by Kate Hewitt
A Vicarage Homecoming
A Holley Sisters of Thornthwaite Romance
Kate Hewitt
A Vicarage Homecoming
Copyright © 2019 Kate Hewitt
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Publication by Tule Publishing 2019
Cover design by Rhian
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-950510-31-3
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Please Leave a Review
The Holley Sisters of Thornthwaite series
Excerpt from Meet Me at Willoughby Close
More Books by Kate Hewitt
About the Author
Chapter One
“And you’re sure you don’t know who the father is?”
The hushed voice of one of St Stephen’s well-meaning flower guild members managed to carry through the closed door of Simon Truesdell’s study, and all the way to Miriam Holley’s ears.
She stilled, one hand resting on the old metal filing cabinet, the other on the small of her aching back.
“Miriam and I haven’t talked about that, Dorothy,” Simon answered carefully. “And really, it’s not my business to say, or even to ask.”
“But you’re the vicar… God bless her, of course, but it is all rather shocking.” This Dorothy woman managed to sound both gloomy and gleeful at the same time. “I don’t know what Roger or Ruth would think.”
“Roger and Ruth are very much looking forward to being grandparents,” Simon answered. “Thank you for the parsnips. Very kind of you.”
Miriam turned back to the filing cabinet as Simon, the new vicar of her father’s old parish, ushered the bustling busybody out. How many of her father’s former parishioners were gossiping about her, the youngest daughter who had returned to the cosy village of Thornthwaite—nestled in the steep green fells of the Lake District—from travelling the world, dusty and tired, and after a matter of mere weeks, visibly pregnant?
The worst part was, Miriam couldn’t blame any of them for thinking badly of her. She thought badly of herself.
“How are you getting on, Miriam?” Simon’s tone was just a bit too cheerful as he came into the study where she’d been filing old parish magazines, flicking through the welcome letters her father had written at the start of each one. Even in the impersonal typeface she could sense his humour, almost hear his jovial voice, and it caused her a pang of bittersweet sorrow.
He and her mother Ruth had left for a ministry post in China nearly three months ago, and it still felt like a shock. Every once in a while the realisation would jolt through her, as if she’d stuck a finger in an electric socket. Mum and Dad aren’t here. Ouch.
“Fine, Simon.” Miriam closed the filing cabinet and turned to him with as bright a smile as she could manage. “Sounds like you’ll be dining on parsnip soup for the next six months or so.”
Simon grimaced. “And I don’t even like parsnips. Dorothy means well, though. She keeps me well stocked in veggies.”
“She and her husband Allen have lived in this part of the world for forty years,” Miriam remarked. She’d placed Dorothy now—a gap-toothed woman with beady eyes and a bright smile who sat in the back row every Sunday, a rather squashed hat fixed firmly on her head. Miriam had always liked her.
“I gather you heard the rest of the conversation,” Simon said after a moment, a flush fighting its way from under his clerical collar.
“A bit hard not to.”
“I’m sorry, Miriam…”
“It’s not your fault.” It was hers. “Really, Simon, I’m okay with it. I’ve got to be, don’t I? You don’t come back to a village the size of Thornthwaite with a bun in the oven and not expect a bit of gossip, at the very least.”
“Right…” Simon looked away, his flush deepening. Miriam sighed.
Now she’d made Simon uncomfortable. Her pregnancy, visible as it was, seemed to be a no-go area. She usually tried not to think about it herself, but that was becoming harder and harder to do. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny. But in any case, I’d better go. Bailey needs a walk.” Since her sister Rachel had acquired a golden retriever puppy two months ago, Miriam had found herself acting as the dog’s main carer, especially now that Rachel was teaching full-time and in a serious relationship with pub owner Sam West.
Miriam didn’t mind the responsibility the way she’d initially thought she would; taking care of another creature felt good, as if she was actually doing something constructive with her life. For once.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Simon asked as Miriam shrugged on her coat and headed out the front door of what had once been the only family home she’d ever known, until her father had retired as vicar and they’d moved out of the vicarage three months ago.
“Yes, tomorrow.” She’d only been working for Simon as parish secretary for a few weeks, but the twenty hours of comfortingly mundane admin gave a structure to her life that she knew she needed. Before Simon had hired her, she’d done nothing but drift—in fact, she’d been drifting for years, content to take life as it came without making many decisions or taking much action. Her biggest concern had been where to globetrot next, but now, with a baby to think of, she knew she needed to stop and settle. She only hoped she could figure out how.
Outside the sun was shining for once; autumn in the Lake District could be notoriously rainy, but today the sky was clear, the sun bright, and the air crisp. Miriam’s spirits lifted a little as she headed back down the narrow high street, over the old stone bridge that traversed St John’s Beck, towards the second-floor flat that she shared with her sister Rachel above Thornthwaite’s ‘rougher’ pub, The Bell.
