Chapter 15

An Unexpected Visit

Mr. Stanley was a tall and thin fellow, dressed all in blue. He had a great big mustache and perfectly white teeth.

“Good morning!” he said, coming in.

Sophie curtsied and welcomed him.

Her mother, however, was still stunned. How did Sophie know he was coming? There were almost never visitors on Sunday mornings. Everyone was too busy getting ready for church. Mr. Stanley never mentioned coming over. Nor had he ever come through the back door before. Yet, at the exact moment Sophie expected him, there he was! But eventually, Julie realized how silly she must have looked standing there. She snapped out of it and welcomed their guest.

“Good morning, Charles! Please, sit down and join us! Sophie made you some tea.”

“Oh,” he said, turning to her. “You knew I was coming?”

The two grown-ups looked at our heroine curiously. The room fell completely silent. Quickly, Sophie had to think of an explanation.

“I . . .” she muttered, “must have seen you out of the window or something.”

That made sense, reader. There were plenty of windows, after all. The grown-ups thought about it for a moment, looked at each other and shrugged. Julie went back to cooking breakfast and Mr. Stanley sat down. A very close call!

Sophie loved to chat with Mr. Stanley in the mornings. She could get all the latest news that way. Who was getting married? Were there any new books? Even little things, like what color someone might have painted their ceiling. Sophie needed to know everything.

“So,” she said, sitting down across from him. “Is there any word about the Wilsons?”

“Yes!” he replied, getting excited. “It’s a boy!”

Sophie and Julie’s eyes lit up. “How wonderful!” they cheered at the same time. Sometimes they seemed more like sisters. It wasn’t always clear which of them was more grown up either.

“I wonder what they’ve named him!” exclaimed Julie, flinging up her mixing spoon. Batter soared through the air and made a big splash. Samson scurried over to lick it up.

“Oh! Can’t I run over there now?” Sophie begged. “I’m sure he must be adorable. Eek! I can’t wait!”

They both started chattering and giggling hysterically, much to Mr. Stanley’s amusement. All of the girls in the village were like that, reader. To the People of the Book, babies were the most lovely and precious gifts.

“Now, be patient you two!” laughed Mr. Stanley heartily. “You’ll see him this afternoon! We’re having a party after church, remember? There will be a baby shower for the Wilsons—and a wedding for Jonathan and Beth!”

“And we can’t forget about Fred and Elizabeth’s anniversary,” added Julie, finally beginning to calm down. “Fifty years they’ve been married!”

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“Has it been fifty years?” asked Mr. Stanley.

“Indeed!”

“Goodness! Time does fly! Which reminds me—” Mr. Stanley then started digging into his pocket. “It’s why I came. I was wondering if you could take a look at this for me, Sophie. It’s for my wife.”

He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to our heroine. She opened it eagerly.

“How lovely! A poem!”

“You always were such a romantic, Charles!” remarked Julie, trying not to spill more of the batter.

“Well, it’s supposed to be a poem,” Mr. Stanley answered. “I know what I want to say. I’ve got it all there. But, alas, I cannot rhyme! And it just doesn’t sound right when I try. It’s our anniversary soon too, you see. I want to surprise her! But what a mess it is! Would you take a look at it for me, Sophie, and just—you know—do your thing?”

“I would be honored!” she answered.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

She already had three or four ideas, but she got the feeling like Mr. Stanley still had more to say.

“And,” he continued, blushing. He was such a kind man. Sophie liked him a lot. “If I might ask just one more thing of you . . .”

“Anything,” she answered.

“Might I take some flowers from your garden? It’s why I came through the back door. You always have the best flowers in the village! When I looked, I couldn’t believe it. The exact ones my wife likes—all growing together in the same spot! As if someone planted it there just for us and our special day!”

“They’re yours,” answered Sophie delightedly.

The joy this brought to Mr. Stanley’s face made our heroine’s heart leap. But she still wasn’t finished. She got up and went over to a drawer, where she drew out a bright blue bow to tie them with. The strange thing, reader, was that it was exactly the bow Mr. Stanley had imagined—right down to the smallest detail. His expression turned from joy to the same astonishment Julie had felt that morning. How? How could Sophie have possibly known?

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, pausing. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no! That’s not it. It’s just—”

He took the bow and examined it. How very odd! Even the little frills on the side—precisely the same! Sophie tilted her head, confused.

“I don’t know, Sophie,” he answered, starting to chuckle. “Sometimes . . . I think you can read minds!”

Our heroine froze and turned bright red. Her mother froze too. It wasn’t the first time someone had made that remark about her daughter. Her mother was curious to see how she’d respond. But Sophie just stood there perfectly still.

“Ah, hah!” she then laughed awkwardly. What else could she do? They were clearly onto her. “Oh, hah! Oh, Mr. Stanley! Please! Mind reading? Everyone knows that’s impossible. How silly!” She froze again, waiting to see how they’d react.

What a strange, strange girl Sophie was, Mr. Stanley thought. He adored her, but sometimes she was just so odd! On the other hand, he had indeed made a joke. Maybe he was just really funny? Yes, that must have been it! Upon realizing this, he started to laugh along with her.

“Ah, hah! Ah, hah! Hah, hah, hah! You’re right. How silly, indeed!”

Julie joined in. By the end, they’d all nearly giggled themselves to the floor.

“Right,” he finally said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Anyways, I’m off! Thanks again, Sophie! You’re the best! Julie, it was a pleasure seeing you, as always!”

“You won’t stay for breakfast?” she asked.

“We’re having pancakes!” exclaimed Sophie. “You’ll love them. They’re perfect.” She slapped her hands on the table. “PERFECT!”

“I’m sure they are!” he replied, standing up and petting her on the head. “But, alas, I must be getting home. We have a big afternoon to prepare for! Please, give my regards to John. Bye everyone! Cheerio!”

Sophie ran up and hugged her dear mailman tightly. Then he left out the back door to collect the flowers.

“He’s so wonderful, isn’t he?” remarked Sophie, looking down at the poem. “He loves her very much . . .”

“Yes, he certainly does,” sighed Julie.