Setting: Victorian England 1851-52

"With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26)

REVIEWS 

The Apple of His Eye is definitely a satisfying read. Linda Mae Baldwin, CWWC

Occasionally, I read a story that I feel a part of—as if I know the characters personally. Gail Martin has created one of those delightful stories. Sarah Hampton’s devotion to Christ is heartening...but never before have I experienced such empathy with a male character as I did with John Banning. What a wonderful tool of ministry this precious story is. Not only was it entertaining, it encouraged me to not give up on my dreams, to continue to believe that with God all things are possible. - L. Bouton for CWWC

A most heartwarming story, where the woman is strong. A very good read. - Donna Wrathell, Bookseller, Donna’s Book Stop

Sarah Hampton peeked through her lacy bedroom curtain into the flower beds along the garden wall. "Who is the stranger tending the flower beds, Dulcie?"

The young maid eyed the stranger. "The new orchard keeper, Miss."

"The orchard keeper? But. . .if he is the orchardist, why is he in the garden? Where is Benson?" Sarah asked, fond of the old gentleman who brought her apples from the orchard and rosebuds from the garden.

"He’s ill, Miss," the maid said, fastening the buttons of Sarah’s chintz morning dress though the clock had already chimed twelve noon

"Very ill?" Sarah asked, peering through the lace.

Dulcie shrugged. "Ill enough to need time to mend."

Sarah faced her. "Then the young orchard keeper will do the gardening until Benson returns, I suppose."

"You ask a passel of questions, Miss Sarah." The servant shook her head and patted the dressing table stool. "Now if you sit, I’ll dress your hair."

"No, Dulcie, I’ll just tie it back with a ribbon, please." She pulled a ribbon from a wooden chest on her dresser. "See. It’s cherry, the same color as the ribbons on my dress."

Dulcie made a tsk noise. "Let me at least make the bow. Your mother will be after me if I let you out of your room looking like a ragamuffin. You’re a young woman, now—enjoying your coming out."

"Piffle, I’m but a child." She waved the ribbon like a flag, wishing her coming out had never been thrust upon her.

The maid snorted at her comment and caught the red streamer in her hand.

Acquiescing, Sarah pivoted on the dressing stool, allowing the maid to tie the ribbon, but her mind rested on the new orchard keeper whom she’d seen from the window.

Filled with anxious curiosity, she yearned to run into the out-of-doors and see the man more closely. Even from above, he looked like a giant of a man, much taller than her father who seemed a tower in Sarah’s eyes.

Dulcie completed the bow, then turned to dispose of Sarah’s discarded nightgown.

After one last look in the mirror at her white gown and bright ribbons, Sarah hastened from the room and down the stairs. With the dining room empty, she snatched a piece of bread from the sideboard, smeared it with jam, and hurried through the side door to the garden.

To her disappointment, the new gardener had vanished from the border beds. Intrigued, Sarah slipped through the garden gate and sank onto the stone bench inside the wall, cooled by the dappled shade. She bit into the thick slice of bread and licked the fruity spread from her lips, her gaze darting from one side of the garden to the other. Suspecting the stranger had gone to the orchard, she nibbled the bread and waited.

Having overlooked her morning prayers in he exuberance, Sarah closed her eyes and asked God’s blessing on her family and country. . .and for strength to face her eighteenth birthday. Soon her parents expected her to be courted and married, but Sarah had little desire for the convention. She’d danced and accepted callers, but none had won her interest. Not one had sent her heart on a merry chase. Squeezing her eyes closed, she prayed for God to guide her to the man of her heart.

When she lifted her eyelids, a shadow had stretched along the ground to her feet. Timidly, she tipped her head upward and looked at the mountainous man. Her heart jolted with such force it took her breath away. She gaped at him as he neared.

His attention did not settle, but passed her by. He moved away to distant beds and went about his business, adding compost around the base of the budding flowers. She observed him and ate her jam bread.

Sarah had always talked with the older gardener, Benson. She’d known him from childhood, and with his white hair and leathery wrinkles, he seemed like the grandfather she’d never had. When she’d grown to nearly a woman, her mother scolded her for lingering in the garden and bothering the gardener. But he seemed kind, and Sarah loved to smell the earth and blossoming flowers, all God’s handiwork.