On the other side of the bridge, she paused, glancing at the open door of The Bell; at four o’clock in the afternoon the pub’s custom was starting to pick up, and a boisterous group of shift workers knocking off for the day crowded the entrance.
Miriam slipped by the front entrance for the one on the side, and then took the two flights of narrow stairs that led to the flat. Rachel hadn’t returned home yet, but Bailey raced to the door as
soon as Miriam fit the key in the lock.
“Hey there, puppy.” She bent down to pat Bailey’s soft golden head before putting down her bag and reaching for the lead. “Walkies.” In response Bailey let out a joyful yip.
Miriam hummed under her breath as she changed her flats for hiking boots and then looped the lead around Bailey’s neck, reaching for her camera bag with the other hand. She’d spent a good amount of time walking around Thornthwaite in the last month or so, discovering her old love of photography and letting her mind empty out. It was still drifting, but it felt constructive, at least a little bit. She had loads of photos as a result, anyway.
Although, she reflected, now that she was over five months pregnant, she probably should start thinking more, rather than trying not to think. Making some decisions about her future…and her baby’s.
Still, that was a thought for another day, she told herself as she headed back out into the sunshine, Bailey nipping at her heels. Resolutely Miriam pushed away the flicker of guilt she felt at her rather obvious delaying tactics. There were only so many ‘another days,’ after all.
But today felt like autumn’s final hurrah, with the leaves in yellow and crimson glory, and the water of the beck burbling and glinting under crystalline sunlight. Miriam walked down a narrow farm track leading to a footpath that went straight up the fell that loomed over Thornthwaite’s north side, hiking the well-worn path with ease now that she’d done it so much.
At the top, she paused to take a few photos of the village nestled in its green hollow, the river snaking through muddy fields, a plume of smoke curling up from a chimney towards the pristine sky.
It was all so idyllic, that it made her ache in a strange way; it felt both uncomfortable and good. At eighteen she’d been desperate to get away from Thornthwaite, which had felt both stuffy and stifling, with far too many elderly parishioners watching her with beady eyes—and still watching her, clearly. Once upon a time, Thornthwaite had felt repressively small.
It still did, especially with her pregnancy on show, but no matter how small or stifling it was, it was home…and it had been the only place Miriam had wanted to go to when her life had fallen apart on the other side of the world.
Miriam sighed as she sank gratefully onto a bench at the top of the fell, placed there by a dedicated hill-walking couple a decade ago, complete with commemorative plaque. Those thoughts for another day clearly weren’t going to keep.
In a little more than three months she was going to have a baby, and she really needed to decide if she was going to keep it or not. Miriam rested a hand on her small bump as she felt a gentle kick right into her palm. She’d been feeling the baby move for a few weeks now, and she didn’t know how she felt about that development, along with so many others. She didn’t know how she felt about anything to do with this pregnancy, still. It was time she made her mind up. Time she took responsibility.
She should start, she supposed, by booking the twenty-week scan she’d put off for nearly a month now, because she wasn’t sure she could face the invasive intimacy of it, the absolute reality of the baby on the screen. She’d book her scan, and then she’d look in to her options…adoption or not. It was a big decision, and it loomed in front of her, frightening and overwhelming, but definitely needing to be made.
Her sisters, bossy Esther, gentle Anna, well-meaning Rachel…they’d all weighed in, offering support, encouraging her to find a job, settle down, do something. Although none of them had said outright, Miriam suspected they all wanted her to keep the baby…the first Holley grandchild. She just didn’t know if she could. Would it be right for her, and more importantly, would it be right for this baby?
The sun had slid behind a bank of darkening clouds, and the air was starting to feel decidedly chilly. Reluctantly Miriam rose from the bench and started back down the fell. By the time she’d reached the track at the bottom, her hips and knees were aching. Twenty-three years old and she was as creaky as an old woman, but she supposed that was what pregnancy did to you, especially if you insisted on going fell walking.
She’d just rounded a bend when she heard the sound of a motor behind her, coming from the farm at the end of the track, and she moved quickly to the side, pulling on Bailey’s lead. The puppy was still clueless about cars.
To her surprise, as the mud-splattered Land Rover—the vehicle of choice in these parts—passed, it slowed, and then stopped. The driver’s side door opened.
“Miriam?”
It was Dan Taylor, family friend as well as Rachel’s former fiancé, which had made things a bit awkward for everyone since he’d broken it off the night before the wedding, back in July. It was now nearing the end of October and Miriam didn’t think she’d exchanged much more than an uncertain smile with him in all that time.
