutton in a beef broth with carrots, onions, and parsnips. Quite nourishing! I’ve served it the traditional way with
scones.”
Mother picked up a scone, broke it in
two, slathered it with butter and took a bite.
“You know, Alfred, I’m not always in the mood for something new.” She eyed the soup suspiciously and took
another bite of her scone.
I have noticed, Mother,” said
Alfred, “that from time to time you seem apprehensive about new things.”
Mother glared at Alfred, “Now why
would you say that Alfred?”
“Well,
Mother,” said Alfred, “When we were talking with Horace on Sunday his funny
little story about the farmer shooting his dog put me in mind of your
Grandfather Talliaferro’s lupara shotgun and the time you discharged it out the
front door in the dark and shot our next door neighbor in the rump with a
little rock salt. Now, why do you think you did that?”
Mother was
silent for a few moments and idly stirred her Brown Windsor Soup with her
spoon, then took a tiny sip, put her spoon down, considered her soup
meditatively, then picked up her spoon and took a spoonful.
“You’re
right Alfred, It’s not half bad,” said Mother as she took another spoonful.
“Regarding
my question, Mother,” said Alfred, “what was going through your mind when you
discharged that lupara out the front door?”
Mother said
rather defensively, “Well, Alfred, I was just a little frightened. I didn't know our neighbour thought she had seen a skunk and was trying to shoot it; at
that it was probably that ugly black and white pug across the street.”
Alfred
buttered a scone and applied himself manfully to the bowl of Brown Windsor
Soup, saying, “If this soup is good enough for Queen Victoria, it’s good enough
for me.’
“Well,
Alfred,” said Mother challengingly, “Let me ask you a question. Are you ever afraid?”
Alfred put
his spoon down and looked at Mother, “Certainly,” he said.
“Well,
Alfred,” demanded Mother, “how do you deal with fears?”
Alfred
thought for a few moments; then replied.
“It’s something I learned in combat.
Everyone who is wide awake in the face of danger is afraid. Facing it is
a matter of respect for authority. When
I’m afraid, I just do my duty as best I can.
If I’m afraid I tell myself, ‘Be a man! Buck up!’[i] Do what you need to do. Did you know Mother than I really had to deal
with my fears all through the Lenten season?
That’s why ‘I fled Him down the
nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled
Him, down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind.’[ii] I was desperately afraid of allowing God to
be in control; as if somehow He wasn’t competent.
“Oh,”
said Mother suddenly, “That’s just how I feel.”
“Do
not fear, for you will not be ashamed; neither be disgraced, for you will not
be put to shame; For you will forget the shame of your youth.” (Isaiah 54:4).
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