Though knowing she behaved improperly, Sarah couldn’t help but stare at the tall, lanky man. While his size seemed almost fearful, his gentle face and handsome features calmed her scurrying pulse. He so concentrated on his work that he seemed to ignore Sarah until she wondered if he’d even seen her at all. But she could tell one thing, he loved the earth as much as she did.

Swallowing her upbringing and the last of her breakfast, she rose and stepped away from the bench into the sunlight, calling to him. "Good morning."

He dropped the trowel and jumped to his feet, rising a striking distance above her head. Instead of speaking, he only gave a bow and tipped his cap, then retrieved the garden tool and returned to his work.

Feeling ignored, Sarah scowled. Yet, she understood his hesitation. The young man belonged in her father’s employ and knew his station. Regardless, she longed to hear his voice, venturing it would be deep and vibrant coming from the depth of his massive chest.

"Do you have a name, Gardener?" she asked.

He turned to her, removing his cap, shifting toward the house and back again as if he waited for the hand of God to smite him if he should speak. "John Banning, Miss." His resonant bass voice sparked on the air.

"Don’t be apprehensive, Mr. Banning. If my father is about, I’ll explain that I spoke to you first."

He gave her a grateful look, slipped on his cap, and turned back to his compost and trowel.

With daring, she moved closer and scooped up a handful of moist earth, breathing in the loom’s rich aroma.

He faced her fully and a frown settled on his brow. "Please, Miss, don’t dirty your hands." He pulled a kerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Banning. You’re a gentleman." She brushed her hands with the cloth, but viewing the soiled fabric, she did not return it. Instead, she clutched the kerchief and drew in a deeper breath. "I love the earth. Everything in nature. You, too, I would imagine."

He nodded, seeming to avoid her eyes.

"We come from the earth, you know," she said. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust."

" ‘And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground.’ " John glanced her way, then lowered his gaze.

Sarah’s pulse tripped. She studied the man’s sensitive profile, feeling something sweet and lovely happening in her chest. "You’ve quoted from Genesis. You are a Christian man."

He nodded and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, his nervousness evident in his shifting stance.

Sarah tilted her head to capture his gaze. " ‘And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone.’ "

John faltered backward and shook his head. "I must return to my work, Miss."

Good sense washed over her, and she nodded, withdrawing to the garden wall and letting the man continue his tasks. But instead of leaving, she lowered herself to the bench and fingered his soiled kerchief. No grown man had ever been so gallant toward her. He had treated her as if she were a true lady.

In silence, she watched him work, wondering his age and background. Did he live in Barnham? If so, why had she never seen him? Sarah let her mind play on his name. John Banning? She’d heard his family name before, but the time and place failed her memory.

Finishing, John gathered his equipment and strode across the garden toward the tool shed with only the faintest nod.

Sarah watched him go, the sunlight reflecting on his broad back, his dark hair curling at the nap of his neck. The man’s gentle manner stirred her. She could see his love for the. His kindness, offering her his kerchief, and his respect. Benson had been thoughtful as well, but he had not stirred such unknown feelings within her.

Recalling the fearful look in his questioning eyes, she admitted she’d been wrong to speak with him without a proper introduction. Tonight in prayer, she would ask God’s forgiveness.

* * *

John stood inside the tool shed, staring into the darkness and calming his escalated pulse. What had he been thinking to allow the young woman to carry on a conversation with him? He’d begun his employment only today and had not earned the family’s trust.

Riddled by uncertainty, John wondered about the young woman. . .girl who’d pestered him. He assumed she was Sarah, the Hampton’s only daughter. Calculating what he could recall, he speculated she would be in the middle of her teen years—-almost ready for courting.

Despite her presumptuousness, her lovely face had impressed him—-her raven black hair and eyes the color of hedge sparrow’s eggs. Beneath her youthful innocence, her attention had jarred unwanted thoughts. She had been born a woman of rank, not one who should enter his thoughts in such a beguiling way.

His first glimpse of her shimmered down his back. Like an angel, she sat in the shade dressed in a white frock. Bows the color of ripe apples trimmed her gown and captured her long dark hair. He recalled the sunlight flickering through the foliage and sprinkling her with fairy lights.

Not only her loveliness, but her disposition, as well, clung is his memory. Though a young woman of breeding, she treated him as an equal. A man. Her direct gaze and love of the earth. . .love of God had wrought the strange feelings that tripped through him.