“Hey, Dan.”
“Can I give you a lift?”
“Oh, er…” Her hips were aching, and the day was growing dark. The fifteen-minute walk back to the flat felt long, but it was Dan…
He smiled sheepishly. “Look, I know things are a bit awkward with…well, everything, but I’m happy to give you a lift.”
“Okay, thanks.” In a village the size of Thornthwaite, there was no real space for awkwardness. Besides, she was pregnant. That was pretty awkward already.
Dan took her elbow as she clambered into the passenger seat, and then he helped Bailey scramble into the boot. Miriam laughed as the puppy sniffed the back of the Rover excitedly, the bottom of the boot covered with an old tartan blanket.
“There are most likely some very interesting smells back there for a puppy,” Dan said with a smile. He worked as a vet, and Miriam supposed a variety of animals had lain or sat on that seat—and done goodness knew what else.
“Were you out on a call?” she asked as he started the Rover up and they began bumping down the track.
“Yes, a farm visit. Pregnant cow.”
“Sounds like me,” she quipped, and Dan gave her a serious look. Why was she the only one who could joke about it?
“How are you doing, Miriam?” he asked, his tone gentle. “How are you coping?”
“Coping? That makes it all sound rather awful.” She tried to keep her voice light but she didn’t think she quite managed it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you sort of did,” she objected, keeping her voice friendly. “It’s okay. I get it. I mean, it’s not an ideal situation, is it? Twenty-three, jobless, knocked up.” She recited her litany of failures with practised ease, managing to keep her voice light as she listed each awful indictment.
“I thought you had a job, working as a part-time administrator for the church.”
“Still, that’s hardly a career, and the rest is true.”
“I don’t know many twenty-three-year-olds who have careers, per se.”
“Perhaps. I suppose I still have time to find my calling.” Whatever that could possibly be. Miriam glanced at Dan curiously; he was thirty, settled, and had worked in Thornthwaite since he’d left uni. He’d done everything in life the right way, except perhaps calling off his wedding at the eleventh hour. Which in a way made them the tiniest bit similar. They’d both made train wrecks of their hoped-for lives, and were now surveying the smoking wreckage.
“How are you doing, Dan?” Miriam asked. “Considering? I’m not the only one whose life has taken an unexpected turn, no pun intended, ha, ha.”
He gave her a small smile. “No, indeed you’re not. I’m all right.” He pulled into a parking space near the pub, which was starting to get a bit raucous, at least for Thornthwaite, which meant that there was a raised voice or two. “Rachel seems as if she’s all right, too.”
Uh-oh. Was he fishing for details? Dan held up a hand, his smile turning rueful. “Sorry, that was not some heavy-handed hint for you to tell me something about her. I already know she’s dating Sam West, and I’m happy for her. Truly.”
“Oh, phew. Because I was really not looking forward to n
ot having that conversation.”
He laughed at that, and Miriam decided his heart must not have been too badly broken. He’d been the one to call it off, after all, even if it had been because he’d realised Rachel didn’t love him the way he loved her. At least, that’s what Rachel had admitted, reluctantly, after a couple of glasses of wine.
“Anyway, I’m glad I saw you,” he said. “I feel like all the Holley sisters are giving me a bit of a wide berth at the moment, which is understandable, but I miss the friendship. Even Esther’s slightly stinging remarks, amazingly enough.”
“I’m surprised she’s been steering clear of you. I would have thought she’d tell you exactly how she feels.”
“Oh, she did, early on.” He glanced down, his voice tinged with sadness. “She told me that I’d done the right thing, even if no one else agreed with me.”
“Well, I agree with you,” Miriam said unexpectedly. She hadn’t thought about it too much, but considering how head-over-heels Rachel was about Sam, it stood to reason that she shouldn’t have married Dan. “But I can imagine it was a hard thing to do, especially in a place like Thornthwaite, where everyone knows your business and feels entitled to comment on it.”
“Yes, jilting the vicar’s daughter? Not cool.”
Dan rolled his eyes, but there was a seriousness to him that made Miriam ask, “Has it affected you? I mean obviously, but other relationships? Or work?”
He hesitated before replying, “A bit. A few people go to the vet’s in Keswick now. And like I said, I don’t spend much time with you Holleys, even though your family was pretty much my entire social life for the last year.”
Miriam’s heart twisted with sympathy. “Oh, Dan…”
“I’m not asking for pity, trust me. It’s fine. It’s good. I’d rather be where I am now, than married to Rachel and having her miserable, and therefore me being miserable, as well.” He sighed, glancing out at the darkening sky. “It’s just…I counted on your family a lot. More than I realised.”