John pulled his mind from the charming girl, wiped off the tools and stowed them. The shed held the afternoon heat, and he slipped off his cap, then reaching into his pocket, he sought his kerchief to mop the moisture from his brow. The cloth had vanished.

He remembered. He’d given it to her. Sarah? The name lilted through his thoughts. A woman of breeding. A woman with pluck, yet gentleness. He’d seen it all in her soft blue eyes.

He drew in a ragged breath and stepped into the light. His eyes were blinded by the afternoon glow, and John paused a moment before he closed the shed.

The Hampton’s gardens burst with life in the June sunshine. He had much to do to keep the hedges and shrubs pruned and trimmed, the flowers and vegetables fertilized, and the orchard maintained. Grateful, he knew a full crew would arrive in time for harvest.

Still, his work wasn’t finished. In respect to his parents, he owed his father time and energy on the family property. His labor also served as rent for the use of the small cottage on the family farm. Though only twenty-five, John’s back ached like an old man’s from the bending and digging he’d done since he’d come back to Barnham.

He broadened his pace and stepped beyond the garden wall, but the sight caused him to falter. Near the side porch, Edward Hampton stood on the lawn with his daughter. John noticed his employers impressive stature as he stood beside the petite young woman. Though nearly as tall as John, Hampton’s girth and posture presented a man of dignity and prosperity.

Withdrawing his gaze, John hurried to pass by unnoticed but hesitated when he heard the man’s voice.

"Big John. How did you fair your first day?"

John pulled off his cap and clutched it in his left hand. "Fine, Sir. Thank you. I’ll return tomorrow early. There’s much to do." He kept his focus away from the fair face that stared at him.

"Sarah, this is our new orchardist, Big John Banning," Hampton said, his eyes beaming as he gazed at his daughter.

"How do you do?" Sarah asked, without disclosing their earlier meeting.

"Very well, Miss. Thank you." John stepped backward, longing to make his escape. "Until tomorrow, Sir." He tipped his cap and propelled his long legs to carry him away with haste, but once a safe distance away, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Sarah watching him.

* * *

"Why do you call the man Big John, Father?" Sarah asked, her focus still tied to the young man.

"His stature, my silly Sarah. Can’t you see the man is a titan?" He patted her arm and walked with her toward the house. "I’ve heard once during the Yeomanry review in Norwich, the Duke commented on his great stature. Big John may be a Yeoman, but he is a man to be reckoned with."

Surprised at her father’s words, she suspected she saw admiration in his eyes. "Is he from Barnham? I recall the name Banning, but I have no recollection why." She grasped her father’s arm as they ascended the stairs.

"Robert Banning, John’s father, leases a parcel of my apple orchard. He produces cyder as we do." He pulled open the screen door and stepped aside, allowing Sarah to enter.

"But their cyder is not the fine quality of ours, is it, Papa?" She grinned at her doting father, knowing what she said would make him laugh.

He chuckled. "My girl," he said, then paused. "Young woman, I should say." He stood back and gazed at her with a look of pride. "You know, Sarah, you’ve been presented to many eligible men of the community. You must consider yourself a woman."

"Fiddle-faddle. I love being your daughter, Papa. I need no other man to care for me. I’m not eager to be a woman. Let me be your little girl a while longer." She sent him a playful grin, but in her heart, she meant every word.

Her father thrust a hand behind his back and shook his head. "My Sarah, I might be willing to keep you here longer, but your mother has other plans. She wants you to be a lovely bride one of these days." He stroked her cheek and strode from the room.

Sarah followed his departure until he vanished through the doorway. A bride. A wife. A mother. All those things were distant frightening dreams.

She had been prepared for adult proprieties. She’d learned proper etiquette and conversation in polite society. With her mother’s encouragement, she’d learned to sing and dance, to read literature and speak a little French, and to do needlework. Now the season had arrived—being to the young men for courtship. Yet her heart was not in it.

Despite her assured proclamation, Big John Banning towered in her thoughts. His black hair, his gentle eyes, his humble manner. A man of the earth and the sky. His shoulders in the clouds, his hands in the soil, and his feet secured to the earth.

[ Home ] [ Novels ] [ Worship Resources ]